Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"What did you do to Aisley?"

"I beg your pardon." Brecc looked up from his unenthusiastic contemplation of the roast goose on the trencher before him.

"You heard me." Seated beside him at the high table, Rheged studied Brecc with narrowed eyes. "Or mayhap it was not something you did but something you said."

"I cannot imagine what you are referring to."

"Is that so?" Rheged put a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed it slowly, his gaze gliding past Brecc to settle on Aisley. "Just because you had me on my back with the tip of your sword at my chest before I could so much as catch my breath this morning, it does not mean I did not discover who you danced with last evening."

Brecc should have guessed as much. "It was no secret."

"No. But you treated it as such. Which made it particularly satisfying to uncover." Rheged's calculating gaze returned to him. "You fought me this morning like a man possessed. And this evening, Aisley has not once turned to look at you. Not because she is fully diverted by the people at her table, for she has scarcely exchanged a word with anyone there, but rather because she seemingly does not wish to look this direction."

Brecc's stomach clenched. It had been easier to brush off Aisley's seemingly ill-disposed behavior before Rheged had confirmed its reality. "I truly do not know why she would avoid looking at anyone seated at the head table," he said.

"Not everyone," Rheged corrected him. "She has watched her brother's interactions with those at the end of the table on more than one occasion."

"You would make an excellent spy," Brecc said dryly.

"I daresay, but in this instance, I need more information to unravel the clues."

"To the best of my knowledge, Aisley enjoyed dancing the carole last evening," Brecc said. "I have nothing more to share with you." His conversation with Aisley at the river was private. As far as he was concerned, it was well within his rights to be troubled over how badly it might have affected her—especially given how wan she appeared this evening—but that interaction had nothing whatsoever to do with Rheged.

"Then I shall simply ask her," Rheged said. "She assisted me when I was ailing; it is only right that I should offer to do the same."

It was a noble suggestion, and Brecc's instant indignation mixed with irritation was wholly irrational. It was also undeniably existent.

"The king is ready to begin the ring-giving ceremony," Brecc said. "You'd best wait until that has concluded before you leave the table."

Rheged gave an accepting nod, and Brecc breathed a silent sigh of relief. Regardless of what gifts the king bestowed this evening, when the goblet was returned to the monarch, Brecc would be the first to leave the table—and the first to reach Aisley.

Aisley dipped a piece of bread into the meat juice at the bottom of the trencher she shared with Diera, keeping her eyes averted from the activity at the head table. Ealdorman Ormod had voiced his acceptance of King Alfred's gift and had passed the jewel-encrusted goblet to Brecc. She did not need to watch to know that Brecc would kiss the rim. His allegiance to the king was certain. As was his remarkable awareness of the activities of those around him. He had been the first of all the thegns to leap to his feet when the messengers had arrived at her home in Wiltshire to warn of the Viking attack all those years ago. He was likely the only one who had been diligently watching the river since the king's party had arrived in Chippenham. And he had arrived at her table the night before, moments after Diera had left to join the dancers.

Aisley knew what it was to unobtrusively study others and recognized that capacity in Brecc. It was undoubtedly one of the reasons he had ascertained her feelings so well when they had spoken at the river. It was also the reason she could not face him this evening. She had battled a maelstrom of emotions all day. Her mother and Diera had not noticed. Neither had Wulfhere. But Brecc would.

If he saw the abhorrence in her eyes when Wulfhere accepted the ring-giver's gift, he would not rest until he discovered its source. If he sensed how badly she wished there had been no pity or obligation involved when he'd asked her to dance, he might dissemble to spare her feelings further. And that would be worse. She wanted Brecc to always speak the truth to her. Even if it hurt.

"I would contend that the ring-giver's gifts are overly modest this year." There was no mistaking the criticism in her mother's voice. "A small pouch of coins for an oath of full allegiance asks a great deal of each thegn."

Each thegn, or simply her son?

"Given that so much of Wessex's gold was given to the Vikings in exchange for our freedom, it is understandable," Aisley said.

"It is the churches that have lost their treasures, not the king," her mother retorted. "Else how could he have put on twelve days of feasting for so many?"

"Mayhap he considers the banquets and entertainment to be part of his gift giving," Aisley suggested.

"Hush." Diera patted Aisley's arm to draw her attention to the end of the head table. "It is Wulfhere's turn."

Their brother exchanged a meaningful glance with the thegn seated beside him and accepted the king's goblet.

"Who is the thegn sitting next to Wulfhere?" Aisley asked. Someone whose devotion to the crown was as insincere as her brother's?

"Hush, Aisley!" This time it was her mother. "We must see what Wulfhere receives."

Performing every expected gesture, Wulfhere bowed to King Alfred and raised the goblet to his lips. The king acknowledged the action with an inclination of his head before handing Wulfhere a small leather purse. Aisley watched as Wulfhere loosened the leather ties and withdrew a small piece of jewelry. He set it on the palm of his hand. The muscle in his jaw twitched, but then he offered a polite smile.

"I am honored, Your Majesty."

"That is all?" Aisley's mother hissed. "A silver brooch no wider than a chestnut?"

Aisley swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. "Mother!" She kept her voice low. "We can barely see the gift from here. It may be far more valuable than you believe." A generous gift might have bought Wulfhere's allegiance until the next ring-giving ceremony; a gift that he considered insultingly parsimonious may well do the opposite.

"King Aethelred would never have given his thegns so little. During his reign, a pouch such as the one Wulfhere received would have been brimming with jewelry."

Aisley refrained from pointing out that with no means of acquiring more jewelry in the meantime, King Aethelwulf's generosity was likely the primary reason that King Alfred was forced to be more sparing with his gifts. Regardless of its accuracy, in this state of mind, her mother would not have taken the observation well.

"Wulfhere is leaving the table," Diera said.

A quick glance confirmed Diera's remark. Several of the thegns who'd been seated at the head table were now on their feet. With most of the food consumed and the ring-giving ceremony over, it seemed that the evening's celebration was over.

"Signal him, Diera," their mother said. "I wish to see the brooch."

Diera rose to do her mother's bidding, and Aisley knew that it was time for her to leave. Wulfhere's self-seeking disposition would undoubtedly overcome civility, and she had no desire to listen to him and their mother belittle the king for his gift.

Determined to remove herself while she still could, she came to her feet. "If you would excuse me," she said. "I believe I will retire early."

"Surely not before you have seen your brother's gift," her mother said incredulously. "Wulfhere is almost upon us."

Which was precisely why she wished to go. "I am sure there will be many who wish to view it. I shall undoubtedly see Wulfhere on the morrow. He can show it to me then."

Her mother frowned, clearly displeased. Already, the great hall was filling with people who had left their seats to mingle with other guests. Wulfhere's voice rose above the rest, and their mother turned to greet him. It was exactly the distraction Aisley needed. Without another word, she reached for the cloak she'd set beneath the bench and stepped away.

Slipping around the table, she fumbled with the fabric of her cloak. The milling people made it difficult to draw it over her shoulders. She tugged at it, and suddenly, the fabric lifted.

"Allow me." At the sound of Brecc's voice, Aisley's heart leaped—only to begin thumping wildly as panic settled upon her. Ignoring Brecc had been much easier when he'd been on the other side of the room. Now that she was within arm's distance, his tall, broad-shouldered presence was far harder to disregard. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Why?"

Lines appeared on his brow. The question had surprised him.

"I wished to inquire regarding your health. At the banquet this evening you appeared ..." He paused as though choosing his words carefully. "You did not seem quite yourself, and I was concerned that mayhap I had caused you undue suffering."

She shook her head slightly. "I confess, I shed many tears after our conversation this morning, but I remain grateful to you for your openness. Some tears were of sadness for what my father was forced to endure and a renewed sense of loss that he is gone; some were of anger for the length of time I was forced to wait to learn the details you shared."

"I am sorry."

"There is no need." Donning her cloak in the crowded room had been a mistake. She started toward the door and the cooler outside air. "I do not desire your pity, Brecc."

He caught up to her in two long strides. "My pity? Whyever would you think that I felt pity for you?"

"Why would you not? You know me as a young lady who lost her father too soon, who was left in ignorance of the circumstances too long, and who is far more used to observing her sister dance the carole than participating in the dance herself."

They had reached the door. If he accepted her response, he could leave her now. But there must have been something in Aisley's voice, some hint of the desperation she felt to truly know his answer to this question, that caused him to do the opposite. Clasping her elbow firmly in one hand, he opened the door with the other. "Come," he said, propelling her forward.

The cold air swirled around Brecc's ankles and stung his cheeks. He took a deep breath, hoping the icy lungful would do something to clear his head. Aisley's question had left him reeling. Had he truly given her the impression that his interactions with her were motivated by pity? If so, he had significant repair work to do.

The door to the great hall opened again, emitting half a dozen laughing, talkative people.

He lowered his head to Aisley's ear. "I was not so wise as you and did not reclaim my cloak before leaving. If you are not opposed to conversing in the company of horses, mayhap we could relocate to the stables." He managed the ghost of a smile. "I might be easier to understand if my teeth are not chattering incessantly."

"Very well."

Keeping his hand on her arm, he guided her away from the path that led to the women's and men's longhouses and toward the large building at their right. A faint flicker of candlelight showed between the chinks in the stable door, guiding them to the entrance. As they stepped closer, Brecc released Aisley's elbow and reached out to feel for the latch. A gust of wind swirled around the corner, and Aisley's cloak flapped. He sensed her pulling the fabric closer.

"I have it," he said, grateful that his fingers were not yet so chilled that he could not manage the lever.

The door swung open, and a band of pale-yellow light illuminated their way inside. A candle flickered on a nearby shelf. Brecc closed the door carefully. Somewhere nearby, a horse nickered and a hoof hit against the hard-packed floor.

A shadow materialized in the darkness. "May I 'elp you, sire?"

The stableboy could not have been more than eight or nine years of age. His ruffled hair sported a few pieces of straw, and Brecc guessed that they'd disturbed his sleep.

"Where is the stablemaster?" he asked.

"In the loft, sire. Would ye have me fetch 'im?"

"That won't be necessary."

The lad looked from him to Aisley, confusion clouding his expression. "Will ye be needin' a mount, then?"

"No mount," Aisley said, coming to his rescue. "But Ealdorman Brecc would benefit greatly from a blanket. Once he has something to protect him from the cold, we shall leave you and your horses in peace."

Understanding lit the lad's face. "The wind's bin 'owlin' all evenin'. Not the kind of weather t' be outdoors without a coverin', I'd say."

"And you would be right," Aisley said.

The boy looked pleased. "I'll find a blanket. If I go t' the back, there'll be some that are a bit fresher 'un the ones up 'ere."

"That would be ideal."

The boy needed no second bidding. He disappeared in a flash.

"I thank you for explaining our appearance to the lad," Brecc said, "even if he is now convinced that I am a fool."

Aisley laughed softly. "If it is of any consolation, you accepted his bafflement very well. Most gentlemen I know would have attempted to justify their cloakless condition no matter how senseless the argument."

He studied her in the candlelight. "The truth is important to you."

All hint of humor in her expression disappeared. "It is."

"Then we have that in common." He reached for her hand, grateful when she did not pull away. His fingers were cold, but she did not flinch. "I give you my word that I will always speak the truth to you. And to that end, you must believe that not once did I approach you out of pity.

"We lost our fathers at a similar age. The circumstances were different, but a child's emotions are less complicated than those of adults, so I would surmise that our feelings regarding those difficult events were alike. I never wished for pity. Love, certainly. Reassurance, and even, on occasion, some assistance. But not pity. I would never offer you something I did not desire myself.

"As far as your second insistence is concerned, I provided you with the information you lacked simply because I could tell how much you longed to know the details of your father's last days. Recalling my experiences at the Battle of Wilton is not something I do often. The memories are unpleasant and, to this day, occasionally rob me of sleep. Pity is not a strong enough motivator for me to willingly entertain those thoughts." Her eyes had not left his, and he knew he must finish before the stableboy returned. "Your third assertion should be the easiest to address, yet somehow, it is the hardest." He took a breath. "I asked you to join me in the carole because not only did I wish to dance with you above all the other ladies in the great hall, but I also wished to dance with you above my normal desire to remain seated."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and it seemed to him that her lips might be trembling.

"Is that truly so difficult to believe?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

The rustle of the stableboy's footsteps in the straw was drawing nearer.

Brecc wanted to ask why she would ever have reason to doubt her worth, but there was no time for that discussion now. "We will speak of this again," he said. "Until then, I would have you know that if my legs were not longer than Rheged's, he would have beaten me to your table this evening. And if I had not had the good fortune to see you slipping away, he would have held you captive in the great hall with his entertaining stories, and I would have been left awaiting a turn to speak with you whilst simultaneously wishing that the curative you gave him had not been nearly so effective."

At her tremulous smile, Brecc's heart swelled. Flooded with the overwhelming desire to kiss her, he tightened his grip on her hand and drew her closer. Then reason stumbled into the circle of candlelight in the form of the stableboy.

"'Ere you are, sire." The lad held up a ragged blanket that smelled strongly of horse.

Brecc released Aisley's hand and attempted to gather his wits. "I thank you," he said, taking the blanket.

The boy bobbed his head and waited expectantly until Brecc draped the blanket across his shoulders.

"We had best be on our way," Aisley said.

It was a good reminder.

"I shall return the blanket on the morrow," Brecc told the stableboy.

"Right you are, sire." The lad bobbed his head a second time and then heaved open the door. "Good evenin' to ya both."