Viking Love Beyond Time (Time Travel Romance) by Kathryn Anderson Page A

gift  by her mother’s brother who had bought it in a bazaar in Constantinople , then, propping it against her bed head, examined herself critically.
    Her chief beauty was her hair.  Long and mousy blonde, it was washed once a month and tightly plaited.  For the rest her eyes were dove grey and her teeth were well enough, though a little discoloured from eating too many sweetmeats, and the barber had to pull that right eye tooth last Michaelmas, her skin was clear apart from the odd pimple, Emma squeezed a particularly nasty looking one.
    Standing up she pulled her frock against her body and surveyed it as well she could in the mirror.  Wide shoulders, small breasts, a sturdy waist , widish hips.  Not a fairytale beauty like the king’s Mercian wife, Aehlswith, who was reputed to be the loveliest woman in England , but fair enough.
    She put the mirror down and threw herself on the bed, punching the bolster in frustration.  She had to face it, she knew she would have been married years ago but for the fact that her stepfather and mother had gone into mourning for her brothers.  There had been dancing and merriment before Ashdown and she had met friends of Cerdic and Aldred but she had been shy and dumbstruck in their company and none had asked for her, and since her brothers had died  no feasts had been given.
    A fly, buzzing angrily, threw itself against the shutters.  Emma walked over to the window and watched it as it vainly tried to escape.  “I know how you feel!” she said aloud, then squashing it, she lay back down on the bed “Oh, for some excitement, the way things are going, the only way I am not going to die a maiden is if there is another Viking raid!”  Immediately the words passed her lips she regretted them, and crossed herself hurriedly “ Mea Culpa Virgin Mother, forgive me, I did not mean that” she whispered aloud.
    The last time the Vikings had raided she was eight.  Her stepfather had been away with the fyrd and her mother, brothers and herself had had to flee into the forest for safety; she could still remember the feeling of terror and her mother’s anguished prayers.  The Vikings had carried off Britta, the blacksmith’s girl and raped Mary the weaver, leaving her for dead but she had recovered and nine months later given birth to a strong, lusty boy who had grown into the village bully and, on reaching the age of sixteen and discovering the secret of  his paternity, had run off to Northumbria to join his heathen relations.
    Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of voices in the courtyard and she had half decided to get up and open the shutters when she heard her mother outside the bedroom door, shrilly giving orders to the servants, then the latch lifted and Godgyth herself walked in.  Tutting at the darkness of the room she stomped over to the window and opening the shutters let the sunlight flood in, then turned to where Emma lay on the bed, blinking like an owl. “I hope you’re not going to start with your megrims again madam” she snapped “we haven’t time for them today, we have guests.  Apparently your father’s brother’s boy, Luke, has arrived from across the sea - Bohemia or some other such heathen land.  A funny thing in my opinion”. 
    Emma swung her legs off the bed and smoothed her crumpled gown. “I did not know Father had any brothers” she replied, peering into the mirror and pinching her cheeks.
    “Yes, one, Edmund, he left the country before we married, he was  younger than your stepfather by about a year, for which praise the Lord, otherwise there might have been some funny business over the inheritance.  He has a girl with him too but she’s passed out, banged her head on the cobbles, probably the shock of seeing a proper, clean, Christian house, she’ll have doubtless been used to some real hovels”.  The older woman bent down and began to pick some clothes off the floor. “I’ll put her in with you.  Now run to the thatcher’s