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“No apology is necessary,” Brecc said. “I could say exactly the same.”

“Ealdorman Brecc, you are welcome.” Kendryek spoke, and if the catch in his voice and the fact that he had yet to stand were any indication, the gentleman was in considerable pain. “Pardon me for not rising to greet you. My body is not as young as it once was and is protesting our long march.”

“I, too, am feeling the effects of too much time in the saddle,” Brecc said. Not as much as Kendryek, to be sure, but his comment seemed to put the older man at ease.

Kendryek drew his hood back and gazed up at Brecc. “How may I assist you, sire?”

“I have something that belongs to you.” Brecc tugged at the string looped around his belt, and the small linen bag loosened. Pulling it free, he stepped closer and offered it to the older man. “I was told that the bag contains medicinal herbs.”

Kendryek’s gaze dropped from Brecc’s face to the small sack. “My wife gave you this?” There was wonder in his voice.

“No, sire. It was given to me by your daughter, Aisley.”

His head shot up again. “Aisley?”

“Aye. She was most insistent that it reach you straightway.” Brecc inclined his head. “I have undoubtedly waited far longer than she had hoped but not so long that you cannot brew some tea before bedding down for the night, I hope.”

“I shall have someone see to it immediately,” Wulfhere said, reaching for a drinking vessel on the ground beside his father.

Kendryek tightened his fingers around the small bag. “Bring me the hot water, and I shall steep the tea myself.”

Offering a brief bow to his father and to Brecc, Wulfhere disappeared into the darkness.

“May I offer you a portion of grass upon which to sit until my son returns, Ealdorman Brecc?” There was a hint of humor in Kendryek’s tone, and Brecc found himself unaccountably glad to hear it. “I should be most interested to hear exactly how my young daughter managed this seemingly miraculous task.”

Attempting to ignore his aching muscles, Brecc lowered himself to the ground. He had intended to make his delivery and complete a circuit around the field before returning to his earlier position beside the fire, but talking to Kendryek about his green-eyed daughter’s unique petition for aid was far more appealing than overhearing muttered conversations among anxious warriors or listening to Ormod discuss battle strategy with the king.

“She came upon me as we were preparing to leave the courtyard,” he said. “I believe she had hoped to hand the bag to you herself but was unable to reach you in the press of men and horses.”

Kendryek shook his head slightly. “She must have fetched this as soon as I left my bedchamber. It is hard to believe there was enough time for her to prepare the herbs, but somehow, she managed it.”

“I received the impression that you are very important to her.”

Kendryek sighed. “She is a rather remarkable young lady,” he said. “Her mother is learned in the art of healing and has taught Aisley well. But Aisley possesses something greater than a knowledge of which plants contain curative powers; she has the gift of caring deeply for the well-being of others.”

“A powerful combination, to be sure,” Brecc said.

“Aye. And an uncommonly rare one.” He sighed again, and this time, the emotion felt deeper. “I pray she will be given the encouragement to nurture her gift. If so, she will be a blessing to far more than her ailing father.”

“How much longer will this take?” Diera asked. “We’ve been tying up weeds for two-and-a-half ages.”

Aisley giggled at Diera’s creative measure of time. Her sister disliked hanging plants up to dry almost as much as Aisley disliked working with a needle.

“Patience, Diera,” their mother said. “There are times when we are all required to do things we would rather not do.” She stepped onto the wooden stool and hung the string she’d just tied around a bunch of lavender on a hook in the ceiling beam. “It is a life lesson that is best learned at a young age.”

Aisley heard the resentment in her mother’s voice and looked up from the thyme she’d been sorting. It had been over a fortnight since her father, Wulfhere, and the other men had ridden out of the courtyard to confront the Vikings. Since then, conversations had been stilted, expressions anxious, and an unsettled aura had filled the house. Aisley, Diera, and their mother felt it, certainly. But so, too, did the servants.

Aisley wished there were some way of receiving word on how the men were faring. The continued silence was torture. It hung over the fields empty of laborers, the stables without stablehands, and the business establishments in town devoid of merchants. Unfortunately, it was a scenario that had been repeated all too often over the past year, and Aisley knew that if the laborers stayed away overly long, the repercussions would be far more serious than a pall of silence. The harvest would be impacted, and food would become scarce.

“How much longer do you think we shall have to wait before we receive news of the battle?” Aisley asked.

Diera darted a nervous glance her way, obviously surprised that Aisley had dared voice the question everyone was wondering.

“Why do you think I should know such a thing?” her mother snapped. Unfortunately, no amount of time outdoors gathering herbs and medicinal plants had fully erased the pinched expression on her face. “There is no reasoning with a Saxon man when he has his mind set on something. I daresay it is the same with a Viking. They will fight until they no longer remember what it is they are fighting for.”

“The last time Father gathered the fyrd, he said that they must fight to protect the people of Wiltshire and their land,” Diera said. “I do not think he will forget that.”

“Honor above all else,” their mother responded bitterly.