He shook his head and took another step back from her. His eyes gleamed now and his throat bobbed. He wore a panicked look, as if talking with her was the last thing he wanted. “That’s for the best.” He finished readjusting his clothing and moved toward the door. “I shall see you at the noon meal.”
A short while later, Osana walked into the feasting hall. She was in a daze, vaguely aware of her surroundings. The meal had already begun: trenchers of coarse bread filled with steaming pottage. The clatter of wooden spoons and the rumble of conversation calmed Osana, and she slipped into the hall as discreetly as possible.
A dull throb between her legs reminded her of what she and Aldfrith had just done. Unlike him, she could not bring herself to regret it. Her blood still sang in the aftermath. The world looked different, as if draped in a soft, golden veil.
Aldfrith sat with the bishop, Oswald, and the senior monks at a table at one end of the hall, near the great hearth. Osana took a seat as far away as possible, at a long bench, next to Mildryth.
However, the woman was staring at her as if Osana had just sprouted a third eye in the center of her forehead.
Mildryth was not the only one. Many of the folk were gawking at her, mouths rudely open, before one or two of them nudged each other with their elbows. One of the men gave Osana a lewd look, and she went cold.
God’s bones … no.
“You and the king made quite a noise,” Mildryth hissed in her ear. “I doubt there was anyone in the monastery who didn’t hear your cries.”
This was ill news indeed.
Mortified, Osana dropped her gaze to her trencher. The sight of food made her bile rise once more. She would not be able to stomach a mouthful.
What have we done?
She had not cared at the time, and neither had he. But she did so now. How would she ever face the folk of the Great Hall again? News of this would spread like the plague, likely racing ahead of her arrival back in Bebbanburg. Life there would become unbearable.
Aldfrith had warned her of this. So had Lora. But she had barely listened to the warnings. She had wanted Aldfrith so badly, still wanted him with an ache that made it painful to breathe. Yet she wanted the impossible; the look on Wilfrid’s face had confirmed it.
“Hore.”
The whispered insult from Elflaed, the thegn’s wife seated across from her, made Osana flinch. Aye, that was how they would all see her now.
Chapter Twenty-two
A Different Path
THE RETURN TO Bebbanburg was cold and miserable. A light rain had started to fall, and an icy wind gusted in from the north. Osana walked at the back of the group, head bowed.
What had been the most magical experience of her life had quickly spiraled into her most humiliating. Aldfrith had not looked at her throughout the meal. He had not been able to shield his unhappiness from the world though; his face had been pale and tense, his gaze haunted.
Reaching the shore, Osana followed the party of mourners south toward the stronghold. She deliberately lagged behind, letting the others draw ahead. None of them glanced over their shoulders to make sure she was still following. She could have turned away and disappeared into the hills and none of them would have seen.
Osana was tempted to do just that. However, she carried no food on her, no thrymsas. She would leave Bebbanburg, as the king had said, but it would have to be with the dawn. They had both agreed she would leave—only that was before the kiss.
Osana’s thoughts raced ahead at what she must do when they arrived back at Bebbanburg. She would need to tell Lora that she was leaving and that she would do so alone. Lora would not be happy about that, but Osana’s mind was already made up. She would not take her friend with her. After that, she would have to pack swiftly, so that she could leave at first light.
Osana would not show her face in the hall.
She was already an outcast here. The group of mourners now shunned her; even Mildryth had left her side. The king had not acknowledged her either, although she was relieved about that.
It would only make matters worse.
What had happened between them had not been planned. She was not his betrothed, or his wife. He did not owe her anything, and the same went for her.
It was getting dark when they reached the causeway that led up to the low gate. Despite that she had been walking, Osana felt chilled to the bone. She wrapped her mantle close about her, shivering. Her mind was a whirl.
She blamed herself for the mess she had gotten into. She had always been too instinctual, too driven by her emotions. Her attraction to Raedwulf all those years ago had catapulted her into an ill-suited marriage. But she had been so young and full of girlish passion; at least she had an excuse then.
She had known for a while now that she wanted Aldfrith. The desire in her blood had gradually heated over the past months till it had become unbearable. Nothing could have cooled it; being so close to him, being able to talk to him, had just increased her longing.
No wonder she had not sought the life of a nun after Raedwulf’s death. Passion ruled her, and it was now proving to be her ruin.
