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

by Jayne Castel

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Alone

  JEDWORTH WAS SMALLER than Osana had expected.

  The burg, surrounded by a wooden palisade, had a new, fresh look, as if the town had recently been built. They rode in upon a bright, windy spring morning. The scent of spring bulbs laced the air and birdsong surrounded them.

  A narrow river, named the Jed Water, cut its path through the town. Osana spied men fishing on the banks. They turned, their faces curious, watching the party trot in through the gates.

  Osana tensed at the sight of them before forcing herself to relax.

  No one knows me here, she reminded herself. I left my shame behind me in Bebbanburg.

  She glanced over at where Cerdic rode next to her. “I thought Jedworth was older than this,” she admitted. “It looks as if folk just settled here.”

  “Much of Jedworth was burned to the ground by the Picts,” Cerdic explained. “The warlord Bridei and his men were trying to provoke King Ecgfrith into war by raiding deep into his territory.”

  Osana shook her head. “Well they succeeded. I heard the king even went against Cuthbert’s advice.”

  Cerdic snorted a laugh. “Aye … Ecgfrith couldn’t see straight where Bridei was concerned. The Pict fostered at Bebbanburg as a lad, and there was bad blood between them. Ecgfrith wanted vengeance at all costs; in the end it was his undoing.”

  Osana gazed around her, surprised at the news that the Picts had been so bold as to raid this far south. No wonder the king had been enraged. Although Jedworth sat in the heart of the borderlands between the two
kingdoms, it was clearly an Angle settlement.

  The party of riders made their way up an unpaved street to a large open space, flanked on one side by the ealdorman’s hall. This too had been recently rebuilt; the hall boasted a pristine thatched roof and a golden timber frame that had not yet been darkened by the seasons.

  A circle of stalls ringed the wide space. Vendors filled it, hawking spring greens, fresh meat, and bread. Women wandered amongst the stalls, wicker baskets under their arms. Many of them were smiling as they chatted to the stall-owners.

  Osana watched them, envy rising within her. These women appeared to have simple lives, the kind of life she had always wanted. However, as the wives of cottars, merchants, and craftsmen, their lives would likely not be easy. They would work hard and bear many children. Still, Osana envied them all the same.

  “Do you know where your aunt lives?” Cerdic asked her.

  Osana shook her head. “I never visited her here.”

  The warrior pulled up his horse and dismounted. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Osana watched him stride over to one of the stalls, where a florid-faced man sold live geese, ducks, and fowl. The honking, quacking, and clucking coming from the pen next to him was deafening. Cerdic spoke briefly with the vendor, before nodding briskly and returning to his horse.

  “Did you find out where she lives?” Osana asked.

  “Aye,” he replied with a wry smile. “It appears your aunt is well known in Jedworth … by all accounts she is a woman with a strong character.”

  Osana frowned at this news, apprehension fluttering in her belly. The last time she had seen Hagona, she had found her acerbic. Her aunt had never wedded. Even as a young woman, she had been a force to be reckoned with. And now that Osana was about to be reunited with her, she wondered at the wisdom of coming here.

  I had no choice. It was either here … or a nunnery.

  They left the market square and rode to the northern edge of town, to where a low timber building sat just a few feet from the palisade that ringed the town. A carefully tended garden surrounded the dwelling, as did a scattering of outbuildings. Fowl scratched in the dirt, and a goat, tethered outside one of the sheds, bleated as they approached.

  Osana’s gaze alighted upon the small figure kneeling in the center of the vegetable plot. The woman worked deftly, pulling out weeds from around onions.

  The woman glanced up, upon hearing the thud of approaching hooves. It had been a while since Osana had seen Hagona. She was her mother's eldest sister, and in her youth was said to have been a beauty. Yet the years had not been kind to her. She looked like a sinewy old fowl. Her face was gaunt, her mouth bitter. Her once thick brown hair was now completely grey.

  Hagona watched the party of riders and her gaze narrowed. “Wes hāl,” she greeted them, although there was no warmth in her voice, only suspicion.

  Cerdic drew up his horse. “Good morning … are you Hagona?”

  The woman nodded curtly. “Who wants to know?”

  Osana spoke up then. There was little point in letting Cerdic speak on her behalf. “Good day, aunt. Do you remember me?”

  Hagona went still. Those hazel eyes—so similar to Osana’s mother’s—shifted to her. “Osana?”

  “Aye … it’s been a long while, has it not?”

  The woman nodded. “What brings you here, girl? Where’s that brute you married?”

  Osana heard snorts behind her, as the men escorting her choked back laughter. Only Cerdic did not look amused.

  Osana had forgotten how much her aunt disliked Raedwulf. The pair of them had only met twice, and on both occasions Raedwulf had named her a scold. “No wonder no man would have her,” he had grumbled. “Her shrew’s tongue would have sent them all running.”

  “Raedwulf died,” she answered after a brief pause. “Over a year ago now.”

  Hagona watched her. She did not say she was sorry, and Osana was grateful for that. Her aunt was not one to say things she did not mean. She would not pretend to grieve over the death of a man she had never liked. A long pause drew out between them then. It became clear that Hagona was not going to be the one to speak next.

  Inhaling deeply, Osana gathered her nerve. “I’m no longer welcome in Hagustaldes,” she said quietly. “Raedwulf’s brother is ealdorman now, and his wife hates me.”

  Hagona straightened up, brushing soil off her hands. Her thin face had hardened, as the reason for Osana’s arrival dawned on her. “So you thought you’d be welcome here?” Her voice was clipped. “You thought your old spinster aunt would look after you.”

  The words stung. Osana clenched her jaw. She hated prostrating herself like this. Yet she could not lose her temper, for the alternative was to take the veil.

  “I will earn my place under your roof,” she replied evenly. “I would not ask this of you if there was any other choice. My parents are dead, and my sisters all live in cramped homes with barely enough room for them and their families. Please, aunt … you are my only hope.”

  Lora descended the steps into the yard outside the Great Tower, a load of dusty furs in her arms. A balmy spring morning greeted her. The sun kissed her face, and she noted that blossom had now appeared on the branches of the apple and pear trees in the neighboring orchard.

  Osana would have liked to see that, she thought with a pang. She spent a lot of time in the orchard.

  Just over two days had passed since Osana’s departure, and Lora already missed her terribly. She missed sharing an alcove with her and chatting together at night in the darkness. It had been wonderful to have a space that she only had to share with one other. With Osana gone, Lora had been forced to give up her alcove. She now slept upon the rushes in the Great Hall.

  She did not sleep well out there. The night before, one of the warriors lying next to her had tried to grope her. She had slapped him before wriggling away, yet the incident had unnerved her. She would sleep in a different place tonight, but how long till another man tried his luck?

  Frowning at the thought, Lora strode over to a long railing near the stable complex and hung up the furs. She then picked up a long wooden paddle. Now that the weather had started to warm, it was time to clean out the alcoves. During the long, cold months furs became the home of mites and rodents. Now these unwelcome guests needed to be turfed out.

  Whack. Lora hit the furs with her paddle, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

  I should have made Osana take me with her.

  Whack.

  I don’t belong here either.

  Whack.

  Anger rose within Lora as she beat the furs, her movements growing increasingly savage.

  Osana’s all I have left, and now she’s gone too.

  Tears pricked Lora’s eyes as she continued to beat the furs. Never had she felt so lonely.

  “You keep beating that fur like that, and you’ll rip it to pieces.”

  A male voice, edged with wry amusement, intruded.

  Lora halted, panting from exhaustion, and straightened up, pushing a stray blond curl out of her eyes.

  Cerdic stood behind her, next to his horse. The small group of warriors who had accompanied Osana west were dismounting behind him.

  “You’re back,” she said before cursing herself for being a goose. Clearly he was back—here he was standing before her.

  Cerdic raised an eyebrow, observing her. “Aye.”

  “Osana … how is she?”

  “Well enough. We left her in the company of her aunt.”

  Lora frowned. There was something in his tone that put her on edge. “Is something amiss?”

  “No … I just pity Osana, that’s all. Hagona of Jedworth has a tongue that could cut stone.”

  Silence fell between them then. Lora glanced across at the fur. Indeed, she had given it a good thrashing. She should take it back inside and get another.

  “Lora.” The way he said her name made her tense. She glanced up to find that Cerdic had stepped closer. “I didn’t have
the chance to talk to you before I left … are you well?”

  She held his gaze and deliberated whether she should lie to him—tell him she was as happy as a newborn lamb on this fine spring day. Yet she could not bring herself to say the words.

  Cerdic looked at her in such a way, she felt only the truth would do.

  “I miss her,” she said quietly. “And I wonder what my place here is now.”

  “The same as it was. You know you’re welcome in the king’s hall.”

  Lora huffed. “Am I?”

  “Do you still have your alcove?”

  She shook her head. “A servant doesn’t get to have such a space to herself. One of the king’s thegns and his wife took it.”

  She looked into his rugged face and saw a softness settle in his eyes. It was unexpected, and it made a strange warmth rise within her. It was not pity she saw, but something deeper, stronger.

  He was the only one here who really noticed Lora. Ever since Osana’s departure, the other women hardly bothered with her

  “I feel so alone,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was wed once, but when my husband died, I lost my purpose. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  He stepped closer to her still, their bodies so near they were almost touching.

  “I lost my wife a few years back,” he rumbled. She stared up at him, feeling the tension that now emanated from his big body. “Since then I’ve served my king and done my duty … only it doesn’t fill the emptiness.”

  Lora’s eyes pricked with tears at this news. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I didn’t know.”

  Cerdic raised a hand then, cupping her cheek gently, his thumb tracing the swell of her lower lip.

  Desire arched up within Lora, a sensation she had never thought to feel again. She inhaled sharply.

  “You brought sunshine into this tower the moment you stepped into it,” he said softly, uncaring that they stood on the edge of a busy yard, surrounded by curious eyes and sharp ears. “Before meeting you, I’d forgotten what it was like to smile.”