Realization dawned. This was revenge for every imagined slight against him over the past years, every time the king had thwarted his plans. After Aldfrith had so effectively curtailed the bishop’s power, Wilfrid would not see the king happy. Like the ealdormen, he wanted Aldfrith as his puppet. If he would not do his bidding, then he would be punished.
During the interruption, Aldfrith had not spoken a word.
Tearing her gaze from the bishop, Osana glanced across at the man who had just been moments away from becoming her husband—her breathing stilling when she saw his face.
His skin was bloodless and pulled tight over his cheekbones. He wore an expression she had never yet seen, chilling in its fury. He looked dangerous—angry enough to kill.
Aldfrith had been watching the bishop, but now he shifted his attention to the foot of the high seat where two leather-clad figures stood: Edwin of Gefrin and Wulfred of Catraeth. Osana followed Aldfrith’s gaze, her belly clenching when she observed the men’s faces.
Both had worn sour expressions before the ceremony, yet their mood had altered now. Wulfred smirked, his mouth twitching as if he was swallowing a laugh. Next to him, Edwin did not even attempt to hide his glee. A broad smile twisted his face, and his eyes gleamed.
“Cousin Edwin,” Aldfrith growled. “Please tell me you’re not behind this?”
Edwin’s broad smile widened further. “I cannot lie, sire.” The victory in the ealdorman’s voice made Osana wince. “I had one of my men follow yours south to Inhrypum. Someone had to tell the bishop.”
“You slippery bastard.” Cerdic had left Lora’s side and now stepped forward, hands clenched, his face a mask of fury. “You had no place to have me followed.”
“But it was just as well he did.” Wilfrid was now elbowing his way through the crowd.
“And as for you, bishop,” Cerdic growled. “Someone should teach you how to speak to a king.”
“Cerdic.” Aldfrith’s voice held a sharp warning. “Step down. I will deal with this.”
The warrior frowned. “But sire—”
“You heard me.”
Cerdic’s frown deepened to a scowl, yet he did as bid.
Meanwhile, the bishop had nearly reached the front of the crowd. “Oswald you fool—what are you doing?”
“Father …” The priest blanched, shuffling back slightly. “I had to—”
“Faithless craven,” Wilfrid spat. “I shall deal with you later. For now, untie the ribbon. Let this travesty end.”
Oswald did not move. “Father, I don’t think—”
“Do it!”
Still, the priest did not move.
“Untie the ribbon, Oswald.” It was Aldfrith who made the command this time, his voice low and cold. The king did not look Oswald’s way as he spoke; instead his gaze remained fixed upon the bishop, who bore down upon him like an enraged crow.
Wilfrid had drawn a wooden crucifix out from under his robes. He now held it out before him as he approached, as if he were warding off Satan himself. “I shun the witch’s evil eye!”
Around him, the crowd shuffled back from the high seat to let the bishop through. His comment brought mutterings, and many folk crossed themselves, sharing nervous glances.
Osana’s heart started to pound. Wilfrid was clever; he was playing on the mob’s superstitions. If he had his way, she would be stoned out of Bebbanburg and drowned in the sea.
Meanwhile, Oswald had done as Aldfrith had bid and deftly unwrapped the ribbon binding Osana and the king’s right hands.
As soon as he was free, Aldfrith moved.
It happened so swiftly, in barely a heartbeat, that Osana had no chance to reach out for Aldfrith, to forestall him.
One instant he had been standing at her side, the next he stepped down off the high seat and struck out with his right fist.
The crunch of the blow echoed through the hall. Wilfrid, who had just opened his mouth to spew forth another volley of vitriol, staggered, his head snapping back under the force of the punch.
