The Edge of Light by Joan Wolf Page A

herself thinking, smooth and shiny and the color of honey. Alfred was nice.
    Her breath hissed in her throat as the idea struck with all the suddenness and brilliance of a bolt of lightning. “It does not seem unreasonable to me for a girl to wish to have a say in whom she shall marry,” he was saying. “But, as you have discovered, all too often she does not.”
    She did not answer, but continued to stare at him, seeing him now in the illumination of this brilliant new idea. She saw that his features were very fine, very clearly cut. She liked his nose, which did not have the arrogant bridge that distinguished Athulf’s, and to a lesser degree her own. His mouth was nice too, firm and cool-looking. Edred’s always looked moist and … hungry. She said at last, very slowly, “It is all very well for Athulf to say Edred will give me horses and dogs, but I shall have to sleep in his bed.”
    At that, he turned to look at her. His eyes were a lovely color, she thought, and they met hers straight on, with no embarrassment. He said, “That, of course, is the crux of the problem.”
    She searched his face. “When I said that to Athulf, about sleeping in Edred’s bed, Athulf was embarrassed.”
    “Athulf ought to be embarrassed,” came the immediate forthright reply.
    Elswyth smiled. Alfred, she thought, was very nice indeed!
    “How old are you, Elswyth?” he was asking.
    “I am just fourteen.”
    He said something under his breath that both startled and delighted her. Then, “When Judith of France married my father, she was but fourteen and the consummation of the marriage was delayed because of her age, Perhaps Edred …”
    She thought of the way Edred looked at her. “I do not think so,” she said. She tried to repress a shudder and was not entirely successful. She tried to explain. “He looks at me …”
    Alfred’s face wore an unmistakable expression of disgust. Elswyth’s spirits soared. “Alfred …” she said. It was the first time she had used his name; she drawled it long and smooth off her tongue. She straightened the cloak on her knees and continued carefully, “Perhaps you can help me after all—”
    He cut in before she could go on. “Little one, I am so sorry, but I do not see how I can. I cannot speak to your brother for you. I have no rights in this matter. Athulf would be furious if I attempted to interfere, and he would be entirely justified in his wrath.” Alfred’s fair brows were drawn together and he was watching her hands as they played restlessly with the brown wool of her cloak. “Perhaps I could speak to Ethelswith,” he added, “She, of all women, must know what it is to be forced to a distasteful marriage …” He caught himself and looked up, directly into Elswyth’s eyes. “I did not say that.”
    She smiled at him a little tremulously. “It will not help to speak to the Lady Ethelswith.” She added with certainty, “No, Alfred, there is only one person who can help me, and that is you.”
    His eyes widened in surprise. “I?” He shook his head. “I wish I could, Elswyth, but—”
    “You can marry me,” she said.
    He recoiled as if she had struck him. “What?”
    She did not make the mistake of leaning toward him, of attempting to crowd him. Instinctively she held her own space and left him his. “Don’t you see?” she said, the very model of sweet reasonableness. “You are even higher in rank than Edred. Athulf would be happy to take a West Saxon prince over a Mercian ealdorman. And your family is rich! That would weigh with my mother and Athulf too.”
    He smiled a little at her artlessness. “But don’t you see, Elswyth, you would only be exchanging one husband for another. You said you did not wish to marry at all.”
    “I don’t, but if I must marry, I would far rather marry you than Edred.” Her dark blue eyes were clinging to his face. “It would be a good match for you also, Alfred.” Her deep drawling voice was persuasive. “My father was