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Wulfhere’s statement did not come as a surprise; they rarely interacted. But he should know that given a choice, Aisley would be outdoors.

“We come as often as we can,” she said. “There is always something new to see.” For a small market, that was stretching the truth somewhat, but Aisley would prefer that Wulfhere think her interested in the fishmonger’s wares than in any news he might bear from other towns. She pointed at the large fish that was once more gathering flies. “Do you see the enormous pike the fishmonger has today?”

Wulfhere gave the fishmonger’s stall a calculating look before turning his attention to the merchant. “Did you catch the fish yourself?”

“I did, sire. Early this morning. On the River Biss.”

Wulfhere grunted. “I hope you sell it for a good price and that your good fortune continues.” He smirked. “Your increased income will be an asset when it comes time to pay taxes.”

Aisley stared at him, a pit forming in her stomach as the fishmonger inclined his head politely. “As you say, sire.”

Wulfhere brushed a speck of lint off his warm cloak. He had somehow procured a new one after their escape, even though Aisley and Diera were wearing ones they’d outgrown but had reclaimed from trunks upon their return. “I am glad we have spoken. It is always advantageous to be prepared for such things.”

“Wulfhere! Surely you do not mean to penalize this gentleman for one day’s good catch.”

“Penalize? Not at all. I am simply enabling him to share his good fortune with others.”

The pit in Aisley’s stomach was rapidly developing into a severe case of nausea. This was her doing. Had she not pointed out the pike to Wulfhere, mayhap it would not have caught his notice. And the fishmonger would be no worse off for his encounter with the ealdorman. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

The fishmonger offered her a resigned look. It suggested that he was unsurprised by Wulfhere’s response to his catch. How long had Wulfhere been excessively taxing the people of Wiltshire? Was this the source of discontent the merchants had been alluding to? It would explain Wulfhere’s ability to purchase extravagant clothing while those over whom he had stewardship struggled to eat. Memory of another conversation flooded her mind. When she’d entered the stable soon after their flight from Chippenham, the stableboys had been talking about a new level of impoverishment among the commoners. They’d also been discussing King Alfred’s whereabouts.

A new determination settled upon Aisley. The moment Wulfhere was about his own business and Diera was happily situated near the fire inside the longhouse, Aisley would go to the stable. Over the last seven weeks, her need to escape her thoughts had taken her there more often than not, and she had developed a friendship with the stablehands. With Taber in particular. Her association with Wulfhere might prevent the locals in town from sharing information about King Alfred and his men, but she had a feeling that Taber might be persuaded to talk.

An hour later, she slipped through the stable doors. There was something wonderfully calming about the rustle of hooves, soft nickers, and the murmur of the boys’ voices as they went about their work. Aisley closed her eyes and took a breath. It smelled of straw and horses, and it was blissfully free of her brother’s discomforting presence. The muscles across her shoulders released a fraction, and she opened her eyes. She must find Taber.

“Taber.” Keeping her voice low so as not to startle the horses, she walked down the aisle between the stalls. “Are you within the stables?”

“Over ’ere!” His head appeared around a gate, and he grinned. “Afternoon, Mistress Aisley.”

“Good afternoon.” Aisley joined him at the stall where the mare she’d ridden back from Chippenham was eating from the bucket Taber had just placed on the floor. “How is this young lady behaving?”

“Ah, she’s a grand one.” Taber patted the mare’s rump. “I wish all the ’orses in ’ere were so well behaved.”

“I wish I knew who she belongs to.”

He looked at her. “D’ya think ya’ll ever find out?”

“That likely depends upon how many of King Alfred’s thegns survived the attack at Chippenham.” She paused. “Have you heard anything?”

He took his time closing the gate. Aisley waited, feeling her heart pound harder with each passing moment.

“There was somethin’ new goin’ around yesterday.” He faced her, his eyes sparkling. “I ’ope it’s the truth. I really do.”

“What was it?”

“They say the king’s ’idin’ away on an island, bidin’ ’is time till ’is men ’ave all gathered together again afore goin’ after them heathen Vikin’s.”

The fishmonger had spoken of an island. But where was it? A goodly portion of Wessex was coastal. There were any number of islands he could have chosen as his place of retreat.

“That is all you know? That the king is alive and has retreated to an island?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“What of those who may have already joined him?” Her heart had yet to resume its normal rhythm. “Did you hear the names of any of his followers?”

He scrunched his forehead as though deep in thought. “Not that I can remember. ’Course, word of the king bein’ alive and preparin’ t’ fight back is all anyone really wants t’ ’ear.”

“Of course.” Aisley swallowed her disappointment. If Brecc had survived, he would be with the king. Of that, she had no doubt. “Will you inform me if you learn anything more?”