A cold spray wet Thomas" face as he came to a halt at the northern tip of Lindisfarne. The churning waters at the base of of the cliff where the pounding waves met stone were as chaotic as Thomas" thoughts. Despite the bright morning sun, the lingering remnants of the misty, menacing dream that had plagued him since his Crossing clung to him like a shroud. Even the morning prayers had not brought the peace he sought, driving him to take a walk along the coast to try to calm his agitation.
Fear had stalked him since his arrival three days ago. Solstice was tomorrow. Even now the ealdormen and thegns and other high-ranking members of Bernicia’s and Deira’s aristocracies were heading towards Yeavering for the witenagemot.
Thomas’ conviction that whatever Wulfram might do at Solstice would
