Catheryn blinked. “What mean you by that, Selwyn?”
The man that she barely knew smiled, and it was only then that she noticed just how handsome he was. True, she had seen it before, and it could be the darkness hiding some of his bad features and giving splendour to the others, but he really was quite intriguing. The child that Selwyn had been had certainly been bright, and cheerful, but that was all that Catheryn could really remember. Now as she looked at him, she began to see him properly for the first time in years. Blond hair that he had grown long, as was the custom amongst the men of her kind, meeting strong shoulders which kept his masculinity close to the fore. His clothes were clean and simple, but spoke of real work and hard labour, and a well-earned rest at the end of the day. A thick leather belt cradled a strong build. To Catheryn’s horror, she was intoxicated.
“I mean,” Selwyn said, completely unaware of the scrutiny that he was under, “that you do not have to attempt to discover the identity of your romancer – or whatever term you would prefer – alone. I am willing to put my skills and thoughts at your service.”
Selwyn bowed. He had thought the bow may end up being too much, but as he rose he saw a smile of pleasure splash across the face of the woman in front of him, and recognised it as a perfect mix of ego and intrigue.
“You intend to help me find out who the writer is?” Catheryn’s tone was cautious, but interested.
Selwyn smiled his richest smile, the one he bestowed on family and those that he wanted something from. It lit up his face and drew anyone who saw it in, which is exactly what he intended. He would take this girl, and Catheryn would learn to trust him, to confide in him, and he would finally see if he could release the child that he assumed was still there, even if it was buried underneath years of decorum and curtseying.
“Yes,” Selwyn replied, his smile, if possible, broadening. “After all, the best part of a mystery is that it can be solved.”
Catheryn smiled. She, like all Anglo-Saxons, loved a good riddle, but Selwyn was right: the best part of a riddle was discovering the answer.
“Then I accept,” she said, with a shy smile. Selwyn’s physicality made her feel smaller, softer. “But can I request that we wait until morning until we begin our search?”
She gestured to the night that had fallen around them, and her sleeve fell back to reveal a slender, pale wrist.
Selwyn bowed his assent, and without waiting for Catheryn to speak another word, turned and went back inside.
Catheryn let out the breath that she had not been aware until that moment she was holding. Since when did she accept the help of her father’s steward – a servant – to track down mysterious note writers? And most importantly, would she be able to sleep if she couldn’t forget the smile that he gave her?
The next morning saw Catheryn and Selwyn walking side-by-side, although slightly awkwardly, along the edge of one of Ælfgard’s fields. After the previous evening, there was still some slight nervousness on Catheryn’s side – but for Selwyn, it was all going to plan. As long as he could ignore the feelings stirring inside him as he watched her delicately walking around a puddle, lifting up her skirts.
“And you truly have no suspicions as to who could have sent it?”
Catheryn shook her head. “I thought at first…” she hesitated, still unsure as to why she was telling this man everything about these notes, but then as she saw no harm in it, she continued. “I was told it was a thane of my father.”
Selwyn smiled at the lies that she was so easily swallowing. Why, she may look like a woman but in many ways she was still like a child, so happy to believe anything that she was told. Hopefully that meant that they could quickly return to the way that they were… unless, and the thought made Selwyn swallow, hard…unless there was another future that was possible for them. One that made childhood friendship look tame.
“Well, that leaves you five options,” he said, “although I think that some of them are more likely than others.”
Selwyn picked up a stick, and swung it around himself idly.
Catheryn laughed. “I agree with you there! Really, the only two thanes that I think would have sent the notes to me are Cuthbert and Deorwine. But then, neither of them are likely to have written it.”
“Why not?”
Catheryn bent down and plucked a length of grass from the side of the field. “Because,” she said reflectively, looking at the way the flowers around them had grown towards the sun, “neither of them have a poetic soul.”
Selwyn stifled a laugh. “What do you know about poetic souls?” He blurted out rudely before he could stop himself.
Catheryn paused, and Selwyn was forced to stop as well. She looked at him.
“Because,” she said staring straight at him, “that poem is beyond anything of beauty I’ve ever known. It is clearly of high quality, and someone with a poetic soul would not only know that, but recognise the beauty within it.”
Selwyn’s mouth fell open.
Catheryn stopped in her tracks and laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I see you are just like everyone else then,” she said sadly. “Always surprised that I have an opinion, have thought about something for more than a moment. I do read, you know.”
Selwyn tried to recover his equilibrium, and despite walking slightly ahead of her, turned to face her.
“I know that,” he said, gruffly. “I know that you have been educated as befits your station – ”
“But you assumed that I was forced into it, and learnt nothing, and retained nothing?” Catheryn focussed on the grass in her fingers rather than look at the man looking so strangely at her. She could feel herself going red, but it was anger rather than embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.
Selwyn did not know what to say. Everything that he had planned to say in this first proper conversation between them had completely escaped him, and no new words were filling their place.
A moment of silence passed between them. The rustle of the trees was the only sound, and Catheryn shrugged her shoulders. She started walking again, circling Selwyn as if he were merely a tree in her path.
“Whoever wrote those out for me probably just picked them out of a book at random because they sounded pretty.”
Catheryn stomped away, but Selwyn would not let her get away with such disparaging remarks that easily – not when it concerned his favourite poem.
“You think you know the intentions of the writer?” He said disbelievingly, but with a modicum of softness. He did not want to irritate her again. This fiery side of Catheryn – he could never have supposed it to still exist.
“Well, no,” Catheryn admitted. “It is more that for me, any poetry contains within it the motives of the giver or receiver. Without the knowledge of what the writer intends to impart to me, a part of the poem is closed. It is hidden. It is incomplete, and I cannot glory in an unfinished poem.”
Selwyn could not help himself: his mouth dropped open again.
Luckily for him, Catheryn had not noticed. She was more interested in speaking aloud some of her thoughts that she had found troublesome – but perhaps this Selwyn could tell her whether her approaches were good.
“Because whoever wrote this,” she continued, “must have a purpose for it. One does not idly inscribe poetry and give it to people – do they?”
Selwyn realised that she was expecting a response to her question, but unfortunately he had no idea what it was. He had been so amazed that something like rational thought had exited the beautiful lips in front of him that he had completely lost track of what Catheryn was saying. Which is ridiculous, he reminded himself. This entire game is to remind Catheryn of past times, not for me to look a fool.
“I suppose not,” he said eventually. “You seem to have given this much thought.”
Catheryn shrugged. “I like poetry,” she said, “like any other rational human being.”
A skylark flew high above their heads, singing loudly.
“Oh, look!” Catheryn
flung out an arm to prevent Selwyn from walking any further, and despite her slenderness there was strength in her. He looked at her, questioningly.
“Why have we stopped?”
But Catheryn only had eyes for the bird that was soaring above them.
“The skylark sings only when joyful,” she said, her eyes trying to follow the bird as it flew higher and higher and closer and closer to the blazing sun. “It is a bird that truly understands happiness.”
Selwyn wasn’t watching the bird, but instead the woman that had become so captivated by its song.
“You know, it is one of the few birds that never leave us,” Catheryn continued. “Despite the coldness of our winters, it does not desert us and spend the winter elsewhere, but instead remains to cheer us.”
Selwyn was caught off-guard when she suddenly looked down to stare into his eyes.
“Does it not make you feel…alive?”
Any words that Selwyn could have summoned at that moment were caught in his throat. The sunlight poured onto Catheryn, and she almost dazzled him with her beauty
. Her innocence, her love of a bird that probably had not even registered her presence, her belief in the poem as a vehicle of good – these were all things that he could not have expected in her. The woman that had glanced back at him with those wicked eyes seemed to have vanished, and left in her place the very opposite of what he had supposed existed.
“Selwyn?”
Catheryn’s voice was now full of concern, and he realised that he had been staring at her for a full minute.
When he did manage to find his voice again, he hoped that she could not hear the hoarseness that crept in unwittingly.
“Did you know that skylarks mate for life?”
A blush threatened to overcome Catheryn’s face, but that was not her only reaction. Heat flooded through her body, and every part of her began to tingle.
“I did,” she managed to say.
Selwyn stepped forward, a serious and intense look about him that Catheryn could not decipher.
“And do you think that all people do?”
Catheryn’s mouth was dry, but she managed to speak. “I would imagine that anyone mated to you would.”
Catheryn’s hand flew to her mouth at the shock of what she had just said.
Without warning, Selwyn was blind, and perhaps deaf. Had she really said that – had those innocent words when separated come together in that intimate and passionate order? He couldn’t see, was barely aware of himself and his surroundings. All he knew was that if she didn’t move soon, he would be the one to break the distance between them…
Catheryn stepped back, nervously. “You know,” she said ponderously, “you do seem to lose concentration every now and again. Do you feel well? Do you require some food, or some ale?”
“…Perfectly well, thank you.” Selwyn was relieved to find that his voice sounded just as strong as ever, although he could not say the same for his knees.
Catheryn cast one last look at the skylark, and then began the walk back to the house.
“Do you have any ideas as to who my ‘romancer’ could be?” she said. “I use your term out of deference, although I still maintain that it is ridiculous.”
Selwyn chuckled as he struggled to regain his place in the conversation. “Well, I think in many regards you are correct. Your father has five thanes, and three of those are extremely unlikely to send you such a note. The other two are unlikely to send you a note of such imagination and beauty.”
Catheryn nodded. “So where does that leave us?”
Selwyn looked over at the elegant woman by his side. “Right here, I suppose.”
Catheryn opened her mouth, but the next words that Selwyn heard were barked and from a much more irritated throat.
“Selwyn!”
The two of them looked over to see Deorwine running towards them.
Catheryn sighed. She had been enjoying her conversation with Selwyn, much to her surprise. She had assumed that his offer of help was made in order to promote himself in her eyes, and therefore her father’s – but he truly seemed to want to aid her in her puzzle. There was something about him…a moment between them that she could not understand, but could not escape.
“Selwyn,” Deorwine repeated, finally reaching them. “My lord Ælfgard has been waiting this full age for you in the stables. Did you forget your appointment?”
Selwyn cursed under his breath. He had been convinced that any conversation with Catheryn would be short and simple, but instead he had been drawn in by the way she spoke, and her elegant manner of explaining her thoughts. Some of her words had stirred him in a way that he had not expected. Selwyn had totally forgotten that he had promised Ælfgard to accompany him on a matter of business.
“I had not forgotten,” he replied coldly to the thane. “I was merely escorting my lady Catheryn back home.”
Deorwine cast a withering look at the servant, and then smiled greasily at Catheryn.
“In that case, I shall perform the deed that you find yourself unable to accomplish.”
Catheryn did not spare a glance for Selwyn, but beamed at Deorwine. “I would be glad of the company,” she said, and without a moment’s hesitation, began walking with Deorwine. Selwyn was left standing alone, with a stick in his hand.
Standing and fuming. How could she just walk off and leave him? Admittedly, he was a servant of a much lower rank than Deorwine – but surely common courtesy would dictate a farewell at the very least?
He stomped past them at speed, arriving at the stables within moments to see Ælfgard tapping his foot impatiently.
“Come now, Selwyn,” he said angrily. “Must I wait for you?”
“My apologies, my lord,” Selwyn muttered, and began readying his horse. He tried not to look as Catheryn and Deorwine approached the house, and he made sure that he did not look up when they passed him. However, he may have preferred to; as he would have noticed the smile that Catheryn had tried to give him.
Chapter Seven
The week that followed contained many meetings between Catheryn and Selwyn, and although the majority of them were not planned, they became to be increasingly happy accidents. At first, Catheryn was still nervous and uncomfortable around a man that was still really a stranger – but then Selwyn had a way of putting her so carefully at ease.
“Have you considered Harold?” Selwyn said carelessly, flicking away a fly that was bothering him. They had accidently met in a corridor just after the midday meal, and Selwyn’s words caught Catheryn’s attention.
She snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
Selwyn joined in her laughter.
“So, he’s not the most obvious choice. Does that discount him?”
There was another snort. A servant walked down the corridor, glanced at the laughing couple and then took a closer look. Wide eyes told Selwyn that she had realised who they were.
“No, but can you imagine him reading for more than five minutes? He doesn’t strike me as a man who even knows where the books are!”
“And he does have a more pressing concern at present.”
Catheryn looked puzzled. “He does?”
“Have you not noticed his skin lately?”
Despite trying not to laugh, Catheryn gave in. “That is cruel, Selwyn!”
Selwyn smiled ruefully. “I suppose it is. You shall have to teach me better manners.”
Catheryn coloured slightly, but ignored the compliment. “You do not think that it could be him then?”
Selwyn paused for a moment, but another servant walked past, and he looked scandalised. Selwyn realised that the daughter of the house did not generally pause in corridors to giggle with servants.
“And if that is all, my lady, I’ll wish you good day.”
Selwyn bowed low and whispered, “I can stay here no longer.”
Rising, he saw Catheryn nod her understanding.
“Thank you, Selwyn,” she said, turned, and walked away.
> It was two days later before coincidence brought them together again, and this time it was before the rest of the household had broken their fast. Catheryn had come down early for some peace and quiet; some news of the royal court had arrived the evening before, and her parents had kept the entire household up late in their wish to discuss it. What she hadn’t expected was to find Selwyn awake also – but then, she chastised herself, she should have. As the steward, Selwyn was generally up first and to bed last.
He was laying the fire in the centre of the Great Hall. Catheryn sat quietly on a bench, but she wasn’t subtle enough to escape his notice.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said with a smile.
“Good morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I’m afraid that I did not,” confessed Catheryn. “I could not get out of my mind who this poet is.”
Selwyn hid a smile behind a large log he was placing in the centre of the grate. His joke had given way to a surprising amount of pleasure for him.
“You do not think that it is Cuthbert?”
Selwyn rose, and adopting a rather brutish air, strode towards her.
“M’lady,” he said, imitating Cuthbert’s brisk tones. “I wish to court you. Be my wife, and never think again.”
Catheryn collapsed into giggles.
Selwyn couldn’t continue, but joined in her laughter, leaning against the table before her. “Are you not impressed with my jape?”
Catheryn nodded, not trusting her voice at present.
Selwyn’s broad grin soon faded as his body reacted to the closeness of hers. He had to remain focused – that line of thinking, of feeling, did not lead anywhere.
“What about Deorwine?” Catheryn said, her giggles subsiding.
Selwyn frowned. He found it difficult to talk about Deorwine – there was something very distasteful about him, and he had still not forgive him, or Catheryn, for the way that they had walked off without him that first day he and Catheryn had talked.
“Good morning, my child.”
Hilda’s airy voice entered the room, and Selwyn self-consciously took three steps away from her daughter.
Love Letters Page 4