Osana stopped at Aldfrith’s elbow, waiting until he had finished speaking to Cuthbert, before she drew his attention. “Wine, sire?”
Aldfrith looked up, and their gazes met. The impact of it unnerved her, as it had that day in the snow. She had avoided looking at him directly ever since, for she was sure she had looked flustered that day—as she most likely did now.
“Aye, thank you, Osana.”
She leaned forward and poured the wine, acutely aware of his nearness, of the scent of leather and the male musk of his skin. Osana swallowed, her belly fluttering.
What was wrong with her? Merely standing next to the king turned her into a giddy maid. Ever since arriving here, she had found her gaze drawn to him whenever he was in the hall. A few times she had caught herself staring, only to admonish herself afterward. She knew enough about the world, and of men, not to let herself become infatuated.
She had been infatuated with Raedwulf once, before they had wed. The disappointment that had come later had been almost too much to bear.
“Osana … that is a fair name.” Prior Cuthbert’s voice drew Osana’s attention. Grateful for the distraction, she glanced over at him and smiled. “Thank you, Father.”
Up close, his face was even gaunter: his cheeks hollowed, his eyes sunken. However, there was a clarity, an understanding in those dark eyes, that made her instinctively trust him.
“You are a newcomer to this hall, are you not?” he asked.
“Aye, Father. I’m the widow of Raedwulf of Hagustaldes.”
Cuthbert’s gaze widened before he glanced over at the king. “Why does an ealdorman’s widow live here?”
“I’ve granted Osana my protection,” Aldfrith replied, his face giving nothing away. “She is my ward.”
Cuthbert pursed his lips. Watching him, Osana was glad that Bishop Wilfrid was not here. The bishop had returned to Inhrypum three days before, and it was just as well. He would have enjoyed this. Finally, someone to vindicate his opinion, and the Prior of Lindisfarena nonetheless.
“I heard that Queen Cuthburh left,” the prior said after a lengthy pause.
“Aye, she took the veil at Berecingas,” Aldfrith replied. Did Osana imagine it, or was there a warning note in his voice? She glanced back at him, trying to read his features. Aldfrith of Northumbria was an enigma. There were times he appeared gentle and distracted, as if his thoughts were far from here, but when challenged, she saw him shift. Folk mistook his gentle manner for weakness at their peril.
Cuthbert was no fool either. He inclined his head, observing the king for a moment before offering his cup to Osana.
“Just a drop please … with my water.”
Osana nodded, poured the prior’s wine, and moved on. As she did so, Cuthbert spoke again. “So you intend to remain unwed?”
“Aye.” Aldfrith’s response was clipped.
“What of an heir to the throne?”
“I have a cousin who would be happy to be my successor.”
“But surely you want a son?”
A hush fell. Osana continued her way up the table, filling cups as she went. She deliberately did not look the king or the prior’s way, although she could almost taste the tension that had settled upon the high seat.
Was this what had brought the prior—ill and frail as he was—to Bebbanburg? A plea for the king to remarry?
Eventually, Aldfrith spoke. “As Oswiu’s son, I’ve always known I might be called upon to rule,” he said quietly. “I’ve accepted that responsibility, but it ends there. For the rest, I am my own man. I will not wed again; I will not father a son.”
The finality of his words, the barely masked bitterness behind them, surprised Osana. She finished pouring the priest’s wine and straightened up, her gaze traveling back to the king. He sat back in his carven chair, apparently relaxed; only the clenched fingers that curved around his cup gave his mood away. His eyes were narrowed.
What happened to you?She thought sadly. Had his experience with Cuthburh scarred him so deeply that he would not consider marriage ever again? No—it had to be something else, something from his past. For all his apparent serenity, Aldfrith bore deeper wounds that he took great pains to hide.
“That is sad news indeed,” Cuthbert replied. The prior’s voice was subdued in his response. “You are a worthy king, milord, and would bear worthy sons.”
Osana could not sleep.
Cuthbert and his monks occupied Osana and Lora’s alcove tonight, and the women slept in the hall, stretched out upon furs. Osana did not mind her new lodgings much, although Lora complained that the men’s snoring would keep her awake.
