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“Yes. They will need to dry for a few days, but there is more in the crock ready to be used for your tea. The herbs will ease your pain. They always do.”
He offered her a sad smile. “The healing properties in your mother’s teas are quite remarkable, but I fear there is not time to prepare any before I must leave.”
Aisley felt the sting of tears. “Must you truly go, Father?”
“Yes, child.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “All will be well, you shall see.”
She hung her head, but he gently raised it until her eyes met his. The whites of his eyes were yellowed, and she recognized the pain in their depths.
“Have courage, Aisley,” he said. “And I shall do the same. We shall be brave together.”
Her heart felt that it might be breaking, but she nodded. “Yes, Father.”
His expression softened. “Good girl.”
Outside, a horn sounded.
“It is time, Wulfhere,” he said. “Bring me my sword, if you please.”
Wulfhere crossed the room and retrieved the sword leaning against the wall in the corner. Aisley’s father reached for her mother’s hand. Raising it to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “God willing, I shall see you again ere long.”
Her mother took an unsteady breath, though whether her battle was with frustration or sorrow, Aisley could not tell. “I pray it is so,” she said.
Word of the latest Viking incursion into their county had reached the men of Wiltshire mere hours ago, and yet Brecc could not fault them for the speed in which the fyrd had gathered. Ever since first light, willing warriors—some on foot, some on horseback—had entered the ealdorman’s courtyard in a steady stream. And now that the sun had swept away the last vestiges of early-morning mist, the previously open space was full of men, horses, and wagons. Already, the makeshift army had closed ranks behind Ealdorman Kendryek and his son and were anxiously awaiting the order to move out.
Seated upon their mounts, the king’s thegns formed two solid lines behind the standard bearer, and from his position near the entrance to the ealdorman’s house, Brecc watched Ormod for a signal that the king was ready.
Somewhere nearby, a wooden shield clattered to the ground, the metal-domed boss at its center hitting the cobblestones with a clang. Brecc’s horse snorted, skittering away from the unexpected noise and causing a similar reaction in the horse beside them.
“Steady, Noori.” Brecc leaned forward in his saddle to set a calming hand upon the stallion’s strong neck before turning to speak with the thegn at his right. “My apologies, Arthw.”
“Can’t blame the horses for being jittery,” the habitually taciturn gentleman responded. “It’s long past time that we were away.”
Brecc silently agreed. He had no great desire to go to battle, but this waiting—especially when the Vikings were marching across the countryside in a lethal swathe—did little to help their men’s morale. “I daresay the king has good reason for the delay,” he said.
“Caught up in his prayers like his brother before him, I wager,” Arthw muttered.
Scops regularly sang of the miracle at the Battle of Ashdown, when the delay caused by King Aethelred’s prayers facilitated an unexpected two-fronted attack and won the Saxons a glorious victory.
“If that is the case,” Brecc said, “we can hardly grumble. Our monarch’s devotion to God is undoubtedly one of our greatest strengths.”
Arthw’s expression suggested that he felt otherwise, but he pressed his lips into a firm line and turned his attention back to Ormod.
“I beg your pardon, sire.”
At the sound of a young lady’s voice, Brecc swiveled his head. Kendryek’s daughter—the same one he’d spoken with earlier—stood beside his horse. Surprised that Noori had not reacted to her sudden appearance, Brecc raised his eyebrows. “You wish to speak to me?”
“Not especially,” she said. “But in this great press, I cannot reach my father.”
Brecc’s eyebrows notched a fraction higher. It appeared that the girl was wont to speak her true feelings, even if they were not particularly complimentary.
She lifted the small linen sack in her hand. “It is exceedingly important that my father receive this before he leaves, and I wondered . . .” Her voice trailed off as though she’d only just now considered the inconvenience inherent in her request.
“You wondered if I would be so good as to give it to him,” he guessed.
She nodded. “Yes, sire.”
“You understand that I will not be riding with your father and that it is highly unlikely that we will cross paths unless I make a particular effort to seek him out?”
