Lora’s gaze unclouded, and she met Osana’s eye once more. “On the morning he left, I was helping him lace his leather armor and his bracers when I knew … I just knew with a chilling certainty that he would never return home to me.”
Osana lowered her bread to her lap. “He fell at Nechtansmere?”
Lora nodded.
“And did you say anything to him before he left … try to warn him?”
Lora gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “He’d have thought me a goose. I had no proof, only a woman’s intuition.” She sighed then, as the memories washed over her. “No, I held my tongue and watched my man ride away.”
Osana’s eyes misted at Lora’s words. “You should have not lost him so soon,” she said gently, her voice catching, “but until you did, you were happy and in love. Nothing can take those memories from you.” Osana’s gaze shifted to the hungry flames that licked at the gathering darkness. She wished she had such memories to bring her solace on nights such as these.
Chapter Thirteen
A Wrong Decision
IT WAS COLD inside Aldfrith’s annex. A low hearth flickered in one corner, but it barely seemed to throw out any heat. Argus huddled next to it, his whiskery muzzle resting on the river stones lining the hearth. A few feet away, Aldfrith sat, a heavy fur mantle about his shoulders. His breath steamed before him, and his fingers that held the quill ached with cold.
He barely noticed the chill, such was his concentration. The quill flew across the sheet of vellum as he wrote.
A low whine from his hound eventually roused him. Aldfrith raised his gaze, glancing over at where Argus was now watching him with pleading eyes. It was late morning, and the dog had not yet gone out for his walk.
Aldfrith smiled. “I haven’t forgotten you, lad. Got lost in my work, that’s all.”
Argus thumped his tail, disturbing the thin layer of ash that lay around the hearth. Aldfrith frowned. This room was really getting filthy; he needed to let a servant in here to clean.
Leaning back, he flexed his numb hands before stretching his cramped back. The chill in here bit at him then, and his belly growled, reminding him he had retired to his annex without even breaking his fast that morning.
The door behind him was open, and grey, cold light filtered in. The lilt of servants’ voices as they worked in the yard beyond reached him.
Aldfrith turned his attention back to Argus. “So, do you want to hear it?”
The wolfhound gave a soft whine and dropped his chin to the ground, his tail stilling.
Aldfrith snorted. “Your lack of enthusiasm stings … yet I will read it to you all the same.” He looked down at the page he had filled with slanted letters. Pleasure filtered through him, making the cold fade into the background once more. It was ridiculous really, the joy that writing gave him. He had awoken before dawn that morning, full of ideas that demanded to be given a voice.
Clearing his throat, he began to read, his voice low and steady in the quiet room.
“Learning is a beneficial occupation.
It makes a king of a poor person.
It makes an accomplished person of a landless one.
It makes an exalted family of a lowly one.
It makes a wise person of a fool.
Its commencement is good.
Its end is better.
It is respected in this world.
It is precious in the next.”
“Well done, sire … although I fear the wisdom of your words is lost on Argus.”
The voice behind him made Aldfrith whirl toward the doorway. Cerdic stood there, leaning against the doorframe, muscular arms folded across his chest.
