Read Online Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) by Jayne Castel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jayne Castel
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herself not to look in his direction. There
was something about him that drew her gaze, like a moth to an open flame.
She had just been burned.
“Freya?” Hilda frowned as she took the basket. “Are you
unwell? You’re flushed.”
Freya shook her head and forced a smile.
“I’m fine. I’ll get started on the pottage.”
As Freya chopped turnips, leeks, beans and cabbage for the
stew, she slowly composed herself. She would just ignore him and pretend she
had never embarrassed herself.
Freya finished chopping the turnips into cubes and reached for
the leeks. Her back ached and she arched it in an effort to ease the muscles.
Her life here was an endless grind – from dawn to dusk she toiled for her
master. Although Sigeberht was not a cruel man, he was harsh. Just the day
before, he had caught her taking a moment’s rest on a stool near the fire pit.
She had just finished cleaning out the embers and was catching her breath
before beginning her next task, which was to sweep out the hall.
“What are you doing girl?” Sigeberht had boomed, striding
towards her across the hall. “I will not have sloth in my hall!”
“Sorry m’lord.” Freya had bolted to her feet, bracing herself
for punishment.
Sigeberht, whose mood had been vile ever since his mother had
departed, stood over Freya menacingly.
“You rest,” he growled, glaring down at her, “from nightfall
till daybreak. During the day you work. You only stop when I say so, is that
understood?”
Freya had nodded, fear rendering her mute.
I cannot stay here , she thought as she
kneaded her aching back. This hall will never be my home. Sigeberht will
never be my master. This life will wear me down to dust.
***
The evening meal consisted of pottage in bread trenchers, not
the roast boar Aidan had hoped for. He took a mouthful of the vegetable stew
and was reminded why this was not his favorite dish. Unlike Gaul, where even
vegetable stews were seasoned with herbs, here a pottage was stewed in a
cauldron over the fire pit, until it was a watery, tasteless mush.
Aidan swallowed his mouthful of pottage and took a sip of ale
to wash it down. He glanced to his right, to where Sigeberht sat at the head of
the table. As usual, the king looked as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of
vinegar; an expression that had nothing to do with the unappealing fare.
“Gluttony is sin,” Sigeberht had reproved Aidan earlier that
day when he had suggested they roast the boar and invite the king’s men in for
a feast that evening. “We only feast on special occasions. This is not such a
day.”
Aidan had not made any further suggestions. On some things,
Sigeberht could be inordinately stubborn. Now, watching the king’s glum face,
Aidan decided it was time Sigeberht spoke of what galled him.
“Milord, something has been amiss since your crowning. May I
ask what it is?”
Sigeberht frowned and took a sip of water from his cup. “Why
do you ask?”
“You are now King of the East Angles,” Aidan pointed out. “You
had the reckoning you came for and your kin have recognized you, but you have
appeared unhappy of late. Why?”
Aidan knew it was risky to speak so frankly with Sigeberht.
Due to their long years of acquaintance, the king trusted him. Yet, Sigeberht
was a solitary figure, who did not confide in many. He had never married, nor
shown any interest in doing so. In all the years Aidan had known him, Sigeberht
had not shown lust for any woman – or man. He was a singular, austere
individual who Aidan struggled at times to understand.
“So much blood was spilt,” Sigeberht told him finally. “I know
it had to be done, but I feel as if Ricberht’s gore is still on my hands. I
must – we must – atone for it.”
Aidan frowned. This was not the first time Sigeberht had
raised this subject. Aidan did not share the king’s views on this, yet he knew
it would be unwise to contradict him.
“Milord,” he ventured cautiously. “If it had
was something about him that drew her gaze, like a moth to an open flame.
She had just been burned.
“Freya?” Hilda frowned as she took the basket. “Are you
unwell? You’re flushed.”
Freya shook her head and forced a smile.
“I’m fine. I’ll get started on the pottage.”
As Freya chopped turnips, leeks, beans and cabbage for the
stew, she slowly composed herself. She would just ignore him and pretend she
had never embarrassed herself.
Freya finished chopping the turnips into cubes and reached for
the leeks. Her back ached and she arched it in an effort to ease the muscles.
Her life here was an endless grind – from dawn to dusk she toiled for her
master. Although Sigeberht was not a cruel man, he was harsh. Just the day
before, he had caught her taking a moment’s rest on a stool near the fire pit.
She had just finished cleaning out the embers and was catching her breath
before beginning her next task, which was to sweep out the hall.
“What are you doing girl?” Sigeberht had boomed, striding
towards her across the hall. “I will not have sloth in my hall!”
“Sorry m’lord.” Freya had bolted to her feet, bracing herself
for punishment.
Sigeberht, whose mood had been vile ever since his mother had
departed, stood over Freya menacingly.
“You rest,” he growled, glaring down at her, “from nightfall
till daybreak. During the day you work. You only stop when I say so, is that
understood?”
Freya had nodded, fear rendering her mute.
I cannot stay here , she thought as she
kneaded her aching back. This hall will never be my home. Sigeberht will
never be my master. This life will wear me down to dust.
***
The evening meal consisted of pottage in bread trenchers, not
the roast boar Aidan had hoped for. He took a mouthful of the vegetable stew
and was reminded why this was not his favorite dish. Unlike Gaul, where even
vegetable stews were seasoned with herbs, here a pottage was stewed in a
cauldron over the fire pit, until it was a watery, tasteless mush.
Aidan swallowed his mouthful of pottage and took a sip of ale
to wash it down. He glanced to his right, to where Sigeberht sat at the head of
the table. As usual, the king looked as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of
vinegar; an expression that had nothing to do with the unappealing fare.
“Gluttony is sin,” Sigeberht had reproved Aidan earlier that
day when he had suggested they roast the boar and invite the king’s men in for
a feast that evening. “We only feast on special occasions. This is not such a
day.”
Aidan had not made any further suggestions. On some things,
Sigeberht could be inordinately stubborn. Now, watching the king’s glum face,
Aidan decided it was time Sigeberht spoke of what galled him.
“Milord, something has been amiss since your crowning. May I
ask what it is?”
Sigeberht frowned and took a sip of water from his cup. “Why
do you ask?”
“You are now King of the East Angles,” Aidan pointed out. “You
had the reckoning you came for and your kin have recognized you, but you have
appeared unhappy of late. Why?”
Aidan knew it was risky to speak so frankly with Sigeberht.
Due to their long years of acquaintance, the king trusted him. Yet, Sigeberht
was a solitary figure, who did not confide in many. He had never married, nor
shown any interest in doing so. In all the years Aidan had known him, Sigeberht
had not shown lust for any woman – or man. He was a singular, austere
individual who Aidan struggled at times to understand.
“So much blood was spilt,” Sigeberht told him finally. “I know
it had to be done, but I feel as if Ricberht’s gore is still on my hands. I
must – we must – atone for it.”
Aidan frowned. This was not the first time Sigeberht had
raised this subject. Aidan did not share the king’s views on this, yet he knew
it would be unwise to contradict him.
“Milord,” he ventured cautiously. “If it had
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