‘Annis?’ She did not realise that she had been pacing until Cedric touched her shoulder to stop her. His eyes were kind with concern as he said, ‘Tell me who this man is.’
‘I—I am not certain.’ She regretted the lie as soon as it was spoken. It sat like ash on her tongue.
His knowing gaze combined with her guilt stripped away the layers of her reluctance. ‘Then tell me who you suspect him to be. I cannot help you if I do not understand what we might be up against.’
He was right. Again. He was nearly always right, yet she could not bear to tell him. Or perhaps it was more that she could not bear him to know what she had done. She could hardly face the truth these last two years, much less confess her crime to him.
Stifling a groan of protest, she turned away and sat down on one of the many benches that lined the courtyard. In spring and summer, she planted flowers in the beds that filled the gaps between them, but they were dormant now with winter upon them. She had been too caught up in her own anguish to notice the cold, but she felt it now as it seeped from the wood of the bench through her clothing. As if her cloak were a bandage that could bind her hidden pain, she pulled it tight around her.
Cedric sat quietly beside her, his strong presence as calm and reassuring as always. Annis knew she had to tell him what she had done. If this Norseman was from Maerr as she suspected, then more would follow. Cedric deserved to know why.
Despite how strong she claimed to be, Annis had always suspected that she was very weak on the inside where it counted. After her Aunt Merewyn had been kidnapped by Danes, her parents had not wanted to chance another raid, so they had sent her to Wilfrid’s home. Annis had pretended to be glad. Without Merewyn there to care for her, she had not wanted to stay with them anyway. Her father was so busy she wondered sometimes if he even remembered her name, while her mother had never shown much interest in her. It had been easier to believe that she welcomed the move than to acknowledge the pain she harboured from their ease at ridding themselves of her. It did not mean the pain did not exist, it simply meant that she could not face it.
It was the same now. She had been sent to Wilfrid’s household with the understanding that she would marry Grim when she was old enough. She had not chosen Grim, but she had loved him. At first like a much older, distant cousin, but that had slowly begun to deepen after their marriage. It had hurt her when he had been killed and even more so when the babe in her womb had soon followed. While she had acknowledged that pain to an extent, it had been easier to plan revenge. When Wilfrid had nurtured that anger, it had been no problem at all to watch it grow until it had been all-consuming, driving out any thoughts of pain, of vulnerability.
She was not strong at all. Pain was something she carried around with her constantly. If she were a strong person, that pain would not hurt nearly as bad as it did. Perhaps if she wasn’t fighting against that pain, she might have made better choices.
‘Annis.’ Cedric took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze in silent encouragement.
She could not meet his eyes as she spoke, so she set her gaze to the silver and black hair at his temple. ‘Do you remember when I left two summers ago to go to Merewyn’s bedside?’
Merewyn had returned from the Norse lands with her Dane husband years ago and had taken up residence on the eastern coast. Her husband, Jarl Eirik, oversaw the Dane relations in the area Annis had called home as a small child. Annis had a fondness for her aunt and had spent time with her over the years, even if it did mean spending time with the Danes as well. ‘She was bedridden during the final months of carrying her last child?’
Cedric nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘Going to her bedside was merely an excuse to get away. I never saw her. Instead, I went to Maerr.’
‘Where the devil is Maerr?’
‘The Norse lands to the east. The home of Sigurd, the King of Maerr.’
Recognition dawned in his eyes at that name. Several years ago, before the killing in Maerr, Wilfrid had been part of a plan to assassinate Sigurd. Since Danes were scarce in the area, the Norse had come with the intent of staying. The Danes were already squeezing Glannoventa from the east, so Wilfrid wanted to stop this potential invasion by more outsiders. He had recruited Grim in his failed plan to kill Sigurd. Not only had they not assassinated Sigurd, but they had both received extensive injuries from the attack. It had taken many weeks, but Grim had died a gruesome, agonising death. Annis had tended him faithfully, but she hadn’t been able to help him. Unfortunately, she had lost the child she had been carrying soon after Grim’s death. The boy would have been their first child.
‘Sigurd...the one who wanted to take over Glannoventa,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘The same man. After he caused Grim’s death, Wilfrid became more determined than ever to kill him. Around two years ago, the hired men Wilfrid and Grim had used in their first attempt came for a visit. They had heard about an upcoming wedding in Maerr for one of Sigurd’s sons. It was an excellent opportunity to get close to the King, as many guests had been invited
