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

by Jayne Castel

  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, in order 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 mo
ved 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 cheek bones. 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.”

  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.