Chapter Thirteen
A Wrong Decision
IT WAS COLD inside Aldfrith’s annex. A low hearth flickered in one corner, but it barely seemed to throw out any heat.
Argus huddled next to it, his whiskery muzzle resting on the river stones lining the hearth.
A few feet away, Aldfrith sat, a heavy fur mantle about his shoulders.
His breath steamed before him, and his fingers that held the quill ached with cold.
He barely noticed the chill, such was his concentration. The quill flew across the sheet of vellum as he wrote.
A low whine from his hound eventually roused him. Aldfrith raised his gaze, glancing over at where Argus was now watching him with pleading eyes. It was late morning, and the dog had not yet gone out for his walk.
Aldfrith smiled. “I haven’t forgotten you, lad. Got lost in my work, that’s all.”
Argus thumped his tail, disturbing the thin layer of ash that lay around the hearth. Aldfrith frowned. This room was really getting filthy; he needed to let a servant in here to clean.
Leaning back, he flexed his numb hands before stretching his cramped back. The chill in here bit at him then, and his belly growled, reminding him he had retired to his annex without even breaking his fast that morning.
The door behind him was open, and grey, cold light filtered in. The lilt of servants’ voices as they worked in the yard beyond reached him.
Aldfrith turned his attention back to Argus. “So, do you want to hear it?”
The wolfhound gave a soft whine and dropped his chin to the ground, his tail stilling.
Aldfrith snorted. “Your lack of enthusiasm stings … yet I will read it to you all the same.” He looked down at the page he had filled with slanted letters.
Pleasure filtered through him, making the cold fade into the background once more.
It was ridiculous really, the joy that writing gave him.
He had awoken before dawn that morning, full of ideas that demanded to be given a voice.
Clearing his throat, he began to read, his voice low and steady in the quiet room.
“Learning is a beneficial occupation.
It makes a king of a poor person.
It makes an accomplished person of a landless one.
It makes an exalted family of a lowly one.
It makes a wise person of a fool.
Its commencement is good.
Its end is better.
It is respected in this world.
It is precious in the next.”
“Well done, sire … although I fear the wisdom of your words is lost on Argus.”
The voice behind him made Aldfrith whirl toward the doorway. Cerdic stood there, leaning against the doorframe, muscular arms folded across his chest.
“How long have you been listening?” Aldfrith attempted to mask his embarrassment with a frown. He never read his work aloud to others.
Cerdic’s mouth quirked. “Long enough … folk will start calling you the ‘mad king’ if you keep talking to your hound like that.”
Aldfrith huffed, his mortification fading.
He was glad Cerdic had interrupted him and not someone else.
Bishop Wilfrid was visiting from Inhrypum at the moment, and he had a habit of sneaking up on Aldfrith.
The bishop had started visiting this annex, and the king had been careful to shield his writing from him.
“Let them.” He rose to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his back. “They’re probably right anyway.”
Cerdic raised an eyebrow. “You’re the sanest man I’ve ever met, sire.”
Aldfrith smiled back, warming under the unexpected compliment.
“Have you come to drag me into the hall for the noon meal?” he asked.
It was not uncommon for folk to come looking for him in his annex; when he got engrossed in his work, time ceased to hold any meaning.
The sun could rise and set without him even taking note.
Cerdic shook his head. “It’s not yet time. You’ve visitors from Hagustaldes, sire. They await you indoors.”
Osana shifted nervously upon the rushes and fought the urge to wring her hands together.
Her decision to ride to Bebbanburg had felt like the right one on that first night out from Hagustaldes.
She had not wanted to face her stern aunt, and the memory of the king’s invitation had beckoned like a roaring fire.
At Bebbanburg she would have a real chance to start again. It was worth a try.
Only, with each passing furlong east, her resolve had started to crumble. And by the time the imposing outline of the fort appeared upon the horizon, she had been ready to turn her palfrey and try her luck with her aunt.
Lora had been the one to steady her nerves. “You said the king is a good man, a fair one. You should at least see if his offer still stands.”
Lora gave her a reassuring smile now, her cheeks pink with cold. The weather, although still dry, had turned bitterly cold, promising snow. It was wonderful to be indoors out of the wind, warmed by the heat of the roaring hearths inside the Great Hall.
“He’s here,” Lora whispered, her blue eyes widening dramatically. “Woden’s cods, the man’s comely.”
Osana cast Lora a quelling look but had no time to shush her. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to meet the tall blond man who strode across the rushes toward her.
Aldfrith looked imposing this morning; the fur mantle he wore made his shoulders look broader than she remembered.
A few steps behind him followed the leather-clad, muscular warrior who had met them upon their arrival.
That man had short brown hair, an intimidating face, and a scowl that made her feel nervous.
To make matters worse, Bishop Wilfrid was sitting upon the high seat, playing Cyningtaefl—King’s Table—with a warrior.
He was watching her with a look of thinly veiled suspicion.
In fact, there had been few smiles from anyone since she had stepped inside The Great Tower of Bebbanburg, just curious stares.
Two women traveling alone and seeking an audience with the king would have tongues flapping all over the fort by mid-afternoon.
Perhaps I misheard the king all those months ago.
“Lady Osana,” Aldfrith stopped before her, his midnight-blue gaze meeting hers. His face was serious, giving nothing of his mood away. “This is unexpected.”
Panic surged through Osana. I shouldn’t have come here.
She could feel Lora’s gaze burning into her and wondered if she thought her a liar.
Swallowing, Osana took a nervous step toward the king and curtsied.
“Good morning, milord. I’m sorry to disturb you …
but I recall our conversation last year.
” Her voice faltered, as his expression did not change.
“In Hagustaldes … you said that if I should ever need it, I would have your protection.” Her face was burning now, and it felt as if every pair of eyes in the hall was now riveted upon her.
They’ll think me a wickedly bold woman.
Osana dropped her gaze to the rushes, her heart hammering now. Never had she wished for the ground to open up and swallow her whole, yet she did now. Desperation had turned her into a fool. “I apologize, sire,” she said softly. “I must have misheard you.”
“No … you did not,” the answer came, almost as soft as her own, and she glanced up to see he was watching her, a rueful look upon his face. “I did promise you my protection … should you ever need it.” He inclined his head slightly, the intensity in his eyes unnerving. “What happened?”
Osana heaved in a deep breath. She felt exposed standing here with everyone gawking at her, yet she had no choice but to answer him. “Life in Hagustaldes became impossible, sire … the ealdorman’s wife will not suffer my presence under her roof. Deogol sent me away.”
Aldfrith’s gaze flicked to where Lora stood behind her. “You traveled with no escort?”
Osana shook her head. “Just my handmaid, sire. Deogol offered an escort, but I refused.”
The king’s mouth thinned. His eyes darkened as his blond brows drew together. Osana wondered if he thought her foolish.
“Surely you have relatives, woman?” Bishop Wilfrid called down from the high seat. “You have no need to throw yourself at the king’s feet.”
Osana dropped her gaze to the rushes once more and fought a cringe. It took all her will to remain standing where she was. She wanted to bolt, to run from Bebbanburg and never return.
“That’s enough, Father,” the king’s voice was clipped when he spoke. “I shall ask the questions here.”
Surprised by the commanding edge to his tone, Osana glanced up to find the king still observing her.
“I made you a promise, and I shall keep it,” he said.
Osana held his gaze for a moment, wilting under its force. He still had not smiled. He was clearly regretting his offer. “Sire,” she spoke up. “I will not hold you to it, for I see now I was rash to come here. I will go now … sorry for disturbing you.”
She hurriedly dipped into a curtsey before casting a glance over her shoulder at where Lora stared at her, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Come, Lora.”
Osana stepped around the king, intending to bolt across the rushes toward the doors, but he caught her by the arm, pulling her up short.
The physical contact shocked her, and her head snapped around. Their gazes met and held for a heartbeat.
“You aren’t disturbing me,” he said. His voice was as gentle as his grip was firm. Heat flooded through Osana, only this time it was not embarrassment but something else—a sensation she had not felt in a long while.
Pure, undiluted desire.
“I’m sorry for the cool welcome,” he continued, “but your arrival was a surprise.”
Osana wet her lips, aware that his gaze had now lowered to her mouth. “I had no time to send word,” she replied.
Aldfrith blinked and released her, stepping back. A gulf of cold air rushed in-between them, and a strange disappointment swept over Osana. Mastering it, she watched as a smile curved his mouth.
“You will stay here, Lady Osana. I will have an alcove prepared for you and your handmaid.”
His tone brooked no argument. Although softly spoken, there was a power to this man’s voice that checked her.
“We will earn our keep, milord,” she replied, wretched.
It was still there, even after all this time—this heat between them that made her senses come alive.
For that reason alone she should have stayed away from Bebbanburg.
He knew it too; she could see it in his eyes.
That was why his welcome was cool. He had made that offer at an unguarded moment and now regretted it.
“My handmaid and I can cook, weave, and sew. We can—”
“I’m sure of it,” he cut her off, still smiling. He took another step back from her and gestured toward the high seat. “The noon meal is almost upon us. Please join me, and take a cup of mead to celebrate your arrival.”
The words were cordial but forced. With a sinking heart and a beseeching look at Lora, Osana followed him across the hall.