Chapter Six
At the King’s Table
Bridei mac Beli, King of the Picts, strode into the Great Tower of Bebbanburg, looking neither left nor right. Instead, his gaze remained fixed upon the man who stood waiting for him upon the high seat.
Ecgfrith of Northumbria had not changed much over the years.
His hairline had receded, and his body was leaner, but he still had that long, watchful face and the pitiless eyes Bridei remembered.
Ecgfrith’s was a face Bridei had grown up hating; a face he had longed to see again on the field of battle.
How many nights had he imagined looking into those calculating eyes right before he dug his sword into Ecgfrith’s guts?
Too many to count—yet here he was in Bebbanburg to give the Northumbrian king one chance for peace.
Just one chance was all Ecgfrith would get.
“Lord Bridei son of Beli.” Ecgfrith greeted him as he approached. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
Beside the king, Irmenburgh had also risen to her feet, her thin face creased in a smile of welcome. The warmth in her eyes told Bridei she was pleased to see him, yet despite his cordial greeting, Ecgfrith’s eyes told a different tale.
The king hid it well, but Bridei saw the irritation that seethed just beneath the surface.
Bridei inclined his head. “Lord Ecgfrith.”
The Northumbrian king studied him for a moment, analyzing his face as if looking for a weakness to exploit. A heartbeat later he smiled, although the expression never reached his eyes. “This is an occasion indeed, to have you in Bebbanburg once more.”
After you exiled me.
In truth, Ecgfrith had done him a great favor in banishing him from Northumbria.
Bridei had traveled north, arriving at Dundurn to find his father, Beli, in ill-health.
They had little time together before his father died, but Bridei was glad for the months they had shared.
During that time, Beli had spoken of Bridei’s mother, a Northumbrian noblewoman—daughter to King Edwin of Deira—and of the sudden sickness that had taken her away years earlier.
After his father’s passing, Bridei set about learning how to become king of the north.
“A visit south was long overdue,” Bridei replied.
He had not knelt upon entering the Great Hall, nor had he addressed Ecgfrith as ‘milord’ or ‘sire’.
In his eyes, they were equals, although he knew Ecgfrith would not see it that way.
He noted the way the Northumbrian king’s eyes hardened after Bridei had spoken, but the king forced a smile.
“If you had sent word ahead, I would have organized a great feast to welcome you. However, if you and your men will join us for nón-mete, I will see our finest barrels of mead opened.”
“I do not expect you to go to any trouble on our account,” Bridei replied, “but I will take up your offer of a meal. If you would host us overnight as well, I would appreciate it.”
Ecgfrith inclined his head. “You’ve traveled far just to remain here one night. Stay a few days at least, and enjoy my hall’s hospitality. Your men are welcome to stable their horses with mine, and sleep in this hall.”
Despite Ecgfrith’s complaint that Bridei had not given him enough notice, the king’s household put on an impressive noon meal that day.
Servants and slaves carried in wheels of cheese and legs of cured pork to sit amongst platters of braised onions, loaves of crusty bread, and tureens of hot bean stew.
Long tables, arranged in a horseshoe around two of the four hearths, lined the hall.
Daughters of the king’s thegns circled the hall, pouring wine, ale, and mead for the feasters.
The rise and fall of voices and the aroma of bean stew had greeted Bridei as he returned from the stables.
He moved across the hall to the high seat, where Ecgfrith had invited him to join the king’s table for the noon meal.
Dogs skulked around the perimeters of the hall; lean and shaggy wolfhounds that eyed the food hungrily.
A pall of smoke hung low over the tables, making Bridei’s eyes water after the fresh air outdoors.
Bridei glanced back at Heolstor, who followed him across the floor. “Happy to be home?” He spoke to Heolstor in the tongue of the Picts, as he had done for years now.
The red-haired warrior snorted, answering in the same language. “Feels as foreign to me as it does to you.”
“But you still have kin here. Your mother is still alive, is she not?”
Heolstor nodded. “She slapped my face when I approached her earlier—I don’t think she was pleased to see me.”
Bridei smirked. “You’ll make peace with her before you go.”
Heolstor’s raised a ruddy eyebrow. “You don’t want to hear the name she called me.” He gave a shrug, although Bridei marked the hurt that flashed across his face. “I don’t think I’ll bother with her again.”
The two men crossed the hall together and stepped up on the high seat.
Bridei took a seat halfway down the long table, with Heolstor to his right, and turned his attention to the king—but Ecgfrith did not meet his eye.
Instead, his gaze flicked past him, resting upon a point beyond Bridei’s left shoulder.
Curious, Bridei turned and saw that Ecgfrith was watching a woman cross the floor.
Bridei stared at her.
Chin raised, shoulders back, the young woman glided like a queen across the rushes.
Her hair was unbound, signifying she was unwed—and what hair it was.
Dark, springy, red curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing a pale face.
She was small in stature, yet he could see the lush curves beneath the green woolen tunic she wore.
The tunic was girded at the waist with a belt of plaited leather.
Around her neck, she wore a heavy amulet, made of bronze and studded with garnets.
Bridei’s stared. It was a seer’s amulet.
As the young woman drew closer, her gaze met Bridei’s, as if pulled by the weight of his own stare.
She was striking rather than beautiful he realized, for her moss-green eyes were slightly too far apart and her mouth a little too full for her finely-boned face; yet she was mesmerizing, and Bridei could not take his eyes off her.
With a jolt, he realized he knew this woman.
She was Heahburh, daughter of Lewren.
May the Nameless one take him—he could not believe how she had changed.
The girl he remembered was thin and coltish with a frizzy mane of hair that was a garish shade of red. He remembered comparing her unfavorably to her comely mother, yet his memory of Lewren of Bebbanburg paled next to this wench.
Her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny, those full lips parting slightly before she shifted her gaze to the head of the table. She stopped before the high seat and curtsied.
“Sire.” Her voice was low, slightly breathless, as if she had been running. “You summoned me.”
“Aye,” Ecgfrith replied. “We have guests from the north, Hea. I’d like you to join us for a feast.”
She dipped her head. “Of course, milord.”
Ecgfrith waved his hand casually in Bridei’s direction, almost as an afterthought. “This is Bridei mac Beli. He fostered here years ago—do you remember him?”
Bridei watched Hea turn, her gaze meeting his once more. He saw from the look on her face that she did remember him.
“Aye, sire,” she murmured. Her gaze shifted then, to the thegn sitting across the table—a broad-shouldered young warrior with yellow hair and a slightly flattened nose.
Bridei shifted his attention from Hea to where Rinan sat watching him. He had been so distracted by her, he had not even realized his old enemy sat just a few feet away. In truth, he had not even recognized him.
Bridei and Heolstor took their seats while Hea performed the task of pouring wine for the king’s table.
Bridei watched her as she moved from person to person, pouring sloe wine from a bronze ewer.
She moved with fluid elegance; he could have easily gone on watching her forever if there had not been a wolf in sheep’s clothing seated just a few feet away.
Ecgfrith could not be trusted.
The Northumbrian king had a mind like a newly-whetted blade.
If he discovered a weakness, he would exploit it; Bridei needed to keep his mind on the reason he had traveled south, not on the winsome fire-haired witch circuiting the table.
When Hea leaned over his shoulder and filled his cup with wine, he did not look at her.
He was aware that Ecgfrith was observing him over the rim of his own cup, a vulpine look on his face.
Even so, the scent of her—lavender mixed with the sweet musk of her skin—caused his pulse to quicken, his groin to harden.
Bridei inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to close his eyes.
Aye, she was distracting him terribly.
It was a relief when she moved on to Heolstor, exchanging a grin of welcome with him as she poured his wine.
After she had served the king’s table, Hea took a seat at the king’s right—a position that mystified Bridei. Such a seat was usually reserved for the warrior who commanded the king’s men, not a young female of low birth.
Had the king claimed her as his lover?
Intrigued, Bridei looked over at the queen.
Irmenburgh did not look pleased. Her mouth was pursed, her slender shoulders tense.
As Bridei remembered, the queen wore a heavy wooden crucifix upon her breast. She was a pious, quiet woman who had never given the king a moment of trouble—yet Bridei suspected it was a passionless union.
For the king to flaunt his lover like this was a grave insult to his wife.
Bridei shifted his gaze back to Ecgfrith. The king had begun helping himself to food, signaling that the meal had started. Around them, men and women fell upon the spread before them, their voices echoing high in the stone tower.
Bridei took a mouthful of bean stew and washed it down with a sip of sloe wine. The food and drink here was as delicious as he remembered. The cooks in his own hall could learn a thing or two from those in Bebbanburg. He reached for some cured pork and met Rinan’s pale-blue gaze across the table.
The warrior stared at him, his expression aggressive, challenging. “Why have you come back?” he growled. “No one invited you.”
Bridei grinned. “A flat nose suits you.”
Laughter rumbled around the table, although it died away quickly when Rinan shot the warriors who were still chortling a filthy look.
Bridei glanced across at where Hea was taking a sip from her cup and noted she was trying not to smile.