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Wynflaed sighed and took a few deep breaths once she had reached her and Athanar's room. For not the first time, she blessed her status and the privacy it afforded her. Her heart still pounded at the exchange she had had with Saeryn, though it had been pushed out by the holbytla's arrival. That she could not see the enemy in their midst, be Modtryth witting or no, stunned her and left her cold. Was it her youth that made her think so, or her coming of age in a time of peace, or the rule of her husband, who, fine eorl though he may be, let this Meadhall run itself more or less on its own?
For a moment, Wynflaed felt her age. More than that, though, she felt the absence of the company that she had come to rely on in Edoras--and especially her husband's company, though he might only be gone for the day. There were so few here to confide in, and none of them of a fitting station...
The easy camaraderie, too, of the entire kitchen once the holbytla had arrived, and the way the kitchen had seemed to let out pent-up breaths as she had departed...
She shook her head. There was nothing good to come of moping, and was she not a lady and an eorl's wife? It had been, and it was, an honour to accept this position; and there was still so much good she could do here, so many inefficiencies she could eliminate.
She left the room and made her way to the stables. Wulfric and Wilheard were with Athanar, of course, but Aedre was at the Hall, and thus was probably with her horse. The horse, and Aedre, were gone. Wynflaed smiled, but if she did not see her before sundown there would be harsh words.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the kitchen. She would learn more of this holbytla, and of the people and the land he came from.
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