Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(16)



Swidhelm introduced them to his wife Wilflaed, a spindly, snow-haired woman who bustled about, shoving crates to the side and grumbling under her breath about the troublesomeness of guests who arrived at so late an hour. She pushed some wooden bowls into Ceolwen’s hands.

“Make yourself useful, lass, set the table,” she muttered, passing right by the young royal who stood with her mouth open in shock. Her gaze met Aelfhild’s, and they stifled fits of giggling as they laid the bowls out on the table. That voice carried her back a decade to the Matron’s kitchen.

Cuthbert sat in quiet council with Swidhelm, telling the tale of their flight from Cynestead. The old man rubbed his jaw as he listened, breaking in occasionally to ask a question. Wilflaed took immediate charge of a bemused Bercthun, sending him out with a bucket to fetch water from the well. From the cauldron on the hearth, the source of the cabbage smell, she ladled out thin soup into each bowl on the table.

“Eat up, but if you want more, get it yourself,” she called as she wrapped herself in a blanket and curled up near the hearth.

Bercthun returned with water, and the travelers washed the dirt from their hands and faces before sitting down to eat. Frigid on Aelfhild’s face, the water pushed back her drowsiness. The close air of the cottage was like a smith’s furnace after a day spent on the open river, and she could feel her eyelids drooping. She wanted to get some soup in before bed.

Swidhelm watched his guests eat with a broad smile on his face, and Wilflaed’s muttering waned as they all returned to the pot for second or third helpings. After a few bowls, Aelfhild sat back and patted her belly. Conversation had been sparse as they ate, and the room was quiet now save for the crackling of the fire.

Wilflaed jabbed a boney finger into Ceolwen’s ribs, making her jump. “Clear the table, girl,” she ordered. When Aelfhild stood to obey instead, Wilflaed waved her off. “Not you, sit!”

Swidhelm cut in. “That is King Osred’s daughter, woman, watch your tone! These are our guests.”

His wife hooted. “Swidhelm Swidbertsunu, do not push your luck with me! If old Sigurd hisself walked through that door he would still have to pull his weight in my house! It is not much of a queen that cannot so much as lift a bowl.” Under her withering stare, Swidhelm closed his mouth as quickly as he had opened it, and the matter seemed settled. Aelfhild helped her mistress clear the table as Wilflaed sat back, chuckling as she repeated her husband’s objection in a whisper meant for the whole room to hear.

Cuthbert and Bercthun fell back into hushed conversation with Swidhelm. Wilflaed disappeared out into the yard while the men conferred, returning with a bale of straw that she directed Aelfhild and Ceolwen to spread out on the floor. This was their bed, and at that point Aelfhild was glad of even the smallest comfort.

Swidhelm had said something about people stealing before he opened the door. It had slipped her mind amidst everything else. She caught Wilflaed’s attention.

“There were men watching us on the river today, then Master Swidhelm said something about thieves. Are they the same men?”

Wilflaed spat. “Some of the local toughs put together a little fyrd of their own, since Hlothere’s men hardly come down this way these days. Came by a couple days back looking for, what did they call it, a tithe.” Scorn dripped off the word. “Said it was for all our good but I know brigands when I sees them. We told them where to go and no mistake, but they made off with one of our piglets before Swidhelm could fetch that knife of his.”

“Will they return?”

“Not if they have any sense between them. I know all the mothers and grandmothers around these parts, see.” Wilflaed’s lips parted in an impish, toothless grin.

Aelfhild smiled back, and slept better for the knowledge.





8

Aelfhild woke once again to the smell of smoke, and rocked up from her bed, scattering straw. No, no, no! the screams echoed inside her head.

And there was Wilflaed, bent over the hearth, kindling the day’s fire. Aelfhild’s pulse began to slow. It was going to take her a while not to fear that smell. Pale morning light poured in through the open window, illuminating the old woman at her work. Aelfhild rolled out of her bedding and shook loose strands of hay from her dress and her hair. She left Ceolwen under their blanket to sleep, and set out to help however she could with the morning’s chores.

Wilflaed spared her a nod and beckoned for Aelfhild to follow as she set off into the morning mist. They opened the chicken coop, sending out the pent-up fowl to peck in the yard while they gathered up any eggs left over from the previous day. They drew water from the well and carried it back to the house, then took buckets around the cottage to a small, weather-beaten barn, which Aelfhild had not noticed last night as they came up in the dark. A great fat sow stood steaming in the morning air, knee deep in the mud of her pen and watching the two women with interest.

“Oh, where are the other piglets?” asked Aelfhild. “You said the men only took one.”

Wilflaed did not reply, but smacked her lips as though savoring a tasty morsel. She hooted with laughter, and scampered off into the barn.

There had been a hint of pork in the soup the night before.

Inside the barn was a brown mare that nuzzled the front of Aelfhild’s robe, round, wise eyes begging for a treat. Wilflaed handed Aelfhild some oats, which the horse gobbled from her open palm. The mare’s ears were warm and silken smooth to the touch.

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