The Whispering Wind (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 1) Read online

  The Whispering Wind

  BOOK ONE

  THE KINGDOM OF NORTHUMBRIA

  JAYNE CASTEL

  Your free short story is waiting! Join me in 4th Century Scotland and receive a 7,000-word prequel to The Warrior Brothers of Skye series. Immerse yourself in the Dark Ages!

  She depends on him for survival ... while he is her reluctant protector. But neither of them expected to find love.

  The day Leofric finds a young woman washed up on a windswept shore, his life changes forever.

  A monk upon the island of Lindisfarne, Leofric is living in exile after shaming his family. The girl he saves is Aelfwyn. Once handmaid to a queen, she is now fleeing from an immoral king.

  Leofric, an arrogant young warrior forced into a monastic life, isn't used to looking out for anyone but himself. Yet the blonde and beguiling Aelfwyn now depends on him for her survival. Thrown together by circumstance, the pair escape the north together--and so begins an epic adventure. He helps her heal from the wounds of the past, while she gives him a chance at redemption--only, all too soon, the past catches up with them.

  Historical Romances by Jayne Castel

  DARK AGES BRITAIN

  The Kingdom of the East Angles series

  Night Shadows (prequel novella)

  Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)

  Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)

  The Deepening Night (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series

  The Kingdom of Mercia series

  The Breaking Dawn (Book One)

  Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)

  Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of Northumbria series

  The Whispering Wind (Book One)

  Wind Song (Book Two)

  Lord of the North Wind (Book Three)

  DARK AGES SCOTLAND

  The Warrior Brothers of Skye series

  Blood Feud (Book One)

  Barbarian Slave (Book Two)

  Battle Eagle (Book Three)

  The Warrior Brothers of Skye: The Complete Series

  Epic Fantasy Romances by Jayne Castel

  Light and Darkness series

  Ruled by Shadows (Book One)

  The Lost Swallow (Book Two)

  All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  The Whispering Wind by Jayne Castel

  Copyright © 2017 by Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.

  Edited by Tim Burton

  Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com

  Single Celtic knot vector image courtesy of www.pixabay.com

  Celtic knot fleuron vector image courtesy of Wikipedia.

  Maps courtesy of Wikipedia

  Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com

  Follow Jayne on Twitter: @JayneCastel

  ***

  To my darling Tim. Here’s another one for you.

  ***

  Contents

  Maps

  Historical background for The Whispering Wind

  Glossary of Old English (in alphabetical order)

  Cast of characters (in alphabetical order)

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  More works by Jayne Castel

  About the Author

  Maps

  Historical background for The Whispering Wind

  In the seventh century, England was not as we know it today. The Anglo-Saxon period lasted from the departure of the Romans, from around 430 AD, to the Norman invasion, in 1066 AD. My novels focus on the period in between the departure of the Romans, and the first Viking invasion in 793 AD—a 300-year period in which Anglo-Saxon culture flourished. The British Isles were named Britannia (a legacy of the Roman colonization) and split into rival kingdoms. For the purposes of this novel, we focus on three of them: Northumbria, Mercia and East Anglia. The small kingdom of Lindesege also features in this novel.

  Many locations in Northumbria and northern Britannia appear in this novel, although their names are somewhat different to modern-day England. Bebbanburg was the old name for Bamburgh, the seat of Northumbrian Kings for many centuries. At the time of our story, the castle would not have been built, however, there would have been a wooden fort at the top of the rocky outcrop, and, possibly, a Great Tower made of local stone. The nearby island of Lindisfarena is none other than Lindisfarne, also known today as Holy Island. Farther south, Eoforwic (also spelled Eoferwic) is the Anglo-Saxon name for the town renamed Jorvik after settlement by the Danes—today, we know it as York. Our characters make a stop at Streonshalh (Whitby) Abbey and spend the winter in Lincylene—today known as Lincoln. Lincylene was the capital of the Kingdom of Lindesege.

  Glossary of Old English (in alphabetical order)

  béagas: arm rings

  Cyningtaefl: “King’s Table”, an Anglo-Saxon form of chess

  ealdorman: earl

  Ēōstre: Easter

  fæder: father

  handfasted: married

  heah-setl: high seat (later called a “dais”) for the king and queen

  hōre: whore

  Hwæt?: What?

  Humbre: Humber River

  Lindisfarena: Lindisfarne Island (Holy Island)

  mōder: mother

  Nithhogg: a fire-breathing dragon that lived in the underworld

  nón-mete: midday meal (literally “noon-meat”)

  Streonshalh: Whitby

  thegn: a king’s retainer

  theow: slave

  thrymsas: Anglo-Saxon gold shillings

  Tinanmuðe (pronounced: tienanmootha): The River Tyne (Newcastle)

  “Wes hāl”: “Greetings” in Old English

  Winterfylleth: Anglo-Saxon Halloween

  wyrd: fate

  Cast of characters (in alphabetical order)

  Aelfwyn: handmaid to Lady Aethelhild—the youngest daughter of a thegn in Rendlaesham

  Aethelhild: betrothed and then queen to King Ecgfrith of Northrumbria (daughter of Ealdwul
f, King of the East Angles)

  Aethelthryth: Aethelhild’s cousin—Abbess of Ely

  Berhtulf and Wybert: Godwine of Eoforwic’s sons

  Bridei: a Pictish prince fostering at the Northumbrian court

  Cuthbert: Prior of the Lindisfarena (Lindisfarne) monastery

  Cynhild: Leofric’s mother

  Cynn: meadhall owner in Lincylene

  Deorwine: Leofric’s friend on Lindisfarena and fellow monk

  Eanflaed: Ecgfrith’s mother

  Eatta: King of Lindesege

  Ecgfrith: King of Northumbria

  Eflaeda: Ecgfrith’s sister (now a nun at Streonshalh Abbey)

  Godwine: Ealdorman of Eoforwic

  Gytha: Cynn of Lincylene’s wife (they have four daughters: Ealhgyth, Hilla, Sifleda, and Merwyn)

  Halwend: Godwine of Eoforwic’s most trusted warrior

  Hea: daughter of the flower-seller in Bebbanburg

  Hilda: Abbess of Streonshalh Abbey

  Hrothwyn: Godwine of Eoforwic’s daughter

  Leofric: the youngest son of a wealthy thegn—comes from Driffield just outside Eoforwic

  Oswiu: Ecgfrith’s father (deceased)

  Thunred: a young warrior from Eoforwic

  Waric: one of the King of Lindesege’s men

  Wibert: Leofric’s father

  Wilfrid: Bishop at Bebbanburg, Lady Aethelhild’s advisor

  Windræs: Thunred’s horse—name means ‘Storm of Wind’

  The past cannot be changed.

  The future is yet in your power.

  —Unknown

  Prologue

  Harsh Words

  Eoforwic, Kingdom of Northumbria, Britannia

  Summer, 670 AD

  Leofric followed his father into the ealdorman’s hall. They crossed the floor, their boots crunching on rushes. The rank odor of dog’s piss and rotting food wafted up, and Leofric screwed up his nose. He glanced at the servants gossiping together as they stood around a gently bubbling cauldron of what smelled like boar stew—clearly they were an idle bunch.

  “Remind me again why we’re here, fæder?” Leofric drawled.

  Wibert of Driffield glanced back at him and frowned. “Because Godwine has summoned us.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  His father did not answer. Instead he led the way to the end of the hall, before stepping up onto the platform that ran around its perimeter. “This way,” he grunted. Wibert reached for the heavy tapestry that shielded Godwine’s alcove from the rest of the hall. “The ealdorman wishes to speak to us in private.”

  Leofric followed his father through the curtain and stepped into a small yet richly furnished space. Plush hangings covered the timber walls and thick furs lay underfoot.

  Godwine of Eoforwic was waiting for them, standing before a glowing hearth. To his left stood his two blond and strapping sons: Berhtulf and Wybert. To Godwine’s right stood Halwend—his most trusted warrior. Tall and broad-shouldered, his bare arms covered in silver and bronze armrings, Halwend was an intimidating sight. Leofric knew the warrior well; he had drunk with him in the meadhall on many occasions. The two men exchanged nods as Leofric entered.

  Leofric stopped next to his father, his gaze settling upon the ealdorman. Twenty years his elder and built like an ox, Godwine was as feared as he was respected. Leofric knew his father idolized the man.

  “You called for us, Godwine?” Wibert greeted the ealdorman heartily, as an old friend. He stepped forward, and lord and thegn embraced. Godwine slapped Wibert heartily on the back before his gaze flicked to Leofric.

  “Aye,” he boomed, “although it is your son I wish to speak to.”

  “Lord Godwine.” Leofric dipped his head.

  Godwine looked him up and down, taking his measure. “How old are you, Leofric?”

  “Twenty-one winters.”

  “And still not handfasted?”

  Leofric shrugged. “I’m in no hurry to be wed, milord.”

  Godwine laughed, a deep rumble in his chest. “Marriage is good for a man—it grounds him.”

  Leofric glanced from the ealdorman to his father. He did not like the sly look on his old man’s face. What are they up to?

  “I’ve called you here to make you an offer,” the ealdorman continued, “a very generous one.” He held Leofric’s gaze a moment before smiling. “I offer you the hand of my only daughter, Hrothwyn.”

  Leofric stared at Godwine for a few moments before shock gave way to incredulity. Then he laughed. “Is this some kind of jest?”

  The words fell like a woodman’s axe in the small space, and a deathly hush followed. Beyond, Leofric could hear the rise and fall of voices and clang of iron pots as the ealdorman’s lazy servants made a pretense of working.

  He met the ealdorman’s gaze once more and saw shock in his eyes. Both his sons had gone red in the face. Next to Leofric, his father appeared to have swallowed his tongue.

  Eventually, the ealdorman spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Are you refusing Hrothwyn?”

  Leofric held his gaze. “I am.”

  “Leofric!” Wibert found his tongue at last. “Shut up, you dolt!”

  Godwine held up a meaty hand, forestalling his friend. “Let the lad speak. I am curious to hear how he can better the offer of an ealdorman’s daughter—perhaps he is he aiming for the daughter of a king instead?”

  Leofric ignored the look of warning Halwend was giving him and fought back a sneer. “I care not for status. Even if your daughter was a princess of Northumbria I would refuse her.”

  Godwine scratched at his dense brown beard, his dark eyes narrowing into glittering slits. “Aye, and why is that?”

  Leofric gave another careless shrug. “She looks like a sow.”

  Another silence fell in the alcove, only this one felt charged—as if a storm had rolled in overhead.

  “Idiot,” Leofric’s father growled. His pale, lightly freckled face had turned the color of liver; his hazel eyes were murderous. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

  Leofric turned on his father, his own temper rising. “Is this all I’m worth? You never sold any of my brothers into slavery?”

  His father gave him a look of pure scorn. “Slavery? Your brothers have all done me proud. You don’t even have the wits to be grateful.”

  “She’s fat and ugly, fæder,” Leofric snarled back. “I’d rather spend the rest of my days a monk than wed such a woman.”

  Wibert of Driffield spat out a curse and lunged. His fist slammed into his son’s mouth. Leofric staggered back and only just managed to keep his feet. Eyes smarting from pain, he glowered at his father, wiped blood away from his injured mouth and clenched his fists by his sides. If the old bastard struck him again, he would hit back.

  A few feet away, the ealdorman of Eoforwic had gone very still. Despite the warm day, he wore a wolf’s pelt about his broad shoulders, making him look even more threatening. His expression was stony as he raised a hand and clicked his fingers. “Hrothwyn—come here.”

  The hanging behind the ealdorman parted and a short, heavyset young woman appeared. She was dressed in a fine, blue woolen gown, with a heavy leather belt studded with amber around her thick waist. Her frizzy brown hair was pulled back in an elaborate tangle of braids. Despite that today was not a feast day, she was dressed for a celebration. However, her round face told a different story. A deep flush mottled her cheeks and her eyes—the same shade of brown as her father’s—gleamed with unshed tears.

  Leofric went cold. She had heard every word.

  “You were to be betrothed today,” Godwine said, his voice cold and flat. “Hrothwyn was waiting to come forward to take your hand.”

  Leofric stared at her. He saw the hurt—feral and raw—in her eyes and knew he was to blame. He could make no excuses. There were no words to undo it—so he held his tongue.

  The ealdorman broke the weighty silence. “If it is a life dedicated to Christianity you prefer, then that is what you shall have.”
r />   Leofric tore his gaze away from Hrothwyn, who was now staring down at her feet, tears streaming down her florid face, and focused on the ealdorman.

  Godwine gave him a cruel smile. “You said you’d rather spend your days as a monk. There is a famed man of god, a monk named Cuthbert, who now lives upon Lindisfarena. He has sent word for the devout to join him in contemplation upon the isle. He will welcome you, I am sure.”

  Panic exploded in Leofric’s chest. “Just wait a moment, milord,” he gasped, all arrogance gone. He would have rather been buried alive upon a bed of hot coals than spend the rest of his days on some wind-swept rock bent in prayer. He had only tossed those words at the ealdorman in defiance earlier—he had not really meant them. He still had no wish to wed the ealdorman’s unattractive daughter but suddenly he regretted his hotheaded response. “Let’s not be hasty.”

  The ealdorman ignored him. Instead he twisted his head to the right, the cords of his neck straining as he sought to restrain his anger. “Halwend.”

  “Yes, milord,” the warrior replied—his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

  Godwine gestured to Leofric. “Take this cur and escort him to Lindisfarena today. My sons will go with you.”

  Halwend nodded, stepping forward. He, Berhtulf, and Wybert formed a semi-circle around Leofric, cutting off any chance of escape. Satisfied, the ealdorman turned his attention back to the young man before him.

  The look on Godwine’s face chilled Leofric’s blood, as did his final words.

  “You could have been my son by marriage, but you have insulted my family this day,” he said coldly. “If I ever discover you’ve abandoned the monastery, I’ll kill you.”