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

She regarded Saba as if he were about to cuff her around the head.
    “It’s a pretty name.” Saba smiled up at her, with
uncharacteristic gentleness. “For a pretty wench.”
    Hilda turned deep red and, clutching her pot to her breast,
fled to the other end of the table.
    Annan watched her go before winking at Saba. “Still charming the
women I see.”
    Saba shrugged before dipping a piece of bread into his
pottage. “The girl is comely.”
    A disapproving, unladylike snort interrupted the men. The
woman who accompanied Hereswith as her chaperone and maid, Eldwyn, clicked her
tongue loudly and shook her head.
    “Slaves should not be addressed by name,” she reprimanded Saba
imperiously, looking down her nose at him. “The girl must know her place.”
    Saba’s gaze narrowed. “Yes – but you do not appear to know
yours.”
    Eldwyn sniffed and looked away from him, not in the least
chastised by his baleful glare.
    “Hilda is a sweet-natured wench.” Aethelhere, who was seated
to Saba’s left, helped himself to another piece of bread and winked at Eldwyn.
“Yet, certainly not worth arguing over.”
    “Very well, Aethelhere,” Saba replied, his gaze never leaving
Eldwyn’s face; daring her to make eye-contact with him once more. “Although,
some should remember they are guests in another king’s hall before they open
their mouths.”
    Eldwyn ignored him. Her mouth pursed as she looked down at her
bowl of half-eaten pottage.
    Annan had remained silent during the exchange, but now he
regarded Eldwyn coolly. Her bitterness and austerity stood in contrast to the
fresh beauty of the girl beside her. Hereswith gave her maid a quelling look
and whispered something to her. Eldwyn nodded stiffly but said nothing –
although her expression had turned sour.
    “Hereswith.” Annan raised his cup to the girl beside him,
deciding that women like Eldwyn were best ignored. “I will send word back to
Edwin that I am very pleased with the match.”
    Hereswith flushed with obvious pleasure. “I thank you, sire. I
would be honored to become your bride.”
    Annan smiled at her, unable to stop himself from imagining
what Hereswith looked like naked. If that clinging woolen tunic she wore was
any indication, he guessed she had a body like a nymph.
    “Then we shall be handfasted,” he announced, the mead
loosening his tongue and making him reckless. “Tomorrow I will…”
    At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall flew open, bringing
with them a gust of cold, damp air that made the coals in the fire pit glow and
the flames in the clay cressets along the walls gutter.
    A man, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, his cheeks ruddy with
cold, stepped into the hall. He was broad and stocky, with a thick,
grey-streaked beard and hair. He carried himself with arrogance, and noble
bearing.
    The Great Hall grew still as the gazes of all present shifted
to the newcomer. Conversation died away and the only sound, save the growl of
one of the dogs under the tables, was that of the crackling fire pit.
    Aware that he was the subject of hostile stares, the man’s iron-grey
gaze swept across the hall’s interior. A little of his earlier confidence had
dimmed as his gaze came to rest upon Annan. The king returned the newcomer’s
gaze and felt himself go cold. The good cheer and anticipation of wedding, and
bedding, his winsome bride, dissolved.
    He recognized this warrior, and knew who had sent him.
    “Aldfrid of Tamworth.” Annan slowly rose to his feet, never
taking his gaze off the newcomer’s face. “What brings you to my kingdom?”
    Aldfrid stared back at him, insolence in his eyes.
    “ Your kingdom? I suppose it still is…,” he mused. “Penda
sends his regards.”
    The name, hated amongst all the East Angles, had an explosive
effect on the hall. Some men slammed their cups down on the table before them
with a thud, some spat out curses, while others jumped to their feet.
    “You are a brave man,” Annan remarked, feeling the