Chapter 17 Learning Letters
Chapter Seventeen
Learning Letters
OSANA GRIPPED THE quill tightly and moved it across the sheet of vellum:
O S A N A
Leaning back, she surveyed her work, her gaze roaming over the spidery script.
“Is that really my name?”
“Aye.”
She glanced up, her attention shifting to where Aldfrith sat beside her at the table.
He had remained silent while she laboriously copied the letters he had written out for her.
His expression was solemn; in fact, he had been in an odd, distracted mood since she had arrived at his annex for her lesson.
He had not smiled once and avoided her gaze.
“But they’re just marks on vellum. Do they really have meaning?”
The corner of his mouth twitched then, the beginning of a smile.
“Each letter has a sound. Look at the word you’ve just written …
let’s sound out each letter.” He reached out, the sleeve of his tunic brushing her hand as he did so, his finger resting under the first letter of her name. “Repeat after me.”
Osana did as bid, sounding out each letter. When she had done so a handful of times, Aldfrith sat back, nodding in satisfaction. “Now run each of those letters together … what do you get?”
Osana frowned, looking back at the sheet of vellum. “Ooosaanaa.”
His mouth quirked once more. “Well done. Once you learn the sound of each letter of the alphabet, and what they sound like when grouped together in words, you can read anything.”
Osana traced her name with a fingertip, pride thrumming through her. “It’s like magic,” she murmured.
“No, it’s much easier to understand than that. One day many folk will be able to read and write.” Aldfrith gestured to his two precious leather-bound volumes on the shelf above them. “And there will be many books filled with histories.”
Osana’s gaze traveled from the shelf down to the desk once more, her gaze alighting upon a messily stacked pile of vellum full of Aldfrith’s slanted writing. She then glanced back at him. “Are you writing a book?”
He actually did smile then, the expression illuminating his face. “Those are just scribbles … ideas … thoughts. I don’t think anyone besides me would be interested in them.”
Osana huffed. “I would … can you read something to me?”
Aldfrith went still, his smile fading. “I’m sure you wouldn’t find it interesting.”
“How do you know that?” Osana reached out and plucked the first sheet of vellum off the pile. “I’d very much like to know what you write.”
Aldfrith took the sheet, although his expression was now guarded. “Very well, although I hope you don’t find it too dry.” He looked down at the piece of paper, his gaze narrowing. “These are just my musings on life.”
Osana did not reply, instead waiting for him to begin. She wondered at his reluctance to read to her; was he really that insecure?
Eventually, after a long pause, Aldfrith began to read.
“Generosity engenders wealth.
Willingness creates one who gives.
Good sense results in fair form.
Lechery leads to disgrace.
Foolishness results in crudity.
Repression results in greater repression.
Hatred engenders reproach.
Abandonment results in slander,
Reluctance leads to reliance on conjecture.
Love begets words.
Humility wins good favor.”
He had a beautiful voice, its low timbre sliding over the words like a caress. Osana listened quietly, and when Aldfrith finished, she smiled. “Love begets words … I like that.”
Aldfrith replaced the sheet with the others. Was she imagining it, or did a slight blush stain his cheeks? “Thank you.”
“So these are maxims for life?”
“As I see them, aye.”
Osana paused, biting at her lower lip before speaking once more. “You must be very sure of your beliefs, of the nature of folk, to write so confidently.”
He inclined his head. “What do you mean?”
“Is life really that easy to summarize? Surely things are more complex than that. For example, not all generous men become wealthy. Not all letches end up disgraced.”
Aldfrith stiffened. “You think I’ve over simplified?”
“No,” Osana replied quickly, regretting her candor now that she could see she had offended him. “I just think the older I get, the harder it is to make such statements about life. It seems that when I think I understand something, the world makes a mockery of me.”
She saw him straighten up further, and with a sinking feeling realized she was just digging herself into a great hole. She was beginning to wish she had not spoken so frankly.
“Man should seek truths about life,” he replied coolly. “It gives us something to aspire to.”
“I’m aware of that,” she answered, sharpness now entering her voice.
She did not enjoy being patronized. Raedwulf used to do so if ever she voiced an opinion that did not relate to the running of the household.
“All I was saying is that we should be wary of reducing our existence to a list of maxims. They could easily become a cage.”
A heavy silence followed her words, the easy companionship during the lesson now forgotten. Disappointment flooded through Osana; she had so enjoyed this afternoon. She was sorry she had offended the king but even sorrier that he was so easily wounded.
“I should go,” she murmured, pushing back her stool. “Lora will need help with her chores.”
She rose to her feet, intending to step around Argus’s sleeping form, but instead, her skirt caught on the stool, and she stumbled. Osana reached out for something to steady her but missed the edge of the desk with her hand.
A heartbeat later she tumbled onto Aldfrith’s lap.
The shock of Osana’s warm, soft body landing on him jolted Aldfrith out of the anger that had rendered him speechless.
In just a few words this woman, who until today had not been able to spell her name, had made him feel like a fool.
He had been ready to send her away when she arrived at his annex earlier; he had been telling himself all day that he must. Yet one glance at her hopeful face and his resolve had scattered like leaves in the wind.
There had been no malice in her observations, just curiosity, and plain speech. Unwittingly, she had just destroyed the one thing he was most proud of: his wisdom, his ideas.
Yet when she fell onto his lap, he forgot his upset.
The scent of lavender and the sweet smell of a woman’s skin enveloped him.
He was much taller than her, and when standing, Osana had to look up to meet his eye.
Their gazes were level now though. He looked into those hazel eyes flecked with green and saw the shocked look on her lovely face.
His attention shifted to those lush, slightly parted lips, and lust hit him with the force of a battering ram.
“Sorry, milord,” she gasped, her eyes glittering with mortification. “I’m clumsy, I—”
Instinct took over. Aldfrith reached out, his hand cupping the back of her neck. Then he drew her close, his mouth covering hers.
The feel of her lips against his, the flutter of her pulse under his fingertips, drove the last of his good sense away.
With a strangled groan, Aldfrith ran his free hand up her back, exploring the firmness of the flesh beneath her fitted tunic.
Then his tongue parted her lips, and he kissed her deeply.
Osana’s response was primal. Her soft whimper of pleasure, the way she melted into him like molten wax, awoke something deep within him Aldfrith had thought dead forever.
The Lord save his soul, but he wanted Osana. Her taste was like honey, like rich wine. The feel of her body against his brought him alive. The ache in his loins was almost unbearable.
She kissed him back, her hunger matching his.
Her breasts pressed up against the wall of his chest, and he slid a hand from her back to cup their fullness.
He wanted to see her breasts naked, to suckle them.
He needed to tear away the layers of clothing separating them, to take her here and now on the desk. He wanted to lose himself inside her.
Everything he knew about the world ceased to matter. His existence narrowed to this moment, this woman.
Thud. Thud.
“Lord Aldfrith.”
The moment shattered.
Aldfrith and Osana sprang apart as if doused with a bucket of icy seawater.
Fortunately, the door was closed. A cold wind had sprung up in the afternoon, and Osana had closed the door upon entering to avoid putting out the fire with a draft. It was that which had saved someone from walking in on them.
“Aye,” Aldfrith said roughly, rising to his feet, while Osana sank down—trembling—onto her stool.
The door opened, and Cerdic appeared. His gaze swept over them both, his expression impassive. However, Aldfrith was sure guilt was written over his and Osana’s faces.
“Yes, Cerdic?” Aldfrith said shortly. “We’re in the midst of a lesson.”
The slight raise of one of Cerdic’s eyebrows was the only sign that he knew what he had just walked in on. “Apologies for the interruption, sire. However, the ealdorman of Gefrin is here. He wishes to discuss rebuilding Northumbria’s armies. He claims the conversation is long overdue.”
That man is like a dog with a bone. Aldfrith raked a hand through his hair.
This was the last thing he needed. After that kiss, he could barely think straight.
Thankfully, the tunic he wore over his leggings reached mid-thigh, concealing his arousal.
He had to gather his wits before returning to the Great Hall to meet his cousin.
Edwin had become troublesome of late. He imagined the King of Mercia, or the Pict King Bridei, were plotting against them and planning an attack on Northumbria.
As far as Aldfrith was concerned, his cousin’s worries were entirely unfounded.
They had never enjoyed such peaceful relations with their neighbors as they did now.
“Thank you, Cerdic. Tell Edwin to enjoy a cup of ale in the hall. I will be with him shortly.”
The warrior nodded, his gaze darting once more to Osana before he turned on his heel and strode from the annex.
When he was gone, Aldfrith heaved in a deep breath and turned to Osana.
She sat, stiff-backed, upon the stool looking as if she would flee at any moment.
Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Aldfrith inwardly cringed; Cerdic was no fool.
He would know what they had been doing. They were just lucky that it was Cerdic and not the bishop who had interrupted them.
Thinking upon Bishop Wilfrid sent a chill through Aldfrith, dousing the last of the lust that had driven away all rational thought.
Temptress.
Aye, she was, but Osana was not to blame for what had just happened. He was. All his resolve, his decision to keep away from the alluring widow, and he had fallen upon Osana like a ravenous wolf.
Lechery leads to disgrace.
His own words returned to mock him. Osana was right. He locked himself away in this room, pondering life from afar, like an eagle perched upon a rocky eyrie. Yet the first moment he had been tested his resolve had crumbled.
“Go back to the hall, Osana,” he said quietly, turning from her as self-disgust settled upon him. “I think it’s best if we don’t have any more lessons.”