“Make sure you get her with child soon, sire,” Wulfred, the ealdorman of Catraeth, spoke up. He was a short, barrel-chested man with thick dark hair and a wild beard to match. “Your predecessor failed to produce an heir. You don’t want Oswiu’s line to die out.”
“It won’t,” Edwin cut in, gaze narrowed. “I’m Oswiu’s nephew, and I have three sons.”
Wulfred favored his fellow ealdorman with a sly look. “Aye, but Aldfrith is Oswiu’sson.”
His bastard son.
The words hung unspoken in the air. Aldfrith knew none would have the nerve to speak those words, but they would all be thinking it.
“Now you are wed, you will be able to focus on other matters, sire,” Raedwulf of Hagustaldes interjected, his jovial tone shattering the tension that had settled upon the table. “Ecgfrith left us quite a mess.”
“Aye, he did,” Edwin growled, holding out his empty horn of mead to a woman—one of the thegn’s wives—to fill. “Thanks to him, Northumbria has no fyrd … most of our best fighting men died in the north.”
Aldfrith heaved in a deep breath and cast a questioning look in Cerdic’s direction. Had his captain not spoken with the ealdormen as he had asked? Cerdic did not look his way. Instead, he was glaring at Edwin, his jaw clenched.
The king turned his attention back to his cousin and favored him with a cool smile. He was aware of the state of the kingdom. Oswald, Cerdic, and the bishop had all given him their opinions on what needed to be done. He planned to sit down with his ealdormen soon and discuss their territory and army—just not today. “We will talk of this tomorrow,” he replied, meeting his cousin’s gaze and holding it. “When our bellies aren’t full of food and our minds blurred with drink.”
The comment was a direct jibe at Edwin, who had already consumed enough mead to have him swaying in his seat.
Many around the table chuckled or smirked at this, knowing whom the king was referring to. Yet the ealdorman of Gefrin merely scowled. Aldfrith tensed, knowing that his cousin was not finished trying to assert his dominance.
I’ve got a fight on my hands with him.
Aldfrith held up his cup to be filled, as a woman appeared with a jug at his elbow. He did not usually drink much, but a little more wine would not hurt. Tonight he was a king surrounded by strangers and men like Edwin who probably wished he had stayed on Iona.
Not only that, but tonight he was a husband and would be expected to bed his bride—a young woman who could hardly bring herself to meet his eye.
Aldfrith turned his attention back to Cuthburh. Although timid, she was lovely. Things would be easier between them later if he managed to thaw the wall of ice between them. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, milady?” he asked.
She glanced up, meeting his gaze for an instant before hurriedly looking away.
“Two younger sisters, sire,” she replied. Her voice was breathy and sweet, yet he found himself irritated by it. The tone sounded affected, as if she had been tutored in the art of meekness.
“And are they still in Wessex?”
“No … they are both brides of Christ, sire.” Her gaze darted up again, and this time he saw heat light in those pale blue eyes.
Now he understood.
“You wished for that life too,” he murmured, holding her gaze. “Didn’t you?”
Her jaw tensed, and she stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.
“But your brother had other plans for you,” he added. “I understand how you feel, Cuthburh. I too had little choice in the path laid before me.”
She looked away then, staring down at the platter of food they shared, which she had barely touched. Her slender shoulders had gone taut, as if one word more would have her bolting from the table. As such, Aldfrith held his tongue.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair and drank from his cup. Voices boomed around him, almost drowning out the strains of the lute from the musicians playing on a platform next to the high seat. Drunken laughter lifted high into the rafters. The faces of his ealdormen were slack with drink, and the revelers feasted like ravenous dogs.
Suddenly, Aldfrith had no appetite for the rich food or the merriment. He felt an odd hollowness inside, a feeling he had not experienced in a long while—not since the bleak days of his childhood. He was not sure where he belonged, or even if Iona was really the home he had longed for, but it certainly was not here.
He felt someone’s gaze upon him then. It was a pleasant sensation, like a soft feather trailing over his skin. It was a welcome distraction from his thoughts, and Aldfrith looked up.
With a jolt, he saw that Osana of Hagustaldes was silently watching him.
Chapter Four
A Wife’s Duty
