The Dream Weavers Barbara Erskine (e ink ebook reader txt) 📖

another to replace it, she delivered the child, a tiny boy. He never breathed.

Eadburh slept at last and Bea still stood by the bed, looking down at her exhausted, pale face, at peace for now, as one by one the women crept away to their own beds. At last only Nesta remained. ‘So, you are full of pity now for the woman who orchestrated the murder of her mother’s lover.’

Bea put her hand up to the cross around her neck. ‘I suppose she believed it was justice,’ she whispered. ‘He was a murderer.’

Nesta inclined her head. ‘Then so am I. We were both obeying the orders of a queen.’

‘Will she recover from this?’ Bea looked back at the sleeping woman.

Nesta stepped away from the bed. ‘The answer to that is written in the annals of time.’ Her voice had grown distant. ‘She will not see the king again for many months. As his son was being born I am told Beorhtric rode out with his war band, heading for the coast where once more heathen warships with their dragon prows are sailing down the Channel. He did not ask about his wife and does not know that she has miscarried. When he is told, I expect he will be sad. A man needs a son.’

The shadows were closing round the bed. Nesta stooped and pulled the bedcover straight then she turned away. Bea stared after her, but the scene was dissolving into cold white mist as the palace shrugged back into an icy dawn.

Bea stirred uncomfortably, pulling the duvet round her, and again Mark groaned. Outside in the garden wisps of mist were drifting through the branches of the mulberry tree by the wall as the first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky.

‘Bea? Bea, didn’t you hear the alarm? It’s time to get up.’ Mark put a mug of tea down beside the bed. He was fully dressed. ‘I’m off to morning prayer. I’ll be back for breakfast.’

Confused and befuddled with sleep, it took Bea a moment to remember they had a guest. ‘Any sign of Emma?’

‘I imagine she’s still asleep. It’s early yet.’

And then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

It was Emma’s turn to dream.

Eadburh was inside her head and the woman, in a haze of pain and delirium, was dreaming in turn that she was a girl again at Sutton in her father’s hall. The evening was in full swing, with music and dancing and drink as she snatched up a cloak to cover her finery, evaded her father’s guards and rode out alone across the meadows and through the woods towards the west. Drawing rein at last, she paused, staring into the distance, waiting. He was there, she knew he was there somewhere. Urging the tired horse onwards she set off up the winding track towards the summit of the ridge where the prince was waiting for her, his handsome profile catching the rays of the rising sun, the planes of his face accentuated, half in shadow as he turned towards her and held out his arms.

Emma smiled and stretched out willingly towards him, welcoming him into her arms, smelling the scent of sweat and horse and heather on him as he kissed her, feeling his strong hands pulling at her gown, losing herself in the strength and heat of his body.

Bea was making some toast for breakfast when Emma appeared downstairs at last. She sat down at the table and reached for the coffee pot. The girl looked rested. Perhaps a little flushed.

‘How are you feeling?’ Bea put butter and marmalade on the table in front of her.

‘Tired.’ Emma blushed scarlet. ‘I dreamed about a man and a woman. There were horses and we, they, were up on the top of a hill and it was sunrise.’ Her voice faded. Bea turned away to rescue the toast and put it in the rack. She took her time turning back and by the time she did, Emma had recovered. ‘It was all very vivid and real.’

Bea smiled. ‘He made love to her?’

She had noted the hasty change of pronoun. She had been there too. At the start of her dreams, she had seen Elisedd and Eadburh and the tenderness and passion between them as they made love, but this was different. She bit her lip, worried, trying to see if the dark shadow was still there clinging to Emma, but she could see nothing.

Emma nodded. ‘It was me. He made love to me. In my dream.’ She darted a quick embarrassed glance at Bea and giggled. ‘What am I like!’

Bea hid her anxiety. ‘Like a teenage girl. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. All I can say is, lucky you.’ She topped up her own coffee mug and gave Emma few seconds to compose herself.

Emma was about to speak when her phone pinged. ‘It’s Dad. He’s coming to collect me later.’

23

As she handed leaflets about the cathedral to a group of visiting tourists, Sandra saw Bea walking through the nave with the girl from yesterday. She had her arm around the girl’s shoulders and as Sandra watched she guided her out of sight towards the north aisle. They were going to the chantry chapel.

Another group of visitors were heading her way. Sandra turned away from them, pulling her identity tag over her head and slipping it into her pocket, then she hurried after Bea and the girl. Close to the chapel entrance she slowed up, checking behind her to make sure there was no one in sight. She tiptoed close to the doorway and peered in. They were sitting in the shadows and Bea still had her arm around the girl’s shoulders. Sandra took a step closer.

‘Can you see him, there by the altar?’ Bea said quietly. ‘He was a chantry priest here when the chapel was first built. He is my mentor.’

Sandra crept closer. She could hear footsteps approaching; a couple were walking towards her from