by Jayne Castel
It was his fault; he should not have caught her eye earlier.
Pretending he had not seen her glance his way, Bridei leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the armrests, in time with the music. After a few moments, he gave a great yawn, his jaw cracking.
He had been busy of late, rallying his men and training and arming them for battle. Most days he was awake before dawn and often the last to retire. However, it felt as if the long days had caught up with him. If he remained seated here, he would surely fall asleep like an old man, caught dozing after the noon meal—not a kingly sight.
Best he retired to his quarters instead.
Bridei rose to his feet, just as Una broke free of the dancers. She leaped nimbly upon the platform, blocking his exit.
“Lord Bridei,” she greeted him, breathless. “Will you not join the dancing?”
“Not tonight, Una. I am weary.”
Her pretty face creased in disappointment. “But surely, just one dance.”
Bridei held her gaze and smiled. Then he slowly, and deliberately shook his head, stepping around her. “Good eve, Una—enjoy the revelry. There have been too few handfastings here over the last year.”
He felt her gaze follow him as he stepped down from the platform. He skirted the edge of the hall, passing the curtained alcoves where his relatives and retainers slept. Bridei then crossed to the stone steps that led up to the second level of the broch, to where he slept. She would not follow him, not without an invitation.
It was a relief to climb the stairs and enter the solitude of his chamber. This space was his refuge. Thick furs covered the floor and tapestries hung from the damp stone walls, creating a welcoming feel. It was a masculine space; there was no woman’s touch here.
Bridei heaved out a sigh and yanked off his boots before crossing the floor to his furs. He stretched out upon their softness and stared up at the rafters for a short while, listening to the laughter and music that drifted up from below. The celebrations would no doubt go on for much longer—although he had noted that Heolstor and Ciara had disappeared early into the night, to celebrate alone and in private.
Bridei envied them their happiness.
He lay there for a while longer, waiting for sleep to claim him—yet despite his weariness, it would not come. If anything the merriment beneath him had gotten louder. The sound of a man’s drunken singing rose up, followed by shrieking and laughter.
The noise almost drowned out the sound of the wind, whistling against the exterior of the stone broch.
The wind song of Dundurn—how he had missed it all those years in Bebbanburg. Usually the lilting sound of it calmed him, but this evening it brought him little solace. Instead his thoughts shifted once more to Hea, and the angry words that had passed between them the last time he had seen her.
Months on, he wished he could take those things he had said back. Heolstor had been right, Hea deserved better.
Irritated at the direction his thoughts were taking—once again—Bridei rolled over. Muttering a curse, he covered his head with a fur, almost as if by doing so he could smother his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about her. He needed to move on with his life. There would be other women … he would forget Hea eventually.
Yet as the wind called to him across the hills, he wished he had behaved differently on that ill-fated visit to Bebbanburg.
Chapter Sixteen
Market Square
Bebbanburg
Hea entered the market square, bunches of spring flowers in her arms. Their sweet scent tickled her nose as she wandered amongst the crowd.
“Daffodils, jonquils, snowdrops, and bluebells,” she called out, using the same sing-song voice her mother always had when she sold flowers. These days, thanks to the monthly sum of gold that Ecgfrith paid her, she had little need to make a living by selling flowers. However, she was wary of remaining dependent on the king. Although he appeared to be pleased with her of late, she knew him to be a fickle man. She had seen how he treated those who disappointed him, and realized that it would take little for him to treat her the same way.
Not only that, but the little garden behind her hovel was a riot of color this time of year; it seemed a pity not to share that beauty with others.
Unfortunately, few folk seemed interested this morning.
“Spring flowers,” she called out. “All your favorites!”
Still nothing. A merchant brushed by Hea, his gaze looking through her. A few feet away, the woman who sold Hea cheese and butter every week avoided her eye.
Hea tensed. Are they ignoring me?
Her gaze traveled across the square, and she spied Oswald walking amongst the crowd. The priest was young, barely five winters older than her, and would have been considered attractive if not for that ridiculous tonsure. His bald pate gleamed in the spring sunlight.
Oswald had not seen her, so intent was he on greeting and conversing with the folk he passed. Hea watched him, frowning. People seemed to have time for the priest this morning, just not for her.
“Hea!” Fritha’s voice hailed her from a few feet away. “I’d love some snowdrops, if you have any left?”
Grateful, Hea turned to her friend—the only person who had greeted her so far this morning—and smiled. “Of course.”
She extracted a bunch of the delicate white bonnets on long green stems and handed them over.
“How much?” Fritha asked.
“For you, nothing.”
“Nonsense, lass. How about one of my apple cakes, to take home for your supper later?”
Hea sighed. “Very well.”
Fritha picked up one of the cakes and put it in a small cloth bag, before passing it to Hea. “What’s wrong? Why the long face?”
“Nothing a little friendliness couldn’t cure,” Hea replied tightly. “I’m invisible today. No one will speak to me.”
Fritha’s ruddy face tightened at this news, and her gaze flicked to where Oswald was now laughing with a young couple. He then reached out and ruffled their son’s hair. “It’s that priest,” Fritha said. “I heard him preach a few days ago. He rants on and on about the devil, about how those who practice the old ways must be shunned. How we must all avoid temptation. He’s got folk all stirred up.”
Hea spat an oath under her breath, still glaring at Oswald. “I wish he would leave us all in peace.”
Fritha gave a humorless laugh. “There’s not much likelihood of that. More men like him will come. Not all holy folk are like Prior Cuthbert.”
Feeling the weight of the two women’s stares, Oswald glanced up, his gaze meeting Hea’s.
His expression grew serious, and his face turned pink. Gone was the genial smile and the easy banter with the good folk of Bebbanburg. He backed up—his conversation with the young couple forgotten—turned and hurried away, shoulders rounded.
“That’s right, scurry off,” Hea muttered, her gaze still tracking him through the crowd. “Like the rat you are.”
Fritha gave a low whistle. “You don’t like him much, lass, do you?”
Hea sighed. “Not if he’s turning folk against me.”
“Don’t fret.” Fritha put a motherly hand on her arm. “You will always have friends here, you know that.”
Hea cast Fritha a look of gratitude. The woman had no idea what those words meant to her. To become an outcast here would make life intolerable. She then plastered on a brave smile and hoisted up her colorful bunches of spring flowers. “Well then, I’d better do another circuit of the square.”
Fritha smiled back. “That’s the spirit.”
Hea set off once more, calling out to the crowd as she went. “Get your spring flowers here—daffodils, jonquils, bluebells, and snowdrops!”
A few yards on, a fisherwoman, who was selling smoked herrings by the gate, bought some daffodils, and shortly after a girl bought some bluebells for her mother. Clearly, now that the priest had disappeared from their midst, folk had relaxed somewhat.
She h
ad almost completed her circuit of the market square, weaving out of the crowds of people haggling over produce, fish, meat and cheeses, when Hea spotted another familiar—if unwelcome—face.
Rinan.
Like Oswald earlier, the warrior had not seen her. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon a pretty young wench who was selling turnips, carrots, and onions. She was small, with hair the color of mead, and had a slender figure … yet it was clear from her expression that she did not welcome Rinan’s attentions.
Hea observed them as she walked slowly through the crowd. She had always enjoyed watching people interact; the things they said without meaning to by their gestures and expressions.
There was plenty being said now by both parties.
Rinan was keen. His ruddy face was beet-red and even at this distance, Hea could see he was sweating. He had combed out his unruly straw-colored hair and tied it back with a leather thong; he was also wearing what looked to be his best breeches and tunic, and sported a number of bronze and silver armrings on his bare, muscular arms—all tributes to his bravery on behalf of the king.
The girl was also flushed, although not for the same reason as Rinan. She did her best to avoid his intense stare, her gaze darting around like a hunted fawn. She backed off from him, picking up a turnip and clutching it to her breast, as if to ward off his attentions.
Undaunted, Rinan stepped closer, speaking passionately now, his hands gesticulating. The girl backed off further, shaking her head.
Watching them, Hea felt an uncharacteristic stab of pity for Rinan. She had never forgotten, nor forgiven, what he had done to her years earlier, but it seemed as if that day had cast a curse upon him. To her knowledge, he had never tried to force a woman to submit to his kiss again—but neither had any agreed to wed him. Watching him now, she realized he really was useless with women.
Hea guessed that the warrior had come here to propose to the farm girl—something she was not interested in pursuing.
Eventually, realizing that the object of his desire was on the verge of losing her patience and hurling the turnip she clutched at him, Rinan backed off.
Muttering what looked to be an embarrassed apology, he turned and loped away through the crowd.
Straight for Hea.
Their gazes met, and she realized he knew she had been watching his humiliation.
Rinan frowned. He marched across the few yards separating them and stopped before Hea, looming over her.
“Enjoyed that, did you?” he growled.
Hea stared back at him, refusing to be intimidated, and feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Rinan,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d like to buy some flowers for your sweetheart?”
His expression darkened, and for a moment Hea worried that he might strike her. “I don’t need your help,” he snarled. “Have you put a curse on me, wicce?”
Hea glared back at him. “If only I could, I’d have turned you into a toad years ago.”
His face twisted and he stepped back from her. “You’ll not be so smug forever. One of these days, Ecgfrith is going to find another favorite. You won’t be so quick with your insults then.”
He stormed off, his huge frame rigid with outrage. Hea watched him go, and let out the breath she had been holding. Only then did she realize that she was shaking.
King Ecgfrith swung his wooden blade hard across the back of his opponent’s legs, sending Rinan sprawling into the mud.
“Concentrate!” Ecgfrith barked. “What’s wrong with you today?”
Rinan picked himself up, red-faced. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just distracted.”
“There’s no time for distraction in a shield wall,” Ecgfrith snarled. “Do you want a Pict sword in your guts?”
Rinan’s expression told him he did not. Ecgfrith pointed to the wooden practice sword that Rinan had dropped in the mud. “Pick that up and let’s go again.”
The warrior stooped to obey him, just as a man on horseback thundered into the yard, through the high gate.
Rinan momentarily forgotten, Ecgfrith turned to the newcomer. He did not recognize the young man who approached, his face flushed and sweaty. He looked as if he had ridden hard; mud splattered his cloak and boots.
“Lord Ecgfrith,” he gasped, drawing his horse up at the edge of the ring of men who had gathered to watch the king spar. “I have ill-news from the north.”
Ecgfrith wiped a forearm across his sweaty forehead and squinted at the man. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“My name is Theodred, sire. I’m son of Berht, Ealdorman of Ord.” The man paused here, to gather his breath, before continuing. “Villages north of us, milord, they’ve been attacked.”
Ecgfrith went still. “By whom?”
The young man held his gaze, unwavering, and Ecgfrith knew before he replied who was responsible. There was only one man who would have the nerve, who would dare raid Northumbrian lands.
Bridei mac Beli.
Chapter Seventeen
War is Upon Us
“War is upon us.”
Ecgfrith’s words fell like the blow of a heavy war axe, causing all upon the high seat to cease their evening meal. A tense silence settled.
Hea, who sat half-way down the table, put down the piece of bread she had just dipped in boar stew, her gaze shifting to the king. She had wondered why the king had bid her to join him for supper. She did not usually visit the Great Tower at this time of day. She had been at her work table, mashing herbs into a paste with a pestle and mortar—to make a healing tincture—when Ecgfrith had sent a slave to fetch her.
Hea had come quickly, bringing her seeing drum with her—for Ecgfrith did not like to be kept waiting these days. The lead up to war had made him irascible and sharp-tongued. This eve, his long face was stern. Irmenburgh sat beside him, eyes downcast, while beside her, Oswald lowered his cup. The priest’s gaze was wary.
Ecgfrith met Hea’s gaze across the table. “It comes sooner than expected … sooner than you foresaw.”
Hea tensed. This was the first time he had ever openly criticized her. It probably would have been best not to answer him, but Hea’s pride could not let his criticism go unanswered. “My visions do not give exact predictions, sire.”
His expression hardened, making it clear her answer did not please him. Another brittle silence settled before Oswald eventually broke it. “What has happened, milord?”
Ecgfrith turned to the priest, his expression grim. “Bridei mac Beli has begun raiding deep into Northumbrian territory.”
Hea’s belly clenched at this news. He was right, she had not foreseen this. She had thought that the campaign was still some time off … high summer at the earliest. For the first time ever, she doubted her skills. Her mother had been so confident in her own abilities as a seer, but Hea sometimes felt as if she wielded her gift blindly.
“When will you leave for the north, milord?” Irmenburgh asked, her gaze flicking up to meet his.
“We march north in two days,” he replied, “and we will hit the Picts with the full force of my fyrd.” His attention then returned to the priest. “My army needs a man of God at their side—a man who can allay their fears and light the fire of righteousness in their bellies.”
Oswald went ghostly white at this news. He glanced across at the queen but she was staring down at her trencher, avoiding his gaze. “Is that really necessary, milord,” the priest asked, his voice faltering. “I would only get in the way.”
Ecgfrith’s mouth thinned. “You will be vital to keeping morale high—those blue-painted savages strike fear into the hearts of many men. You must remind them that we have Christ on our side.”
Oswald swallowed, his throat bobbing, before he nodded.
Hea cleared her throat. “Lord Ecgfrith. I wish to join your campaign and travel north at your side.”
A stunned hush settled over the table. Rinan, who had been listening to the conversation thus far, snorted into his cup of mead, while Oswald stared at her as
if she had lost her wits.
Although she had little love for the priest, Hea agreed with him. The last thing she wanted was to ride to war—but if she remained here then the future she had glimpsed would surely come to pass. She had to find a way to change it … if she did not, Bridei—and all his men—would die.
Ecgfrith watched her steadily, his face bemused. “Why would you wish that, Hea?”
“This battle is crucial for Northumbria,” she replied. “Over the past few months, my guidance has been crucial to you, sire. I wish to continue my work. Not only that, but my healing skills will come in useful during the campaign.”
“She’ll only get in the way, milord.” Rinan growled from further down the table. “Her presence will unsettle and distract the men.”
Ecgfrith ignored his thegn. Instead, he watched Hea for a few moments more before a smile stretched across his face. “Your loyalty to your king pleases me,” he murmured, picking up his cup and raising it to her in a toast. “Yes, Hea—you may ride north with us.”
What have I done?
Hea walked from the Great Tower in a daze. Outside, the spring evening—which had felt balmy with the promise of summer earlier—now felt chill. Shivering, Hea rubbed her bare arms and wished she had brought a woolen shawl with her.
Deep in thought, she navigated the network of narrow lanes back to her hovel, her mind whirling.
What makes you think you can change anything?
She had never seen a battle, and had no wish to. She knew the king would not expect her to fight; instead, she would watch the battle from afar and then join the king once victory was assured. Even so, the thought of seeing death and carnage up close made her feel ill. She would have preferred to remain here in Bebbanburg, with her flowers, herbs, and remedies. Yet she had thrown herself into this situation.