“Well, he was wrong too.” Their gazes held, and Aldfrith’s smile faded. “It’s a long while since we last spoke.”
Osana heaved in a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Did I do something to offend you, sire?” She knew the question was bold, but they never had the chance to speak privately, and she would get few opportunities to get the truth out of him.
“You did nothing wrong,” he replied. “I’ve kept my distance for my own reasons. My hall is full of sharp eyes, flapping ears, and wagging tongues. I wanted to protect you.”
Osana arched an eyebrow. “Really? Was it me you were trying to protect … or yourself? You don’t seem the type to care what other people think.”
His mouth curved into a wry smile, although there was no humor in his eyes. “You see through me, Osana. You’ve always been able to do that.”
Flustered, she looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Aye, you do … you don’t let me lie to you. When I talk to you, I feel things I’d rather not. Life is easier without you. I can immerse myself in my writing, my philosophy … in the role of king. But you shatter my shield.”
Osana’s head jerked up, her belly clenching. “Then I should go … I should leave Bebbanburg.”
Aldfrith stepped closer and raised his hand, lightly tracing his fingers down her cheek. His touch made her legs tremble. It suddenly felt airless inside the scriptorium. His gaze ensnared hers; she literally could not look away. A shadow moved in his eyes, revealing the war raging within him. “Aye … I think that would be best,” he murmured.
Chapter Twenty-one
What have we done?
HIS GAZE WOULD not let her go. Time froze as they stood there, staring at each other.
Osana’s pulse fluttered in the base of her throat.
He wants me to go.
Part of her had been expecting it would come to this, but to hear him say the words hurt like a seax-blade to the gut. There had been another part of her—a secret yearning part—that had hoped to hear the opposite.
Why can’t life be like the songs?
Osana swallowed. “I will go then. As soon as we return to the fort, I will begin my preparations.”
He said nothing, just watched her with a hunger in his eyes that made her soul ache.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t bear it.”
A low growl escaped him—a mix of anger and frustration—and the next moment he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Osana melted into him, any thought of resistance fluttering from her mind. Like when she had accidentally tumbled onto his lap after their lesson, his nearness completely disarmed her.
Aldfrith’s mouth claimed hers: fierce, almost angry. Osana uttered a soft cry, parting her lips for him. She had yearned for this moment ever since their first kiss; she had lain awake in her furs reliving those brief instants in his arms over and over till her body burned with need.
Yet that first kiss had been a surprise, and it had taken her a few moments to relax in his arms.
This time, she ignited like dry tinder under a naked flame. She raised her arms and reached up, burying her fingers in his tousled blond hair. She had dreamed of doing so for months now.
Aldfrith swung her away from the bench, his hands sliding down the column of her back. Still kissing her, he walked them both across the narrow space to the far wall. There, he pressed himself up against her, his mouth ravaging hers.
Osana’s head spun, her pulse pounding like a drum in her ears. Even her fevered imagination had not come up with the sensations that now coursed through her. She trembled under his touch; her core pulsed with a deep ache that demanded to be satisfied. She would go mad if he stopped kissing her now.
She felt him reach up and unpin her hair. She wore her long brown tresses braided and wrapped around her head, as many wedded or widowed women did. The heavy braid fell onto her shoulder, and his hand slid down to its tufted end, removing the band of leather keeping it tied. Then, in slow, sensual movements, he began to unbraid it, tangling his fingers into the thick coil.
Osana moaned against his mouth before gently biting his lower lip. He murmured a soft curse in response before claiming her mouth once more—his kiss achingly gentle, his tongue’s exploration making sweat bead across her skin.
Who taught him to kiss like this?
The thought was fleeting, dissipating like wood smoke. Who cared—she just wanted more of those kisses; she was greedy for them.
Their bodies were entwined, but layers of heavy clothing separated them. Osana was frustrated; she longed to tear away the heavy woolen tunic she wore so those magician’s hands could explore her nakedness. The thought of him doing so on the dirt floor of the scriptorium made heat pulse between her thighs.
