Page 324 of The Evening and the Morning

“Locked up in Wigelm’s old hunting lodge.”

Aldred frowned. “It looks bad, a bishop imprisoned.”

“And there’s always the danger that Garulf or Degbert might try to break him out.”

Aldred’s face cleared. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know just the place for him.”

At the end of the evening Ragna stood on Edgar’s bridge, listening to the ever-present warble of the river, watching a red sun set downstream, remembering the day she had arrived here for the first time, cold and wet and muddy and miserable, and had looked with dismay at the settlement where she had to spend the night. What a change.

A heron stood on the bank of Leper Island, as still as a tombstone, gazing with intense concentration into the water. As Ragna watched the bird, a vessel appeared, coming upstream fast. She squinted into the sun, trying to make it out. It was a boat with four oarsmen and a passenger standing forward. King’s Bridge had to be their destination: it was too late to go farther.

The boat approached the beach in front of the alehouse. There was a black dog aboard, Ragna saw, sitting still in the prow, looking ahead, quiet but alert. Ragna recognized something familiar about the passenger, and her heart seemed to thud in her chest. He almost looked like Edgar. She could not tell: the sun was in her eyes. It might have been wishful thinking.

She hurried along the bridge. As she descended the ramp to the shore she entered the long shadow of distant trees, and she was able to see the traveler more clearly. He jumped off the boat, followed by his dog, and bent to tie a rope to a post; and then she knew.

It was him.

In a flash of understanding so sweet that it hurt she recognized that broad-shouldered shape, the confident way he moved, the easy dexterity of those wide hands, the dip of his large head; and she felt so filled up with joy that she could hardly breathe.

She moved toward him, resisting the impulse to break into a mad run. Then she stopped, struck by a terrible thought. Her heart was telling her that her lover had returned and all would be well—but her head said otherwise. She remembered the two King’s Bridge monks who had found Edgar in Normandy. The elder, William, had said: “People in the town where he’s living say he will marry the daughter of the master mason and eventually become master himself.” Had he done so? It was possible. And Ragna knew Edgar, knew for certain that he would not forsake a woman once he had married her.

But if he was married, why had he come back?

Now her heart pounded with fear, not joy. She resumed walking toward him. She saw that his cloak was made of a fine wool cloth, dyed an autumnal red, obviously costly. He had continued to prosper in Normandy.

He finished roping the boat and looked up. She was close enough now to see the wonderfully familiar hazel color of his eyes. She watched his face as intently as the heron had watched the water. At first she saw anxiety, and realized that he had wondered, just as she had, whether their love could have survived three years of separation.Then he read her expression, and understood instantly how she felt; and at last he broke into a smile that lit up his whole face.

In a trice she was in his arms. He hugged her so hard it hurt. She pressed her palms to his cheeks and kissed his mouth passionately, taking in the old familiar smell and taste of him. She held him tightly for a long time, savoring the ecstatic feeling of his body pressed hard against hers.

At last she relaxed her hold to say: “I love you more than life.”

He said: “I’m very glad.”

That night they made love five times.

Edgar had not known it was possible, for him or anyone. They did it once, then a second time; then they dozed for a while and did it again. In the middle of the night Edgar’s mind wandered, and he thought about architecture and King’s Bridge and Wynstan and Wigelm; then he remembered that he was with Ragna at last and she was in his arms, and he wanted to make love again, and so did she, so they did it a fourth time.

Then they talked in low voices, not to wake the children. Edgar told Ragna about Clothild, the daughter of the master mason. “I was unkind to her, though I never meant to be,” he said sadly. “I should have told her about you right at the start. I was never going to marry her, even if they offered me the job of king. But now and again I was foolish enough to pretend to myself that I might, and I looked at her fondly, and she took that to mean more than it did.” He studied Ragna’s face in the firelight. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“We have to tell each other everything,” she said. “What made you come home?”

“It was your father. He was so angry about Wigelm setting you aside. He raged at me as if I were responsible. I was just glad you were divorced.”

“Why did it take you so long to get here?”

“My ship was blown off course and I ended up in Dublin. I was afraid the Vikings would kill me for my cloak, but they took me for a wealthy man and tried to sell me slaves.”

She hugged him hard. “I’m so glad they let you live.”

Edgar noticed that it was getting light outside. “Aldred will disapprove of us. By his standards we’re fornicators.”

“People sleeping in the same room aren’t necessarily having sex.”

“No, but in our case neither Aldred nor anyone else in King’s Bridge will have the least doubt.”

She giggled. “Do you think we’re that obvious?”

“Yes.”