With a groggy gaze, Thyra's blue eyes fluttered open at the sound of a persistent knocking on the door. It was undoubtedly Ingrid, fulfilling her promise to awaken Thyra.
Allowing herself a few more languid blinks, Thyra recollected the series of events that had left her in bed, still dressed in her day clothes. The rims of her eyes felt raw and heavy, likely tinged with redness from her tear-stained cheeks.
Last night, she had cried herself to sleep, finding solace in the dreamless oblivion that temporarily enveloped her. When Beocca had departed after their unexpected kiss, her heart had crumbled into ashes, and she had wept unabatedly, unmasking her true emotions. Regrettably, it became clear that he did not reciprocate the feelings she had naively nurtured for him.
As the chamber door emitted a creaking sound, Haestan's wife made her entrance, fulfilling her promise from last night when she had mentioned she would stop by to rouse Thyra to collect her herself and bring her to the kitchens.
Ingrid stood at the threshold, balancing a wooden tray laden with pastries and a platter of leftover venison from the previous night's grand feast.
Ingrid had rallied as many women as she could find in Dunholm, what few there were, to assist in whatever preparations were possible. The supplies stored in the barn, brought by Lord Ragnar and his woman Brida, would undoubtedly serve as a lifeline during the approaching winter.
While Dunholm had some food stores as a fallback, how long they would last remained uncertain. With the blizzard now bearing down upon them, every bit of assistance would be crucial.
Ingrid caught fragments of a conversation among the cooks in the bustling kitchens, emphasizing the importance of minimizing waste with fresh meat.
They were well aware of the need to preserve it, ensuring it would sustain them as long as possible throughout the winter season.
Oblivious to the turmoil hidden within Thyra's eyes, Ingrid placed the meal on a petite table and cautiously ventured deeper into the room. However, her progress halted abruptly when she caught the faint sound of Thyra's choked sob, escaping from the depths of her throat.
"By the gods, I... What in the world happened? Lady Thyra, are you...are you well?" Ingrid's voice quivered with genuine worry, tapering off as her gaze met Thyra's bloodshot eyes and caught sight of her tear-tracked cheeks.
"Just Thyra, Ingrid, please, and I...I'm fine, I just...had a sleepless night is all," Thyra rasped in a hushed tone, trying to muster a smile despite the absence of any remaining pretense of inner strength left within her.
Ingrid's brow furrowed as she approached Thyra, assisting her in removing her sleepwear and offering a neatly folded stack of clothes.
"Here, Thyra, then, " she murmured, a delicate flush tinting her cheeks, as she presented Thyra with what appeared to be two or three fresh dresses. "We seem to be about the same size, and it seems like you could use some new attire," Ingrid admitted.
Thyra's eyes widened, her blush deepening to a fiery hue, as she bashfully accepted the clothing from Ingrid. She glanced down at the bundle of clothing in her arms, feeling a mixture of uncertainty and gratitude. The long years of captivity in the castle's dungeon had left her unaccustomed to receiving acts of kindness.
"Um... thank you, Ingrid," Thyra murmured shyly, her expression softening with appreciation.
She turned away, beginning to dress herself with a touch of hesitance. Ingrid tactfully refrained from prying into the reasons behind Thyra's emotional state, although she couldn't help but notice the redness in her eyes and the traces of dried tears on her cheeks.
Choosing to keep her thoughts to herself, Ingrid offered Thyra the space she needed, which Thyra silently appreciated. Once Thyra was dressed, Ingrid gently assisted her in braiding her hair and stepped back when she was finished, giving a curt nod as she admired her work.
"In the bailey, your husband is conversing with Lord Uhtred," Ingrid cheerfully informed Thyra, causing her to whirl around and discover Haestan's wife, her smile warm and inviting. "He wanted me to relay the message that he will seek you out at a more suitable time, maybe after dinner," she quietly conveyed.
"My... my husband?" Thyra's voice trailed off, her delicate eyebrows knitting together in confusion, momentarily forgetting that Ingrid had mistakenly assumed she and Beocca were married. "Oh, yes," she managed to say, taking a deep breath to steady herself, relieved to realize her assumption had been incorrect.
She fervently hoped that Beocca wasn't angry with her, considering he hadn't returned to the room since he had stormed out, though she was relieved to hear that he was finally speaking with Uhtred and was hopefully mending the rift that existed between them since her brother's banishment.
A pang of worry crept into her thoughts, wondering if he had managed to get any sleep the previous night.
"Did he mention where he slept?" Thyra inquired, her voice tinged with concern that she couldn't conceal.
Ingrid shook her head, a sympathetic look in her eyes. "No, but he did mention to me, as I passed him, that he didn't want to disturb your rest," Haestan's wife replied. She regarded Thyra with admiration. "Your priest is truly kind. The two of you make a lovely couple."
Ingrid's words caused Thyra's cheeks to flush, and she murmured a bashful, "Thank you, Ingrid," her gaze lowered in embarrassment. She felt a pang of guilt for not revealing the truth about her relationship with Beocca to Haestan's wife.
However, when he had kissed her, she had found solace in the delightful fantasy of being the Saxon priest's beloved wife.
The tenderness and care that Beocca showed her were easily becoming a cherished part of Thyra's life. She believed there was no man in the realm as kind and gentle as him.
Ingrid sensed Thyra's distress and approached, timidly resting a hand on Thyra's wrist. Thyra, overcome with emotions, tugged on a lock of her autumn-colored hair. Ingrid, perceptive to her new friend's turmoil, continued speaking, her voice laced with admiration.
"It's evident that there is a deep love between the two of you," she remarked, sounding almost awestruck by such a connection. "I came here to check on you, per your husband's request, and to see if you would like to walk with me to the kitchens," Ingrid whispered, her voice filled with concern. "I could use your assistance since your husband is engaged in a lengthy conversation with Lord Uhtred."
A flicker of sadness crossed Ingrid's lovely features as she recalled encountering the Saxon priest and Lord Uhtred Ragnarsson in the bailey. She couldn't help but notice the visible distress on the holy man's face, almost bordering on despair. The sight made her wonder what could have transpired.
Ingrid found herself contemplating whether it was connected to Beocca's wife, her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, giving an impression of emotional turmoil. She couldn't help but wonder if they had a disagreement or argument that led to such a state.
Ingrid's curiosity sparked immediately, but she scolded herself internally for contemplating prying into Thyra's personal affairs.
As much as she longed to know what had caused Thyra's profound anguish the previous night, she recognized the importance of respecting boundaries. Gods, she barely knew this woman, not as intimately as she had wished. Not yet, Ingrid reminded herself, her heart fluttering with a glimmer of hope.
She turned her gaze towards Thyra, mustering a gentle smile, hoping it would convey a sense of comfort and understanding.
Noticing Thyra's distracted state and realizing that she hadn't been paying attention, Ingrid asked, "Shall we walk to the kitchens together?"
The sudden movement of Thyra's head confirmed Ingrid's suspicion, causing her to instinctively pull back to avoid a collision. Thyra's face turned a deep shade of red in embarrassment as she nodded in response.
"Oh, um, yes, Ingrid. That's... very kind of you," Thyra stammered, touched by Ingrid's gesture.
Ingrid then offered her arm, and together they exited the room, venturing into the chilly and dimly lit corridor that led to the downstairs kitchens.
Ingrid's voice filled the hall of Dunholm, attempting to engage Thyra in conversation as they made their way toward the kitchens. However, as they entered the doorway, it felt as if all eyes turned in their direction. The few women present on the premises were curious to catch a glimpse of Lord Ragnar's rumored mad sister, who had allegedly unleashed her dogs on Kjartan's son, One-Eyed Sven, and commanded them to devour him slowly from cock to head.
A heavy silence descended upon the kitchens, and the women exchanged glances, their eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of Thyra.
They regarded her as if she were nothing more than a ghost. Hushed whispers began to circulate, and Haestan's wife anxiously glanced at Thyra, seeking any signs of her friend's reaction. Thyra's breathing grew slightly rapid as she clumsily retreated from the intrusive stares and the murmuring voices.
Amidst the ongoing chatter, Ingrid hurriedly guided Thyra toward the farthest corner of the kitchens, seeking a secluded space where she could speak with Uhtred and Ragnar's sister in private. Her intuition buzzed like a hive of bees, warning her that something was amiss with Thyra. Before Thyra could utter a word, Ingrid seized an empty tankard and forcefully slammed it down onto the rough counter, where a few cooking utensils and tools were already arranged.
The sudden, loud noise startled Thyra, causing her to jump in surprise. However, it was not Ingrid's intent to draw Thyra's attention.
Instead, Haestan's wife's stern gaze fixated on the other women in the kitchen, who had been taken aback by the abrupt commotion.
Ingrid's usually pleasant features contorted into a fierce scowl, her teeth grinding together. The atmosphere in the kitchen thickened with an uncomfortable silence, spreading like a slow-acting poison, as apprehensive eyes shifted towards Haestan's wife.
Seizing the moment, Ingrid motioned for the priest's wife to take a seat on the stool positioned near the edge of the rough sideboard counter, her gaze fixed elsewhere. The priest's wife, her voice barely audible, gratefully whispered, "Thank you, Ingrid."
This small act triggered an unexpected outburst from Jackdaw's companion on the opposite side of the room.
The woman, unpleasant in appearance with her greasy black hair and a sickly, pallid complexion, couldn't contain her disdain.
"Ingrid, is this some kind of joke? Are we expected to remain silent in the face of one of the greatest insults we've experienced since Lord Ragnar started becoming weaker the longer we've been confined here? His sister is insane—"
"Quiet!" Thyra jumped at the sound of Ingrid's voice, which seemed to resonate through the kitchen. Her newfound friend gave her an unsettling feeling, causing Thyra to move her chair farther away from the young woman. Despite their friendship, Ingrid had a way of reminding her of her position.
Above all else, Ingrid was Haestan's wife, and she suspected that, like Haestan, Ingrid was capable of malice under certain circumstances.
However, Thyra didn't have time to dwell on it as Ingrid continued to defend her.
"If you keep standing there, gawking at Lord Ragnar's sister, I might just take your fingers and I would feed them to Kasta and Ravn for a snack!" Ingrid exclaimed angrily, her face flushed red as she reached for a knife on the nearby counter and held it up.
The woman associated with Jackdaw turned pale and shook her head in disbelief.
Ingrid simply smiled. "Ah, I see I've struck a nerve, Idunn. I don't find it amusing that you would dare speak out and humiliate Lord Ragnar's sister. It would be a true pity for me to cut off your fingers," she said with a grimace.
Thyra's stomach churned, her confidence in Ingrid suddenly wavering. She released a ragged breath, unsure of what to make of the situation.
With hesitant eyes, she looked up, only to witness the women around them fall silent and purposefully turn their backs, their occasional muttered curses escaping their lips.
But Thyra's focus remained on Ingrid. Ingrid's expression softened, clearly noticing Thyra's uncertainty, and her gentle voice snapped Thyra out of her daze.
"I apologize for revealing that side of myself, Thyra, my dear friend. I don't like showing that part of me, but I cannot stand to see you treated so poorly," Ingrid confessed, a pained grimace fleeting across her face.
Thyra found herself in a state of fluster, wildly looking to the left and right in the kitchens for something to occupy herself, yet relieved when a pile of produce requiring chopping appeared before her, destined for a stew. She nodded appreciatively, mindful of her manners towards her newfound companion.
"Ingrid, thank you for... for everything. It wasn't necessary, but I'm genuinely grateful," Thyra expressed, her gaze lowered and her head turned bashfully, stealing a glance at Haesten's wife from the corner of her eye. The mixture of gratitude and uneasiness overwhelmed her.
In an attempt to escape the discomfort of her thoughts, Thyra's mind was suddenly filled with vivid images of her cherished hounds.
Ingrid had mentioned Kasta and Ravn, her beloved companions, and now Thyra couldn't help but inquire about their well-being.
"Ingrid, what about Kasta and Ravn? How are they...?" Thyra's words trailed off hesitantly, interrupted as Ingrid paused from her work and joined her side, pulling up a stool to assist in the preparation of tonight's meal for the fort's inhabitants and their families.
Meal preparations were often a daunting task, consuming a significant portion of the day.
However, as Ingrid cast a curious glance at Ragnar's sister, she couldn't help but think that perhaps it wouldn't be so lonely after all.
"They're doing fine," Ingrid replied with a wistful chuckle, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips as she turned her head to meet Thyra's gaze. "Although they're not very fond of men. Jackdaw nearly lost his precious jewels the other day when he attempted to feed Ravn. Your hounds have tolerated me, but just barely. Would you like to visit them once we're done here?" she asked, her tone inviting.
Thyra's face lit up with excitement, and she nodded eagerly. "Yes, please," she replied. "I would love that."
Ingrid smiled in response. "Once we're done here, we'll head down below. But for now, we should focus on our tasks. We have many hungry mouths to feed tonight."
Thyra nodded in agreement and moved closer to her newfound companion. Haestan's wife silently handed her an onion for the stew they were preparing, and Thyra began chopping it quietly, while Ingrid busied herself with cutting up salted beef and leeks.
For a while, the two worked in silence, occasionally interrupted by another woman who stopped by their table, carrying large buckets of fresh, nearly frozen water from the well. She swiftly moved on, leaving them to their tasks. Once the woman was gone, Ingrid started gathering all the ingredients.
As she stirred them into the massive pot filled with water, her gaze shifted toward the priest's wife, who diligently continued chopping the onions.
Ingrid's curiosity got the better of her, and she chirped with awe, "So, what is it like? You, being a Christian and being married to a king's priest?"
Thyra held her breath for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts about Ingrid's motives behind the question. She couldn't help but wonder if her new friend might be harboring an interest in Christianity herself.
Thyra's first thought instinctively turned to Beocca, and she imagined how pleased he would be to hear such news.
As Thyra reminisced about how he hastily left the room after their kiss, a sudden bitterness crept into the depths of her stomach. She took a moment to compose herself, allowing her anger towards him to subside, before realizing she owed her new friend a response.
"I haven't forsaken the ancient gods, but... embracing Christianity has granted me a sense of purpose and happiness that was absent before. The Christian faith offers hope, forgiveness, and a connection to something greater than ourselves."
Ingrid listened intently, her eyes shining with genuine interest.
"I've always been curious about Christianity," she admitted. "The stories, the teachings... they seem to hold a certain power. And watching you, Thyra, living your faith with such grace and kindness, it makes me wonder if there's something more to it."
Thyra's heart swelled with warmth at Ingrid's words. She could sense a genuine longing in her friend's voice. "If you're interested, perhaps we could talk to Beocca together. He would be happy to answer any of your questions."
Ingrid nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
"I would like that," she said softly.
Thyra nearly smiled and then recalled Haesten's wife had asked about her faux marriage to Beocca. A chill rippled down her spine as she knew she owed her new friend an answer.
"As for Beocca and I..." Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the onion in her hands, completely unaware that Ingrid was now observing her with a perplexed expression on her face. "He...we...I-I don't...we never..."
Thyra's gaze fixated on the knife in her hand, captivated by the pristine glimmer of its blade amidst the kitchen's dimness.
Her distorted reflection stared back at her, sapphire eyes twisted with taunting and condemning presence. Unexpectedly, droplets of water trickled down her face. Ingrid had recently left her stool and now stood beside Thyra. As Haesten's wife continued to chop the remaining carrots, she heard Thyra's sniffling.
Without diverting her attention from her own task, Ingrid dryly remarked, "Are the onions finally getting to you?"
Thyra nodded, grateful for the intervention that spared her from her own anguish. "Y-yes, I-I suppose so."
Both women, however, understood that the tears had nothing to do with the onions.
"Thyra, are you sure you're alright?" Ingrid asked after a moment when she sensed Thyra's internal conflict was not about to cease tormenting her anytime soon.
"Ingrid, I... I'm fine," Thyra responded, her voice tinged with unease. She lowered her head, attempting to avoid eye contact and conceal her distress from Haesten's wife.
Ingrid, sensing that her words had caused unintended offense, quickly realized her mistake. With a worried expression, she stepped forward and firmly grasped Thyra's shoulders, ensuring she couldn't turn away.
"What's wrong? Is it something concerning your husband?" Ingrid inquired, hoping she wasn't crossing any boundaries by bringing him up.
Thyra's response came out in a rush, her words clumsy and abrupt.
"No, nothing has happened," Thyra blurted out, her desperation evident as she glanced up, desperately seeking understanding in Ingrid's eyes. Thyra hesitated, her words caught in her throat as she observed the genuine concern etched on Ingrid's beautiful face.
Despite her initial inclination to withhold the truth, Thyra realized that keeping this secret from Ingrid went against the bond they were building and the kindness Ingrid had shown her. Her old haunt suddenly felt like a place of honesty, and she couldn't bear to deceive her new friend so soon into their new acquaintance.
In a moment of vulnerability, Thyra's voice trembled as she confessed, "Ingrid, something doesn't feel right. I... I can't hide it from you. I've been avoiding thinking about it, but the truth is, I don't even know if I'll see Beocca today before suppertime. And strangely, a part of me is relieved by that." She paused, her gaze downcast. "I don't know what I would do or say to him now... not after everything has changed," Thyra began, her voice carrying an unprecedented vulnerability, surpassing even the moments when Kjartan and Sven were alive. She had believed she could handle those wretched men better than a simple kiss from a man she thought she could love if only Beocca would grant her a small chance. "Something... happened last night," Thyra whispered, surprised to hear herself confess. "It shouldn't have happened, but he... we... he kissed me."
Thyra's breath caught in her throat as her words trailed off, her ability to speak abruptly stolen away. Visions of what transpired since that fateful night flooded her mind, replaying the memory that had kept her awake throughout the entire night. She could still sense his gentle touch, his scent lingering like a blend of candlewax and aged parchment paper.
The way Beocca had looked at her afterward as if a fragment of himself remained entwined within her being, haunted her relentlessly.
From the corner of her eye, Thyra thought she detected a flicker of understanding in Ingrid's kind hazel eyes as she nodded in acknowledgment. Ingrid's gentle question spared Thyra from the further embarrassment of stating the obvious.
"Your Father Beocca is not your husband, Thyra, is he?" Ingrid asked, her tone infused with compassion.
Thyra shook her head, feeling her hands grow clammy and tremble uncontrollably. Setting the knife down hastily, she found her hands acting of their own accord, painfully clutching her skirts.
"No, he is not," Thyra confessed, her face flushed with shame, unable to meet her new friend's gaze out of fear of the judgment she expected.
To Thyra's astonishment, that anticipated moment of judgment never arrived. Instead, Ingrid did something she could never have anticipated—she offered an apology.
"I am sorry, Thyra," Ingrid murmured, her voice tinged with sadness yet constrained, as if the Dane was suppressing something brewing within her. "If I had been there, I could have done something. Clearly, it was distressing for the priest to kiss you."
Thyra raised her gaze in confusion, only to discover Haesten's wife glaring at her with an unexpected intensity, her usually kind and gentle hazel eyes now filled with contempt. Mistaking that contempt to be directed at herself, Thyra stumbled over her words, desperately attempting to rectify any mistake she might have made.
"Distressing?" Thyra echoed faintly, her voice barely audible, as she observed the anger dissipating from Ingrid's countenance. "Why would it have been distressing?" she asked, her voice a mixture of perplexity and quiet bewilderment.
A frown creased Thyra's forehead as she regarded Ingrid, seeking answers to the confusion that now enveloped her.
Now it was Ingrid's turn to wear a look of confusion. A flush of embarrassment tinged her cheeks as she shook her head, witnessing Thyra's perplexity.
"Oh, please forgive me, Thyra. I-I assumed, you know, the way you spoke... it sounded as if you were scared," Ingrid stumbled over her words, her tone laced with awkwardness.
Ingrid continued speaking clumsily until Thyra took mercy on her and gently placed a warm hand atop Ingrid's, urging her to cease. Thyra shook her head, dispelling any lingering misunderstanding.
"Oh, no, it wasn't like that at all, you've misunderstood," Thyra reassured, a small smile gracing her face. "But nonetheless, it has left me feeling a bit bewildered. It all happened so quickly, and it ended before I could truly comprehend what was transpiring," Thyra confessed, her voice carrying a mix of honesty and curiosity.
Thyra's bashful smile widened upon hearing the subtle inflection in Ingrid's voice. Despite the embarrassment that accompanied discussing such matters, Thyra felt a sense of relief, grateful to have someone with whom she could converse openly. She nodded in affirmation.
"Yes, well... he was very gentle at first, but then I felt myself moving of my own accord," Thyra explained, her words tinged with a mixture of vulnerability and fascination. "It was as if I became a shadow walker as if someone else took control of me. I felt like I was observing myself from outside, a strange sensation to describe, but that's how it felt," she confessed, her expression filled with a hint of anguish as she nervously glanced at Ingrid, searching her face for any reaction.
Ingrid remained quiet and contemplative, nodding in understanding while attentively listening to Thyra. Soon, a smile formed on her lips.
"Well, I am genuinely happy for you, Thyra," Ingrid expressed sincerely. Her words conveyed a sense of warmth and sincerity. "And I'm certain your Father Beocca feels the same way."
Upon hearing her new friend's remark, Thyra's gaze sharpened, and any remnants of a smile vanished.
"I'm not so sure, Ingrid," she whispered, causing concern to flicker across Ingrid's face once again.
"What? What do you mean?" Ingrid inquired, her voice tinged with worry.
The red-haired Dane averted her gaze, turning away before responding. Her eyes fixed on the simmering pot of stew that would require at least five more hours over the fire before it would be ready to eat, the logs crackling in the hearth.
"Beocca, he... he left me standing there as soon as he realized he had made a mistake," Thyra revealed, her voice heavy with a mix of disappointment and vulnerability.
"Mistake?" Ingrid repeated softly, her confusion evident as she wished for Ragnar and Uhtred's sister to face her. "What makes you think he considered it a mistake?"
Thyra took a moment to respond, her thoughts clouded by the events of the morning after. She swallowed hard, suppressing the rising tears that threatened to spill.
"Beocca, he... he appeared shocked, almost horrified. It was as if he was frustrated," Thyra confessed, her voice strained with the weight of her emotions.
"Thyra, forgive me, but I don't believe your Father Beocca was frustrated with you, especially not after... well..." Ingrid's words trailed off, and she herself felt a wave of embarrassment discussing the matter. However, she did not want to upset Thyra.
A sudden realization struck Haesten's wife, and without considering the consequences, she spoke with a newfound boldness, perhaps exceeding her rights as Ragnar's sister-in-law.
"Thyra," Ingrid began slowly, knowing she needed to choose her words carefully. Sensing a slight shift in the tense atmosphere of the kitchen, Thyra gradually turned to face Ingrid, her expression marked by sorrow and misery. Ingrid took a deep breath and continued, "When you mentioned that your priest was frustrated with you and left you alone in the room, it might not have been because he was upset with you. I'm certain he doesn't blame you for what happened. It's... it's quite natural for two people who feel a connection to experience... certain things."
Ingrid paused, realizing that Thyra was hanging onto her every word. It became apparent that although Thyra had encountered men before, given the painful experiences with Kjartan and Sven, she remained somewhat naive when it came to matters of love.
"Well, I..." Ingrid continued, clearing her throat awkwardly before proceeding. "The point is, your Father Beocca likely left the room because if he had stayed any longer, he might not have been able to restrain himself. It wasn't because he was displeased with you. If anything, it seems quite the opposite."
Thyra's eyes widened as she absorbed Ingrid's words. By the end of the explanation, her mood had shifted significantly from before.
Pursing her lips, Thyra gazed at Ingrid with a solemn expression, while Ingrid, now wearing a sympathetic smile, conveyed her understanding.
"These things are never simple," Ingrid remarked cheerfully, once again taking hold of Thyra's hand and offering a comforting squeeze. "But I can see that your Father Beocca cares for you. He likes you, Thyra. I see it in his eyes when he speaks of you, and I witnessed it this morning as I passed him on my way to wake you. He deeply cares about you, and he values your opinion of him. It's difficult to know what others truly think, but you can start by examining your own feelings. What do you feel when you think of your priest?"
Staring back at her supportive friend, Thyra found herself momentarily speechless. Yet, deep down, she knew that Haesten's wife spoke the truth. She had to turn inward and make sense of what had transpired, and more importantly, she needed to prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation with Beocca.
However, Thyra realized something unsettling as she looked at Ingrid, awaiting her response—she couldn't articulate in words what Beocca had stirred within her with that single kiss. The thought terrified her.
For if she were to admit the truth of her feelings for him, what would come next? The uncertainty weighed heavily upon her.
As Ingrid blinked with confusion at Thyra's behavior and the ensuing silence, Thyra suddenly wondered if Beocca had left the room because he knew deep down that nothing could come of their connection.
"Ingrid," Thyra began to speak, but her words were abruptly halted by the sound of the kitchen doors swinging open, accompanied by a flurry of people rushing in.
Leading the group was none other than Beocca himself, who appeared to be engaged in a heated exchange with Uhtred and Ragnar. Both of Thyra's brothers wore expressions of unusual distress and anger as Beocca made his determined way toward where Ingrid and Thyra sat on their stools by the fire, engrossed in conversation.
"Not one more word out of you, Uhtred! I will handle this myself!" Beocca's voice boomed, his face turning red with mounting anger.
The priest's temper escalated, causing him to look forward and stride toward the two women. His previously exhausted and careworn face now wore a shocked expression as his eyes met Thyra's. Startled by his presence, Thyra immediately slid off the stool she had been sitting on beside Ingrid.
"Ah, good morning, Beocca," Thyra replied softly, struggling to form the words as her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth as if made of wet clay. She had hoped for more time to gather her thoughts than this.
Thyra briefly cast a glance behind Beocca toward Ragnar and Uhtred, both of whom were equally flushed and displaying clear contempt in their eyes.
It was evident that her brothers were at least somewhat aware of what had transpired between her and Beocca the previous night, and they disapproved of his abrupt departure.
Swallowing hard, Thyra redirected her gaze back to the priest standing before her, feeling somewhat grounded when she heard Beocca finally speak up.
"I, uh," Beocca stammered, nervously wringing his hands together, avoiding direct eye contact with Thyra. She couldn't help but notice his avoidance. "I... I didn't realize that you would... be here."
Thyra flinched as the words left Beocca's mouth. Bitterly, she thought to herself that this had to be one of the most awkward situations she had ever faced.
Beocca stumbled, his gaze fixated on an unexpected interaction between Earl Haestan's remarkably beautiful and charming wife and Thyra. He wondered if they had already formed a friendship. Hope swelled within him for Thyra, and he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
With a heavy heart and an expression etched with sorrow, Beocca cautiously approached Thyra, gently touching her shoulder.
"Thyra, I was hoping we could have a moment alone to talk," Beocca pleaded, his eyes searching hers intently.
As he observed Thyra's once cheerful demeanor with Lady Ingrid turning somber, she silently nodded without glancing back. Beocca led her away from the bustling kitchens and the presence of Ingrid.
However, as they stepped into the corridor, Thyra nearly froze upon spotting the Prince leaning against the opposite brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, secretly observing. Humiliation burned her cheeks, and as Beocca guided her away, she couldn't resist stealing a single glance over her shoulder.
Instantly, she regretted the gesture, as the Prince's warm, dark brown eyes glistened, twinkling and smiling after her.