Chapter 21 What have we done?
Chapter Twenty-one
What have we done?
HIS GAZE WOULD not let her go. Time froze as they stood there, staring at each other.
Osana’s pulse fluttered in the base of her throat.
He wants me to go.
Part of her had been expecting it would come to this, but to hear him say the words hurt like a seax-blade to the gut. There had been another part of her—a secret yearning part—that had hoped to hear the opposite.
Why can’t life be like the songs?
Osana swallowed. “I will go then. As soon as we return to the fort, I will begin my preparations.”
He said nothing, just watched her with a hunger in his eyes that made her soul ache.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t bear it.”
A low growl escaped him—a mix of anger and frustration—and the next moment he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Osana melted into him, any thought of resistance fluttering from her mind.
Like when she had accidentally tumbled onto his lap after their lesson, his nearness completely disarmed her.
Aldfrith’s mouth claimed hers: fierce, almost angry. Osana uttered a soft cry, parting her lips for him. She had yearned for this moment ever since their first kiss; she had lain awake in her furs reliving those brief instants in his arms over and over till her body burned with need.
Yet that first kiss had been a surprise, and it had taken her a few moments to relax in his arms.
This time, she ignited like dry tinder under a naked flame. She raised her arms and reached up, burying her fingers in his tousled blond hair. She had dreamed of doing so for months now.
Aldfrith swung her away from the bench, his hands sliding down the column of her back. Still kissing her, he walked them both across the narrow space to the far wall. There, he pressed himself up against her, his mouth ravaging hers.
Osana’s head spun, her pulse pounding like a drum in her ears. Even her fevered imagination had not come up with the sensations that now coursed through her. She trembled under his touch; her core pulsed with a deep ache that demanded to be satisfied. She would go mad if he stopped kissing her now.
She felt him reach up and unpin her hair.
She wore her long brown tresses braided and wrapped around her head, as many wedded or widowed women did.
The heavy braid fell onto her shoulder, and his hand slid down to its tufted end, removing the band of leather keeping it tied.
Then, in slow, sensual movements, he began to unbraid it, tangling his fingers into the thick coil.
Osana moaned against his mouth before gently biting his lower lip. He murmured a soft curse in response before claiming her mouth once more—his kiss achingly gentle, his tongue’s exploration making sweat bead across her skin.
Who taught him to kiss like this?
The thought was fleeting, dissipating like wood smoke. Who cared—she just wanted more of those kisses; she was greedy for them.
Their bodies were entwined, but layers of heavy clothing separated them.
Osana was frustrated; she longed to tear away the heavy woolen tunic she wore so those magician’s hands could explore her nakedness.
The thought of him doing so on the dirt floor of the scriptorium made heat pulse between her thighs.
Her hand slid down his leather vest to the breeches beneath, her fingertips tracing the hard bulge that strained toward her.
Breathing heavily, Aldfrith drew back from kissing her. His gaze ensnared hers once more. They continued staring at each other before Osana reached down with her other hand and began to unlace his breeches.
He sprang free: a hot, hard rod in her eager hands. Still holding his gaze, Osana let out a whimper; it was an animal sound and one that needed no further explanation.
Aldfrith knew what she wanted—what they both craved.
He reached down and pushed up her skirts: the heavy woolen tunic she wore and the linen one underneath it. The air was cold inside the scriptorium, but the sensation of the cool feathering across her naked thighs just heightened Osana’s excitement.
With her skirts about her hips, he slid his hands under her naked buttocks, kneed her trembling thighs apart, and thrust deep into her.
Osana took him in easily, to the root. She was ready for him, and the sensation of his shaft filling her, stretching her, sent waves of pleasure rippling out from her core. She cried out, her body shaking from the force of it, arching up against him.
Aldfrith muttered another curse—one the monks here would blanch at—and ground himself against her.
Osana let out a low moan and bent her head back, letting the exquisite sensations sweep her up and carry her away. Coupling had never been like this for her, even in those heady first days with Raedwulf. She did not know her body was capable of such pleasure.
Aldfrith continued to move his hips against hers, bending his head down so that his lips branded her neck.
Osana shuddered and moaned as he moved up the column of her throat to the shell of her ear—and when he kissed and licked her there, she gave a choked cry, her pleasure cresting once more.
Holding her tight, he began to move inside her in slow, deep thrusts. The pleasure was almost unbearable now. Osana tipped her head forward, gasping his name. She was about to ask him to slow down, so she could regain control, but his mouth claimed hers once more.
This time the kiss was savage, bruising. Osana responded in kind, her tongue tangling with his. He thrust deep and hard into her, pinning her against the wall. A moment later Osana screamed into his mouth as he pushed her over the brink, and she spiraled into a vortex of pure sensation.
She felt him reach his climax too, his muffled cry against her mouth. And then his body went rigid as he spilled his seed within her, the muscles cording in the arms she now gripped.
They sagged against the wall together, the raw sound of their ragged breathing filling the scriptorium. Aldfrith buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing Osana in as he recovered, while she buried her own face in the tousled crown of his head.
“You’re finished, I take it?”
Osana and Aldfrith both froze, their breathing stilling.
A chill stole over Osana’s skin, and she shivered, noting for the first time just how cold the room was. Reluctantly, she raised her face and looked over to the doorway. Framed there, the pale afternoon sunlight silhouetting his tall, spare figure, stood Bishop Wilfrid.
The look on his face made her blood run cold. Mortification flooded through Osana. How long had he been standing there … watching?
Aldfrith raised his head, his own gaze traveling to the bishop. “No,” he rasped. “We’re not … get out, Wilfrid.”
The bishop’s gaze narrowed and he clenched the hands that hung at his sides. “You have defiled a holy place,” he hissed.
“Get. Out.”
The chill in Aldfrith’s voice made Wilfrid pause, and a nerve ticked in his cheek. His gaze, full of outrage, slid from Aldfrith’s face to Osana’s. He then spat upon the ground. “Hōre.”
Wilfrid stepped back, drawing the door shut after him with a dull thud.
Osana swallowed the bile that stung the back of her throat. She felt as if she was going to be sick.
Gently, Aldfrith shifted away from her, and she felt his shaft slide free. A pang of acute emptiness followed. She did not want him to leave her. His gaze was shuttered as he refastened his breeches; however, his attention remained upon her.
“I don’t care that Wilfrid found us,” he said quietly. “But I am sorry that I lost control … I shouldn’t have done that.”
Osana stared at him. “Aldfrith,” she whispered. “I—”
He reached up and placed a cautionary finger on her lips. “Don’t,” he warned, his blue eyes full of pain. “There are no words that can change this. We need to rejoin the others now.”
“But … we need to talk. We won’t get another chance to be alone.”
He shook his head and took another step back from her. His eyes gleamed now and his throat bobbed. He wore a panicked look, as if talking with her was the last thing he wanted. “That’s for the best.” He finished readjusting his clothing and moved toward the door. “I shall see you at the noon meal.”
A short while later, Osana walked into the feasting hall.
She was in a daze, vaguely aware of her surroundings.
The meal had already begun: trenchers of coarse bread filled with steaming pottage.
The clatter of wooden spoons and the rumble of conversation calmed Osana, and she slipped into the hall as discreetly as possible.
A dull throb between her legs reminded her of what she and Aldfrith had just done. Unlike him, she could not bring herself to regret it. Her blood still sang in the aftermath. The world looked different, as if draped in a soft, golden veil.
Aldfrith sat with the bishop, Oswald, and the senior monks at a table at one end of the hall, near the great hearth. Osana took a seat as far away as possible, at a long bench, next to Mildryth.
However, the woman was staring at her as if Osana had just sprouted a third eye in the center of her forehead.
Mildryth was not the only one. Many of the folk were gawking at her, mouths rudely open, before one or two of them nudged each other with their elbows. One of the men gave Osana a lewd look, and she went cold.
God’s bones … no.
“You and the king made quite a noise,” Mildryth hissed in her ear. “I doubt there was anyone in the monastery who didn’t hear your cries.”
This was ill news indeed.
Mortified, Osana dropped her gaze to her trencher. The sight of food made her bile rise once more. She would not be able to stomach a mouthful.
What have we done?
She had not cared at the time, and neither had he. But she did so now. How would she ever face the folk of the Great Hall again? News of this would spread like the plague, likely racing ahead of her arrival back in Bebbanburg. Life there would become unbearable.
Aldfrith had warned her of this. So had Lora. But she had barely listened to the warnings. She had wanted Aldfrith so badly, still wanted him with an ache that made it painful to breathe. Yet she wanted the impossible; the look on Wilfrid’s face had confirmed it.
“Hōre.”
The whispered insult from Elflaed, the thegn’s wife seated across from her, made Osana flinch. Aye, that was how they would all see her now.