“Isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “You need to know about my past … but I didn’t come here to burden you with it so I’d feel better. Is your opinion of me really that low?”
“Why then?” Despite everything, anger still simmered deep within Osana. She had not realized till then just how deeply she had been hurt. “There isn’t anything left to say.”
He moved toward her then, closing the gap between them so that they stood barely two feet apart. “Is it not obvious?” he murmured, his gaze snaring hers. “I’m here because I’m in love with you.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mine
OSANA STARED UP at Aldfrith, and he watched her features tighten, her gaze narrow.
“You aren’t,” she whispered. “You can’t be.”
Heart hammering, Aldfrith forced a smile. “I am … I have been for a while now.”
Her nostrils flared, and she drew back from him. “And you think that changes things?” Her voice rose, and he caught the edge of panic in it. “You’re still king, and I’m still the shamed widow. Do you wish to make me your consort, is that it? Come to me in secret so the likes of Bishop Wilfrid don’t damn your soul?” She looked ill as she spat out those last words, yet she did not back away from him.
Aldfrith went cold. The years rolled back, and he was standing in front of Clodagh while she jeered at him. He remembered how it felt, to open your heart to a woman only to have her revile you.
Only, Osana was not making fun of him. She was angry, hurt. She was a wounded animal lashing out.
“I don’t want any of that,” he replied, forcing down his fear of being spurned. “I just want you … will you be my wife, Osana?”
There he had said it.
The words, the offer, were out there in the world. He could not take it back. He had ripped those words from his throat. It had taken every shred of courage to ask, yet he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders now it was done.
Whatever happened next, she would know how he truly felt.
Osana gaped at him, her lips parting in wordless shock. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled slightly. “Have you lost your wits? The King of Northumbria can’t wed the likes of me.”
Aldfrith smiled again, and this time the expression was not forced. “The king can wed whomever he pleases.”
“But the ealdormen, they’ll protest … the bishop will—”
“Let them,” he replied, cutting her off. “It’ll be too late anyway. By the time they hear, we’ll already be wed.”
“But what if folk don’t accept me?”
“They will in time.”
“But … I’m a widow.”
“I care not.” Aldfrith stepped close to her and reached out. He was afraid to touch her, afraid that she would slap his hand away or shrink back from him. Yet she did not. His fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I can’t breathe without you. Please be my wife.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. He could see the conflict in her eyes; her mind was still whirling, trying to find further reasons why she could not wed him.
“Aldfrith,” she whispered his name and lifted her hand, her own fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. “There’s something you must know … I’m with child.”
He stared at her a moment before the words sank in. A heartbeat later, a joy unlike any he had ever known flooded through him. His vision blurred. “You are?”
She nodded, her gaze dropping. “I don’t know how it happened,” she murmured. “Raedwulf and I tried for years. I thought I was barren.” She paused here, her body tensing. “You’re not angry, are you?”
Aldfrith huffed out a breath. “Of course not.” He hooked a finger under her chin and gently lifted it so that their eyes met once more. “But I do worry that you would never have told me. You’re as proud as I am bullheaded.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “What could I do? Turn up at the Great Tower and tell you the news. How did I know you would not have me run out of Bebbanburg?”
