by Jayne Castel
“And that’s why I sought isolation in Iona,” he concluded, his voice flat and dull. “I wanted to become a monk, but the prior said I lacked faith. So instead I became the hermit scholar and chose reason over passion. Life was easier that way.”
Osana watched him, understanding settling over her. She knew now why he had been so torn, why he had reacted so badly when they had kissed in his alcove—and when they had coupled in the monastery. It was a path he could not take for fear of losing control. Now, finally, the missing pieces of the puzzle that was ‘Aldfrith of Northumbria’ fell into place.
“You should have told me before,” she said finally. “It would have made things easier to bear.”
He shrugged, his gaze shadowed. “I’m a coward. There are some things I have trouble admitting to myself, let alone others.”
Osana inhaled deeply. “Thank you for telling me. You don’t need to worry … I don’t hate you. Return to Bebbanburg with your conscience lightened.”
His eyes widened. “You think that’s why I’m here?”
“Isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “You need to know about my past … but I didn’t come here to burden you with it so I’d feel better. Is your opinion of me really that low?”
“Why then?” Despite everything, anger still simmered deep within Osana. She had not realized till then just how deeply she had been hurt. “There isn’t anything left to say.”
He moved toward her then, closing the gap between them so that they stood barely two feet apart. “Is it not obvious?” he murmured, his gaze snaring hers. “I’m here because I’m in love with you.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mine
OSANA STARED UP at Aldfrith, and he watched her features tighten, her gaze narrow.
“You aren’t,” she whispered. “You can’t be.”
Heart hammering, Aldfrith forced a smile. “I am … I have been for a while now.”
Her nostrils flared, and she drew back from him. “And you think that changes things?” Her voice rose, and he caught the edge of panic in it. “You’re still king, and I’m still the shamed widow. Do you wish to make me your consort, is that it? Come to me in secret so the likes of Bishop Wilfrid don’t damn your soul?” She looked ill as she spat out those last words, yet she did not back away from him.
Aldfrith went cold. The years rolled back, and he was standing in front of Clodagh while she jeered at him. He remembered how it felt, to open your heart to a woman only to have her revile you.
Only, Osana was not making fun of him. She was angry, hurt. She was a wounded animal lashing out.
“I don’t want any of that,” he replied, forcing down his fear of being spurned. “I just want you … will you be my wife, Osana?”
There he had said it.
The words, the offer, was out there in the world. He could not take it back. He had ripped those words from his throat. It had taken every shred of courage to ask, yet he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders now it was done.
Whatever happened next, she would know how he truly felt.
Osana gaped at him, her lips parting in wordless shock. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled slightly. “Have you lost your wits? The King of Northumbria can’t wed the likes of me.”
Aldfrith smiled again, and this time the expression was not forced. “The king can wed whomever he pleases.”
“But the ealdormen, they’ll protest … the bishop will—”
“Let them,” he replied, cutting her off. “It’ll be too late anyway. By the time they hear, we’ll already be wed.”
“But what if folk don’t accept me?”
“They will in time.”
“But … I’m a widow.”
“I care not.” Aldfrith stepped close to her and reached out. He was afraid to touch her, afraid that she would slap his hand away or shrink back from him. Yet she did not. His fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I can’t breathe without you. Please be my wife.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. He could see the conflict in her eyes; her mind was still whirling, trying to find further reasons why she could not wed him.
“Aldfrith,” she whispered his name and lifted her hand, her own fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. “There’s something you must know … I’m with child.”
He stared at her a moment, before the words sank in. A heartbeat later, a joy unlike any he had ever known flooded through him. His vision blurred. “You are?”
She nodded, her gaze dropping. “I don’t know how it happened,” she murmured. “Raedwulf and I tried for years. I thought I was barren.” She paused here, her body tensing. “You’re not angry, are you?”
Aldfrith huffed out a breath. “Of course not.” He hooked a finger under her chin and gently lifted it so that their eyes met once more. “But I do worry that you would never have told me. You’re as proud as I am bullheaded.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “What could I do? Turn up at the Great Tower and tell you the news. How did I know you would not have me run out of Bebbanburg?”
“I’d never do that.” He moved closer to her; their faces were only inches apart now. He inhaled the sweet musk of her skin, the scent of rosemary in her hair. Hunger, the same sensation that had taken him prisoner upon Lindisfarena, reared up. His breathing quickened, and his belly knotted. He reached up with his free hand and brushed away a tear on her cheek with his thumb. “I’d stand against an army to keep you. Will you be mine?”
She nodded, her eyes glittering. “Aye … I am already.”
He pulled her into his arms, his mouth slanting over hers. He had not planned to kiss her, yet the relief her answer had given him could not be expressed in words. He needed his body to show her what she meant to him.
And as before, whenever they kissed, the floodgates loosed a moment later. The taste of her, the feel of her softness pressed against him, made Aldfrith forget who he was. He forgot that his men and the cantankerous aunt were waiting outside, that the ealdorman of Jedworth had probably heard he was here by now and would expect a visit. He forgot everything in the world except Osana.
His tongue parted her lips, and she moaned, melting against him. His hands moved up, reaching for the heavy braid down her back. He unfastened it, as he had done that day in the monastery, and tangled his fingers in the heavy tresses. A low groan rose in his throat.
He wanted to see her naked with her hair spilling over her body. He wanted her to drag her hair over his own naked skin.
Osana kissed him back with a hunger equal to his own, leaving him in no doubt of her desire. This energy between them was like a summer storm, like flames devouring dry wood. Its intensity was violent, overwhelming.
Suddenly, the layers of clothing separating them felt suffocating. He had to see Osana naked.
As if reading his mind, she drew back from him, her breathing coming in gasps. Then she heeled off her boots, unbuckled the heavy belt around her waist, and reached down, grasping the hem of the long linen tunic she wore with a woolen overdress covering it.
In one movement she drew the garments over her head, exposing the long, naked length of her body and her full, pink-tipped breasts. Then she tossed the clothing aside and stood there, her chest rising and falling sharply. Even in the dim light of the hearth, Aldfrith could see her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark pools of want.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he stripped off his own clothes. Her gaze devoured him as he did so, unabashed. Her lips parted, and he watched her attention travel down the length of his naked body to where his shaft now strained toward her.
One step brought them together, and then Aldfrith’s hands were everywhere. Her naked skin felt better than he could have possibly imagined: smooth as cream, firm and soft in all the right places. He fell to his knees before her, his mouth hungrily fastening upon her breasts. He suckled one hard, his teeth gently nipping her pebbled nipple.
Osana let
out a high keening cry and dug her fingers into his hair, pulling him harder toward her. Aldfrith released her nipple and focused his attention on its twin, suckling her until she sagged against him, her moans filling the small room. His hands roamed over her body, over the smooth curve of her belly—where his child now grew—to the firm globes of her buttocks.
“Aldfrith,” Osana gasped. “Please … I can’t wait … now!
The desperation in her voice roused him. He released her swollen nipple and sank down onto the low stool behind him. It sat just two feet from the glowing hearth where Osana’s noon meal still bubbled, forgotten. He pulled her with him, drawing her down so that she sat astride his lap. Osana gazed down at him a moment, before she leaned down and kissed him, recklessly, wildly. Her arms entwined around his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest.
Heaven preserve him, she addled his senses faster than strong wine. When she gently bit at his lower lip, her fingernails raking down his back, he felt the last shred of his self-restraint snap.
Aldfrith slid his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks, lifting her up to straddle his shaft. She reached down between them then and stroked the swollen length of him, before positioning his shaft at the entrance to her womb.
Tight velvet heat engulfed him as she lowered herself onto him in one long, achingly slow, movement—not stopping until he was buried deep within her. Aldfrith threw back his head and groaned, letting the sensation carry him away. If his heart stopped right now, he would die a happy man. Nothing had ever felt so good.
“Osana,” he gasped. “You slay me.”
She let out a soft, throaty laugh. “I hope not, milord.”
He opened his eyes and dipped his chin to meet her gaze once more. They sat entwined, breathlessly still. The heat of her enveloping him made it difficult for him to think straight. Wordlessly, he caught hold of her hips and rocked her against him. Osana’s eyes widened, and she let out a soft cry. Aldfrith repeated the action, this time raising his hips to grind against her.
Osana’s cry turned into a keen, and her body shuddered against his. He felt the walls of her womb contract against him, felt a rush of heat that nearly pushed him over the edge.
How long had he fought against this? Denying himself of Osana had nearly killed him.
Her mouth claimed his, kissing him deeply—and then she began to ride him. He steadied her hips as she moved, sliding up and down the length of him, slow at first, before tremors convulsed her body once more. Osana cried out against his mouth, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
Aldfrith took control then. He held her hips tight and slammed her down hard onto him, again and again. He let go of control, let go of any rational thought, taking Osana until his cries joined hers— and he too flew over the edge of the abyss.
Osana recovered her breath and pushed herself up from where she had collapsed upon Aldfrith’s shoulder. Her body felt weak and boneless in the aftermath. He was still buried inside her. His body was slick with sweat, his chest still heaving from his explosive climax.
“Woman,” he murmured against her neck. “You are delicious.” His tongue snaked out, tracing her throat. Osana shivered, heat pooling in her lower belly. Would there ever come a time when this man could not melt her with merely a touch? Even his look made her pulse quicken.
She sighed, leaning against him once more and letting him work his way up her neck to the shell of her ear. “You are mine,” he whispered when he reached it. “Now and forever. The moment we return to Bebbanburg, I shall call for the priest.”
His words filled her with warmth. When she had seen him standing by the gate earlier, she had expected the worst: that he had come to slake his lust before he left her. Their last meeting in Bebbanburg had left a scar. She had felt betrayed, used, humiliated. He had turned the most beautiful experience of her life into something to be ashamed of.
But none of that mattered now. He had come to her, opened his heart, and revealed his past. She knew he loved her—and the depth of what she felt for him scared her.
Osana straightened up, her gaze meeting Aldfrith’s. “I had no idea you were called by another name. It must have seemed odd to hear folk calling you ‘Aldfrith’?”
His mouth curved. “Aye. I gave up asking folk at Bebbanburg to use my real name. To them I will always be Aldfrith, son of Oswiu.”
“I shall call you ‘Flann’,” she replied, smiling, “when we’re alone … if you’d like?”
He gazed up at her, his eyes soft and dark in the firelight. “Aye, I’d like that.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Return
“THE KING?” HAGONA’S face was pale in the firelight as she wrapped up some bread and boiled eggs for Osana to take with her on her journey. “No wonder you didn’t tell me.”
Osana smiled. “Aye, some secrets are best kept.”
Her aunt straightened up, observing her niece keenly. “Does he know … that you’re carrying his child?”
Osana nodded.
“And he’ll take you back with him, wed you … make you his queen?” Hagona’s expression turned incredulous. Osana did not blame her. She had difficulty believing this was actually happening herself. She had woken this morning a different person to who she was now. Then she had been resigned to a future where she would give birth to the king’s bastard and raise it in a tiny annex behind her aunt’s hall; a future where folk would whisper about her, stare, and point. A future where she would gradually grow as bitter and hard as her aunt.
“Aye … he says he will.”
Something moved in Hagona’s eyes then, a shadow that almost looked like grief. “That’s the test of a man,” she said softly, “… how he treats you when you have nothing to give him but your body, your heart.”
Silence fell between them. Shocked by her aunt’s words, which were so unlike her, Osana frowned. “What happened, Hagona … how did you end up living here alone? Why did you never wed?”
Her aunt heaved in a deep breath and turned back to wrapping the food. Aldfrith and his men waited outside; the women did not have much more time together. “I gave my heart to the wrong man … long ago,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, “and I never recovered from it.”
Osana watched her aunt, wondering who the man had been. Osana’s mother had never mentioned Hagona’s past. For as long as Osana had known, Hagona had merely been the sharp-tongued aunt you did not want to visit.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, for she knew what it was to be hurt and to live without hope. She did not ask anything further; she had the feeling Hagona would refuse anyway. Her aunt was prickly at the best of times, and Osana could see by the tense line of her jaw that she was not prepared to reveal anything else about her past.
Hagona straightened up and passed Osana the neatly wrapped package of food. “That’s why I know the value of a good man,” she said with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “For I have plenty of experience with a bad one. The king loves you and will go against tradition to wed you. Wyrd shines upon you, niece.”
Osana huffed, smiling once more as she took the food. She rarely heard folk speak of ‘wyrd’ these days. It was part of the old ways, the old gods—when folk believed that fortune ruled your fate. These days most people believed that it was God’s will that charted the course of your life.
Osana was not sure she believed in either. Some things you could not control—yet the past year had taught her that you always had choices in life. The difference was whether you had the courage to act upon them.
Osana leaned back against the hard wall of Aldfrith’s body. The strength and safety of his encircling arms, reaching forward to hold the reins, gave her a sense of peace she had never known before.
They rode across wide rolling hills, the sky a swathe of cloudless blue above. The sun was warm on their faces. Cerdic and another warrior rode up front while Aldfrith and Osana followed just behind. The remainder of their party brought up the r
ear.
They had left Jedworth without delay, departing through the north gate so that they would not have to pass through the town and risk the ealdorman or his men spotting them.
They had lingered just long enough for Osana to thank her aunt and wish her goodbye. It seemed an irony to give Hagona thanks after her cool welcome, yet she had allowed Osana to live with her when many would not have.
Osana had even felt choked up as she rode away. She glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze settling upon the solitary figure standing in the midst of her garden. Hagona was not one to reveal much about herself, yet that brief conversation had told Osana much.
It made her own happiness now even more precious, for she knew how harsh life could be, how not everyone received a happy ending.
Warmth suffused her, and she closed her eyes a moment, absorbing the feel of Aldfrith’s body against hers. She breathed in the rich scent of earth and grass surrounding them.
She loved him, and yet she had not told him so. There was a part of her, the part that sought to preserve her from harm, that made her hold back. They were still far from Bebbanburg, and she was not yet Aldfrith’s wife.
I will tell him soon, she promised herself silently. When we are alone and I feel safe.
There was still part of her that wondered if this was real; she half-expected Aldfrith’s men to start laughing at how foolish this woman was. But they did not.
“You’re quiet,” Aldfrith spoke up. They were pressed so close he did not have to raise his voice to be heard. His breath feathered her ear, causing a shiver of delight to arrow through her. “Although I can hear your mind working from here.”
Osana gave a soft laugh. “Aye … not that my thoughts do me any credit. They keep telling me this is all a dream. That any moment I’m going to wake up in my fowl coop to the sound of Hagona berating me because I’m late milking the goat.”
