The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) (31 page)

"Do not be sorry, my love." He leaned over her and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "I have waited through the snows of winter to feel your fire again. I can wait one more night."

Her small hand caressed his chest, and she murmured something in the dark that he could not make out.

"Sleep now, Sunniva," he whispered. Her hand ceased moving, and her breathing deepened.

He lay there, his body still inflamed at her touch and proximity and listened to the revellers in the hall.

For a time his mind battled against sleep. Questions and fears assailed him. What ailed Sunniva? Could it be that Nelda's curse was working its evil on her?

But soon the warmth of Sunniva's body next to his, the talk and laughter of the folk in the hall, and the drink he had consumed, all served to lull him to sleep. His last thought before he succumbed was that he was sure to dream again of the cave. Of Nelda and the curse. And yet, perhaps the presence of Sunniva kept the night hag at bay, for he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep and did not awake until late the next morning.

Whispers awoke him.

Beobrand thought at first they were words spoken in a dream. He strained to make out what was being said, but he could not. The hall was not silent. There was talking and the sound of furniture being scraped on the floor. The whispers, whilst nearby, were as unfathomable as the sibilant wave-wash of shingle on a beach.

Eyes still closed, he reached out a hand to touch Sunniva. It was warm under the furs, but his nose was cold. Perhaps Sunniva felt better this morning. But his left hand did not come into contact with the pliant flesh he had been anticipating. Sunniva had left their bed. The covers were still warm where she had lain until recently.

He opened his eyes. Pale daylight filtered into the hall through small windows. It seemed he had slept late. He felt refreshed, his head clear, in spite of the mead from the night before.

The sounds in the main hall grew louder, presumably as more of the guests roused themselves. The whispers also rose in volume. He recognised Sunniva's voice in those hushed tones now, yet the words still eluded him. There was an urgency in her tone.

Who was she talking to? Perhaps Rowena or Edlyn.

Then the other whispered voice was raised loud enough for him to make out the words. "You should tell him." With surprise, Beobrand realised the voice was that of Anhaga. What could the cripple and his wife be talking about with such vehemence? He recalled Sunniva's concerns about Anhaga. How he had dismissed her fears. His heart clenched. Had she been right? He had left her with this man against her judgement. The previous night he had been shocked to see Anhaga's face. It was a mass of old bruises. He had told the story of a fall on the ice several days before. What if he had lied? Could there be another reason for his injuries?

Beobrand rose from the bed quickly. He pulled on his kirtle, all the while listening for more clues in the whispered conversation.

Sunniva said something, but her words were masked by a sudden guffaw of laughter from the hall.

Anhaga's reply was clear: "You must tell him. He is your husband. Your hlaford."

Beobrand stepped from his sleeping area. He stood tall. His chin jutted in defiance. He bristled with concern. Anger was not far behind.

Anhaga and Sunniva both turned toward him, their mouths open in surprise. Sunniva was wan. Anhaga could not hold Beobrand's gaze.

"Tell me what?" Beobrand's voice was as sharp as Hrunting's blade.

Anhaga looked at his feet.

"Tell me what?" Beobrand repeated. "You seemed sure of yourself a moment ago, Anhaga. Why not tell me yourself?"

Anhaga shook his head. "I am sorry. It is not my place."

"Sorry for what, man?" Beobrand's brow furrowed. He clenched his fists at this side. He would crush this cripple if he had laid a hand on Sunniva.

Sunniva stepped between them; placed her palm on Beobrand's chest.

"Do not be angered with Anhaga." She looked up at Beobrand. Her eyes glowed, brimming with tears.

"Why are you upset?" he asked.

She ignored the question and turned to Anhaga. "Go now, Anhaga. Leave my husband and I to talk."

Anhaga needed no encouragement. He limped away as quickly as his deformity would permit.

Taking Beobrand's hand Sunniva led him back into their sleeping quarters.

"Sit, my husband, and I will tell you my tidings."

Intrigued and still unnerved, Beobrand sat on a small stool. "What tidings, Sunniva?"

Sunniva smoothed her dress over her stomach then stepped close to Beobrand.

"Do you remember the oath you made? Before you went to Hefenfelth?"

Beobrand nodded, unable to speak now. For he well remembered the words he had spoken. He remembered the makeshift bed. The cramped sleeping area. The rush light blowing out. He was suddenly certain of what she would say next.

"You promised to return. To marry me. Both of these things you have done." She took his hands in hers, knelt before him. "But you vowed one more thing. I do not know if I will bear you a son, but I am with child. You are to be a father."

The world seemed to swim before Beobrand for a heartbeat. He felt lightheaded. Weak. He was glad he was seated. Otherwise he feared he would have fallen to the ground.

"When?" he managed after some time.

"I do not know exactly, but when we were in Bebbanburg, of that I am certain. Our baby will be born some time around Eostremonath."

"You are sure..?" Doubt prickled like a fish bone scratches a throat. He had been away for months.

"Of course I am sure." Her voice turned brittle as winter twigs. "Your seed was planted before you left for the north. I just did not know it then." The tears fell then. Her lip quivered. "Do not doubt me, Beobrand. I could not bear it. The babe is yours. You are to be a father."

A father! He swallowed. He did not wish to doubt her, but questions assailed him. There were at once too many thoughts in his head to latch on to any single one. Then he settled on a dark thought. A question that must be answered. He could make no sense of it.

"Why were you speaking to Anhaga of this? How is it that he knows of my child before me?"

"Hush, my love. Remember that you have been far away." Beobrand frowned at the reproach he imagined in her words. "I did not feel well last night. I wished to wait till the right moment." He felt a pang of guilt at his clumsy advances of the night before. Yet even now, the sight of her intoxicated him.

"You were right about Anhaga," she continued. "He has been a true friend. I was... taken ill some days back. Anhaga helped me then. I had to tell him what ailed me. He frets over me now like a woman. He is worse than Rowena and Edlyn."

"They know also? Am I the last to know of my own child?" Beobrand made an attempt at outrage, but he could not keep the smile from his voice. He was to be a father!

"I have told nobody else, my husband. I am so very pleased you have returned to me. I have missed you more than you will ever know."

"And I you. Eostremonath you say?"

Sunniva nodded, wiping away her tears.

A spring birth. He counted back the months. They had been at Bebbanburg, as Sunniva said. How could he have doubted her?

He stood and raised her up from her knees. He kissed her, his lips firm and hot on hers. He laughed to himself as he felt his body respond to her touch.

"You are pleased then?" she asked.

"Pleased? Of course I am pleased. The gods have blessed us." He kissed her again, long and deep.

Then, in a loud voice, he said, "I am to be a father!"

From the other side of the partition there rose a roar of approval from his gesithas and the gathered guests.

He blushed, and kissed Sunniva again, tenderly. He whispered for her ears alone, "I love you, Sunniva, Strang's daughter."

CHAPTER 17

"You are well come, brother." Oswald smiled and opened his arms expansively. Oswiu stepped into his embrace stiffly. He seemed embarrassed by this show of fraternal affection, but Oswald appeared genuinely pleased to see him.

Not for the first time, Coenred felt small and alone watching these great men. He did not fit in among them. And there was nobody to welcome him home with love. He should not dwell so on his own feelings. Fearghas had always said he needed to think more of Christ and less of himself. He would miss the abbot's advice. He was invariably right.

"And this must surely be our bishop. Cormán is it not?" The king stepped forward and took the priest's hands in his. He spoke then to Cormán in the tongue of the Dál Riatan's. The words were fluid, like water cascading over pebbles. Cormán replied and spoke at some length. Oswald frowned.

Coenred had picked up a smattering of the language of the Hibernian monks, but not enough to follow the conversation. One thing was clear though, the new bishop was unhappy about something.

Oswald clapped his hands and called for a servant.

"Show our guest to his sleeping quarters. We will send for him when we are to eat." The servant nodded. Oswald spoke again to Cormán, who responded with a sour face and a tilt of the head.

Once both men had left the hall, the atmosphere changed. Oswiu and his retainers openly relaxed. Coenred was not surprised. Cormán made him uneasy too. He had not mentioned what the witch had said about the man. Neither had Acennan or Beobrand as far as he knew. It was not their place. Yet it cast doubt in his mind as to the bishop's holiness.

Nelda had spoken with the voice of the devil. Lies, to turn them against Cormán. But she did have the plate... Stolen, as the bishop had said, surely. Coenred had thought much on these matters. And watching the man over the last weeks, he could not dispel the niggling doubt that the witch spoke true. It felt wrong, petty, to question the will of the brethren of Hii. Yet he could not see how this man, with his imperious air and disdain for the warriors of the Angelfolc, could replace Fearghas.

"Cormán seems tired from the journey," said Oswald.

Oswiu snorted. "Tired? If it is tiredness that makes him so, then he must always be tired." A couple of his gesithas chortled.

Oswald ran his fingers through his hair. "I have to say I am somewhat surprised at Ségéne's choice of abbot and bishop for Lindisfarena. I do not remember Cormán being a man who would relish such a challenge. Bringing Christ to the heathen savages of Bernicia. Still, who am I to question their choice? I am sure, with God's blessing, he will do well."

"We shall see," said Oswiu, though his face did not hide his scepticism. After all, he had endured weeks of the bishop's company, so was less inclined to give him the benefit of God's blessing. "Now, do you greet your brother with nothing more than an embrace? We have much to talk of, and talking is thirsty work."

Oswald led the way to the high table. Thralls brought drink. Coenred again felt out of place. He was unsure of what to do. He seemed to have been forgotten. But he had not been dismissed, so he sat at the far end of the table and took a cup of mead.

When they had all been served, Oswald said, "I do not see young Beobrand here. I pray that nothing befell him on the journey."

"He is hale," replied Oswiu. "He sought my leave to remain on his estate. His woman is with child and he has had problems with a Pictish neighbour."

"Problems?" Oswald raised an eyebrow.

"It seems when they heard Ubba and his sons were dead, this Nathair decided he could take Ubba's livestock." Oswiu took a long draught of mead. "Beobrand showed him he was mistaken."

"Indeed? I believe Beobrand to be an extremely persuasive neighbour."

Some of the men laughed. They all knew Beobrand.

"Well, he certainly persuaded Nathair's son. He sliced off his arm. Mark my words, there will be trouble there. But Beobrand needs to protect what is his."

"I have not seen this Nathair or his sons."

"The Picts north of the Tuidi do not seem keen to pledge their oath to you, brother. They will need to bend their knee soon. Or we will have to make them."

Oswald contemplated his younger brother for some time. His face was inscrutable.

"We are beset by enemies on many sides, it is true," he said at last. "But the Picts are not the largest threat. That remains Penda. The messages to him have been received, but it is still unclear how and where we should meet. Neither of us wishes to end up like Eanfrith. We must find neutral ground, and each bring a warband of considerable strength. Our spies tell us he does not seek war at this time, but we must face each other. Parley and agree terms of peace. Failure to do this will leave him believing we are weak."

Oswiu was solemn. "What of Deira?"

Oswald brightened. "I am recently returned and bring glad tidings. They have accepted me as their rightful king. Northumbria is united once more. By the grace of God."

"This is fine news indeed." Oswiu clapped his brother on the shoulder. "You will be Bretwalda yet."

Oswald's eyes glittered. "If the Lord wills it, it could be so. Athelstan returned some weeks ago. Cynegils of Wessex has accepted my offer."