Lord 0f The North Wind (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 3)

by Jayne Castel

  Looking at his face, at the lines that formed deep grooves either side of his mouth and furrowed his brow, Aldfrith knew Cerdic was lying. He hid it well, but Aldfrith could see the warrior carried his grief with him every day.

  It occurred to Aldfrith then that they were not really that different. He too carried scars from his past. He liked to think of himself as healed of them, yet his reaction to the ealdorman’s widow revealed that, despite the passing of the years, they still pained him.

  “Where shall I put these, Osana?” the servant asked. The woman—Lora—stood outside the space Osana and Raedwulf had once shared, her arms full of furs.

  “Take them to my new alcove please,” Osana replied. “This way.”

  Her own arms filled with clothing, Osana led the way around the rim of the hall to the alcove nearest the doors. It was the smallest of any of the sleeping spaces and the draftiest too—but at least she was not to sleep out on the main floor with the others.

  At least they had left her some dignity.

  Osana looked around the space, at the ceiling so low that she could not stand at her full height without knocking her head. Her mouth compressed.

  A slight dignity.

  “This isn’t right.” Lora’s voice, low and angry, made Osana turn. The servant had deposited the furs but was now standing at the entrance to the alcove, hands on hips.

  For the first time, Osana took proper notice of Lora. Small and curvaceous with curly blonde hair, a pert face, and bright blue eyes, Lora was roughly the same age as Osana. She had not been a servant in the ealdorman’s hall for a long time—a handful of moons at most—and during that time Osana had been too immersed in her own unhappiness to take heed of her.

  But she did now. Lora was genuinely outraged on her behalf, and Osana found that quizzical.

  “You’re Raedwulf’s widow,” Lora continued, her voice quiet yet brimming with indignation, “and this is the best they can give you. I’ve seen bigger store rooms. What about the alcove to the left of Deogol’s?”

  “Edlyn has kept that for her sister. She is moving in tomorrow.”

  Lora’s face pinched at that. “Aye … of course she is.”

  The servant’s protectiveness of her made Osana smile. She had often felt so alone here; she had not realized she had a friend. With a sigh she glanced away, looking over at the trunks stacked in one corner—all her belongings from fourteen years of marriage.

  “I’d hoped for a little more space,” she admitted, “although if I’m honest, the farther I am from Deogol and Edlyn the better. I’ll sleep easier in here.”

  She turned to find Lora watching her. The outrage had faded from her pretty face and was replaced by pity. Osana stiffened. The last thing she wanted was for Lora to feel sorry for her: the sad widow whose husband had humiliated her, and whom her brother and sister-by-marriage barely suffered.

  “I know why Edlyn hates you,” Lora said softly. “I saw her and Raedwulf together once … when I was out blackberrying.”

  Osana flinched. Her gut had told her that Edlyn and Raedwulf had been lovers. But Lora had just confirmed it.

  Osana’s shoulders sagged. “Maybe I should go.”

  “Do you have relatives who would take you in?”

  Osana shook her head. Both her parents were dead, and her sisters would not welcome her into their homes—not that there would be space in any of them for her. “I have an aunt in Jedworth,” she said finally. “My mother’s sister … although I haven’t seen her in years.” Osana broke off here, dismissing the idea. “She was always a bit shrewish.”

  I could go to Bebbanburg.

  The thought came unbidden, and Osana shoved it aside. She was not sure why the king had made such an offer, yet it was not one she could ever take up. Tongues would wag; everyone would think she was his mistress.

  Osana felt a blush rise up her neck at the thought.

  “Well then,” Lora huffed out a breath and gave Osana a determined look. “We’ll have to make the best of this situation.”

  Osana laughed. “We? Don’t trouble yourself, Lora. I’ll survive … I always have.”

  Lora grinned back. “I don’t doubt that. I just want you to know you’re not alone here, that’s all. Both of us could do with a friend in this place.”

  Osana held her gaze, a rush of gratitude bringing tears to her eyes. She was more starved of kindness than she thought.

  “Thank you, she whispered. That means a lot to me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Shamed Widow

  “THAT BITCH HIT me. She must go!”

  Edlyn’s voice, shrill with rage, echoed through the hall.

  “Calm yourself. You’ve the voice of a fishwife when riled.” Deogol’s patronizing rumble followed shortly after.

  Inside her alcove, Osana allowed herself a tight smile. It sounded like Edlyn was not getting the sympathy she had hoped for. Reaching up, Osana touched her cheek. It still stung from the vicious slap Edlyn had delivered.

  Osana had been helping chop vegetables at one of the worktables, chatting to Lora as she worked, when Edlyn had stalked up to her. She had thrust a pair of badly-mended breeches in her face. Osana had denied being the one to mend them, and Edlyn had struck her.

  Osana was not given to violence; she had an even temper, and although she had been tried sorely of late, did not usually respond to Edlyn’s attacks.

  Yet until now they had only been verbal. Edlyn had never struck her before.

  Osana’s reaction had been instant, instinctive. She had punched Edlyn in the eye.

  “Did you hear me, husband?” Edlyn’s voice rose higher. “That woman, that nithing, dared strike me.”

  “I heard that you hit her first,” Deogol replied. His tone sounded bored, as if he could hardly be bothered with this pettiness between women. Like his brother, he preferred to speak with men about hunting, fighting, and defending their borders.

  “I did it because she is slovenly and must be punished,” came Edlyn’s reply. I am the ealdorman’s wife. She must accept my punishment.”

  “Clearly, she does not.”

  “Have her whipped then.”

  Osana sucked in a breath at this. She had not considered how her behavior might be punished. She had not stopped to consider the consequences at all.

  She glanced down at her right hand, still fisted. Her knuckles stung. She felt exhausted.

  Six months of belittlement.

  Six months of being treated like a dog, lower than the lowest servant.

  Osana clenched her fist. Let them whip me—I couldn’t take any more.

  “She is my brother’s widow,” Deogol replied. “I’ll not have her humiliated over nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Edlyn snorted, her voice raw now. “She struck me, and I will not tolerate it. She must go, Deogol. I don’t care where. I won’t have her under my roof for one more day!”

  A chill silence fell, and even through the heavy tapestry that hung between Osana’s alcove and the hall, she could feel the tension. She hoped Deogol would reprimand his wife for being so shrewish—Raedwulf would have done in his place—and yet the silence stretched on.

  “Osana,” the ealdorman called her name, raising his voice only slightly. As if he knew she would be listening—waiting. “Come here.”

  “Are you sure you want to come with me?” Osana glanced over her shoulder, from where she was tightening her palfrey’s girth, and met Lora’s eye. “It’s not right that you should be banished too.”

  Lora snorted before busying herself with tying on the last of the packs behind the saddle of her horse. “Deogol did me a favor. I’ve tired of having Edlyn for a mistress. You can’t travel alone anyway.”

  Osana huffed out a breath. Deogol had offered to provide them with an escort, yet Osana had refused. She knew two women traveling alone was not safe, although they had horses at least, but she did not want his assistance. Despite that she had no idea where she would go, a part of her thrilled at
the thought of leaving Hagustaldes. She had felt muzzled, suffocated, by this place for so long that all she could see was a grim, colorless future. Now, the path ahead had promise.

  Saddled and packed, the two women led their horses out of the stable into the yard beyond. It was a chill, windy morning; gusts blew straw and dirt across the hard packed earth. It was the second moon cycle after Yuletide, and it had been a strangely dry winter. At least they would not have to contend with mud on their journey.

  Osana swung up onto the saddle and adjusted her skirts. Under her tunic, which had splits each side, she wore goat-skin leggings and high fur lined boots—this attire was more practical for riding and would keep her warmer too. She had ensured Lora was dressed the same way, although the woman did not look at ease, seated upon her palfrey.

  A few yards away, Osana caught a flutter of movement out of her eye. The ealdorman and his wife had emerged from their hall to see her off. Tall and blond, his shoulders broad in the fur cloak he wore, Deogol’s face was expressionless. Beside him, her right eye purpled, Edlyn was smiling. Their servants clustered around them, necks straining, as they watched the shamed widow take her leave.

  Osana felt like spitting at them.

  For years those men and women had smiled at her face and pretended to care about her—yet it had all been a lie. The relationship between them had only ever been that of master and servant. They had only seen her as a means of survival, and she could not blame them for that. Only, seeing the naked curiosity on their faces, she felt betrayed.

  Osana glanced right at Lora. Her friend was trying to get comfortable in the saddle, her face creased in worry. Friends were rare, and yet over the past six months Lora had shown herself to be worthy of trust. They had worked side-by-side, cooking, cleaning, weaving, and sewing, becoming as close as sisters.

  She sensed Lora’s nervousness this morning but knew she would not leave her side.

  “Are you ready?” Osana asked.

  Lora glanced up and nodded.

  Osana turned her palfrey, glancing back over her shoulder as she did so.

  Deogol alone lifted a hand to bid her goodbye. No one else moved. Edlyn watched her, eyes bright with victory.

  Aye, you might have won, Osana thought, but I have no wish for your life. You are welcome to it.

  With that, she urged her palfrey into a trot and headed for the east gate out of Hagustaldes.

  She could not leave this place soon enough.

  Lora drew level with her as they passed through the gate and clattered over a wooden bridge. The road beyond led through the midst of fields filled with winter crops: kale, cabbage, garlic, and onions. Skeleton trees rose like supplicating hands into a pale sky.

  “So you know where we’re headed?” Lora asked, her blonde curls bouncing, cheeks flushed with cold.

  Osana exhaled sharply, meeting her gaze.

  “The only kin who’d have me lives to the north … an aunt in Jedworth.”

  Lora’s blue eyes narrowed. “You have no one else?”

  Osana shook her head. “My sisters would all turn me away if I went to them.”

  Lora’s frown deepened. “God’s bones—why?”

  “I’m the eldest of four girls … there was a lot of competition between us growing up … something our parents encouraged. None of my sisters could wed until I did, and they resented me for marrying so well. The rest of them wed thegns, but I ensnared an ealdorman.” Osana did not bother to temper the irony in her voice.

  “But surely they won’t still resent you?”

  Osana sighed. “None of them came to Raedwulf’s funeral. None sent word to me afterward. No … I will not darken any of their doors.”

  “And you’re sure your aunt will welcome you? Jedworth is a long way to travel if you aren’t sure …”

  Silence fell between them then, broken only by the rhythmic clump of their horses’ hooves and the caw of a raven sitting in a nearby yew tree.

  You will always be welcome at Bebbanburg.

  Aldfrith’s voice taunted her. How many times had she thought over his offer in the past months? How often had she dismissed it?

  Osana swallowed, wetting her lips. “At Raedwulf’s funeral the king … made me an offer.”

  Lora’s eyes went as big as moons. “What kind of offer?”

  The naked suspicion in her friend’s voice made Osana smile. “It’s not like that. Or I don’t think he meant it that way … he saw how isolated I would be in Hagustaldes without Raedwulf. He took pity on me and said that if I wished to reside at Bebbanburg, he would offer me his protection.”

  Lora stared at her, stunned. “And you’ve waited till now to tell me?”

  Osana sighed. “I’ve not truly contemplated his offer … not till today.” She broke off here, pushing aside a lock of hair that had escaped her braid and kept blowing into her eyes. “What do you think, Lora? Should we make new lives for ourselves in Bebbanburg?”

  Lora watched her a moment longer before her cheek dimpled in a smile. “I think you’ll receive a warmer welcome there than in Jedworth.”

  Dusk settled early that evening, windy and cold. The two women made camp a furlong from the road, in a hazel thicket.

  Lora, who had brought flint and tinder with her, lit a fire in a narrow clearing while Osana went in search of wood. She returned, her arms full, to see that Lora had seen to the horses and was getting their supper ready. Osana squatted next to the fire and fed the tender flames some twigs. The fire was a beacon of warmth in the grey gloaming. The thicket protected them a little from the biting wind, but they would spend the night wrapped in their fur cloaks.

  “Edlyn wasn’t generous with her stores, but we’ve enough food to last us the journey to Bebbanburg,” Lora announced, handing Osana a slab of bread with a peeled hard-boiled egg and a wedge of cheese.

  Osana favored her with a wry smile in response. “Given how she feels about me, we’re lucky she let us take any food.”

  Lora raised a sandy eyebrow. “I’ll not miss that woman. Even before Raedwulf died, she made life difficult.”

  Osana swallowed a mouthful of bread. Over the past months, she had learned that Lora too was widowed, although her marriage had been a much happier one than Osana’s. “It must have been hard for you, to go from being a wife to a servant?”

  Lora shrugged, but Osana saw the tension on her face.

  “I had a good life with Broga. He was a big man with an even bigger heart. We had a hut by the river, and when he was not out fighting for the king, he would fish for eels and trout, and help me tend our garden.”

  Lora paused, her gaze turning unfocused, for she was staring back into a past only she could see. “I knew when he marched north with King Ecgfrith that I’d never see him again.”

  Osana frowned. “How?”

  Lora’s gaze unclouded, and she met Osana’s eye once more. “On the morning he left, I was helping him lace his leather armor and his bracers when I knew … I just knew with a chilling certainty that he would never return home to me.”

  Osana lowered her bread to her lap. “He fell at Nechtansmere?”

  Lora nodded.

  “And did you say anything to him before he left … try to warn him?”

  Lora gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “He’d have thought me a goose. I had no proof, only a woman’s intuition.” She sighed then, as the memories washed over her. “No, I held my tongue and watched my man ride away.”

  Osana’s eyes misted at Lora’s words. “You should have not lost him so soon,” she said gently, her voice catching, “but until you did, you were happy and in love. Nothing can take those memories from you.” Osana’s gaze shifted to the hungry flames that licked at the gathering darkness. She wished she had such memories to bring her solace on nights such as these.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Wrong Decision

  IT WAS COLD inside Aldfrith’s annex. A low hearth flickered in one corner, but it barely seemed to throw out any heat.
Argus huddled next to it, his whiskery muzzle resting on the river stones lining the hearth. A few feet away, Aldfrith sat, a heavy fur mantle about his shoulders. His breath steamed before him, and his fingers that held the quill ached with cold.

  He barely noticed the chill, such was his concentration. The quill flew across the sheet of vellum as he wrote.

  A low whine from his hound eventually roused him. Aldfrith raised his gaze, glancing over at where Argus was now watching him with pleading eyes. It was late morning, and the dog had not yet gone out for his walk.

  Aldfrith smiled. “I haven’t forgotten you, lad. Got lost in my work, that’s all.”

  Argus thumped his tail, disturbing the thin layer of ash that lay around the hearth. Aldfrith frowned. This room was really getting filthy; he needed to let a servant in here to clean.

  Leaning back, he flexed his numb hands before stretching his cramped back. The chill in here bit at him then, and his belly growled, reminding him he had retired to his annex without even breaking his fast that morning.

  The door behind him was open, and grey, cold light filtered in. The lilt of servants’ voices as they worked in the yard beyond reached him.

  Aldfrith turned his attention back to Argus. “So, do you want to hear it?”

  The wolfhound gave a soft whine and dropped his chin to the ground, his tail stilling.

  Aldfrith snorted. “Your lack of enthusiasm stings … yet I will read it to you all the same.” He looked down at the page he had filled with slanted letters. Pleasure filtered through him, making the cold fade into the background once more. It was ridiculous really, the joy that writing gave him. He had awoken before dawn that morning, full of ideas that demanded to be given a voice.

  Clearing his throat, he began to read, his voice low and steady in the quiet room.