Aldfrith stretched out next to her. They were close, barely a handspan apart. After a long moment, Aldfrith reached out and stroked her shoulder. Her skin was as smooth as it looked. His groin hardened in response, and he suddenly became aware of the heat and nearness of her body.
“Do you know what happens?” he asked for a moment, continuing to caress her. “Between a man and his wife … have the other women told you?”
“Aye.” Her voice was choked. “It sounds vile.”
Taken aback, Aldfrith stilled his caresses. “It doesn’t have to be,” he replied finally. “It can give pleasure. We must lie together as man and wife … if we are to have children.”
“I don’t want them,” Cuthburh answered, speaking the words in short panicked gasps. “I was to be a nun … I don’t want to be a wife or a mother.”
And I don’t want to be a king … but sometimes we don’t get a choice in matters.
“Cuthburh.” He reached out once more and placed a hand on her upper arm. “We were given a duty, you and I, to unite Northumbria and Wessex in marriage. We must fulfill it.”
She turned to him then, so swiftly that they nearly collided. Her face shocked Aldfrith. Gone was the meek, blushing bride. An enraged young woman with cold eyes glared at him instead.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarled. “The devil take duty. I will not lie with you.”
Osana was sitting upon a stool, brushing her hair, when Raedwulf stumbled into their alcove.
Disappointment flooded through her at the sight of his florid face and glazed eyes. She had hoped, even whispered a prayer, that he would drink himself into a stupor with the other men and fall asleep at the table. However, God had not answered her.
“Good eve, wife,” Raedwulf greeted her with a grin. “I have not forgotten my promise to you, see?” His gaze raked over the long tunic she wore. “Take that off.”
Osana put down her hairbrush. “I’m tired, Raedwulf … can’t we just go to sleep?”
Raedwulf shrugged off his tunic and started unlacing his breeches. He was a strongly built man. Crisp blond hair covered a muscular chest. The bronze and silver arm rings he wore gleamed in the light of the cressets burning on the alcove wall. Yet Osama was not inflamed by the sight of his half-naked body.
Her stomach clenched.Just leave me alone.
He finished unlacing his breeches and freed his manhood. Red and swollen, it thrust up at her, eager and hungry.
“I’m not ready to sleep yet. Take off your tunic, wife,” he growled, impatient now, “and get down on your hands and knees.”
Osana recognized the warning edge in his voice. If she hesitated any longer, he would rip her tunic off her and take her roughly. She tensed, hating him at that moment. However, she knew that if she did as bid it would be over soon enough.
Rising to her feet, Osana pulled the tunic over her head and lowered herself on all fours onto the furs. Then she closed her eyes and prepared to be serviced.
Chapter Five
Solitude
THE DAY AFTER the handfasting dawned grey and chill. After long moons of mild weather, summer seemed to finally have given way to autumn.
Stepping outside the Great Tower of Bebbanburg, Osana heaved in a lungful of fresh, cold air.
The interior of the tower was cloying, smoky, and full of unpleasant odors that morning. The smell of mead and stale food had made Osana feel queasy as she had helped herself to a heel of bread and a cup of broth. She had left Raedwulf asleep in their alcove. After the amount he had drunk the night before, he would sleep till noon.
A salt-laced breeze gusted across the yard before the tower, sending straw and dust flying. Osana pulled the fur mantle she wore about her shoulders close and descended the steps.
There was a market in front of the low gate most mornings, and she wanted to visit it, to wander amongst the stalls and pretend she was another woman—with a different life.
She passed through the high gate and walked out onto the King’s Way, a wide swathe that led down to the market square. Unlike those in the slumbering tower, the rest of Bebbanburg—the folk who kept this fort alive—were already up and about.
The clang of iron rang out into the street, carried from a row of forges. As Osana approached the market, she heard the cry of hawkers, mingling with the shriek of gulls circling above.
Osana entered the busy market square, weaving her way through the crowds of local women, shopping baskets under their arms. This was a special market today, for merchants and farmers had come from afar to help celebrate the handfasting. Despite the lack of sun and warmth this morning, Osana saw that most of the folk she passed were smiling. A butcher selling blood sausage and haunches of salted pork was sharing a story with the man he served, his loud, deep laugh booming across the square.
Everyone loved a handfasting, especially a royal one.
