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Godiva
By Nicole Galland HarperCollins Publishers
Copyright © 2013 Nicole Galland
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-06-202688-0
CHAPTER 1
Gloucester
In the time it took Godiva to wrest a concession from the young
man, she could have as easily spun a skein of yarn. She did not
much like spinning yarn; wresting concessions from young men,
however, was agreeable enough. Gloucester's dank great hall
proved especially agreeable for concession- wresting; this was her
third today. But Sweyn, who was absurdly handsome and had
the intensity of a catamount, was her perennial favorite. At the
moment she had him against a wall. The hall was full, bustling
with men and women of rank, and he was certain they were all
laughing at him.
“I concede that perhaps,” Sweyn allowed, at last, “acciden-
tally, my herders might have strayed over the border. A bit. In
that one valley.”
“Thus accounting for . . . ?” she prompted.
“Thus accounting for Mercian sheep,” he acknowledged,
“ending up as mutton on Herefordshire tables.”
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Her golden- green eyes, framed by her glittering veil, blinked
expectantly. This was about more than poached mutton, and
they both knew it, but each hoped to avoid saying so outright.
“And, of course, I shall make amends for that,” he said ur-
gently into the silence.
The countess Godiva relaxed and smiled. “In what manner?”
“If you give me an accounting of the missing flocks, I will re-
place them.”
“That's an excellent beginning,” she approved. With confiding
tone she added, “But he'll want more than that as recompense.
Of course.”
“Of course.” Sweyn watched her sparrowlike hand flutter
toward the spot on his chest where his leather cloak hung open.
She watched him watching her; she could smell the mix of pleasure
and dismay her movement elicited in him. It was a scent she was
familiar with. “Lady Countess, pray but tell me what he wants.”
She stood up straighter, enough that he could breathe with-
out inhaling her perfume. She clasped her hands together at her
heart, her bracelets clinking importantly against her necklaces.
“I suspect he shall like to hear that you will express your regret
and replace the missing sheep twice over. That would be so very
generous of you.”
“Oh, 'tis nothing,” said Sweyn, trying to maintain a shred of
dignity.
“And I think perhaps building palisades, or earthworks that
are defensible from our side, not yours, just to remind your
naughty . . . shepherds . . . not to wander so far into Leofric's
land again.”
He stiffened, resisting, as she looked at him with one fine pale
eyebrow cocked in warning. He frowned.
Godiva 5
“Shall I call him over to ask if he would like that, or shall you
trust my judgment on it?” Her fingers probed between the two
sides of his cloak, coming to rest delicately beneath them on the
decorative seam of his tunic. He pulled away, as if shocked by the
touch. “I'll build the palisades,” he offered almost desperately.
“And sign your mark to such a promise? Just so there is no
confusion as to what we have discussed?”
“Yes,” he growled.
“And might you show me the progress, if we meet seasonally
at the border?”
“Very well,” he said, a chastised child.
“Lovely,” she said. She moved her small hand so that the flat
of her palm rested on his chest. He inhaled sharply, at which she
smiled apologetically. Then unnecessarily lowering her voice she
added, “What a shame Leofric will not be able to join us. Will
you mind terribly a rendezvous with me alone?”
“You alone with half a dozen of your husband's armed men,
Countess. And no doubt a priest.”
“I shall send them all on an errand for an evening,” she whis-
pered.
“Your methods of persuasion should be outlawed,” Sweyn
said. “And I am not the only one to think so.” His handsome head
nodded slightly to his right, and she glanced in that direction
without quite turning her head.
When she saw whom he referred to, she pulled away from him
on reflex, almost guiltily.
The redoubtable Abbess of Leominster was eyeing them from
the Holy Corner of the king's drab wattle- and- daub hall, where
all the religious congregated between sessions of the Great
Council. Godiva could tell it was the abbess by her remarkably
6 NICOLE GALLAND
erect carriage, and because there was no decoration whatsoever
on her garments, hanging shapeless and dark about her. It was
too dim to read the Face Superior— what little of it showed— but
Godiva, knowing her so well, could guess her thoughts.
To avoid dwelling on them, Godiva turned her head in the
other direction and saw her husband's broad, slightly slouching
silhouette near the hall door. He too had been eyeing them.
She stepped back from Sweyn abruptly again, as if they had
been practicing a dance move and the musician had suddenly
been shot. “Thank you, darling Hereford, I shall have His Maj-
esty's cleric take down your mark this evening after whatever
tries to pass as supper.” And then, dropping all pretense of play-
fulness, she asked him firmly, but not unkindly: “Was not this
better than Leofric accusing you before the Council of armed
incursions?”
Before he could answer, she swirled to her right and walked,
graceful and swift, toward the hall door where Leofric of Mercia
awaited her.
Sweyn watched after her a moment, and then ruefully rubbed
his face with both hands. Someday she will be old, he reminded
himself. And will stop having this effect on everyone.
He glanced guiltily at the abbess, but could not read her ex-
pression in the dim light.
“And he will himself build the palisades for us,” she said, her
cheek resting on Leofric's bare chest. “Under our supervision.
Defensible from our side only. He will sign his mark to it tonight.”
“How great a danger do you rate him?”
She grimaced dismissively. “ 'Tis nothing serious. An impul-
Godiva 7
sive youthful escapade in amorality, nothing strategic or even
considered.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Godiva by Nicole Galland. Copyright © 2013 Nicole Galland. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
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