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The older nobleman had been King Aethelred’s adviser before the former king’s untimely death, and King Alfred had continued to rely heavily on Ormod’s counsel when the responsibility of the crown had been abruptly thrust upon him.

“I do not believe His Majesty would wish the banquet to end in panic.” Brecc had no need to turn around to know that all eyes were upon the uninvited visitors. “Mayhap it would be prudent to have those at the head table reclaim their seats and Kendryek’s guests resume their meal. A quiet word in the king’s ear would cause less alarm than a public announcement.”

“Agreed,” Ormod said, his frown disappearing as he swung to face the room once more. “Let the feast and ring-giving continue! And if Ealdorman Kendryek does not object, these latecomers would be happy to share in the generous spread.”

Kendryek nodded his approval, and at Ormod’s signal, the other thegns took their seats once more.

“The ring-giver’s ceremony must continue.” Ormod lowered his voice so that only Brecc could hear. “Now, more than ever, the king must have his men firmly behind him. When the opportunity allows, I shall inform him of the warriors’ message. You find a place for Warton and Teon to eat without fear of being questioned. After traveling such a distance in so short a time, they will need their strength if we are to quit Trowbridge straightway.”

Brecc glanced at the place he had vacated at the table. Meat filled the trencher he’d shared with his fellow thegn, Arthw. But the food no longer held appeal.

Arthw had taken up the embellished horn, and King Alfred was watching him expectantly. Arthw’s hesitation was so faint it was barely discernible. But Brecc had caught it. His companion knew what was to come. With the arrival of two of the king’s warriors, no one seated at the head table could be in any doubt. What they did not know was how soon they would be called upon to act.

“Come,” Brecc said to Warton and Teon. “You must eat.” He led them to the back of the room, where a small table was pressed up against the wall. “You there,” he called to a nearby servant girl. “These travelers require food and mead. Fetch an extra trencher and goblets, if you please.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Right away, sire.”

She scurried out of the room, and Brecc scoured the area around the table. “It appears that there is no bench to spare, but I daresay food, drink, and a place to set them is a start.”

“To be right honest, sire, after spendin’ so long in a saddle, I’m more th’n ’appy to stand fer a bit,” Teon said.

Brecc acknowledged the warrior’s comment with a wry smile. “I imagine you’ll be back in that saddle before you are ready. I thank you both for bringing us this intelligence in so timely a fashion. The king will know how to act after Ealdorman Ormod has spoken to him.”

Warton and Teon remained silent. If the Vikings were coming, they would be called upon to fight. They both knew it.

The servant girl reappeared with a flagon of mead and two goblets in hand. Brecc stepped away. With Warton’s and Teon’s needs being met, he should return to the head table. He scanned the large room. Most of its occupants had accepted Ormod’s request and had resumed their eating. Brecc’s gaze stopped at the table where Kendryek’s wife and daughters sat. The ealdorman’s wife was watching her husband, a concerned look on her face. One daughter—whose flaxen hair was the image of her mother’s—was fiddling idly with a ribbon on her gown, her attention on the glittering horn at the head table. The second daughter, whose long tresses glinted red in the firelight, seemingly had no interest in the ring-giver’s gifts. Instead, she was looking directly at Brecc.

Startled by the intensity in the girl’s eyes, Brecc held her gaze for two long breaths before giving her an acknowledging nod and looking away. The king’s horn had traveled the length of the head table and had returned to the monarch. Ormod was speaking with him now. The thegn’s head was turned away from those gathered in the room, but if King Alfred’s lowered eyebrows were any indication, he was not pleased with Ormod’s report.

Squaring his shoulders, Brecc crossed the room in long, brisk strides. Regardless of the young girl’s knowing mien, it was not possible that Kendryek’s copper-haired daughter comprehended the imminent threat looming over their people. He released a tense breath. He could only pray that she—and thousands more innocents—would be spared from ever knowing the worst of what was to come.

CHAPTER 2

DAWN WAS BREAKING. THE FIRST tendrils of light infused the sky beyond the woods, illuminating the mist hovering over the meadow. Aisley raised the hem of her gown and stepped over a large rock. It was a somewhat pointless endeavor. Already, the lower portion of her gown was wet and speckled with mud.

Beneath the hawthorn bush ahead, a cluster of purple flowers drooped under the weight of the morning dew. Aisley stepped closer and smiled. She’d been right. They were milk thistle. And there were enough that she would not need to seek out more.

Crouching beside the plant, she withdrew the small knife from the basket in her other hand and gently pushed aside the largest leaves. A shout reached her from the direction of the longhouse. She paused her work to look over her shoulder. A thin trickle of smoke floated above the kitchen roof. Cook was no doubt about her morning work. But it was early for other members of the household to be in the courtyard.

Aisley eased her fingers around the prickly thistle stem, pressed the blade against it, and sliced it in two. Dropping the purple head into the basket, she repeated the procedure with each flower until the colorful blossoms all but covered the parsley she’d picked in the kitchen garden.

A horse neighed, and another shout was followed by the clip-clop of many hooves hitting cobbles. Rising to her feet, she tightened her grip on the handle of the basket. Why were the horses out of the stables at this hour? Surely the king’s men would not rise so early after a late night of feasting.

With mounting curiosity, Aisley lifted her damp hem and ran across the meadow toward the house. Pausing at the courtyard entrance to catch her breath, she studied the scene before her. The king’s men milled between the waiting horses. Some held spears and shields; others had helmets tucked beneath their arms. Every face was grave; every exchanged word was brief.

One of the strangers who’d interrupted the feast last night crossed Aisley’s view. She swallowed hard. He and his companion were the reason for this new sense of urgency. She was sure of it. Soon after the ring-giving ceremony had concluded, the king had requested that the women and children leave the room so that he might speak privately with the thegns and ceorls in attendance. Her mother had been too consumed with her father’s health to speculate upon the reason for the meeting, but Aisley knew full well that along with the thegns, those freemen, farmers, and independent landholders made up the backbone of Wiltshire’s fyrd. They were the men who were expected to respond when the king issued a call to battle.

With rising concern, Aisley stepped around a restless horse and scoured the area for any sign of her father. Upon their dismissal from the hall the night before, Aisley’s mother had insisted that Aisley and her sister, Diera, retire to their beds. Aisley had known better than to contradict her mother’s firm directive, even though curiosity over what the men were discussing had burned within her. She’d watched the thegn named Ealdorman Brecc speak with the latecomers, noted his grim expression when he’d turned back to the head table, but she had not expected an immediate call to arms. For that was what this was. There could be no doubt about it.

A middle-aged thegn at Aisley’s left shouted at Taber, her father’s youngest stableboy. The lad cinched a leather strap beneath a nearby black mare and came running. Aisley turned the other direction and made for the house. Giving three saddled horses wide berth, she rounded a small group of ceorls and barreled directly into someone else’s firm chest.

Her unwitting target gave a surprised grunt.

“Oh!” Untangling herself from the folds of a thick woolen traveling cloak, Aisley stumbled back a few steps. “Forgive me, sire.” She looked up and found herself gazing into the dark eyes of Ealdorman Brecc. Warmth flooded her cheeks. Of all the gentlemen to whom she might have exhibited herself so poorly, it had to be this one. Raising her chin slightly, she attempted to reclaim a small measure of poise. “I beg your pardon.” She managed an inelegant curtsy. “I should have been minding where I was going.”

“No harm done. I daresay your small stature does you a disservice. It must be difficult to see past so many men and beasts.”

It was. But Aisley did not especially like being reminded of her lack of height. Especially by a relative stranger. “I believe it was my speed rather than my stature that must be blamed, sire.”