Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-three
No Place For Me Here
“WHAT HAPPENED AT Lindisfarena?”
It was the question that Osana had been dreading, although she knew Lora would ask it eventually. She glanced up from where she was stuffing clothes into a pack. “Surely you’ve heard the news.” The bitter edge to her voice made her wince. Anger turned her waspish.
Lora’s mouth thinned. “The thegns’ wives have been in a huddle since they returned from the burial, but they don’t share their gossip with the likes of me. If something befell you there, I’d prefer to hear the news from you.”
Osana frowned. “I’d rather not speak of it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s … humiliating.”
“Better I hear it from you then. Once those women are finished embellishing their tales, it will have no bearing on reality.”
Osana sat down heavily upon her furs, her fingers digging into them as if to anchor herself. “I was exploring the monastery alone,” she began, her voice low and flat, “and ventured into the scriptorium. Aldfrith found me there. We talked and then …”
“You coupled?”
Osana clenched her jaw. “Aye, that’s right … we coupled. And after it was done, Bishop Wilfrid walked in on us.”
Lora’s face blanched. “Woden’s chariot! That’s unfortunate.”
Osana ran a tired hand over her face and tried to ignore the anger that still simmered in the pit of her belly.
She longed to take a rod to the bishop for his deliberate humiliation of her, both upon Lindisfarena and when they returned to the fort, but instead, she was the one who was to be punished.
“That’s why I’m leaving at first light tomorrow. ”
“Has the king ordered you to leave?”
Osana nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her throat now ached from the emotions she was suppressing.
Lora’s expression clouded. “I was afraid this would happen. The way he looks at you … he was never going to leave you alone forever.”
Osana rose to her feet and resumed her packing. Her movements were jerky and rough as her anger spilled over. Beyond their alcove, the excited chatter that had erupted after their arrival home from the burial had died down. However, tales of today would circulate for many days to come.
“Do you think he’ll wed that whey-faced maid of Mercia?” Lora asked.
“He should. He’s better suited to an arranged marriage than wedding for love. Aldfrith reviles emotional attachment.”
“Why?”
Osana shrugged, resisting the urge to reach up and massage her temples. A dull throb had taken up residence inside her skull. It hurt to think. “Something in his past scars him. He wouldn’t speak of it.”
Sympathy flitted across Lora’s open face. Yet Osana was not in the mood for anyone to feel sorry for her, any more than she wanted another apology. A lifetime’s worth of fury surged up within her.
Not once in her life had she been allowed to simply be herself.
Her parents had forced her into a role she had never wanted, as had her sisters.
Then Raedwulf had tried to shape her into his idea of the dutiful wife.
Every time she had ever spoken up for herself, or expressed her needs, there had always been someone there to tell her how she had to behave.
She had thought Aldfrith different, yet he was just like all the rest.
“I’m leaving at first light tomorrow,” Osana said finally, her voice flat, “alone.”
Lora’s face froze. “No, you’re not. I’m coming with you.”
“No, Lora. You must stay here.”
Lora placed her hands on her hips. However, despite her aggressive stance, her friend’s eyes glittered with tears. “The king won’t let you travel unescorted … it’s dangerous.”
“He’s sparing four warriors.” Osana’s reply tasted sour as she spoke. “I’ll not come to any harm on the road to Jedworth.”
“You don’t want me with you.” The hurt in Lora’s voice penetrated the veil of anger around Osana. She put down the tunic she had been about to pack and crossed the space between them. She then put her arms around Lora, hugging her tightly.
“I’ll miss you,” she replied, and she meant it too. Lora had become closer to her than any of her sisters ever had. She would miss her easy banter, her laugh, and her mischievous sense of humor. “But this is where our paths must split. You belong here in Bebbanburg.”
Lora disentangled herself, scrubbing away tears. “Why do you say that? I have no more bond with this place than you do.”
Osana shook her head, smiling. “You have Cerdic.”
Lora snorted. “Why do you keep bringing him up? He’s not my man.”
“No … but he could be.”
Lora snorted, brushing at the tears that now trickled down her cheeks. “You make it sound like the man has been throwing himself at my feet. He hasn’t.”
Osana forced a smile. “Give Cerdic time. Maybe you need to offer him some encouragement.”
Lora sniffed and favored her with a watery smile of her own. “Why don’t you try that with Aldfrith?”
Osana shook her head, her smile fading. “He wants to live in a world he can control … there is no place for me here.”
The first fingers of dawn were lightening the eastern sky, turning the sea to molten gold, when Osana saddled her palfrey and readied herself to leave.
Four of the king’s men waited impatiently for her in the stable yard. Jedworth was a little over a day’s ride inland from Bebbanburg, and they were keen to arrive there as soon as possible.
Cerdic led the escort. Osana was relieved that Aldfrith had asked his most trusted warrior to accompany her. Cerdic said little, yet she had not lied when she had told Lora she thought him a good man. She was relieved he was with her today.
She led her palfrey out of its stall and into the yard beyond. A breeze tugged at her cloak as she mounted. Although the morning was chill, the sky above had a limpid quality that promised a beautiful day.
Osana adjusted her stirrups and glanced up at where the Great Tower of Bebbanburg loomed above her. Gilded by the dawn light, it was a breathtaking sight. This place had been her home for the past few months, and despite everything, she had been the happiest here of anywhere since childhood.
Disappointment filtered in, dimming the anger that still clenched her belly. She had dared hope to settle in this place but now realized that that hope had been a foolish one. She should not have put her fate in the hands of others.
Osana drew in a deep breath and looked away from the tower. There was no sign of the king. He would not come out to see her off.
From this day forth things would change. From now on she would be her own mistress. Happiness would come from small pleasures, in carving a simple life for herself. She had never been to Jedworth, and had not seen her aunt Hagona in nearly a decade, but she would make her new life work.
She had no other choice.
Even so, the decision did not make Osana feel any better. A dull ache had taken up residence under her ribs. She wished to weep, to rage against the world, to beat at it with her fists—but she would hold on to her tears for a while yet.
I’ll weep when I’m far from here.
“Osana.” Cerdic’s gruff voice reached her. She turned to find him watching her, sympathy in his dark eyes. “Are you ready?”
Osana nodded before gathering the reins and urging her palfrey forward. Without uttering a word, she rode out under the high gate and did not look back.
Aldfrith crossed the hall, his wolfhound at his heels.
Lady Eldrida was waiting for him upon the high seat. This morning the girl looked impossibly young, around sixteen years his junior. Pity stirred within Aldfrith at the sight of her: small and elfin, her tiny frame swamped in the pale tunic she wore.
Poor child.
They had brought her here like a breeding sow, offering her up to him with no thought to her feelings on the matter.
All the same, he had noted the evening prior that Eldrida was not like his previous wife, Cuthburh. This maid seemed keen to wed him. She had appeared crestfallen when he had exchanged sharp words with the bishop the night before, her mouth trembling as if she might weep.
Eldrida looked brighter this morning though. She smiled at Aldfrith as he approached. However, the faces of the men flanking her were less welcoming. They barely restrained their glowers as he stepped up onto the high seat.
He knew they all hoped he had reflected upon his decision overnight, that he had revised it. The look on Eldrida’s face warned him that she had not lost hope.
Aldfrith was about to disappoint her.
“Good morning, Lady Eldrida,” he greeted her, taking his seat at the head of the table.
Argus flopped down at his feet in the hope that a stray crust might find him.
A servant appeared at the king’s elbow, placing a plate of fresh bread and a cup of milk before him.
Pots of freshly churned butter and honey dotted the table.
Yet Aldfrith had no appetite this morning. His stomach churned.
Not touching the food before him, he met the eye of Thorin, the warrior who led the Mercian party. The man stared back, his expression challenging.
Aldfrith shifted his gaze to Lady Eldrida then. “I'm sorry, but you have had a wasted trip,” he began. He had intended to approach the subject softly but suddenly found that he had no patience for it. “The bishop called for you without speaking to me first. I have no wish for a wife.”
Beside her, the Mercian warrior snorted. “You don't mince your words, milord.”
Aldfrith’s mouth twisted. “I don't see the point in doing so,” he admitted, bitterness edging his voice. “Although it seems that even when I speak plainly, folk willfully misunderstand me.”
“My uncle will be angry,” Eldrida spoke up then. Tears welled in her large, dark eyes. Her small mouth pursed as she struggled to contain her disappointment. The hope he had seen moments earlier drained from her face. “He will think you sent me away because you find me ugly. He will punish me.”
Aldfrith paused, struggling between guilt and irritation. Yet he was not about to be manipulated. “I shall write the king a letter,” he replied firmly. “I will explain my reasons. Do not worry—you will not be blamed.”
His answer did not please her. The girl’s pursed mouth flattened into a thin line.
It was as Aldfrith suspected. She had made a desperate attempt to change his mind. She had no fear of her uncle.
Irritation surged through Aldfrith. This was what he hated most about being king. Ever since he had worn the crown, folk did not see him as a man. He was an authority figure; folk came to him wanting something. They wanted a pardon, lands, weregild, or justice.
How he missed his days upon the isle of Iona, spent in the company of the monks. They had not wanted anything from him but his companionship. They talked to him because they liked him, not because they wanted a favor.
Aldfrith sat back in his chair, pushing aside the plate of bread. On the floor below him, Argus gave a soft whine, reminding him of his presence. With a sigh, Aldfrith stretched out his hand for a piece of bread and handed it down to his hound.
“You’ve all traveled far to reach us,” he said after a moment. “Please accept our hospitality, and stay a few days longer.”
“I think not, milord.” Thorin’s voice was wintry. “If you will not take Lady Eldrida as your wife, we will not remain at Bebbanburg. Prepare your letter in haste, for we depart at dawn tomorrow.”
Aldfrith nodded, secretly relieved. He wanted rid of these Mercians as much as they wished to leave him. The sooner the better.
All he wished for right now, was to be alone. He was aware of the prying eyes of his retainers and their wives, who surrounded him as he sat on the high seat. Their gazes tracked him, studying his face.
News of what had happened between him and Osana would have traveled quickly from one end of the fort to the other. Fortunately for her, Osana would be many furlongs distant by now—she would not have to suffer their whispers, sneers, and stares.
At the thought of her, Aldfrith’s throat constricted.
It was a mistake to dwell on Osana, for the feelings those thoughts roused made a sickening sense of desperation well within him.
He could not be near her, he could not speak to her, without a strong need consuming him.
Aldfrith had nearly lost control again the evening before when they had spoken alone inside his alcove.
He had felt himself weakening, for the sight of her standing near the hearth, the naked vulnerability in her eyes, had almost unraveled him.
But then she had asked him of his past.
After that, it had been easy to shut himself off from her. His past belonged to another life, another person. How hard he had tried to put it all behind him. Osana had risked reopening a wound that had taken years to fully heal.
Time rolled back, and he remembered the wreck he had been that day he had arrived upon Iona: young and full of desperation and hurt.
That island, and the kind monks who lived there, had healed him.
Living there had helped him wash the past away—yet it appeared that the walls he had built around his heart could not withstand this new life as king.
Ever since moving to Bebbanburg, they had slowly been crumbling. Now that Osana had left, he would have to painstakingly rebuild them.