Osana’s gaze tracked the king across the rushes. She knew she should not gawk so, yet she could not help herself.
She had been in an odd mood ever since their conversation that morning. She kept thinking of the words that had passed between them—the man’s disarming candor. At the time she had been happy to flee, for she had been embarrassed by the intimacy. But as the day progressed, she found herself longing for a chance to talk to him again.
Osana dropped her gaze to her spindle, a heaviness descending upon her. That conversation had been an unexpected, stolen, moment. The king was usually surrounded by retainers, and she and Raedwulf were to depart the following morning.
Osana would not get the chance to speak with Aldfrith again.
It’s just as well, she consoled herself, teasing a piece of lamb’s wool with her fingers.It was improper anyway.
And yet part of her did not care. She had been brought up in a pious, conservative household. Manners had mattered a lot to her parents, as had proper behavior. Her father was an ambitious thegn and her mother an ealdorman’s daughter. Osana had always felt smothered by them. The eldest of three daughters, she had been relieved to marry and escape their constant judgment. Even though they were both dead, she felt she was defying them now, by wishing for another private conversation with the king.
“Cuthburh!” Eldflaed’s strident voice interrupted Osana’s reverie once again. “Come sit with us, milady.”
Osana lifted her gaze to see a slender figure glide across the rushes toward them.
Like the other women, Osana automatically rose to her feet before dipping into a curtsy. However, as she did so, she noted the dramatic change in the girl.
Cuthburh’s flowing flaxen hair, which had cascaded down her back the day before, was now hidden by a white headrail—only a glimpse of the end of a braid was visible under the hem of the veil. Unlike the form-fitting gown, the queen now wore a loose-fitting tunic made of cream linen, girded around her narrow waist. Her face, framed by the headrail, was still lovely, although the queen’s appearance this afternoon was austere and cold. Her expression was shuttered as she took a seat next to the hearth and picked up a delicate piece of embroidery.
“Good day, all.” Her voice was low and sweet, although Osana heard the guarded edge to it. Cuthburh did not trust them.
“That is a lovely tunic, milady.” One of the ealdorman’s wives commented. “Such fine weave—and a lovely color.”
Cuthburh’s rosebud mouth pursed. “It is too gaudy for my liking, but my brother refused to let me bring my usual clothes. Tomorrow I will see about having plainer garments made.”
The queen’s comment caused a ripple of surprise to go through the knot of women. Cuthburh was queen—she was expected to wear fine clothes. Osana watched the queen bow her head and begin work on her embroidery, her slim, nimble fingers working with expert speed. She thought back to what Aldfrith had told her and realized he had not exaggerated Cuthburh’s wish for a different life to this one.
Osana stifled a sigh.
Don’t we all?
“Osana!”
She glanced up to see Raedwulf hailing her. He was seated upon the high seat, holding up a bronze cup. “Come, wife—get some wine and fill our cups!”
Osana heard a few of the women giggle at Raedwulf’s command. No doubt they thought him manly and authoritative.
Osana just found him boorish.
Putting down her spindle, she left the women, murmured an apology, and crossed to the high seat. A servant girl had filled a ewer of sloe wine, which she passed to Osana. Silently, ever the obedient wife, Osana circuited the table, pouring wine into each man’s cup.
Now that he had hailed her to his side, Raedwulf ignored Osana. He was deep in conversation with the ealdorman of Gefrin, discussing perimeter defenses, and did not even look his wife’s way as she passed.
Osana was grateful.
Reaching the head of the table, Osana filled the king’s cup. She was drawing back—about to move on to the bishop—when Aldfrith looked up.
Eyes the color of the summer sky just before sunset met hers. And just for a moment, Osana paused, ensnared.
“Thank you,” the king said quietly.
Heart hammering, Osana dipped her head and moved on to Bishop Wilfrid. However, as she did so, she realized that it was not only the king who had noticed her. The bishop had too.
Wilfrid watched her under hooded lids, his gaunt face stern. Osana met his gaze, and her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. One look at the bishop’s narrowed stare, his thinned lips, and she felt stripped bare. They had done nothing wrong, but she felt as if the bishop had caught the pair of them cavorting naked.
A flush spread up from her chest at the thought, and Osana hastily moved on to continue pouring the wine.
They left Bebbanburg with the dawn. Raedwulf rose before Osana, leaving her to pack their belongings while he went out to ready the horses. They had brought a small party with them—just four of Raedwulf’s most trusted men but no servants. Osana would serve and tend to their needs during the journey home.
