She stared back at him. In the light of the hearth that burned low between them, his features looked drawn, tired. Yet it just added an edge to his attractiveness, another layer to the face she had missed sorely over the past two moons.
She had missed him. There was no point in denying it. Only, she was also furious with him and that mattered more.
“Why are you here, Aldfrith?” she asked, ignoring his question. “Wasn’t it enough to send me away … you had to come and see for yourself what I’ve been reduced to?”
His eyes shadowed. “I’m sorry.”
She stiffened. “For what? For sending me away, or for coming here?”
“For all of it … for hurting you.”
Osana clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. Folding her arms across her chest, she took a step back from him. She needed distance; this space was too confined and airless. Yet it was the only place where they could have privacy.
“It’s too late for apologies,” she ground out eventually. “It’s all done with anyway.”
He shook his head. “It’s never too late to tell someone you’ve wronged that you’re sorry for it,” he replied. “I mistreated you, Osana. You brought light into my life, yet I cast you away. I will go to my grave being sorry for that.”
She stared at him. Aldfrith had a way with words. Even so, there was a rawness to his voice that almost ensnared her, almost made her believe him.
Almost.
Hold onto your anger. It’s the only thing that will get you through this.
“What’s changed?” she demanded, bitterness turning her voice sharp. “You were only too pleased to see the back of me a few months ago. You didn’t care what happened to me then.”
He took a step toward her, but she backed off. He stopped then and raised his hands as if placating a nervous animal. The pain on his face halted her breathing. “I’ve given up, Osana,” he said softly. “That’s what’s changed.
He dropped his hands, and the pair of them stared at each other.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered back. “What does that mean?”
“No one in Northumbria knows about my past, about the demons I’ve tried to outrun,” he replied, his mouth twisting. “The man you met in Bebbanburg was a fraud. ThePhilosopher Kingis an identity I carved for myself years ago. It’s a lie.”
Osana frowned. Her gaze slid over his face, noting how he struggled. She felt the inner battle raging within him even from across the room. “Why don’t you start at the beginning then,” she replied after a pause. “Tell me who you really are.”
He heaved in a deep breath before reaching up and dragging a hand over his face. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m a hundred winters old.” His gaze met hers once more then. “To understand my demons you’d have to go back thirty years to Éirinn—back to when Oswiu sired me. Aldfrith is my Angle name. For most of my life, I was known as Flann Fina mac Oswiu: Flann, son of Fina and Oswiu. He met my mother during his exile, and their love was said to have been a tempest. But when Oswiu heard that his birthright was waiting for him back in Bebbanburg, he left Fina behind without a moment’s hesitation. He broke her heart.”
Aldfrith paused there, his handsome face taut as the memories from his past assailed him.
“My mother dealt with it by trying to find another man’s love … yet one by one they disappointed her. One day she could bear it no longer. She walked into the sea and drowned.” Aldfrith looked away, his gaze focusing upon the hearth where the iron pot of pottage bubbled. “It was I who found her the following morning … I would have been around eight.”
Silence fell between them. Osana did not try to break it. She knew better than to try and fill the emptiness with words. Sometimes silence was what was needed.
“I was cast in the same mold as my mother,” he said finally, his voice bleak. “From the moment I left boyhood behind, my passions ran high … and when I was seventeen, I met a maid named Clodagh. She was wild and beautiful, and I was young and rash. I gave her my heart without hesitation. In return, she made a fool out of me.” Aldfrith’s mouth curved into a bitter smile, his gaze desolate. “We were to be handfasted, but three nights before the ceremony, I returned early from a hunting trip with my uncle and found her in the furs with someone else. She mocked my tears and told me there had been others … that everyone knew and laughed behind my back. For a short time afterward I wanted to kill her … and then I wanted to take my own life.”
Osana’s chest constricted as she listened. She tried to imagine a young Aldfrith weeping as his lover spurned him, yet could not. She had always seen him as self-contained, a man in control of his emotions. Still, there had been glimpses of the passionate man underneath.
“And that’s why I sought isolation in Iona,” he concluded, his voice flat and dull. “I wanted to become a monk, but the prior said I lacked faith. So instead I became the hermit scholar and chose reason over passion. Life was easier that way.”
Osana watched him, understanding settling over her. She knew now why he had been so torn, why he had reacted so badly when they had kissed in his alcove—and when they had coupled in the monastery. It was a path he could not take for fear of losing control. Now, finally, the missing pieces of the puzzle that was ‘Aldfrith of Northumbria’ fell into place.
“You should have told me before,” she said finally. “It would have made things easier to bear.”
He shrugged, his gaze shadowed. “I’m a coward. There are some things I have trouble admitting to myself, let alone others.”
Osana inhaled deeply. “Thank you for telling me. You don’t need to worry … I don’t hate you. Return to Bebbanburg with your conscience lightened.”
His eyes widened. “You think that’s why I’m here?”
