The Betrothed Sister by Carol McGrath

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    She had had no idea of the bitter December cold that had gripped the outside world in the week she had lain in her warm bed, missing her grandmother or thinking about the Prince of Kiev. ‘This cold is biting,’ she complained, hugging her arms about her body.
    â€˜It is no worse than during the siege we suffered in Exeter, my lady. That was a hard winter too,’ Gudrun said as she trailed after Thea into the hall.
    â€˜It was, I shall never forget it, nor do I want to suffer it again, ever.’
    Thea wrinkled her nose on entering the hall. The smell of damp wool mingled with the unwashed smell of many busy bodies. The women stopped working and looked up at her.
    â€˜Sit here,’ Lady Ingar said, moving over on a bench close to the hearth. ‘Here, take this and this.’ She handed Thea a spindle whorl and a handful of soft, oily wool from a basket. ‘Gudrun, you will help your mistress.’ Lady Ingar glared around at the others, who included Princess Gunnhild, and signalled to them to continue working.
    Thea lifted the spindle and wool and began the work of teasing wool into thread. As she finished one lot Gudrun handed her more wool to spin. She was glad that she had done this task before in Grandmother Gytha’s hall. Soon the knack of dropping her spindle returned to her and she noted the admiration and surprise in the eyes of Princess Gunnhild as she swiftly produced woollen threads that Gudrun nimbly wound into skeins.
    There were no unkind comments or snide looks on the women’s faces. They concentrated on their task and as they worked they conversed. Soon a sense of togetherness developed between them as they asked Thea about England and said how they were all welcome here at Søderup. Princess Gunnhild, away from her sisters’ influence, smiled at the conversation as she worked, although she was not as nimble-fingered as they were and often broke threads.
    As the dinner hour approached and candles were lit the morning’s work was cleared away into huge baskets. Servants pulled out trestles and laid them with food. The men came into the hall and soon the hall was full of people. Servants bustled around setting out bowls of the steaming meat stew that had bubbled all morning in a cauldron over the central raised hearth. They brought in freshly baked bread from the outside kitchen and cheese from the Søderup dairy. Thea discovered that she was very, very hungry.
    It was at that dinner time that Thea noticed how Padar smiled across from the men’s trestle at Gudrun. She observed too how Gudrun’s eyes seemed to light up like glowing stars when he looked her way. Gudrun had turned fifteen on the day they had arrived in Søderup but she had been too tired and miserable to mark her name day. She must make her handmaiden a belated gift, perhaps a belt purse, if there was felt to be had at Søderup. And, she mused as Padar’s twinkling eyes looked across the hall towards them, Gudrun was old enough to admire and be admired. She must speak to the girl, find out what had been going on while she had lain in bed thinking of her grandmother and her brothers; worrying about her brothers’ long sea journey back to Dublinia so late in the year; missing Grandmother Gytha whom she loved with all her heart, dreaming her own dreams of longing and love. She bit her tongue to stop the tears welling up as she thought of her grandmother now. This was life and she must just get on with it. Swallowing back her longing, she bent her head over her bowl and scooped up another spoonful of stew.
    Thea had no time to think again about Padar and Gudrun. That afternoon they worked in the dairy, hanging sharp-smelling cheeses to drip over vats. When their day ended and darkness brought an end to their work they processed into the tall wooden chapel where she shivered through a candlelit Vespers. Supper followed. She glanced about the candlelit hall, remembering