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All of them. With the addition of Wulfhere’s callous threats and the exception of Ormod’s neglect of his personal hygiene. Brecc had not noticed that, but thanks to Rheged, he undoubtedly would now. And he would have to sit beside the man all the way through the Twelfth Night feast.

With a groan, Brecc ran his fingers through his hair. The strands were damp. He would do well to bathe before this evening also. “Which of us is going to apologize to the king for damaging the pell so badly?” he asked.

“Responding to a question with another question that is wholly unconnected to the first is against the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“Mine,” Rheged said. He took a step away from the wall. “We have been friends long enough for me to recognize that this rage you are battling is not normal. I will listen if you need an ear.”

Brecc released a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to drop. Rheged was right. He must let something go. “If I had my choice, it would be Ealdorman Wulfhere who was the target of my blade.”

Rheged’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I had not anticipated that response. Any particular reason why?”

“He’s an ale-bibbing thegn with more avarice than nobility.”

“Agreed,” Rheged said without hesitation. “Anything else?”

It was Brecc’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Agreed?”

“Of course. I have spoken to the man. It does not take more than one conversation to ascertain that he is more interested in eating at the king’s table than in protecting the crown.”

Brecc grunted. Mayhap Rheged was more observant than he’d previously thought. “What else do you know of him?”

“He has two very attractive sisters who, up until now, he has kept hidden in Trowbridge, and his closest associate amongst the thegns is Ealdorman Gimm.”

Brecc frowned. He should have guessed as much. Gimm hailed from Dorset and was as unreliable as the weather. He and his fyrd were always the last to arrive to battle and the first to concede. His men were never placed in the front line because they did not have the training or determination to stand firm when the Viking hordes attacked.

“What have you recently learned of Wulfhere?” Rheged turned the question back on him. “Something unpleasant, I’d wager.”

“In that, you are correct.” He would not betray Aisley’s confidence by saying anything more, but it was comforting to know that should he be called upon to act against the thegn, he would likely have Rheged’s support. “In fact, I think it might be worth the king’s while to visit the good ealdorman in Wiltshire to gain a better gauge of his leanings.”

“And to check on his sisters,” Rheged said.

Brecc started for the door. “Aye. That too.”

Aisley had not seen Brecc all day. It was hardly surprising. The cold weather had kept the women indoors all morning, and by afternoon, preparations for the Twelfth Night feast were well underway. After they had dressed for the occasion, Aisley had spent extra time plaiting Diera’s hair into elaborate loops. Diera had offered to return the favor, but Aisley had opted for a narrow plait that circled the top of her head and left her remaining hair hanging freely down her back. Now that she was in the great hall, surrounded by all the exquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen, however, she wondered if she should have chosen something a little more splendid.

Brecc had entered soon after Aisley, Diera, and their mother had taken their seats. Dressed in a maroon tunic with embroidery at the neckline and sleeves, he’d appeared even more handsome than he had before. Her stomach had fluttered the moment she’d spotted him, but when he took his seat at the head table and turned to smile at her, the fluttering had spiraled into a frenzied swirling. Eating would be all but impossible unless they made no further eye contact.

It was her third royal banquet in as many days, but this was the grandest yet. The hall was decorated with boughs of evergreens, the smell of pine and juniper mingling with the aromas wafting off the overflowing platters of food. The king and queen sat in state at the head table, watching with obvious amusement as the costumed mummers circled the room, entertaining the guests. Beside them, the thegns looked on with varying levels of enthusiasm, while those seated around the room offered applause, laughter, and cheers at regular intervals.

The main doors opened, and four servants walked in carrying the largest platter Aisley had ever seen.

“The Twelfth Night cake,” her mother said, sitting a little taller so as to watch the servants parade the enormous fruited loaf around the room. “I wondered when it would be brought in.”

“And look!” Diera pointed to the wooden circlet seated atop the loaf. “The crown for the Lord of Misrule.”

The mummers bowed affectedly as the servants and their precious cargo passed by, no doubt practicing for the obedience they would be forced to offer the person in the room who discovered a bean in their piece of cake.

“Can you believe it?” Diera clapped her hands excitedly. “Someone will be crowned the Lord or Lady of Misrule in the very room where the king and queen of Wessex sit.”

“I hope it will not grow overly unruly.” Aisley had attended enough Twelfth Night celebrations to know how raucous they could become. The person who found the bean would be crowned sovereign for the remainder of the day, and all within his or her sphere would be obliged to obey his or her every command. It was a special honor, but as the guests would expect the Lord or Lady of Misrule to be clever, outgoing, and humorous, Aisley offered a fervent, silent prayer that no bean was located anywhere near her portion of the cake.

With their circuit of the room complete, the servants set the Twelfth Night cake on the head table and began portioning it. One by one, the guests received their piece. The room hummed with excitement. Several groans of disappointment followed until a male voice rose above the rest.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, behold, this evening’s Lord of Misrule!”

Aisley’s gaze shot to the head table, where Rheged was on his feet, holding a small white bean on the palm of his hand.