Since they had departed from Winchester, they had been on horseback continuously, and it had taken them several weeks to travel to Northumbria to reach Dunholm.
As a child, Thyra had always enjoyed riding, but now, after weeks of riding and with seemingly no end in sight, she was starting to feel the strain and discomfort. She tried her best not to complain, even though she grimaced and squirmed in the saddle. Thyra was determined not to give Beocca a reason to respond gruffly, fearing he might demand she return to Winchester without him.
She cherished this chance to see Uhtred, Ragnar, and Brida one last time.
The mere thought of meeting her other brother and her dearest friend filled her heart with hope, especially since it had been six months since their last meeting.
As they continued their journey, Beocca rode alongside Thyra and offered some comfort, "We do not have much farther to go, Thyra. Soon, we will reach Dunholm and be inside her walls and you will have a hot bath and a warm bed."
His caring and thoughtfulness touched Thyra deeply, and she nodded gratefully in response.
Thyra noticed Beocca's distant and transfixed gaze as they traveled along the snowy path, which furrowed her nearly translucent brows into a frown. The silence between them had been awkward and uncomfortable all day, with Beocca remaining quiet and sullen, speaking barely a word to her. Unable to bear the weight of her thoughts any longer, she decided to break the silence and stir up a conversation.
"Beocca, you've hardly said a word all day. What's the matter?" she asked, trying to get him to open up.
With a hint of melancholy in his voice, Beocca spoke, never taking his eyes off the snow-covered distance.
"Dunholm, Thyra, I wish you had reconsidered and stayed in Winchester with Hild, where I know you'd be safe and looked after. I shouldn't have agreed to bring you back to such a place. I worry that the memories of your time there will overwhelm you."
Thyra could sense the genuine concern in his words, and she appreciated his care for her.
"Beocca, I can't hide from my past forever. Facing it is the only way I'll find peace. And I have you by my side, which gives me strength. So, please, talk to me," she pleaded, nibbling on the wall of her mouth.
Beocca's brow raised in surprise, and he slowly turned his head to look at Thyra, stunned by her words. It was a revelation to him that his presence had such a significant impact on Thyra's courage and strength. The realization left him genuinely taken aback.
Thyra met Beocca's surprised gaze with a faint smile, appreciating the depth of his impact on her.
"You have had the words to comfort me when no one else has had them, Beocca," she said softly. "Your guidance, your support, and your belief in me have made all the difference. I wouldn't have come this far without you. I would not be as happy if you were not by my side."
Beocca hesitated for a moment, his gaze tenderly sweeping over Thyra's face.
It was then that visions of those she had left behind flashed in his mind's eyes, the images of her brother Ragnar's face and her loud friend Brida's nearly burned themselves into his retinas.
A horrible abrupt bitterness began to seep its way through the pit of his stomach.
"Will you be pleased to see your brother and Lady Brida again?" he questioned, though he already knew the answer.
Thyra nodded with a warm smile. "Of course," she replied, slightly surprised by his question. "I haven't seen my brother or Brida since I left Dunholm with you," she continued, her voice filled with care and understanding. She wondered why he brought them up. "But... why do you ask?"
Unaccustomed to delving so deeply into Thyra's past and anxious to maintain their conversation, Beocca found himself speaking more candidly than he might have dared before. He knew he had no right to pry, and his judgment urged caution, but he couldn't help himself.
"Thyra," he began cautiously, mindful of his choice of words, "I understand your strong bond with Uhtred and your brother Ragnar, and I can appreciate your desire to see them again. However, I must admit that I find your closeness to Brida rather perplexing. She's rude and loud," he snapped, pulling a face of disgust as he crinkled his nose. "I've rarely encountered a woman as disdainful as this Dane, and she always seems to wear a scowl as if she swallowed a live wasp," he remarked with a tinge of contempt and disapproval in his voice.
It took Beocca a moment to realize the slight nagging feeling in his chest – jealousy, he realized with a jolt that made him jump, at the thought of Thyra having a connection to them.
Thyra's body tensed in the saddle, a defensive reaction that wasn't caused by the biting cold that numbed their faces and stole their breath away, but rather fueled by anger. Thyra's eyes narrowed, and that flicker of anger welling within her chest ignited within her. She was fiercely protective of her friend and couldn't bear to hear anyone speak ill of her.
"You don't know Brida as I do, Beocca, or as Uhtred and Ragnar do," she snapped, her tone laced with offense. "You have no right to say such things about my dearest friend without understanding the trials she's endured and the hardships she's faced. Just like Uhtred, she was a Saxon taken from her home and brought to us to work on our lands, in our home," Thyra fervently defended Brida, remembering the time when Brida protected her from Sven's aggression during their childhood before Uhtred intervened and saved her.
Beocca realized he had overstepped his boundaries and quickly regretted his words. He lowered his gaze, feeling remorseful for his insensitivity.
"Forgive me if I have offended you, Thyra, I apologize, Thyra, it was not my intention," he said sincerely. "I spoke out of turn, and it was not my place to criticize your friend. I can see the bond you share with her, and I understand now that she holds a special place in your heart."
Thyra sharply averted her gaze, refusing to let her tears fall in front of Beocca, though they threatened to overwhelm her. She appreciated his attempts to be kind and make her feel at ease, but her vulnerability was something she struggled to show. His gentle voice offered a glimmer of comfort in her darkness, and she grasped onto it.
"I am sorry, Thyra," Beocca said, his tone still calm and soothing. The tiny light he provided was a lifeline for her. She sniffed and fought back the tears, determined not to let them defeat her in this cold weather. Regaining her composure, she turned her gaze back to Beocca, trying to shift the conversation to him to distract herself from her emotions.
"What of you, Beocca?" she asked, curious to learn more about her mysterious traveling companion. "We've been together for six months, and I know so little about your life. You've heard about my past, my family, and our farm, but I know nothing of yours. Do you have family in Winchester?" she inquired innocently, eager to understand the man beside her better.
Now, it was Beocca's turn to grow quiet. The color drained from his face, and although he tried to laugh, it was tinged with bitterness.
"You do not want to hear an old man's story, Thyra. It would bore you to tears and put you to sleep," he joked, attempting to smile at her, but his expression was strained.
Thyra flushed with embarrassment, realizing she may have unintentionally touched a sensitive nerve. She lowered her gaze, feeling self-conscious about her curiosity.
"Beocca, you are not old," she spoke softly, trying to ease the tension. "You are only forty-two and still quite young." She mumbled her apology, her voice slightly stuttering due to nervousness. "I... I did not mean to pry."
A light pink blush speckled along the priest's cheeks as Beocca granted Thyra a small, forgiving smile. "Not at all, Thyra. You do not need to apologize; you have done nothing wrong," he reassured her gently. "I am the one who brought up the past by speaking to you of your brother and Brida," he sighed, lowering his eyes, suddenly bashful.
Thyra nodded, understanding his point, and appreciated his kindness in accepting her curiosity. She followed his gaze to the snow-covered ground, watching in silence as their horse's hooves left prints in the pristine white snow.
The wintry landscape seemed to hold a quiet serenity, and for a moment, Thyra and Beocca shared a comfortable silence, understanding each other without the need for words. The tension from before dissipated, leaving behind a sense of camaraderie that made the journey feel less daunting.
Thyra listened intently as Beocca opened up about his past. His words held a weight of pain and sorrow that tugged at her heartstrings. She could see the distant look in his eyes, the haunted memories that still lingered within him.
"Uhtred's father saved me from captivity," Beocca continued, his voice hushed and barely above a whisper. "I was a slave once, a long time ago, when I was just a boy. Taken from my home when I was six and sold to a slave master. My parents were killed."
Her heart ached for him as she tried to comprehend the depth of suffering he had endured. Thyra could only imagine the horrors he must have faced, ripped away from his family at such a tender age. It took courage for Beocca to share this painful part of his past, and she respected him even more for opening up to her.
"I'm so sorry, Beocca," Thyra spoke softly, her voice filled with empathy. "No child should ever have to endure such cruelty. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you."
Beocca offered a small nod of appreciation, his vulnerability exposed. "There were times when I was not sure I would survive," he said, his voice still tinged with sadness. "But Uhtred's father, Lord Uhtred Uhtredson, saw something in me. He saw worth whereas others only saw a slave. He taught me to read, and he treated me with kindness. It was thanks to him that I eventually found my way to the Church and took up the path of priesthood. I was sixteen when I came into Lord Uhtred's service and was taken back to Bebbanburg."
Thyra could sense the gratitude in his words, the immense impact Lord Uhtred had on shaping the man Beocca had become.
She admired Beocca's resilience and the strength he must have found within himself to rise above his past and dedicate his life to serving others.
"I'm sorry," Thyra uttered softly, instinctively guiding her horse closer to Beocca's, her heart yearning to comfort him in some way. She could sense his distress, and a part of her wished she could take away his pain, but she felt unsure about how to do so.
Beocca cleared his throat, startled by Thyra's proximity, his emotions still raw from sharing such personal memories. He looked up at her, trying to regain his composure, appreciating her gesture of concern.
"It's alright, Thyra," Beocca replied, his voice slightly steadier. "Thank you for your kindness, but there's no need to worry. The past is something I've learned to carry with me, and it has shaped who I am today."
Thyra nodded, understanding that some wounds never fully healed but could be carried with strength and resilience. She wanted to respect Beocca's boundaries, giving him the space he needed to process his emotions.
"I am sorry that happened to you," Thyra said gently, her voice filled with empathy. She offered her support without pressuring him to share more than he was comfortable with. "If you ever want to talk about it, I will listen, just as you have listened to me these last few months, Beocca. I hope you know that I am grateful you shared that part of your life with me, and I admire you even more for it now that I know the truth."
A faint blush crept over Beocca's cheeks, and a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, touched by Uhtred's sister's understanding and kindness. "Thank you, Thyra. Our friendship has come to mean a great deal to me," Beocca expressed sincerely, his voice warm with appreciation.
With an unspoken understanding between them, they continued their journey side by side, the air heavy with shared emotions and newfound closeness. Thyra knew that their bond had deepened, and they could now lean on each other for strength during the challenges that lay ahead.
As they rode on, Thyra observed Beocca's posture straightening, a sign that he was regaining his composure. She respected his need for privacy but felt grateful that he had let her into a part of his past, allowing her to see the resilience that lay beneath his kind and compassionate exterior.
Their horses' hooves gently crunched on the snow-covered ground, the soft rhythm creating a sense of peace amidst the wilderness. The snowy landscape seemed to echo the purity of their newfound connection as if nature itself celebrated the blossoming friendship between two souls who had found solace in each other's company.
Thyra felt a renewed sense of determination to be there for Beocca, just as he had been there for her. In times of darkness, they had found light in each other's stories and compassion. The weight of their burdens seemed lighter when shared between them, strengthening their bond and providing a glimmer of hope for the future.
As they continued their journey, the hours passed, and by dinnertime, Thyra could bear no more of sitting in the saddle.
Her body ached from the long ride, but as they approached the looming fortress that had once been her former haunt, her heart sank with a sense of unease. The sight of the daunting structure, with its domineering towers and sharp parapets, brought back a flood of unwelcome memories. She reminded herself to breathe, hoping to steady her nerves.
Dunholm, once her prison, now stood before her, a stark reminder of her past. Thyra had hoped that returning here wouldn't resurface the painful memories she had tried to bury, but it seemed inevitable. The emotions from her time as a captive began to stir once again, threatening to overwhelm her. Thyra felt the familiar emptiness as she recalled indirectly killing Sven by siccing her hounds on the bastard who had whored her over and over again until she would have wanted to take a sword to her heart as a sword Dane would.
Beocca noticed Thyra's change in demeanor and sensed her uneasiness. He leaned over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, offering silent support.
"We're almost there, Thyra," he said gently. "Remember, you are not alone. I am here with you, and we will face whatever comes together."
Thyra appreciated his reassurance, finding strength in their friendship. She nodded, acknowledging his words, but her gaze remained fixed on the foreboding fortress ahead. Memories of fear and captivity swirled in her mind, and she tried to push them back, focusing on the present and the camaraderie she shared with Beocca.
As they crossed the threshold of the imposing gates, Thyra couldn't help but feel the weight of the past pressing down on her. The corridors and chambers held echoes of her previous life, and she did her best to keep her composure. Beocca remained by her side, a steady presence offering comfort in the face of her discomfort.
Thyra brought her mount to a halt in front of the imposing gates of Dunholm. Unaware of the archers perched on the battlement above, she was taken aback as they materialized out of nowhere, barking orders at the guards below to lower the gate and grant them entry. With a sense of unease settling in, she tried to compose herself, not wanting to show any signs of vulnerability.
As the portcullis slowly descended, the sound of a familiar voice caught Thyra's attention. She flinched slightly and turned her gaze to the ground, only half aware that Beocca had already dismounted and was now assisting her off her horse, the trusty black companion she had ridden for the past few weeks.
"Lady Thyra, and you, Father Beocca, welcome to Dunholm," came a boy's voice, oozing with a smooth, buttery purr that sent shivers down her spine.
She felt her face pale at the sight of the king's nephew, Prince Aethelwold, strolling forward to greet them. He exuded an air of relaxed confidence that made her uneasy, despite his youthful appearance being not much younger than her own. Thyra had never placed much importance on a person's appearance.
Still, as she observed the boy, there was an otherworldly quality about him that intrigued her. Though he shared the same flesh and blood as most, his golden hair seemed to emit an ethereal glow, accentuating his Roman-like jawline and discerning brow. Almost like a being from another realm, but she didn't quite believe it.
The prince, Aethelwold, cast his dark brown eyes upon her, devoid of warmth. In them, she sensed a venomous disdain, labeling her as a heathen pagan, a soulless Dane, an evil creature undeserving of anything but death. The atmosphere around them seemed to chill instantly.
Trying to regain her composure, Thyra offered a polite nod but remained guarded. The memories of her time in Dunholm resurfaced, and she found it difficult to shake off the past. Her hand instinctively clutched the pendant of Thor's hammer around her neck, a comforting reminder of her family and strength.
"Why does it come as no surprise to see you here?" Beocca's words carried an angry edge, causing both Thyra and Prince Aethelwold to look up in surprise. Thyra couldn't help but feel a fleeting satisfaction at seeing the prince taken aback, though it was short-lived.
The young prince, with his blond hair and haughty demeanor, flushed with embarrassment. His initial reaction seemed to be one of anger as if he wanted to strike back at Beocca for speaking to him so harshly. However, he seemed to think better of it, and after a moment of hesitation, he finally managed to find his voice.
"Oh, Father Beocca, I am here amongst friends, we need not fear the Danes," Aethelwold began, attempting to maintain his composure. "I did not expect to see you either. I trust you are here as Thyra's protector?" His tone held a mixture of condescension and suspicion.
Beocca's jaw tightened, but he replied evenly, "I am here on behalf of the king, boy, if you must know," he snapped, not bothering to veil the contempt from his voice. "I come bearing a message for the boy, if Uhtred is here. And to answer your question, yes, I am here to ensure Lady Thyra's safety during her visit to Dunholm. I have to protect her. I am here to carry out the king's order and formally banish Uhtred from Wessex," Beocca stated firmly, his voice holding a tinge of sorrow. "Such an order is required by law." He glanced at Thyra, who stood beside him, her expression a mix of determination and apprehension. "As for Thyra, she insisted on accompanying me with the hopes of seeing her brothers again. When she has grown tired of their company, we will leave."
Thyra felt the weight of Beocca's words and the reality of the situation settling upon her. She knew that Uhtred's actions had led to this moment, and though she understood the king's decree, it didn't make it any easier to bear. Her bond with her brother was strong, and being separated from him by this banishment was painful.
The tension in the air was palpable as the two men locked eyes, each one sizing the other up. Thyra felt like a spectator in a duel of words, unsure of how to interject and defuse the situation. Trying to steer the conversation away from conflict, Thyra stepped forward, addressing Prince Aethelwold directly.
"Lord Aethelwold, I have come to Dunholm with Beocca in hopes that I might see my brothers. Uhtred and Ragnar, Aethelwold, are they within?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as calm and level-headed as possible, though it was difficult for Thyra to maintain an air of politeness around the king's nephew.
King Alfred, the few times she had seen the man from a distance, had always made her cringe, especially knowing how the Saxon king treated her brother Uhtred no better than a hound, but Aethelwold was a different creature altogether. The Prince exuded an unsettling aura, hiding a hint of malevolence deep within himself.
He possessed a rare talent for coaxing out people's darkest and most concealed secrets with just a few words exchanged in conversation. It was as if he held the key to unlock the hidden chambers of their souls, leaving them vulnerable and exposed. Thyra's reverie was abruptly interrupted by the Prince's voice, reminding her of the unanswered question.
"Your brothers are within, Lady, shall I bring you to them?" Aethelwold offered, taking the initiative without waiting to be asked. He reached out, clasping Thyra's arm firmly, and began guiding her further into the bailey. Thyra's expression turned into a glare of alarm, shocked by the roughness of the gesture.
"I can walk by myself, Aethelwold, thank you," Thyra retorted sharply, swiftly freeing her arm from the Prince's grip.
Thyra's defiance didn't seem to faze Aethelwold. Instead, he smirked, his demeanor bordering on arrogance.
"Of course, Lady Thyra. I merely wished to ensure your safe passage," he replied, attempting to mask his true intentions behind a veneer of concern.
Thyra's heart pounded as Beocca's voice rang out, taking her by surprise. The priest had come to stand protectively beside her, his gaze fixed sternly on Aethelwold. She could sense the tension in the air, and it made her uneasy.
"You will go nowhere near her and say nothing more to Uhtred of Bebbanburg's sister, boy," Beocca's voice was firm and commanding. "I have been watching you since the lady arrived in Winchester. You cannot seem to stop looking at her as of late, but I suggest you turn your eyes elsewhere. She is Uhtred's sister, and you have not the slightest chance with her," Beocca snarled, clenching his jaw with anger.
Aethelwold's face flushed with embarrassment and indignation. He tried to maintain his composure, but the mockery in his tone was evident as he retorted, "Oh, Father Beocca, always the pious guardian of virtue. It's touching to see you so concerned for Uhtred's sister. Or is there more to it than meets the eye? Are you hiding a romantic fondness for the lady?"
Thyra's eyes widened in disbelief at Aethelwold's audacity, and she felt a mix of anger and gratitude towards Beocca for defending her honor.
She knew the prince's words were meant to provoke a reaction, but she also sensed a hint of jealousy in his attempt to taunt the priest.
Beocca's face turned crimson, a mixture of anger and embarrassment sweeping across his features.
"Nonsense! You're talking through your arse, boy, so from now on, I suggest you keep your buttocks clenched to keep the shit from spewing out," he snapped, his voice quivering with emotion. "You spew nothing but lies and vile insinuations. My concern for Lady Thyra stems from my loyalty to her family, nothing more."
Aethelwold sneered, clearly enjoying the discomfort he had caused. "Ah, of course, loyalty to her family," he said mockingly.
A shiver unrelated to the searing coldness that numbed her body crawled down Thyra's spine as she noticed Aethelwold's shoulders gradually relax, though the tension in his jaw remained unyielding.
"It is dangerous ground you tread, Father Beocca and the two of you had best be cautious," he warned.
Beocca marched forward, his fury evident as his hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides.
"You are quick to judge who is a danger without knowing much of whom you speak," he spat back.
A peculiar, dark look passed between the two men, and Thyra sensed an impending clash brewing between them. Her instincts told her that a confrontation was imminent.
Stepping out from behind Beocca, she positioned herself in front of the priest, shielding him from the Prince's apparent hostility.
"Stop," she pleaded earnestly. "Both of you, there is no need for this." Her voice carried a mix of desperation and firmness, hoping to break through the escalating tension.
But it seemed that neither man was ready to back down, their gazes locked in a battle of wills. For a moment, the bailey was heavy with an uneasy silence, as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. Thyra's heart raced, torn between her loyalty to Beocca and her desire to prevent any further conflict.
Then, unexpectedly, Aethelwold's rigid facade wavered. His intense expression softened just a fraction as if some part of him acknowledged the futility of this quarrel.
"You both should tread carefully," he reiterated, his voice quieter now, hinting at vulnerability beneath his pride. Aethelwold chuckled dismissively, the tension in the bailey escalating. "Father Beocca, your loyalty to my uncle may lead to your downfall."
Beocca parted his lips to speak, but before the situation could escalate further, a familiar voice interrupted from behind them.
"Is there a problem here?"
All heads turned to see Uhtred, Thyra's youngest brother, striding towards them with a commanding presence.
Thyra's heart swelled with hope as she beheld her brother, the epitome of a true sword-Dane warrior. Tall and robust, he donned black leather and fur, exuding a commanding presence with every stride. His long, wavy dark hair cascaded freely over his shoulders, while the scars of numerous battles adorned his rugged frame. His catlike-green eyes were fixed on Aethelwold, who suddenly seemed unsure of himself.
"None at all, Uhtred," Beocca replied, quickly regaining his composure. "Just a misunderstanding that has been cleared up."
Uhtred stiffened and the edges of her brother's mouth turned down in a frown as he set eyes on Beocca before he diverted his attention from the priest and Uhtred's gaze shifted to Thyra, concern evident in his eyes. "Are you alright, sister?"
Thyra nodded, grateful for her brother's timely arrival. "Yes, I am fine," she said, offering him a reassuring smile.
Uhtred turned his attention back to Aethelwold, his expression stern.
"See to it that there are no more misunderstandings. Lady Thyra is under my protection, and I expect her to be treated with respect. If you touch her, Aethelwold, or even go near her, I will gut you from throat to cock like the pig that you are and make you eat your entrails, see that I don't." Uhtred's gaze intensified, his voice lowering to a dangerous tone. "I may not be a prince, but I am still a warrior, and I will not hesitate to defend my family with everything I have."
Aethelwold's face paled, the arrogance that once adorned his features now replaced by trepidation. He stammered, trying to save face, "I-I meant no harm, Uhtred. It was all in jest, you know, just some harmless banter."
"There is nothing harmless about your words," Uhtred snapped back. "Thyra's honor is not a subject for jesting or your petty games. Remember this warning, for I will not offer another."
With that, Uhtred turned away, taking Thyra's arm protectively, and they walked off together, leaving Aethelwold standing there, silently seething and somewhat shaken.
As they walked away, Thyra glanced back at Uhtred, feeling a mix of admiration and gratitude for her brother's fierce protection.
Uhtred's eyes met hers, conveying a silent reassurance that he would always be there for her. Thyra and Uhtred breathed a collective sigh of relief as they moved out of sight of the young Prince Aethelwold. Beocca, still fuming with anger, stood protectively by Thyra's side, his emotions palpable.
"Uhtred, that could have gone better," Beocca growled, his voice laden with frustration.
"It could have gone far worse, Father," Uhtred retorted darkly, still glancing back at the bailey over Beocca's shoulder. He took a moment to compose himself before turning his attention back to Thyra, offering her a reassuring smile. "All will be well, Thyra. Aethelwold won't be bothering you again. I apologize for the things he said; he's a fool who doesn't understand the consequences of his words."
Beocca interjected with a bitter tone, "Oh, I beg to differ, boy. I think he knows very well the weight of his words and enjoys the power they give him." The darkness in Beocca's eyes reflected his intense displeasure. "But I appreciate you coming to Thyra's defense and mine. I didn't want a brawl in the bailey."
Thyra nodded gratefully to her brother and Beocca.
Eager to shift the conversation away from the tense encounter with Aethelwold, Thyra glanced nervously around the bailey, hoping to spot Ragnar or Brida for some relief.
"Uhtred, do you know where Ragnar and Brida are?" she asked, trying to infuse hope into her voice as she looked back at her brother.
Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed the lingering tension between Uhtred and Beocca, both men seemingly locked in a silent battle of resentment.
Although Beocca hadn't spoken of his anger towards Uhtred after that fateful day when Uhtred threatened the king's life, Thyra sensed that unresolved issues still simmered between the two.
Uhtred's expression softened as he turned his attention back to Thyra, understanding her subtle plea for a more pleasant topic.
"Brida and Ragnar ventured into the woods with a group for hunting," Uhtred explained, trying to reassure Thyra. "They often venture into the woods at this hour. You know how much they enjoy it. They'll be back before supper, don't worry. They mentioned the need to stock up on food supplies in preparation for an approaching storm. Ragnar believes it's heading our way."
Thyra nodded, grateful for the diversion. "Yes, you're right. I hope they return soon." She took a deep breath, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, they always bring back the best game. Perhaps they'll catch something extraordinary this time."
Thyra gazed upward at the gathering storm clouds, her heart filled with concern for her brother and Brida. With a silent plea, she turned to the old Norse gods, seeking their protection and safe return. As the minutes passed, Thyra found it hard to shake off the worry gnawing at her.
Thyra's attempt to steer the ship of their conversation had succeeded, and for now, they found solace in the familiar camaraderie that bound them together.
Yet, lurking beneath the surface, unresolved issues and unspoken words remained, waiting for the right moment to resurface and demand their reckoning. Thyra, under the guidance of Beocca and Uhtred, made her way out of the chilly bailey and ventured deeper into the fortress.
Inside, the feast hall beckoned with its warm and welcoming ambiance.
However, anxiety gripped her heart, knowing that Prince Aethelwold's penetrating gaze might be fixed upon her. The feeling of his eyes tracking her every step persisted as she finally reached the table and seated herself alongside Beocca and Uhtred.
Afraid to look back, she resisted the temptation to glance over her shoulder, fully aware that Prince Aethelwold lurked behind one of the parapets, concealed in the shadows.