“How long have you been listening?” Aldfrith attempted to mask his embarrassment with a frown. He never read his work aloud to others.
Cerdic’s mouth quirked. “Long enough … folk will start calling you the ‘mad king’ if you keep talking to your hound like that.”
Aldfrith huffed, his mortification fading. He was glad Cerdic had interrupted him and not someone else. Bishop Wilfrid was visiting from Inhrypum at the moment, and he had a habit of sneaking up on Aldfrith. The bishop had started visiting this annex, and the king had been careful to shield his writing from him.
“Let them.” He rose to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his back. “They’re probably right anyway.”
Cerdic raised an eyebrow. “You’re the sanest man I’ve ever met, sire.”
Aldfrith smiled back, warming under the unexpected compliment. “Have you come to drag me into the hall for the noon meal?” he asked. It was not uncommon for folk to come looking for him in his annex; when he got engrossed in his work, time ceased to hold any meaning. The sun could rise and set without him even taking note.
Cerdic shook his head. “It’s not yet time. You’ve visitors from Hagustaldes, sire. They await you indoors.”
Osana shifted nervously upon the rushes and fought the urge to wring her hands together. Her decision to ride to Bebbanburg had felt like the right one on that first night out from Hagustaldes. She had not wanted to face her stern aunt, and the memory of the king’s invitation had beckoned like a roaring fire.
At Bebbanburg she would have a real chance to start again. It was worth a try.
Only, with each passing furlong east, her resolve had started to crumble. And by the time the imposing outline of the fort appeared upon the horizon, she had been ready to turn her palfrey and try her luck with her aunt.
Lora had been the one to steady her nerves. “You said the king is a good man, a fair one. You should at least see if his offer still stands.”
Lora gave her a reassuring smile now, her cheeks pink with cold. The weather, although still dry, had turned bitterly cold, promising snow. It was wonderful to be indoors out of the wind, warmed by the heat of the roaring hearths inside the Great Hall.
“He’s here,” Lora whispered, her blue eyes widening dramatically. “Woden’s cods, the man’s comely.”
Osana cast Lora a quelling look but had no time to shush her. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to meet the tall blond man who strode across the rushes toward her.
Aldfrith looked imposing this morning; the fur mantle he wore made his shoulders look broader than she remembered. A few steps behind him followed the leather-clad, muscular warrior who had met them upon their arrival. That man had short brown hair, an intimidating face, and a scowl that made her feel nervous.
To make matters worse, Bishop Wilfrid was sitting upon the high seat, playing Cyningtaefl—King’s Table—with a warrior. He was watching her with a look of thinly veiled suspicion. In fact, there had been few smiles from anyone since she had stepped inside The Great Tower of Bebbanburg, just curious stares. Two women traveling alone and seeking an audience with the king would have tongues flapping all over the fort by mid-afternoon.
Perhaps I misheard the king all those months ago.
“Lady Osana,” Aldfrith stopped before her, his midnight-blue gaze meeting hers. His face was serious, giving nothing of his mood away. “This is unexpected.”
Panic surged through Osana.I shouldn’t have come here.
She could feel Lora’s gaze burning into her and wondered if she thought her a liar. Swallowing, Osana took a nervous step toward the king and curtsied. “Good morning, milord. I’m sorry to disturb you … but I recall our conversation last year.” Her voice faltered, as his expression did not change. “In Hagustaldes … you said that if I should ever need it, I would have your protection.” Her face was burning now, and it felt as if every pair of eyes in the hall was now riveted upon her.
They’ll think me a wickedly bold woman.
Osana dropped her gaze to the rushes, her heart hammering now. Never had she wished for the ground to open up and swallow her whole, yet she did now. Desperation had turned her into a fool. “I apologize, sire,” she said softly. “I must have misheard you.”
“No … you did not,” the answer came, almost as soft as her own, and she glanced up to see he was watching her, a rueful look upon his face. “I did promise you my protection … should you ever need it.” He inclined his head slightly, the intensity in his eyes unnerving. “What happened?”
Osana heaved in a deep breath. She felt exposed standing here with everyone gawking at her, yet she had no choice but to answer him. “Life in Hagustaldes became impossible, sire … the ealdorman’s wife will not suffer my presence under her roof. Deogol sent me away.”
Aldfrith’s gaze flicked to where Lora stood behind her. “You traveled with no escort?”
Osana shook her head. “Just my handmaid, sire. Deogol offered an escort, but I refused.”
The king’s mouth thinned. His eyes darkened as his blond brows drew together. Osana wondered if he thought her foolish.
“Surely you have relatives, woman?” Bishop Wilfrid called down from the high seat. “You have no need to throw yourself at the king’s feet.”
Osana dropped her gaze to the rushes once more and fought a cringe. It took all her will to remain standing where she was. She wanted to bolt, to run from Bebbanburg and never return.
“That’s enough, Father,” the king’s voice was clipped when he spoke. “I shall ask the questions here.”
