“You look like something the dog rolled in.”
I laughed so sharply it hurt. “Your fever’s down.”
“Aye?”
From behind me, Eadgyth said, “It is.”
When she nodded, relief hit me so hard I had to sit back as Gilda watched me with sleepy irritation.
“You are very dramatic.”
“You nearly died.”
Her hand moved weakly against the blanket and I took it, holding it gently. For the first time in two days, I let myself breathe without counting the next one.
I sat there with my hand wrapped around hers while dawn slowly brightened the shelter and the camp began waking outside, returning to life one cough, one footstep, one crackle of fire at a time.
A horn sounded from the edge of camp, meaning arrival not the Normans. It was scary how quickly I’d picked up on the different sounds and their meanings. I looked at Wulfric, but he was already moving.
A moment later, Wystan appeared in the entrance, breathing hard.
“Riders,” he said. “From the north.”
Wulfric’s expression sharpened. “How many?”
“Three.”
“Do you know them?”
Wystan swallowed, his young face pale. “One bears King Harold’s colors.”
The relief drained from Wulfric’s face as something cold settled in my stomach, because I knew what news was coming.
Thirteen
WULFRIC
The horn soundednear the northern path as conversation died across the camp. This was not the sharp warning for danger, but the longer call for riders, and my hand went instinctively to my sword as three men emerged beneath the trees.
Their horses were exhausted, foam dried pale upon their chests, while mud covered the riders from boots to cloaks. One leaned badly in the saddle and another had bloodstained linen tied around his thigh, but it was the shield carried by the third that drew every eye.
King Harold’s colors.
I moved forward as the eldest rider dismounted and nearly fell before Godwin caught him.
“From the king?” I asked.
The man raised his head, his face gray, and cold settled beneath my ribs.
“Speak.”
The rider swallowed. “The battle is lost.”
No one moved. Behind me, even the children had fallen silent.
“Where?”
“Hastings.”
