Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-two
A Different Path
THE RETURN TO Bebbanburg was cold and miserable. A light rain had started to fall, and an icy wind gusted in from the north. Osana walked at the back of the group, head bowed.
What had been the most magical experience of her life had quickly spiraled into her most humiliating. Aldfrith had not looked at her throughout the meal. He had not been able to shield his unhappiness from the world though; his face had been pale and tense, his gaze haunted.
Reaching the shore, Osana followed the party of mourners south toward the stronghold.
She deliberately lagged behind, letting the others draw ahead.
None of them glanced over their shoulders to make sure she was still following.
She could have turned away and disappeared into the hills and none of them would have seen.
Osana was tempted to do just that. However, she carried no food on her, no thrymsas. She would leave Bebbanburg, as the king had said, but it would have to be with the dawn. They had both agreed she would leave—only that was before the kiss.
Osana’s thoughts raced ahead at what she must do when they arrived back at Bebbanburg.
She would need to tell Lora that she was leaving and that she would do so alone.
Lora would not be happy about that, but Osana’s mind was already made up.
She would not take her friend with her. After that, she would have to pack swiftly, so that she could leave at first light.
Osana would not show her face in the hall.
She was already an outcast here. The group of mourners now shunned her; even Mildryth had left her side. The king had not acknowledged her either, although she was relieved about that.
It would only make matters worse.
What had happened between them had not been planned. She was not his betrothed, or his wife. He did not owe her anything, and the same went for her.
It was getting dark when they reached the causeway that led up to the low gate. Despite that she had been walking, Osana felt chilled to the bone. She wrapped her mantle close about her, shivering. Her mind was a whirl.
She blamed herself for the mess she had gotten into.
She had always been too instinctual, too driven by her emotions.
Her attraction to Raedwulf all those years ago had catapulted her into an ill-suited marriage.
But she had been so young and full of girlish passion; at least she had an excuse then.
She had known for a while now that she wanted Aldfrith. The desire in her blood had gradually heated over the past months till it had become unbearable. Nothing could have cooled it; being so close to him, being able to talk to him, had just increased her longing.
No wonder she had not sought the life of a nun after Raedwulf’s death. Passion ruled her, and it was now proving to be her ruin.
Aldfrith strode into the Great Hall, his mind set upon an evening of solitude and a cup of strong wine. He would call for the iron tub in the corner of his alcove to be filled with steaming water, and bathe. He would see no one, speak to no one, and gather his thoughts.
However, upon entering the hall, his plans dissolved like wood smoke carried away by a strong wind.
He had visitors.
Aldfrith’s gaze swept to the high seat, where two leather-clad warriors, their bare arms gleaming with bronze and silver rings, and a small solemn-faced girl with dark hair, sat waiting for him.
Shucking off his cloak, Aldfrith handed it to a waiting servant. “Who’s that?” he asked the young man.
“Lady Eldrida, sire … the King of Mercia’s niece. She and her escort arrived just after the noon meal.”
Aldfrith frowned. “Why are they here?”
He glanced over at Cerdic, who shrugged. “I didn’t know they were coming, milord.”
Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Aldfrith glanced over his shoulder to see Bishop Wilfrid. Unlike during the walk back from Lindisfarena, when the bishop had worn a look of scorn and outraged dignity, he appeared sheepish now.
“Lord Aldfrith.” He dipped his head. “I invited them.”
Aldfrith held his gaze. “Why would you do that?”
Bishop Wilfrid drew himself up, inhaling deeply. “You need a good wife, sire.”
Aldfrith closed his eyes for a moment and reined in his temper. This day was certainly one he would never forget. He reopened his eyes, fixing his attention on Wilfrid once more. “But I didn’t ask you to invite this woman here. I told you that I have no wish for a wife.”
Silence fell. Aldfrith was not the only one looking at the bishop. Oswald was wide-eyed, his gaze flicking between the king and the bishop, while Cerdic was glaring at Wilfrid, looking like he wanted to reach out and throttle him.
Aldfrith shared the feeling. He was naturally slow to anger, having seen what uncontrollable emotion did to people.
Yet he was furious now. He felt as if he had no free will.
Everything he did was under scrutiny. He could not even look at a woman without folk like Wilfrid making a judgment.
He had not planned on making love to Osana at the monastery, but the fact that the bishop had knowingly walked in on them, to humiliate them both, made cold rage kindle in the pit of his belly.
However, seeing that the bishop had gone behind his back to arrange a marriage was even worse.
Wilfrid squirmed slightly under the scrutiny.
Two high spots of color rose on his gaunt cheeks.
“It’s for your own good, milord,” he said, after a long silence.
Aldfrith had to admit that the man had balls.
“Lady Eldrida is a pious maid, fresh from the nunnery. You will be her first and last. Surely, after today, you see why you must wed? The widow has done her wicked work. You need a wife to keep such women at bay.” His voice rose as he ended his last sentence, and everyone surrounding them grew still.
Aldfrith realized then that they were not looking at the bishop but at a point behind him, where the last of the returning group from Lindisfarena were entering the hall.
Aldfrith turned to see Osana in the doorway.
Her face, framed by fur, was ashen, her hazel-green eyes huge. She had heard every word.
Osana had not thought that this day could get any worse—but she was wrong.
Upon stepping inside the hall, she had heard the bishop slander her to everyone.
Humiliation made her stomach tighten into a hard ball.
Even so, she had noticed there was a party waiting for Aldfrith upon the high seat.
She had also heard the tail-end of the argument between the king and the bishop.
She knew what Wilfrid had done. And she did not blame Aldfrith for being angry with him over it.
The king loomed over Wilfrid, his face hard, his eyes blazing. The bishop was not a small man, but he seemed to shrink now under the force of Aldfrith’s simmering rage.
Osana just wished the ground would open and swallow her into its maw. Drawing in a deep breath, she inched past the king and the bishop. Her alcove was to the right, just a handful of yards away. Never had a destination held so much appeal.
Across the hall, Lora was stirring a pot of stew. Her friend’s face was tense with concern as she observed the unfolding scene in front of the entrance.
Was there anyone here who had not witnessed her humiliation?
Osana’s throat closed, her vision blurring. She’d had enough. The sooner she fled this place the better. However, she was halfway to her alcove when the bark of Aldfrith’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Osana … wait.”
Heart pounding, she turned back and stood there, eyes downcast, waiting for his command. She could not bring herself to meet his gaze, could not speak.
“I would speak with you briefly,” he said after a pause. “Go to my alcove, and wait for me … please.”
Osana hesitated, torn between doing as bid and disobeying him. She could not be alone with him—not after what had happened at the monastery.
“Sire … you shouldn’t converse with that woman. Send her away now before she corrupts you further.”
“Enough, bishop.” Aldfrith’s command was harsh. “Another word, and it will be you I shall cast out.”
A mutinous silence followed. Osana dared raise her gaze to see that Wilfrid stood, hands clenched at his sides, his face red. However, he wisely held his tongue.
“Osana,” Aldfrith repeated her name, his voice softening slightly. “Please go to my alcove.”
Defeated, she turned and walked across the hall, under the weight of curious stares.
It felt like the longest stretch she had ever traveled.
Humiliation bit deep with every step. Reaching the northern edge of the hall, she stepped up onto the platform that ran around the perimeter.
She then pushed aside the heavy tapestry that shielded the king’s alcove from sight and went inside.
Osana had never been inside Aldfrith’s private quarters. She had often wondered what it would be like. Yet this was not the day to find out—today it was the last place she wanted to be.
Letting the hanging fall behind her, she gazed around, taking in the expanse of furs covering the floor and the huge tapestry that covered the wall. There was a single shuttered window, and three cressets burned low. A hearth glowed in the center of the space, throwing out long shadows.
Osana’s gaze shifted to the large pile of furs in one corner, and her breathing caught.
God’s bones … don’t look there.
She hurriedly glanced away, instead focusing on the small table and stool that sat under the window. They were the only items in the room that spoke of the character of the man occupying it.
Hands clasped before her, Osana moved toward the glow of the fire pit. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird as she waited for Aldfrith to arrive.
Beyond the alcove, she heard the rumble of conversation and the clang and rattle of supper being prepared. She caught raised voices then—one of them clearly the bishop’s—and winced.
No doubt he was saying more foul things about her.
Osana closed her eyes. I wish I could leave here tonight.
A moment later she felt a draft behind her. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned to see Aldfrith stride into the alcove.
The look on his face cowed her. His eyes had darkened almost to black, and his skin had drawn tight across his cheekbones. His hands clenched in fists at his sides.
Osana swallowed. She had never feared the king before, but having once been married to a man who had raised his hand to her on occasion, she suddenly felt a tremor of fear.
The emotion must have shown on her face, for Aldfrith stopped short. “You look at me with dread in your eyes,” he rasped. “Do you really think I’d harm you?”
Their gazes held for a long moment before Osana shook her head.
Aldfrith took a step toward her before raking a hand through his hair. “Satan’s bones, Osana … I’ve made a mess of things. I’m sorry … I—”
“Is this why you wanted to see me?” Osana finally found her voice as her anger rose. “To apologize?”
He stared at her, his gaze pleading. “Aye … you don’t deserve to be treated this way.”
Osana watched him, her fury simmering. She was tired of his apologies, tired of being made a fool of. “I will go at dawn,” she growled. “I never wanted to cause trouble here.”
His face twisted. “This is my doing. I knew what would happen if we were alone together. I knew, and I sought you out anyway. I saw you go into scriptorium—and I followed you.”
Osana frowned. “I don’t understand … why should we be ashamed of what happened between us? All we did was succumb to something as natural as breathing.”
The king flinched. It was as if she had loosed an arrow and scored a direct hit.
“I don’t want this.” The words tore out of him. “Love has always been madness for me, and I will have no part of it. Long ago I chose the path of reason. I can’t have you near me.”
Osana stared at him, her anger ebbing as confusion rose within her. Why would someone make such a choice? When she spoke, her voice shook. “Not everything can be reasoned, Aldfrith. Some things must be guided by your heart.”
He shook his head, vehement. “I will not live that way.”
Osana clenched her jaw. “Then you have chosen a lonely life.”
His expression tightened, and Osana watched a shield rise between them. Despite the hearth behind her, it suddenly felt cold in the alcove. When Aldfrith spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. “Aye, but that is my decision to make.”