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Scyld
Waiting for Eodwine’s reply more tensely than he had wished to let on, Scyld could not quite control a jerk of surprise when Rowenna came up from behind him.
“Water?” she asked, and at first he thought she had only come at a bad moment; he nearly smiled weakly at her when she shot him a cross look.
He recovered quickly. “Please, my cup is nearly empty,” he said blandly to hide both his confusion and his irritation. He did not understand why he deserved that look. He supposed she must have overheard something, intentionally or not, that displeased her. Had she heard Eodwine’s use of his right name? He could think of nothing else. And why would she try to make an issue of it now, in front of Eodwine? Surely she could see that this was a serious conversation; why was she trying to insert her opinions into it? Her quarrel with him must be personal. Let her glare; he would not let her jeopardize his chance for pardon.
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