“Between Mudeford and Dreng’s Ferry. The thief wore an old helmet.”

“Ironface,” he said angrily. “The reeve of Mudeford has searched the forest but can’t find his hideout. I’m going to tell him to search again.”

She had not meant to complain, and she was sorry she had angered him. She moved quickly to rescue the romantic atmosphere. “I got you something else, something better,” she said. She got up, looked around, and spotted the whiteness of a candle. She lit it at the fire and stood it on a bench near the head of the bed. Then she took out the armband she had bought from Cuthbert.

“What’s this?” he said.

She brought the candle closer so that he could examine it. He ran a finger over the incised lines of the complex pattern, engraved in the silver and picked out with niello. “It’s exquisite work,” he said, “but it still has a bold, manly look about it.” He slipped it up his left arm, over the elbow. It fitted closely to the muscles of his upper arm. “You have such good taste!” he said.

Ragna was thrilled. “It looks magnificent.”

“I shall be the envy of all England.”

That was not quite what Ragna wanted to hear. She did not want to be a symbol of greatness, like a white horse, or an expensive sword.

He said: “I want to spend all day kissing you.”

That was more like it, and she leaned toward him again. Now he was more assertive, and when he grasped her breast and she tried to pull away he prevented her, and drew her toward him. She became a little anxious. She still had the physical advantage while he was lying down, but if it came to a real struggle she could not resist him.

Then came the interruption she was expecting. The dog growled, the door creaked, and Gytha’s voice said: “Good morning, my son.”

Ragna took her time breaking the clinch: she wanted Gytha to see how much Wilf wanted her.

Gytha said: “Oh! Ragna! I didn’t know you were here.”

Liar, thought Ragna. The maid had told Gytha that Ragna had gone into Wilf’s house, and Gytha had dressed hastily and come to see what was going on.

Ragna turned slowly. She was entitled to kiss her fiancé, and she took pains not to look guilty. “Mother-in-law,” she said. “Good morning.” She was polite, but she allowed a hint of irritation into her voice. Gytha was the intruder here, the one who had ventured where she had no right to go.

Gytha said: “Shall I send the barber to shave your chin, Wilf?”

“Not today,” he said with a touch of impatience. “I’ll shave on the morning of the wedding.” He spoke as if she should have known this, and it was obvious that she had asked only because she needed a pretext for being there.

Ragna rearranged her headdress, taking more time than she needed, underlining the fact that Gytha had intruded upon a moment of intimacy. While tying the scarf she said: “Show Gytha your gift, Wilf.”