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Stepping aside, he gestured them into the inn. “The name’s Fitch, and ya’d best come in if I’m t’ be findin’ ya tunics.”

“And the saddles and bridles?” the king asked.

The innkeeper grunted. “I’ll ’ave me boy check the stables fer any spare tack we ’ave lyin’ about.” He shrugged. “It won’ be what yer used to, mind, but I daresay it’ll do the job.”

With a nod, King Alfred entered the room. “We are much obliged, Fitch. The sooner we have the items we need, the better.”

CHAPTER 17

TWILIGHT WAS PAINTING THE CLOUDS a dusky gray, and the daytime temperatures were dropping. Brecc urged his mount to the top of the peak and then reined it to a halt. Below him, the county of Somerset stretched out like a green blanket embroidered with blue rivers and decorated with patches of woodland. “It has been many years since I’ve climbed Burrow Mump,” he said. “I had forgotten how unparalleled the prospect is from here.”

“Aye.” King Alfred guided his palfrey into a position to the right of Brecc’s horse. “Ormod thought it would serve well as a lookout spot.”

“A lookout spot?”

The king pointed to a piece of land below them. It rose above the marsh but was cut off by the River Tone on one side and a swamp and a flooded lake on the others. “That is Athelney,” he said. “As you can see, it is surrounded by water. An island, if you will. It boasts two acres of woodland replete with stags, goats, and other wild beasts. There is fuel for fires and ample water, and it is accessible only by boat.”

Brecc nodded slowly. “The best possible situation for an exiled king and a small group of devoted followers.”

“That was Ormod’s thought. Athelney is remote enough to slow a Viking horde’s attack and yet close enough to settlements for Saxon warriors to get word out to those loyal to the crown.”

Brecc looked at him then. “You and Ormod already considered this contingency.”

“We did.” The king sighed, and it was as if the weight of the deaths of Ormod and an as-yet-unknown number of other thegns suddenly pressed upon him. His shoulders drooped. “I prayed it would never come to this, but Ormod insisted that we have a plan in place. The queen knows to come here. She will tell Rheged.”

Brecc was unprepared for the measure of relief he felt at that news. He and the king had been traveling alone for the best part of three days. Dressed in Fitch’s ill-fitting but serviceable clothing and riding worn saddles, they had dropped the ealdormen titles they’d offered the innkeeper days ago and had successfully passed as commoners at the handful of stops they’d made along their way. To know that Rheged and other surviving thegns would join them when they learned of this place of refuge brought new hope.

“We have made good time,” Brecc said. “I daresay we will be the first to reach Athelney.”

“That is for the best.” The king gazed down at the isolated island. “I would wish to know the lay of the land before making further plans.”

Brecc glanced at the sky. The last rays of the sun were disappearing beyond the horizon. “It might be best to wait until daybreak to cross the river,” he said.

“Agreed.” King Alfred pointed to a small stone building at the base of Burrow Mump. Smoke was escaping through the thatched roof. “There appears to be some kind of dwelling between us and the water. We shall apply there for shelter for the night.”

Brecc wheeled his horse around. Up until now, they had been fortunate to have clear skies and moonlit nights, but this evening’s clouds would block any such illumination. If they wished to avoid riding the path downhill in darkness, they had no time to lose.

“I pray Rheged was able to find the queen suitable shelter along her path,” the king said, his gaze lingering on the untamed marshland below.

“As do I,” Brecc said, and it was true. There had been multiple times the last few days when he had entreated God to protect the king, the queen, Rheged, and his other comrades. But during those prayers, inevitably, his thoughts had lingered longest on Aisley, and he had quickly come to realize that not knowing her situation was the heaviest burden of all.

Morning had broken, but the longhouse was quiet. Aisley raised herself onto her elbow and looked over at Diera. Her sister’s deep breathing indicated that she was yet asleep. Wool blankets were pulled up to her chin, but there was just enough light for Aisley to see the faint pink in Diera’s cheeks. Wulfhere’s disgruntlement at being housed with a flock of smelly sheep notwithstanding, the shepherd’s kind ministrations four days ago had worked miracles. Diera had recovered well enough to travel the next day and had shown no lingering effects from her harrowing experience since arriving back at Trowbridge.

Pulling herself into a sitting position beneath the covers of her pallet, Aisley gazed sightlessly at the shutters. Was Brecc out there somewhere, welcoming the new day with as heavy a heart and as many unanswered questions as she had? She would not wish it upon him, but the alternative was far worse, so she clung to hope as tightly as she’d clung to her mount’s reins during their escape.

“Please, Father God,” she whispered into the quiet room. “Let Brecc be safe. Let him be unharmed. And if it be Thy will, let me see him again.”

She took a deep breath and dropped her head. How would she survive another day of awaiting news? Ever since their return to Trowbridge, her mother had hovered anxiously over Diera, scarcely allowing her to lift a finger even though Diera was more than capable of her usual needlework. Wulfhere had alternated between pacing the longhouse like a caged animal and standing statuesque while studying Aisley with unnatural intensity. Of the two, Aisley preferred the former. Her brother’s narrow-eyed gaze sent shivers of alarm coursing through her, and not even exiting the room fully quelled her apprehension at his silent appraisal. He’d said nothing more to her about marriage, but it was not difficult to guess the direction of his thoughts. Ever since their altercation at Chippenham, Wulfhere had wished her gone.

A blackbird sang. It was close by. On the roof immediately above the shutter, most likely. Aisley tossed back her blanket, and as the chill of early morning touched her skin, she reached for her gown. She dressed soundlessly, and then she slipped out of the bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

The cockerel greeted her arrival in the courtyard with a loud cry. The blackbird that had been singing moments before took off in a flurry of feathers, and a horse in the stables neighed. Aisley paused. Her burning desire to escape her thoughts had driven her to leave the longhouse with no fixed destination in mind. She was not dressed warmly enough for a walk. Cook was undoubtedly already about her early-morning tasks in the kitchen, and she would not wish for Aisley to interrupt her work. A second horse neighed, and with few other options available to her, Aisley started toward the stables. The stablehands would likely tolerate an unexpected visitor better than most.

Cracking the stable door open a fraction, Aisley slipped inside. The smell of horses, leather, and straw assailed her, instantly transporting her to another stable. Memories of her family’s frantic escape from the royal estate flooded her mind. She shuddered, recalling the cries of fleeing Saxons mingled with the roars of the attacking Vikings. Rubbing her hands down her arms, she willed those memories to make room for others: standing in the stables with Brecc, a pungent horse blanket over his shoulders; the compassion in his voice and eyes as he spoke to her; the feel of his strong hand about hers. She released an unsteady breath. Where are you, Brecc?

“Someone ’as t’ know.”

Aisley gasped, turning to peer into the shadowy stable. A tuft of blond hair appeared over the top of a nearby stall. It was Garren, the youngest stableboy.