LITMIR.BIZ

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and the hum of bees made the garden alive with noise. Everyday noises which should reassure her that everything was normal and nothing was going to happen as a result of her impulsive behaviour last night. All she had to do was to forget it had ever happened.

      Trusting a stranger, particularly a warrior like Valdar, was madness. She could have put everyone in danger. And she had kissed him. Properly kissed him. The only other man she’d ever kissed was Theodbald. She needed to go back into the cottage and inform him that it was time to leave.

      Alwynn stayed where she was. Sending an injured man away wasn’t in her nature. The words he had spoken in another language last night had been caused by his injuries. They were fevered nonsense, meaning nothing. It was simply the language of his homeland, and the lateness of the hour and the darkness of the night had made her own foolish mind read far too much into them. Valdar was not a Northman. Not like the kind that had attacked Lindisfarne and butchered the monks anyway. In the bright light of day she was sure of it. He’d given his word and she believed him.

      She dug her trowel into the warm earth. After Valdar had departed, then she’d inform Edwin. Maybe give him a day’s head start. Northumbria and Raumerike were not at war. How can you be at war with a country you have never heard of?

      The last thing she wanted was trouble. As reeve, Edwin needed to know about a stranger in their midst, but exactly when he discovered it was another matter.

      She shook her head. Finally she was becoming pragmatic. There was something to be said for her recently widowed state after all.

      ‘My lady.’ Oswy the Blount raised his hand in greeting. ‘Here I discover you.’

      Alwynn nodded towards the grizzled miller, but her heart pounded. The tension in her neck eased slightly when she saw the empty doorway. Silently she prayed Valdar had enough sense to stay hidden.

      ‘Oswy the Blount,’ she said in an overloud voice, hoping Valdar would understand the impending danger and hide. ‘What brings you to this desolate place? You surely can’t be looking for Gode and one of her potions, not after your wife proclaimed that the monks’ potions were far superior.’

      She gave a studied laugh. Oswy and her old nurse’s enmity was the standing joke of the village.

      ‘No, my lady, I came to see you, not that old crone.’ Oswy gave a shiver and then a hearty laugh. Once his hair had indeed been blond like his nickname, but now it was streaked with white.

      Although he had loyally served under her father and was considered the best gristmiller in this part of Northumbria, lately he always had an excuse to explain why his sacks of flour were light or delayed. The excuses were plausible, but Alwynn wondered—was he really that loyal to her?

      The current delay had been part of the reason why she’d been forced to scavenge sea coal.

      Alwynn carefully kept her head turned away from the cottage where Valdar lay.

      ‘What brings you here, then?’ She forced a light laugh. ‘Does your wife require another tablet-weaving pattern?’

      He shook his head. ‘She is well supplied at the moment, thank you kindly. I wanted to let you know that I’ve delivered the flour you require. Only the best for my lady. I know how you like the fine flour for your honey cakes.’

      She schooled her features ‘Fine flour? But only two days ago you told me that there was no possibility of it before the autumn harvest.’

      She had thought then that she needed a steward, someone to enforce her will with the point of a sword. But if she provoked Oswy, there was always a possibility that the others would follow his lead. The last thing she wanted was a rebellion. It would play straight into Edwin’s hands. The fine lady who could not adequately protect her tenants did not deserve any estate.

      Oswy and others saw her as a soft touch, Gode often proclaimed. Theodbald had been far too interested in his own pleasure to pursue the rents and Alwynn wasn’t altogether sure if Oswy respected her.

      The older man rubbed the back of his neck. ‘My son had put the wheat in the wrong place, which is why I thought I had none, you see. Once I discovered the mistake, I thought it best to let you know straight away. We wish to stay on at the mill, if all can be resolved, my lady. I have paid my next quarter’s rent before time as well.’

      Alwynn stood up. There was far more to this than simply mislaying flour sacks and rediscovering them a few days later. But a non-direct approach was best. She’d learnt that Oswy dug in his heels and became stubborn if directly accused of not being entirely honest.

      ‘It is good to know. I am grateful you discovered the missing wheat. And that you paid your rent so early.’ She paused and then invited him to tell her the true reason for the sudden discovery. ‘Is there any other news?’

      Oswy wrung his cap between his hands. ‘Lord Edwin departs this afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the very latest.’

      She fought against the urge to clap her hands together in jubilation. The answer to her problem. If Lord Edwin was gone, she could hardly report Valdar’s presence and the manner in which he was discovered. It had to be done in person. She could not risk the message becoming jumbled and she knew that Lord Edwin could neither read nor write.

      And Valdar would be long gone before Lord Edwin returned.

      Her jubilation rapidly faded. Lord Edwin’s departure also opened other more intractable problems. Without warriors, the people in this area would be prime prey for any outlaw who happened past, even if no Northmen came raiding.

      Silently she cursed her husband’s feckless ways and her own inability to see it until it was far too late. If she had taken charge, she might have been able to prevent all the wealth being spent.

      ‘He was supposed to stay here all summer because of the Northmen threat,’ she said when she trusted her voice. ‘He promised protection, particularly after last year’s attempted raid on the River Don. We mustn’t be left vulnerable!’

      She hated how her voice rose and risked a hurried glance at the cottage. She wasn’t going to ask Valdar for help. It would be wrong of her.

      ‘During last night’s visit he said that people should stop seeing shadows. The Northmen will not return. They fear us now. St Cuthbert’s storm last year shattered their ships and killed their leader. His interests are better served near the king and he is going right away.’

      Alwynn tilted her head to one side. Edwin had visited Oswy? Interesting. It explained much about why the flour had gone missing. Edwin had been annoyed that she retained the title to the few remaining hides of land around her hall, including the gristmill. ‘And his prohibition against rescuing any who are washed up from a shipwreck? Lord Edwin blows in the wind.’

      ‘That still stands. It is for our safety. Them Northmen would murder us in our beds, they would.’

      ‘If he truly feels we aren’t safe, he should stay and do his duty. A strong sword arm deters much.’

      Oswy flushed. ‘He has his reasons for seeking the king. There are many who remember that Athelfred once had his kingship taken from him.’

      Alwynn made a face. Edwin put his own interests first, not the interests of his people. And it only spoke of one thing—a return to the civil war which had plagued Northumbria on and off for the past few generations. But she couldn’t worry about matters of state, she had enough to worry about here.

      ‘He stopped the Northmen last year, killing their leader in a sword fight,’ she reminded him.

      ‘He had St Cuthbert’s help then. Without the storm, their boats would not have been wrecked. What if he goes back to his wicked ways and God turns his back on all of us?’

      ‘Athelfred is still the king.’ She held up her hand. ‘I never held with the making and unmaking of kings. Far too many warriors have spent time in banishment. Half the well born had to leave when Athelfred regained the throne. Is it any wonder that the Northmen or the Picts and Gaels or indeed Mercia

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