Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) by Jayne Castel Page A
Authors: Jayne Castel
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must have been a
beauty in her youth – and since Sigeberht had just passed his forty-fifth
winter, she would have had him young.
“Raedwald was looking for a wife and ‘tis said that when he
saw Seaxwyn he fell in love with her instantly,” Hilda continued, her voice
tense with excitement. “But, the king did not love her boy. He wanted sons of
his own blood. Sigeberht was a threat to the Wuffinga bloodline. Once Sigeberht
reached manhood, Raedwald sent him from Rendaelsham, banishing him to Gaul.”
Freya nodded, captivated by the story. With such excitement
within the Great Hall over the past day, she had almost forgotten her misery.
She still missed her mother, especially at night when she would stare up into
the dark and think of home, but Sigeberht worked her so hard that she had
barely a moment to herself during the day.
Inside the hall, the din died away and pipes began to trill,
announcing that the coronation was about to start.
The crowd parted as Sigeberht, dressed in black, with a fine
fur cloak swinging from his shoulders, strode towards the dais. Two amber brooches,
gleaming in the torchlight, fastened his cloak to the heavy black tunic he
wore. His face, even at such a moment, was severe, as if hewn from stone.
Had such a man ever been young and light of heart?
The pipes died away as Sigeberht reached the dais and knelt
before his mother.
“Sigeberht, rightful heir to the throne of the East Angles, I
welcome you,” Seaxwyn’s voice echoed across the empty hall. “May Woden protect
you and Thor guide your hand in battle. May wyrd favor you always.”
Freya saw Sigeberht’s jaw clench at his mother’s words, but he
held his tongue. She wondered if Seaxwyn knew that her son had cast aside the
old gods. Sigeberht no longer believed that fate ruled one’s life.
Oblivious to her son’s glowering, Seaxwyn lifted the simple
iron crown; the one her husband had worn during the long years of his reign.
“I crown thee, Sigeberht King of the East Angles.”
She placed the crown gently on Sigeberht’s head, and the hall
erupted with cheers and applause.
***
The feasting went on, long into the night. By the time the
last revelers staggered from the hall, Freya’s body ached. She longed to
stretch out on the rush matting and rest her weary limbs. Like Freya, Hilda’s
face was gaunt with fatigue as she cleared away the food scraps and wiped the
tables down.
An area at the far end of the hall had been curtained off for
the guests, opposite the king’s bower. Seaxwyn had retired earlier than the
men-folk, and Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold had all consumed so much ale
that they had to be led to their beds.
Freya looked up from her industry to see Aidan returning from
making sure the king’s step-cousins had all made it to their beds. He paused in
front of where Freya was collecting the last cups from the tables.
“Goodnight sweet Freya.”
“Goodnight,” she replied coldly, not bothering to look his
way. She wished he would leave her be.
Freya collected up two handfuls of empty cups and turned to
make her way up to where Hilda was washing plates and cups in a large pail of
soapy water.
She collided with the wall of a man’s chest.
Aidan had been standing closer to her than she had realized.
She had walked straight into him. With a strangled cry, Freya stumbled
backwards and nearly dropped the cups.
To her horror, he laughed and put his arms around her waist –
an action which both prevented her from falling and also imprisoned her in his
embrace.
“Careful now,” he whispered in her ear. Freya could hear the
smile in his voice and fought the urge to slap him; although such an act would
have been difficult with her hands full.
His nearness was overwhelming. His warmth, the hardness of his
chest, the strength of his arms, and the gentle way his arms encircled her,
made Freya dizzy. She glanced up at him and instantly regretted it.
His dark blue gaze snared hers. As they
beauty in her youth – and since Sigeberht had just passed his forty-fifth
winter, she would have had him young.
“Raedwald was looking for a wife and ‘tis said that when he
saw Seaxwyn he fell in love with her instantly,” Hilda continued, her voice
tense with excitement. “But, the king did not love her boy. He wanted sons of
his own blood. Sigeberht was a threat to the Wuffinga bloodline. Once Sigeberht
reached manhood, Raedwald sent him from Rendaelsham, banishing him to Gaul.”
Freya nodded, captivated by the story. With such excitement
within the Great Hall over the past day, she had almost forgotten her misery.
She still missed her mother, especially at night when she would stare up into
the dark and think of home, but Sigeberht worked her so hard that she had
barely a moment to herself during the day.
Inside the hall, the din died away and pipes began to trill,
announcing that the coronation was about to start.
The crowd parted as Sigeberht, dressed in black, with a fine
fur cloak swinging from his shoulders, strode towards the dais. Two amber brooches,
gleaming in the torchlight, fastened his cloak to the heavy black tunic he
wore. His face, even at such a moment, was severe, as if hewn from stone.
Had such a man ever been young and light of heart?
The pipes died away as Sigeberht reached the dais and knelt
before his mother.
“Sigeberht, rightful heir to the throne of the East Angles, I
welcome you,” Seaxwyn’s voice echoed across the empty hall. “May Woden protect
you and Thor guide your hand in battle. May wyrd favor you always.”
Freya saw Sigeberht’s jaw clench at his mother’s words, but he
held his tongue. She wondered if Seaxwyn knew that her son had cast aside the
old gods. Sigeberht no longer believed that fate ruled one’s life.
Oblivious to her son’s glowering, Seaxwyn lifted the simple
iron crown; the one her husband had worn during the long years of his reign.
“I crown thee, Sigeberht King of the East Angles.”
She placed the crown gently on Sigeberht’s head, and the hall
erupted with cheers and applause.
***
The feasting went on, long into the night. By the time the
last revelers staggered from the hall, Freya’s body ached. She longed to
stretch out on the rush matting and rest her weary limbs. Like Freya, Hilda’s
face was gaunt with fatigue as she cleared away the food scraps and wiped the
tables down.
An area at the far end of the hall had been curtained off for
the guests, opposite the king’s bower. Seaxwyn had retired earlier than the
men-folk, and Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold had all consumed so much ale
that they had to be led to their beds.
Freya looked up from her industry to see Aidan returning from
making sure the king’s step-cousins had all made it to their beds. He paused in
front of where Freya was collecting the last cups from the tables.
“Goodnight sweet Freya.”
“Goodnight,” she replied coldly, not bothering to look his
way. She wished he would leave her be.
Freya collected up two handfuls of empty cups and turned to
make her way up to where Hilda was washing plates and cups in a large pail of
soapy water.
She collided with the wall of a man’s chest.
Aidan had been standing closer to her than she had realized.
She had walked straight into him. With a strangled cry, Freya stumbled
backwards and nearly dropped the cups.
To her horror, he laughed and put his arms around her waist –
an action which both prevented her from falling and also imprisoned her in his
embrace.
“Careful now,” he whispered in her ear. Freya could hear the
smile in his voice and fought the urge to slap him; although such an act would
have been difficult with her hands full.
His nearness was overwhelming. His warmth, the hardness of his
chest, the strength of his arms, and the gentle way his arms encircled her,
made Freya dizzy. She glanced up at him and instantly regretted it.
His dark blue gaze snared hers. As they
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