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

  Hilda sat her down at a freshly scrubbed oaken table while she fetched a wooden platter of bread, cheese, and apples from the adjoining kitchen. A large hearth dominated the far end of the refectory. Embers glowed dully in the fire pit, casting a soft glow over the shadowed walls.

  Aelfwyn ate quickly, although with the abbess watching her she tried to mind her manners. Hilda observed her with unnerving intensity, as if considering something.

  “It’s a long way from Bebbanburg,” Hilda said finally, “and although you are weary and hungry, I find you in a remarkably fit state. Did you receive help on the journey?”

  A chill slithered over Aelfwyn’s skin. She had not wanted to lie to Hilda about how she had managed to reach Streonshalh. Instinctively, Aelfwyn knew it was best to leave Leofric out of her tale. “Aye, Mother Abbess,” she replied huskily. “A family traveling south on the road out of Bebbanburg gave me passage for a spell, and the folk of the villages I passed showed me great generosity by giving me food and drink.”

  Hilda gave a gentle smile. “The Lord was certainly looking over you, to bring you safely to our door.”

  Aelfwyn forced herself to return the smile although her meal now sat queasily in her belly. God would surely strike her down for her lies.

  Sister Elflaeda was lying on her sleeping pallet, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, when the creak of the door opening roused her. Bleary-eyed, she pushed her curtain of dark hair from her eyes and propped herself up onto her elbows.

  “Who goes there?”

  A young woman stood in the doorway. Pretty, blonde and dressed in a travel stained blue woolen over dress and tattered linen tunic, the girl carried a guttering clay cresset. The two other nuns that shared the dwelling stirred, peering up from the edges of their blankets at the newcomer like sleepy owls. The girl ignored them, her gaze fixing upon the nun who had addressed her.

  “Are you Elflaeda,” she whispered.

  “Sister Elflaeda,” the nun corrected her with an imperious tilt of her head. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Aelfwyn. The abbess has told me that I should sleep here.” Elflaeda heard the nervousness in the young woman’s voice. “She also asked that you go to her; she wishes to speak with you.”

  Elflaeda rose from her pallet and reached for her habit. She dressed quickly before realizing that the girl—Aelfwyn—was still standing there watching her. Elflaeda made an impatient noise and motioned to the empty pallet beside the door. Until three weeks ago it had belonged to Sister Hereswith—until a fever claimed her life.

  “You can sleep there.”

  Elflaeda made her way across the starlit yard between the squat, thatch-roofed dwellings where her sisters slept. A chill breeze caught at her veil and whipped her habit against her legs, but she paid it no mind.

  She frowned as she approached the annex attached to the back of the church: Abbess Hilda’s house. Life at Streonshalh Abbey was one of rigid routine—early to bed, early to rise. The abbess never summoned her this late.

  Elflaeda halted before the door to the house and knocked gently.

  “Enter.”

  She obeyed and found the abbess sitting on a stool by her sleeping pallet, a leather bound book of prayers in her hands. Although larger and better built than Elflaeda’s own dwelling, the abbess’s home contained few possessions. Fresh straw covered the ground, and apart from a wooden cross above the abbess’s sleeping pallet, nothing else adorned the walls.

  “Sister Elflaeda,” the abbess greeted her with a smile. “I apologize for the lateness of my summons—please come in and shut the door.”

  Elflaeda did as bid although the tension in the abbess’s shoulders concerned her. “Is something amiss, Mother Abbess?”

  Hilda motioned to the low stool opposite her. “Please take a seat, Sister.”

  Elflaeda perched on the stool although her nervousness was growing by the moment. Why was the abbess behaving so strangely?

  “You have shown Aelfwyn to her sleeping pallet?” Hilda asked.

  Elflaeda nodded, her curiosity piqued.

  The abbess’s gaze met hers. “Aelfwyn traveled here from Bebbanburg to seek our protection.”

  The younger woman frowned. “Our protection?”

  “Yes, she has endured much.” Hilda’s mouth tightened as she said these words. “She was handmaid to King Ecgfrith’s new queen, Aethelhild.”

  Elflaeda knew about her brother’s recent marriage, although she did not see what it had to do with the girl.

  “The king forced her,” Hilda continued. “He raped her.”

  The nun stared at the abbess, shocked by her stark words, as much as the admission itself. “Who? The handmaid?”

  Hilda nodded. “Aelfwyn fled from Bebbanburg at dawn the next morning, and has been running ever since.”

  Elflaeda blinked. She felt slightly numb, as if they were not talking about her brother, the King of Northumbria. Eventually, she found her voice. “You believe her?”

  “I do.”

  Anger curled in the base of Elflaeda’s stomach. She had never been close to her elder brother, but she would not have a lowborn girl spread slander about him.

  She respected the abbess deeply, looked up to her as a beacon of goodness and piety, but she was shocked Hilda would take the word of a servant girl over that of her own king. Still, she was careful not to let her feelings show on her face.

  “I know this is difficult, Sister Elflaeda.” Hilda’s voice gentled. “No one likes to hear ill of their kin.”

  “My brother would not rape a woman,” Elflaeda replied stiffly. “I cannot believe it.”

  Hilda held her gaze, understanding in her eyes. “The truth is sometimes ugly. Aelfwyn is terrified of the king. She believes he will send men after her to bring her back to Bebbanburg.”

  Elflaeda choked back scorn. Who did this wench think she was? To think herself worthy of a king’s attention—to make up vicious lies about Ecgfrith. Elflaeda clenched her fists, although taking care to keep them hidden in the folds of her robes. She had a good mind to storm back to that lying slut and rake her fingernails down her face. With great self-control, Elflaeda managed to rein in her anger and keep her expression neutral.

  “What will you do with her, Mother Abbess?” She kept her voice low, respectful even if she was seething inside.

  “I have agreed to let her stay here as an aspirant. If she takes to life at Streonshalh, she can take her vows.”

  The nun could still her tongue no longer. “You will take her word over the king’s, Mother Abbess?”

  Hilda fixed the younger woman in a cool, penetrating stare; one she had seen her use with other nuns but never her. Elflaeda had always been a favorite. “I called you here as a courtesy so that you would hear it first from me,” she said, her voice iron cloaked in silk. “I hope you won’t cause me to regret doing so.”

  “Of course not, Mother Abbess,” Elflaeda replied hurriedly, swallowing her indignation and casting her gaze downward, feigning contrition. “I only wished to be sure of the girl’s words—after all she is a stranger to us.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Outsider

  The first rays of dawn peeked through the cracks in the doorway and shutters, casting a pale light over the interior of the hut. Aelfwyn stirred on her straw pallet, relishing the luxury of a proper bed for the first time in days. Her gaze shifted over to where the three nuns she shared quarters with were rising.

  The nuns were all reasonably young, none of them more than five and twenty winters, although they looked older once they donned their habits and veils. Their habits made them appear the same—sisters indeed.

  None of them paid her any mind as they dressed. The one called Elflaeda did not glance her way once. Watching them, Aelfwyn felt an outsider, an imposter. She rose from her sleeping pallet, shook out her blanket, and quickly rebraided her hair. Then she followed the nuns out into the dim morning.

  A fog had drifted in from the sea overnight, wr
eathing the abbey complex in milky white. The nuns crossed the courtyard toward the church, their cloaked forms like wraiths in the misty dawn. Having nowhere else to go, Aelfwyn trailed after them.

  They filed into the church, silent save for the rustling of their skirts, the soft whisper of their sandals on the paved floor.

  Around twenty nuns gathered in the silent space. Aelfwyn lingered at the back of the group, watching as they knelt in rows. The abbess arrived, bringing with her a faint scent of lye and dried lavender. She cast Aelfwyn a quick but reassuring smile and swept up to the altar.

  Aelfwyn hurriedly knelt, although she kept well back from the nuns. She bowed her head and listened as Abbess Hilda began to recite the first prayer of the morning. Her voice, low and gentle, broke the heavy silence. Aelfwyn listened to the prayer, her hands clasped in front of her as her mistress, Aethelhild, had once taught her. However, her mind kept wandering. She found herself noting how cold the stone was she knelt upon; how empty her stomach felt; how her throat was dry and she kept having to swallow to prevent herself from coughing.

  She thought of Leofric. Would he really wait every evening? Where was he right now?

  The rise and fall of the abbess’s voice jerked her back to the present.

  Stop it. Concentrate.

  Yet her thoughts returned to their last moments together before he had turned and ridden away. Traitorously, her mind fixed upon the feel of his lips on hers, the warmth and strength of his arms around her.

  Aelfwyn squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think of something else. Enough—such thoughts would do her no good. Had her recent experiences taught her nothing about men? This was her new life now, and she needed to embrace it or the abbess would never let her stay.

  After prayers, the nuns broke their fast with fresh bread and broth in the refectory. It was a silent meal and a solemn one. Aelfwyn could not help but compare it to the mornings in Bebbanburg’s Great Hall. Raucous, chaotic and full of life; with slaves and servants dashing about, and children and dogs getting underfoot. It was also different to her parents’ home—she and her sisters bickering as they helped their mother bake wheels of griddle bread on the hearth.

  Aelfwyn found the silence disconcerting. It made her own thoughts feel too loud. There was little to distract her from her own worries; the inner chatter that the business of everyday life usually drowned out.

  She ate her bread slowly and savored the hot broth made with mutton bones, and took note of the nuns seated around her. They all looked so serious, their gazes inward.

  Is this what a life of contemplation does to you?

  Her gaze reached Elflaeda, who sat further down the table, and lingered.

  There was something familiar about the young woman. She had a round, pretty face and dark eyes framed with long lashes. Last night, Aelfwyn had noticed she had long hair, as dark as a raven’s wing. However, it was the pugnacious set to the girl’s jaw and her haughty manner that reminded Aelfwyn of someone.

  Elflaeda. That name was also familiar. Had she seen the girl before?

  Frowning as she tried to remember, Aelfwyn glanced down at the bowl of hot broth before her.

  Then it struck her.

  At Bebbanburg she had heard King Ecgfrith’s mother Eanflaed speak of her daughters. One had married a Mercian prince, the other had taken her vows at Streonshalh. Aelfwyn remembered the Queen mother’s proud face as spoke of that daughter to Aethelhild.

  Aelfwyn’s stomach clenched. She looked up to find Elflaeda staring at her. The look of dislike on her face was impossible to ignore, as was the accusation in her dark eyes.

  She knows.

  The bread and broth churned in Aelfwyn’s belly. The abbess must have told Elflaeda the night before. Aelfwyn tore her gaze away, her heart slamming against her breastbone.

  She had only been here one night and already she had made an enemy—one who could destroy her hopes for a new life.

  The mist had burned away when Elflaeda made her way out of the abbey. The sun was warm on her face and, after spending the morning weeding the vegetable beds, she was sweating slightly.

  She left her sisters bent over the beds of onions and carrots and made her way out of the garden, past the tangle of rosemary, thyme and sage, before cutting right. The quickest route out of the abbey was through the side gate, next to the vegetable plots, but she did not want the other nuns to see her leave.

  Instead, she hurried across the inner courtyard, her sandals scuffing on hard-packed earth, past the Great Hall and guest house to the top gate.

  Eflaeda slipped out, leaving the gate ajar so she would not have to draw attention to herself when she returned. Outside, the tang of molten iron reached her, carried on a gentle sea breeze that cooled her heated cheeks. The ironsmith’s hearth burned below, the clang of a hammer on hot iron echoing up the cliff face.

  She had to hurry. Soon the bell would ring for noon prayers—but before it did, she had a task to complete. She had chosen her moment carefully, telling her sisters that the abbess had asked her to run an errand before the morning’s end.

  In her hand she carried a scrap of rolled vellum. She had brought a few pieces of the precious writing material from Bebbanburg and used it to write letters back to her mother. She was loath to waste any of it, but the message she had inscribed was clear and concise.

  Elflaeda made her way down the steep cliff path toward the village of Streonshalh. Below, she spied the boat builders’ huts, huddled together near the wooden quay. She knew that merchants often stopped here on their way north. With any luck, there would be one willing—for a thrymsa or two—to deliver a missive to King Ecgfrith.

  Ecgfrith would learn of Aelfwyn’s lies. Perhaps this would help mend the rift between brother and sister. Ecgfrith had little time for her piety, but after this he might look upon Elflaeda more kindly. It might make his rare visits to the abbey bearable.

  Elflaeda slid on loose pebbles, and nearly fell, but managed to catch herself in time. The path down the cliff was steep in places, and one misplaced step could send her tumbling to her death.

  Heart pounding, she glanced up at where the sun beat down. Noon was nearly upon them; she had to hurry. Pursing her lips in determination, the nun pressed on.

  Aelfwyn completed a line of stitches and looked up. The abbess sat opposite her, winding wool onto a distaff. The abbess had requested she join her in the weaving shed. The two of them sat on a raised platform, opposite a group of nuns who worked at large looms on the other side of the room.

  The scene—the two of them hard at work by the open window—reminded her of the afternoons she had spent with Aethelhild, weaving, sewing, or embroidering.

  A wave of homesickness crashed over her—not for Rendlaesham and certainly not for Bebbanburg, but for Aethelhild. Ecgfrith had stolen so much more than her innocence that night. He had taken her closest friend.

  The abbess, sensing Aelfwyn’s stillness, glanced up. “You look worried, Aelfwyn. Is something amiss?”

  Aelfwyn lowered her gaze. The abbess was a clever woman and very observant; she would have to be more careful to conceal her emotions around her. “I was just wondering about my mistress, Aethelhild,” she admitted finally, before meeting Hilda’s eye once more. “She never wanted to remarry, but the King of the East Angles would not let her take her vows. After her handfasting, Aethelhild decided that she would remain chaste. The king was furious.”

  The abbess’s gaze widened. “She is strong indeed to defy her husband. Many women would not have the courage.”

  Aelfwyn looked away. “I’m sure he will make her pay for it, Mother Abbess—if he has not already.”

  “You think he used you to punish her?” Outrage laced Hilda’s soft voice.

  Aelfwyn nodded. “In part.” She paused, remembering the look of venom on Elflaeda’s face that morning. “Mother Abbess—what if he comes here looking for me?”

  Aelfwyn glanced up, and saw the abbess stiffen. She stopped winding w
ool onto her distaff and set it aside. “Then I would do my best to hide you. I would never betray your trust, child.”

  Relief washed over Aelfwyn, swiftly followed by guilt. “But if he discovers you lied to him, he could—”

  Hilda reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Aelfwyn’s forearm, cutting her off. Her touch was cool and firm, her gaze resolute. “He won’t.”

  Dusk settled gently over the land, bringing another late summer’s day to a close. Although it had been a warm afternoon, the air had a nip to it; a reminder that the fires of autumn were not far off.

  Leofric waited on the brow of the hill astride Windræs, looking northeast toward Streonshalh Abbey. The gelding shifted impatiently and tossed his head, his bit rattling. Leofric leaned forward and stroked the horse’s neck. “Just a while longer,” he soothed.

  Glancing up, Leofric’s gaze returned to the high wooden fence that snaked around the perimeter of the abbey complex. He stared at the gates, awaiting the moment they would open, and Aelfwyn would step outside.

  He waited as the sun slid behind the hills at his back—but she did not emerge.

  What am I doing here?

  Leofric had asked himself that numerous times ever since leaving Aelfwyn the day before. What madness had possessed him? He was a hunted man; he could not waste precious days lingering near Streonshalh, waiting for Aelfwyn to change her mind.

  What did he care anyway?

  She was a comely young woman and good company, but he owed her nothing. He had done what he had promised: brought her safely south and kept her from falling into the king’s lecherous hands. Surely that was enough?

  And yet the thought of riding away, of leaving her alone at Streonshalh, had bothered him—it still did. Aelfwyn was gentle and sweet, but she was no more made for a life of religious worship than he was. He had to give her a chance to change her mind.

  The sun set and darkness settled over the hills.

  She’s not coming. Disappointment soured Leofric’s mouth, and he grew angry with himself for it. Get ahold of yourself.