The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) Read Free

you weren’t exaggerating, brother.”
    “When it comes to pretty women I never exaggerate,” Aethelhere
replied, feigning offence, before stepping forward to make the introductions.
    “Lady Hereswith of Bebbanburg, niece to King Edwin of
Northumbria, may I introduce you to our king, Annan of the East Angles.”
    “Milord,” the blonde girl rose to her feet, blushing prettily,
before she curtsied deeply.
    “Milady,” Annan replied, his gaze devouring her. She was even
lovelier up close than from a distance, with flawless, milky skin, huge blue
eyes and hair the color of sea-foam.
    Marriage to such a woman might not be such a trial after all.
    At thirty-three winters, Annan was well past the age when most
men married. Given the chance, he would have preferred to remain unwed. Out of
the three brothers – Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold – only Aethelwold had
married; to a sweet woman who had given him two sons. Like his elder brother,
Aethelhere also remained unattached. However, with kingship came certain
responsibilities – producing an heir among them. As much as Annan liked his
freedom, and preferred taking a woman for a night or two, rather than saddling
himself with a wife, the time had come for him to be handfasted.
    Still, Annan reflected, not taking his gaze off the beauty
before him, some sacrifices were easier to make than others.
    “Welcome to Rendlaesham.” Annan stopped before her and smiled
into her eyes; he was aware that although slender as a reed, she was taller
than most women. She barely had to lift her chin to meet his gaze.
    “I trust you had a safe journey south?” Annan’s gaze shifted
to the mousy-haired woman next to Hereswith who wore a pinched expression.
    “The journey was uneventful enough,” the woman replied, her
gaze meeting the king’s boldly, “although the weather was bitter. I am Eldwyn,
hand-maid to Lady Hereswith.”
    “I welcome you all to my hall,” Annan replied before glancing
over at where the unappetizing pottage bubbled away in a huge cast-iron pot.
“And if I’d realized you were arriving today, I would have had a feast prepared
in your honor. However, I can offer you all a hot meal and mead this eve, and
tomorrow we shall dine on roast venison.”
     
    ***
     
    A pall of smoke, as always, hung over the hall, making Annan’s
eyes sting. Yet, he paid it no heed. His attention was focused upon the lovely
girl who delicately supped at her bowl of pottage to his left. She noticed his
gaze upon her and cast him a flirtatious look from under long lashes.
    Despite himself, Annan grinned foolishly. Hereswith was bolder
than she first appeared, a trait he liked in a woman.
    Annan chewed on a piece of griddle bread and leaned back in
the carved wooden seat reserved for the East Anglian king, at the head of one
of the tables. The noise in the hall was deafening; the volume increasing as
his men consumed more than their fair share of mead and ale.
    “More pottage, sire?” Hilda appeared at Annan’s elbow, with an
iron pot filled to the brim with steaming vegetable stew. She had such a
hopeful expression that Annan felt a pang as he shook his head.
    “I thank thee, but no,” his gaze then flicked over at where
Saba had just started on another cup of mead. “However Sabert here has a mighty
appetite. Fill up his bowl!”
    Saba glowered over the rim of his cup as Hilda eagerly moved
around to the right of the table and filled up the warrior’s bowl, using a
long-stemmed wooden ladle. Saba leaned back, to give her space to move, and glanced
up at her face.
    “What’s your name, girl?”
    “Hilda, m’lord,” she replied timidly, casting a nervous glance
in the king’s direction. Annan pretended not to notice her discomfort; it was
obvious the girl had been ill-treated in the past. Not likely by the previous
king, Sigeberht, who although severe was not a cruel man, but by his
predecessor, Ricberht, and, perhaps her own father. Her eyes were wide and
frightened.