The Gift -- The Last Kingdom

Chapter 1

Mercia

"Is there anything you need, lady? Another candle?"

Aethelflaed looked up at her servant and only then did she realize how late the hour was. The room had grown dark around her. She blinked her eyes, which were strained from working by the dim light of the dying candle. It must be well into the evening.

"No, Estrith, thank you. I should cease my work for the night. I imagine supper will be ready soon?"

Estrith looked at her oddly. "Supper has been ready for hours, lady. I came to fetch you but you sent me away."

Aethelflaed sighed deeply. She must have sounded annoyed, because Estrith looked worried.

"Should I have brought it to you, lady? Or insisted?"

"No, no," Aethelflaed tried to speak reassuringly, "It was my own mistake. You did exactly what I asked of you. Perhaps you could see that some food is brought to my chamber?"

Estrith nodded and exited the library.

Aethelflaed stood and was suddenly aware of the stiffness in her limbs. She had been hunched over the table for too long, too engrossed in the ledgers. She had lost sense of time and of her physical needs. This had become a habit ever since she had come to stay at her personal estate in the east of Mercia. Without the obligations of her family or her husband, she had retreated into her work. It was easier to manage trades and taxes than it was to manage her own grief.

Because as much as Aethelflaed wished otherwise, she was still grieving. It had been more than a year since she had left Beomfleet. Fourteen months since she had watched Erik die at his brother's hands. Thirteen months since she had bled too long and too much, as every trace of her hoped-for family had left her body. She did not have the space to mourn then. Aethelred had been demanding, eager to prove to everyone what an attentive and devoted husband he was after he had lost his own wife in battle. And her parents and siblings had been overjoyed at Aethelflaed's return. She could not let on that she was heartbroken, not in the face of their relief. She had folded up her grief tight and small, pushed it deep into her heart, pretended it wasn't heavy enough to drag her down a little every day.

When the sheen of Aethelflaed's return had worn off, she had insisted on leaving Winchester and Aethelred for the peace of a rural estate. He had not protested: he had his own life to live without her interference and he had spies to keep track of her in his absence.

But when she finally found herself alone, Aethelflaed's grief caught up with her. Long, quiet days offered too much time and space to remember: Erik's gentle smile, the feel of his rough, strong hands on her skin, the whispered-plans they had made in the darkness. She could not shed those memories. She could only distract herself.

And so she worked. She focused so hard on ledgers and maps that she forgot to eat, drink, and stretch. Timid Estrith had just recently come into her service, and the poor girl didn't know what to do about her hermit of a lady. Each evening, when Aethelflaed unfolded herself from the desk, she vowed to be more alive in the morning. And each night, the memories caught up to her, a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

But tonight she had something to look forward to. Uhtred would be arriving tomorrow. He had sent word that he was visiting, passing through on his way south after meeting with his brother Ragnar. Aethelflaed was relieved and excited at the prospect of seeing her old friend and trusted ally. He was one of the few people in this world who knew what she had lost.

Maybe not tomorrow, she thought, when she opened a door to the courtyard. The rain was falling hard and fast. The roads would be a treacherous river of mud. Uhtred would be sheltering in a tavern with his men, not riding to meet her. Aethelflaed stared out at the rain, hoping its heavy sound would drown out her thoughts.