Reine des Anglais

What even is love?

ᛁᛊᚨᛒᛖᚢ

Isabeau carefully folded the tiara from her first wedding into her son's blanket. Askeladd had informed her that they wouldn't be able to take her trunk with them, the thought broke her heart- but escaping Thorkell and his men had to be their priority. The last thing she had heard from them was in the fire when they had declared her a prize for the first man to reach them. She picked out the widow's veil she had been meant to wear during her time in the English court and folded it around the blanket before folding one of her other dresses- this one was fur lined, and would be better to present herself in front of King Sweyn again as his pregnant daughter in law.

"Are you ready?" Thorfinn stepped into the house. "Your husband is throwing a fit about leaving Ragnar behind."

"I'll see what I can do." Isabeau stood up and handed him the tightly folded fabric. She walked out of the house ahead of him, pulling her cloak tight against the cold night air. She could hear Canute shouting as two of Askeladd's men dragged him to the waiting sled, the priest already sitting inside of it.

"No! I won't leave him!" Canute shouted, tears running down his face. "I want him brought with us!"

"We barely have the space for necessities, we're not dragging a corpse along with us." Askeladd snapped at the prince.

"Ragnar!" Canute shouted, gripping the back of the sleigh. "RAGNAR!"

"Canute!" Isabeau almost screamed as she stormed up to the sled, silencing her husband. "Shouting for him won't bring him back! Staying here means Thorkell will catch us, and more people will die for nothing! You have to stop so we can escape and live! That is the only thing Ragnar would have wanted for you. So stop screaming like a child!"

Her husband stared at her in shock as she climbed into the back of the sled with him. She turned her head and looked at the burial mound topped with a cross that covered the poor villagers.

I'll ensure a mass each month is said for their souls until my death, she thought as Thorfinn climbed into the back of the sled with them.

Bjorn whipped the reins and the horses pushed forward into the night, the men marching all around them.

Isabeau reached out and took her husband's hand gently. "I'm sorry that I shouted at you," she said gently. "But we can't hold them up- this is only happening because of us, we can't get them killed on top of it."

Canute was silent but he squeezed her hand gently.

She rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath, watching as her breath fogged up in front of her in the dim light of the moon. She covered her stomach with her free hand, her mind racing around her. Before she knew it- she had fallen asleep.

In her dreams, she was standing beside Canute. He was taller, broader, older; but he was still her Canute. She turned her head, surprised to see they were in a courtyard of some kind that was lined with gorgeous flowers. She could feel below her hand that she was now heavily pregnant- she could even feel the baby's kicks from inside her.. She heard the shrieking of small laughter and Canute left her side, rushing to a small huddle of little girls who rushed into the courtyard. Behind them came Frederick- he was older as well, looking to be at least ten, but unmistakably her son. Canute ruffled his hair when he saw him, the same smile on his face when he looked at the four little girls who were all jumping and babbling around his feet.

Even though it was simply a dream, Isabeau knew the feeling she was basking in was genuine joy.

The oldest of the four girls- who seemed only a few years younger than Frederick, turned and looked over at Isabeau. "Mother! Come play with us!' She called, her voice echoing.