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

by Jayne Castel

  Aldfrith reached for a cup of wine, took a large gulp, and swallowed. “Lindisfarena is a holy place, and I will not have everything Cuthbert worked for tampered with,” he replied coldly. “A man like Eadberht will respect it.”

  Wilfrid drew himself up. “And you think I won’t?”

  “I think you’re best to focus on Inhrypum. Another will become prior of Lindisfarena.”

  A chill silence settled between them. When Wilfrid eventually spoke, a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Ever since I returned to the north, you’ve made my life here a trial … sire.” The words were ground out, the title at the end uttered almost as a curse.

  Aldfrith cocked his head. He was not in the mood to be criticized by the likes of Wilfrid. “All I’ve done is look after the interests of this kingdom,” he replied, “and if that means tempering your ambitions then so be it.”

  “You need a man like me here,” Wilfrid shot back, undeterred. “A man who has lived in Rome, who has studied under the Pope himself. Instead, you have obstructed me at every turn. You denied me Hagustaldes, and now Lindisfarena. The Pope shall hear of this.”

  Aldfrith went still. “I have been generous and lenient with you, Father Wilfrid,” he said, his voice chill, “overly so.”

  The bishop stared back at him, determined not to back down. “The Pope shall hear differently. He shall hear the truth.”

  Aldfrith leaned toward him, holding his gaze. “I care not what you have to say to the Pope. He’s in Rome, and we are a world away. This is Northumbria, and here, I rule.”

  The bishop blanched. “That is blasphemy.”

  Aldfrith set down his cup with a thump. “My patience with you is at an end. I suggest you gather your servants and depart for Inhrypum this afternoon.”

  Wilfrid gaped at him, his outrage faltering. “You’re sending me away?”

  “Aye … and if you test me again, I’ll send you much farther than Inhrypum. I now understand why my brother was so keen to send you into exile. You push too hard, Wilfrid. Learn your place, or someone will teach it to you.”

  Aldfrith rose from the table, signaling that the conversation had come to an end. Around them, the others who had been enjoying a cup of ale after the noon meal had all gone silent, their gazes watchful. Cerdic was among them, his expression hooded.

  Not acknowledging any of them, Aldfrith turned his focus back to the bishop once more. “Be gone from Bebbanburg by dusk,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “Or I’ll have you chased out.”

  Cerdic caught up with Aldfrith as he crossed the stable yard. “You’ve vexed the bishop. The man’s just taken a rod to one of his servants for packing his trunk too slowly.”

  “Just as long as he’s gone from here before dusk,” Aldfrith growled back. “He tries my patience.”

  “For what it’s worth, you should have done that months ago, sire.”

  Aldfrith halted, his gaze sweeping to Cerdic.

  The warrior grinned at him, not remotely cowed by the king’s wintry expression. “It’s rare to see you so riled, sire. Has Wilfrid really gotten under your skin so?”

  Aldfrith loosed a breath. “The bishop has been a thorn in my arse ever since I arrived at Bebbanburg … but you’re right … it’s not just him.”

  Cerdic’s gaze widened. “Sire?”

  “It’s life,” Aldfrith replied shortly. “Sometimes it feels as if I wear a millstone around my neck.” He turned then and continued on his way to the stables. He needed to be free of this fortress for a while. He would saddle his horse and go for a ride along the beach; perhaps the sea air would sweeten his mood. Cerdic was right, anger burned within him this afternoon, and it took little for the flames to kindle.

  He entered the stables, a low-slung building with two rows of stalls and a wide aisle between them. His stallion was stabled at the far end. Aldfrith had almost reached his destination when he realized that Cerdic was right behind him.

  “I’m ill company today,” he said, not looking over at the warrior. “Best you leave me.”

  “Do you wish for your old life, sire?” Cerdic asked. “Would you go back to Iona if you could?”

  Aldfrith halted and turned. Cerdic had stopped a few feet back and was watching him, his expression shadowed, for it was dimly lit inside the stables.

  “No,” Aldfrith answered, surprising himself when he realized it was the truth. “I was a different man … and I can’t go back to that life.”

  “What then?”

  Aldfrith frowned. “Cerdic … you’re trying my patience.”

  “What would it take then,” Cerdic pressed, ignoring the warning, “for you to find peace?”

  Aldfrith tensed, irritation surging. “I don’t know. I don’t have the answers for anything anymore.”

  Cerdic gave a wry smile, folding his arms across his chest. “I was wondering when you’d realize that.”

  Aldfrith clenched his jaw. Anger smoldered in the pit of his belly. Cerdic was coming perilously close to receiving a black eye. “I’m happy to oblige. You can go now, Cerdic.”

  Only, the warrior did not leave. He stood, legs apart, staring Aldfrith down with a look that only served to make the king’s mood darken further. “I didn’t mean that as an insult, sire. Only that I’m pleased to see you’ve flown down from your eyrie to join the rest of us.”

  Aldfrith gaped at him, momentarily lost for words. But Cerdic had not yet finished. “Admit it, you’ve not been right since Osana left,” Cerdic continued, his tone softening.

  Aldfrith flinched. He did not want to hear this. “I thought you once shared Wilfrid’s view of her?” he growled.

  Cerdic’s expression tightened. “Aye … I once saw things more like the bishop—that a king needs to wed a woman of equal rank, a high born woman who will serve to weave peace or extend territories. But I see things differently now.”

  Silence fell between them.

  Aldfrith inhaled sharply. He did not want to hear this. “You’re not helping,” he said finally. “I need to forget Osana, not pine for her.”

  Cerdic snorted. “In my experience, once a woman gets under your skin, you can’t forget her … and the harder you try, the worse it’ll get.”

  Aldfrith cursed under his breath. “There must be a cure for this … something I can do.” Truthfully, he was so miserable these days he was ready to try almost anything. All his ideals, everything he had once believed, no longer mattered to him. The wall he had so painstakingly built around his heart could not be rebuilt.

  Watching him, Cerdic favored Aldfrith with a rueful smile. “There’s only one cure sire … you know what you must do.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Why Are You Here?

  AT THE SIGHT of the wooden perimeter around Jedworth, Aldfrith tensed. Sensing the change in its rider’s mood, his horse shifted under him. The stallion side-stepped, tossing its head.

  Aldfrith inhaled deeply, breathing in the scents of warm earth, grass, and horse, before glancing right at Cerdic. “Remind me why this is wise?”

  The warrior smiled. “No one said this was wise, sire.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  Cerdic’s smile widened in reply, yet he did not answer.

  They both knew the answer to that. It was not wise—it was necessary.

  Aldfrith loosed the breath he had been holding and urged his stallion forward, leading the way in through Jedworth’s south gate. He had brought a small group of men with him, just his most trusted warriors, and he traveled without banners or fanfare. To most onlookers he appeared a well-dressed thegn traveling north. Aldfrith hoped to avoid the ealdorman of Jedworth on this trip.

  Aldfrith did not want distractions. He needed to focus on the purpose that had driven him west from Bebbanburg.

  His stomach knotted when he thought on what lay ahead. He recalled the last time he had seen Osana, the cold fury on her face that she would not voice.

  “What if she doesn’t want to see me?” He voiced the question al
oud, without meaning to.

  They rode along a dirt street now, beside a river that sparkled in the noon sun.

  “That’s a possibility,” Cerdic agreed.

  Aldfrith frowned at him.

  Ahead, the northern perimeter of the town loomed, and there—as Cerdic had described—was a long, squat building with a thatched roof, surrounded by a garden and huts. A woman was walking down the path, carrying a basket.

  Aldfrith’s heart leaped at the sight of her, but as he drew closer his pulse slowed. It was not Osana. The woman before him had grey hair and a hard face. Yet there was a family resemblance in her stance, her wide hazel eyes.

  The woman eyeballed him as he drew up outside her gate. Then her gaze flicked over to Cerdic beside him and recognition flared. Her mouth pursed, and when she spoke, her voice was as unwelcome as her expression. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Niece … there’s someone here to see you!”

  Hagona’s voice reached Osana as she knelt amongst the garlic patch, pulling weeds. This part of the garden lay behind her aunt’s hall, almost in the shadow of the wooden palisade that ringed the town.

  “Osana!”

  The edge of outrage in Hagona’s voice made Osana scramble to her feet. She could not imagine who was paying her a visit. She kept to herself here in Jedworth, and apart from her visits to the market, she had little to do with folk. She hoped none of the men in town had taken a liking to her from afar and decided to woo her. She did not have the patience for it.

  Why can’t Hagona just send them away?

  “I’m coming,” she called. Osana left the garlic patch, dusting soil off her hands as she went. A butterfly fluttered past, its red and black wings catching the sunlight. It was a balmy early summer afternoon, the kind that made it hard to believe winter existed. The sun warmed Osana’s back as she made her way round the side of the hall and up the path, past her annex, to the gate.

  A group of men on horseback had drawn up on the dirt road outside. Clad in mail and leather, they sat upon heavy horses. One of their number, a man astride a magnificent grey stallion, stood apart from the rest. A thick wolf-pelt cloak hung from broad shoulders. His blond hair glinted in the sunlight.

  Osana’s step faltered, and she came to an abrupt halt. Mother Mary … no.

  Sensing movement in the garden behind Hagona, the man’s gaze swiveled and came to rest upon Osana.

  Heart pounding, she stared back. The devil take him, Aldfrith of Northumbria could still make her feel exposed, like she was standing naked in front of a village of people. Just one look and her knees wobbled beneath her. Those dark blue eyes remained on her as he swung from the saddle. Behind him Cerdic took the reins of the king’s mount.

  Aldfrith moved toward the gate, a hand reaching out to open it.

  “Wait there.” Hagona’s voice cracked between them. “I didn’t give you leave to enter my property.”

  Aldfrith stopped short, his gaze swiveling to Hagona. The woman stared back, hands on hips, not remotely intimidated.

  “I’d rather talk to Osana in private,” he replied.

  “You can speak to her here.”

  “Hagona,” Osana spoke up, finding her tongue. Clearly her aunt had no idea whom she was addressing. She risked getting herself in trouble if she was allowed to continue. “It’s alright … I can—”

  “I’m not inviting him in,” Hagona shot back. “He can say his piece at the gate.”

  Aldfrith’s gaze narrowed, while behind him his men shared dark looks. Cerdic placed a hand upon the hilt of the sword at his side. “Would you deny your king?” the warrior demanded.

  Hagona stiffened, her thin face draining of color. When she spoke, her voice came out in a low rasp, as she gazed at the blond stranger before her. “Lord Aldfrith?”

  The king nodded, stepping forward and letting himself inside. “Aye … although I’d prefer you kept the news to yourself. The ealdorman doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Hagona nodded, suddenly struck mute. Her gaze swiveled from Aldfrith then and shifted to her niece.

  Osana saw realization dawn in her aunt’s eyes. Panic flooded through her, making Osana break out in a cold sweat.

  Keep a leash on your tongue, she silently begged. He doesn’t know.

  Aldfrith entered the garden and strode up the path toward her, ignoring Hagona now. His attention was focused entirely upon Osana. He stopped four feet away, his gaze fixed upon her. “Shall we go inside?”

  Osana nodded curtly, not trusting herself to speak, and turned, leading him back down the path to her annex. Stiff backed, she walked past a small herb garden she had recently planted, opened the door, and ducked inside. The smell of pottage greeted them, reminding Osana that she had put her noon meal on to cook before going out into the garden.

  “Mind your head,” she instructed, her voice coming out colder and steadier than she had anticipated. Inside, her belly was churning; her heart felt ready to burst from her rib cage, but her voice gave none of that away.

  Good. Hold onto your anger. He deserves it.

  Aldfrith followed her into the annex, straightened up, and looked around. The space, although neat and clean, was cramped, and she saw the shock in his eyes. “You live in here?”

  Osana nodded.

  “Why doesn’t your aunt let you stay in her hall?”

  “She likes her privacy … and in truth I prefer these lodgings. As you’ve seen, she has the tongue of an adder.”

  His gaze roamed over her face. “Osana,” he said softly. “How have you been?”

  She stared back at him. In the light of the hearth that burned low between them, his features looked drawn, tired. Yet it just added an edge to his attractiveness, another layer to the face she had missed sorely over the past two moons.

  She had missed him. There was no point in denying it. Only, she was also furious with him and that mattered more.

  “Why are you here, Aldfrith?” she asked, ignoring his question. “Wasn’t it enough to send me away … you had to come and see for yourself what I’ve been reduced to?”

  His eyes shadowed. “I’m sorry.”

  She stiffened. “For what? For sending me away, or for coming here?”

  “For all of it … for hurting you.”

  Osana clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. Folding her arms across her chest, she took a step back from him. She needed distance; this space was too confined and airless. Yet it was the only place where they could have privacy.

  “It’s too late for apologies,” she ground out eventually. “It’s all done with anyway.”

  He shook his head. “It’s never too late to tell someone you’ve wronged that you’re sorry for it,” he replied. “I mistreated you, Osana. You brought light into my life, yet I cast you away. I will go to my grave being sorry for that.”

  She stared at him. Aldfrith had a way with words. Even so, there was a rawness to his voice that almost ensnared her, almost made her believe him.

  Almost.

  Hold onto your anger. It’s the only thing that will get you through this.

  “What’s changed?” she demanded, bitterness turning her voice sharp. “You were only too pleased to see the back of me a few months ago. You didn’t care what happened to me then.”

  He took a step toward her, but she backed off. He stopped then and raised his hands, as if placating a nervous animal. The pain on his face halted her breathing. “I’ve given up, Osana,” he said softly. “That’s what’s changed.

  He dropped his hands, and the pair of them stared at each other.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered back. “What does that mean?”

  “No one in Northumbria knows about my past, about the demons I’ve tried to outrun,” he replied, his mouth twisting. “The man you met in Bebbanburg was a fraud. The Philosopher King is an identity I carved for myself years ago. It’s a lie.”

  Osana frowned. Her gaze slid over his face, noting how he struggled. She felt the inner b
attle raging within him even from across the room. “Why don’t you start at the beginning then,” she replied after a pause. “Tell me who you really are.”

  He heaved in a deep breath before reaching up and dragging a hand over his face. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m a hundred winters old.” His gaze met hers once more then. “To understand my demons you’d have to go back thirty years to Éirinn—back to when Oswiu sired me. Aldfrith is my Angle name. For most of my life I was known as Flann Fina mac Oswiu: Flann, son of Fina and Oswiu. He met my mother during his exile, and their love was said to have been a tempest. But when Oswiu heard that his birthright was waiting for him back in Bebbanburg, he left Fina behind without a moment’s hesitation. He broke her heart.”

  Aldfrith paused there, his handsome face taut as the memories from his past assailed him.

  “My mother dealt with it by trying to find another man’s love … yet one by one they disappointed her. One day she could bear it no longer. She walked into the sea and drowned.” Aldfrith looked away, his gaze focusing upon the hearth where the iron pot of pottage bubbled. “It was I who found her the following morning … I would have been around eight.”

  Silence fell between them. Osana did not try to break it. She knew better than to try and fill emptiness with words. Sometimes silence was what was needed.

  “I was cast in the same mold as my mother,” he said finally, his voice bleak. “From the moment I left boyhood behind, my passions ran high … and when I was seventeen, I met a maid named Clodagh. She was wild and beautiful, and I was young and rash. I gave her my heart without hesitation. In return she made a fool out of me.” Aldfrith’s mouth curved into a bitter smile, his gaze desolate. “We were to be handfasted, but three nights before the ceremony, I returned early from a hunting trip with my uncle and found her in the furs with someone else. She mocked my tears and told me there had been others … that everyone knew and laughed behind my back. For a short time afterward I wanted to kill her … and then I wanted to take my own life.”

  Osana’s chest constricted as she listened. She tried to imagine a young Aldfrith weeping as his lover spurned him, yet could not. She had always seen him as self-contained, a man in control of his emotions. Still, there had been glimpses of the passionate man underneath.