Aeva The Wild

by Claire Marion

  “You can ride with me, Æva,” Ælric suggested with a glint in his eye, nudging his horse with well-muscled thighs so the beast danced beneath him. Æva gave him a wide-eyed stare. Though she had greatly lost her fear of the men, Ælric’s flirtatious attitude made her a little uneasy. The thought of riding with him, tucked up close to the heat of his body, was unnerving.

  “Astride?” she asked, swallowing.

  She had never ridden, but the ladies she had seen on horseback rode side-saddle, modest and demure. She tugged at her clothes, uncomfortable.

  “Idin,” Wulfram cut across, eager to get going, “Take the girl.”

  Æva exhaled a silent sigh of relief. The thought of riding with Wulfram terrified her even more.

  Idin reached down a hand and pulled her gently into the saddle in front of him. She tried to get comfortable, but the slope of the saddle tilted her body back towards his, the backs of her legs resting against his thighs. Idin took the reins in one hand and wound a securing arm around her middle.

  “Are you okay?” his voice was a murmur in her ear, like a lover’s. Her stomach muscles clenched.

  “Yes,” she forced herself to croak.

  “Hold on to the neck strap,” Idin took her hands and guided them to a thin strip of leather buckled around the horse’s thick, muscular neck. She gripped it, fingers trembling.

  “Let’s go,” Wulfram turned and began to canter into the night.

  They rode the horses hard, covering ground that would have taken days on foot. Æva soon became accustomed to the rhythm of the chestnut horse’s swaying canter. The tension at such close contact to a man, however, refused to lessen. Their bodies rocked together with each pace the horse took.

  Ælric enjoyed her obvious discomfort, complaining in a loud voice that it was his turn to ride with her when they stopped at a stream to allow the horses to drink and quench their own thirst. He laughed at the embarrassment on her face, and she knew his teasing was without menace. Still, she hovered close to Idin when the men began to remount, grateful when he automatically reached down to help her up.

  They rode until the sun had climbed halfway into the sky, turning the vast dome from a pale blue to blazing azure. When Wulfram pulled his panting mount to a walk, she became acutely aware that she was sweating, her perspiration mingling with Idin’s with an intimacy that seemed indecent. She closed her eyes, feeling young and embarrassed and distinctly out of her depth.

  “That is our destination,” Wulfram rumbled. “Babbanburth, home of the King of Northumbria.”

  The ground swept forward, the road splitting vast fields of farmland. Beyond, the sea rose, sweeping magnificently back towards the horizon. It was beautiful, glorious. But what caught her attention was the large mound of rock that erupted out between the two, rising almost a hundred yards towards the sky. Perched on top of this sat a small town, encircled by a wooden palisade which completely hid the inside from view.

  Wulfram glanced sideways at Æva, considering her with shrewd eyes. “I think it would be best, Æva, if you were to take on the role of our handmaiden whilst we are here. It will save any awkward questions.”

  Æva nodded mutely. If Wulfram decided that he could no longer look after her, she would be alone again. Perhaps the men of Babbanburth would be better than the noble they’d left behind in Maelton, and perhaps not.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied quietly.

  He shocked her by laughing, the first time she had heard him do so. The expression took years from his careworn face, revealing a kindness under the intimidating cool that so unnerved her.

  “That’s a good start,” he told her.

  ᚷ

  Æva stood with her back to the wall, trying to stop her eyes from darting around the room. Wulfram, Ælric and Idin sat comfortably at a table in front of her. Its surface was littered with the remains of a sumptuous feast and strewn with jugs brimming with mead and ale. Ælric had found a servant girl to get clothes for her, and the simple wool shift she wore matched those of the other handmaidens in the Great Hall. It was hot in the crowded room, and the rough fabric itched and irritated her skin, but the sleeves covered her arms, tapering to a cuff that gently ticked her palm, and the skirt hung protectively around her legs, ending a few inches from the floor. She still wore the makeshift shoes Idin had helped her fashion. Her hair was drawn back, curled into a tight bun.

  The hall was full to the brim. It was clear they had arrived at an important time; many nobles had gathered, each bringing with them a small contingent of warriors. Every table was crowded, the benches hidden beneath a sea of legs as the men gorged themselves on food and drink, elbow to elbow. Servants and handmaidens scurried amongst them, bringing constant supplies of meat and ale.

  Æva was exhausted. The night ride had been incessant, and she had been given no opportunity to rest since they arrived. Although Wulfram had met with the King before noon, the feasting and drinking had begun at lunchtime, and now, as the night darkened around the Great Hall, the carousing showed no signs of abating. As a servant, she was not allowed to sit at the benches, and so her legs and back ached from the long hours of standing. At least she wasn’t hungry; Idin had regularly slipped scraps from the feast back to her. Now, though, she was flagging. Against her will, her eyes began to close and she swayed backwards towards the expensive silks draped down the wall behind her. Just in time, she jerked herself upright, shifting on the bruised soles of her feet.

  “Æva.” Ælric banged his empty wooden mug down onto the table.

  Quickly, Æva gathered the drinking vessel, pausing as Idin and Wulfram drained their own cups before lifting them in a precarious pile in her arms. For the benefit of the men sitting around Wulfram, with whom he had been deep in conversation, she curtseyed once and scampered across the hall towards the small alcove housing the barrels of ale.

  Refilling the mugs gave her an opportunity to stretch her legs, easing the cramping in her stiff muscles, and lifting the curtain of sleepiness that threatened to crush her as she stood motionless in the stifling heat. On the other hand, it sent her into the melee of men, who, in their drunken good spirits, were beginning to become rowdy and unruly. As she bustled past, head down in a futile attempt to be inconspicuous, they cat called at her and made obscene gestures. Some would even attempt to grab out at her, squeezing any parts of her body they could reach. Her embarrassment delighted them, bursts of jovial laughter chasing her across the room.

  When she had filled the mugs, the return journey was just as perilous. The drinking vessels were heavy, and in her uncertain hands, the liquid sloshed hazardously. She had witnessed a man backhanding a servant girl across the face, sending her tumbling to the ground and splitting open the tender skin of her cheek, just for spilling ale on him as she served his table. Not wanting to meet the same fate, she moved with caution, tolerating with clenched teeth the slaps and pokes and pinches as she concentrated on not allowing the surface of the ale to break the rim of the cups.

  She almost dropped all three mugs as she attempted to place them back on the table. The floor was slippery with the grease from scraps of meat that had fallen and small puddles of drink from knocked cups. As she leaned forward, her back foot skidded out from under her. She lurched towards the table, eyes wide as the ale tilted precariously. Two arms darted out and grasped the mugs, fitting all three with ease in large, strong hands.

  Idin placed the mugs on the table, using his elbow to steady Æva and stop her falling face down onto the tabletop. Catching the disapproving raised eyebrow of a man sitting opposite, he turned and glared at her.

  “Careful, girl!” he warned, his voice a throaty growl.

  Æva smarted at the rebuke, but she knew she had to play her part.

  “Sorry, sir,” she mumbled, her face hidden.

  Idin turned his back on her.

  As she stood there, fuming, a new sensation began to prickle at her skin. She had the strangest feeling she was being watched. She battled to keep her head
down, but the idea refused to be ignored.

  She looked up, eyes scanning the room for the gaze she felt searing her skin. On the second sweep, her eyes locked with an unwavering stare of cobalt blue. It came from the top end of the hall, an elongated table at right angles to the rest, and was piercing even through the haze of the smoking fire. She had no doubt he was looking at her.

  Æva expected the man to look away, to lose interest, but he continued to watch her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw he kept his attention on her, even when he made conversation with those beside him. Unnerved, she noticed nothing else about him; not the expensive clothing he wore, the length of dark blond hair that fell around a handsome face, or the shadow of a beard warming his jaw.

  Æva swallowed uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot. Nervously, she looked his way once more. He was still staring. Never taking his eyes off her, the man lifted his cup to drink deeply. He wiped his mouth slowly. Enjoying the obvious affect he had on her, the stranger grinned.

  At that moment a servant came up behind him and whispered a message in his ear. He turned his eyes away only for a second, but long enough to release Æva. She whipped her gaze back to the table in front of her, determined not to look again.

  She tried to focus her mind on something else. Her eyes picked out a handmaiden rushing across the room, five large mugs balanced in her hands. The girl’s movements were fluid, almost feline in their grace. She danced to one of the tables and deftly served the ale to the waiting warriors. As she turned away, one of the men grabbed her around the waist, pulling her roughly into his lap. To Æva’s surprise, the girl laughed, swaying into his body and curling one arm around his shoulders. After taking a slug of ale, he kissed her on the mouth, one hand roving over the curves of her body. Shocked, Æva pulled her gaze away.

  Her eye fell on Ælric, mouth popping open as she realised that he, too, had ensnared a servant girl. Although he was not engaging in such flagrant lewdness, his eyes were aflame as they journeyed over the ample bosom of the girl. She only giggled, delighted by the attention of a handsome soldier. In fact, everywhere Æva looked the handmaidens seemed to be entertaining the men, only the young male servants running to and fro with flagons of drink. Panicked, she looked instinctively to Idin, who was watching her, his eyes amused.

  Leaning back, he grasped her hand and pulled her onto his lap. Æva stiffened.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice tight with anxiety.

  He chuckled in her ear.

  “Claiming you. Unless you would like to spend the night with one of these men?”

  He gestured discreetly around the table at the men who, oblivious to Æva, had been eyeing her speculatively. He laughed harder as her face blanched with understanding, but for a heartbeat Æva’s thoughts had flickered to an image of cobalt blue, before modesty stopped her short.

  Those same eyes stared at her now, noticing shrewdly how the young warrior’s arm wrapped protectively around the girl, but the other remained firmly on the table, curved around his ale.

  Finally the Great Hall began to empty. Some men staggered home to their wives, whilst others merely fell asleep at the tables, or flopped to the floor. Ælric disappeared, his arm still wound around the serving girl. Æva watched him go.

  “Where is he going?” she whispered to Idin, who still held her possessively across his lap.

  Idin’s mouth twitched with amusement.

  “He is, um...” he paused, looking a little embarrassed.

  “She is a prostitute,” Wulfram interjected, turning from the warrior he had been talking to, who now lay with his face in the plate of food he had been scoffing.

  “Oh!” Æva looked round at the remaining handmaidens, wondering if they, too, were... she couldn’t bring herself to think it. In honesty, she had very little understanding of what it was. All she had learned in the nunnery was that such acts were shameful and unclean. Lust and desire had not existed for her. Again, she realised that her sheltered upbringing had left her unprepared for the unexpected turn her life had taken.

  A servant showed Wulfram and Idin to a small antechamber off the Great Hall where a sleeping area of straw and heather was laid out.

  “I will take your handmaiden to the servants’ quarters,” he offered.

  Æva did not even have time to turn and eye Wulfram beseechingly before Idin spoke.

  “The girl will stay with me.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The servant nodded and bowed once. He turned to leave, a smirk on his face. Æva didn’t care what he thought, just so long as she didn’t have to be on her own. Wulfram and Idin sat, both still alert, but Æva dropped straight into a corner, exhausted. She heard the men start murmuring as she closed her eyes. It was a soothing sound, lulling her to sleep.

  “What was said?” Idin’s voice was hushed, aware of listening ears as well as the sleeping girl. Wulfram shook his head in disgust.

  “The King had his monk read the scroll to the whole room, then the Lords discussed what they should do. They wanted to act quickly, to gather an army to seek out and destroy the raiders, to be prepared in case a strong Viking force should attack.”

  “And the King?”

  Wulfram snorted.

  “He just sat there, saying nothing. When the Lords had agreed, he simply shook his head.”

  “No army?” Idin’s voice was shocked. The Viking raiders had been burning and pillaging villages and monasteries across Northumbria, killing indiscriminately. He could not believe the King would not act to stop them.

  “No. He had to be cajoled to send out messengers to Deira with warnings. He said the Church deserved their fate; God’s judgement for their greed. Lord Ælle was furious, he flew into an almighty rage, but the King would not be moved.”

  Idin blew out his breath in a shocked exhale.

  “How can he do nothing?” he asked, shaking his head in dismay.

  “He thinks the stories are exaggerated, that they are being planted by the Mercians to lure him away so that they can take advantage and strike hard. He hoards his strength here, blinded by his paranoia.”

  He broke off suddenly. Both men held their breaths at a rustling close by. Wulfram shifted into a crouch, eyeing the door warily. After a few seconds, the trembling snout of a rat inched into view, drawn by the banquet on offer in the Great Hall. The men relaxed, continuing their conversation.

  “What of us?” Idin asked warily. Wulfram shrugged.

  “We are to stay here under the command of the King. There will be no soldiers for the Lord of Bernicia, however. Renwearde’s bargain was unsuccessful.”

  “Then send us home,” Idin scowled. Wulfram smiled at the furious expression on his face.

  “I am sorry, my friend. It seems we are to remain here for a while yet.”

  They lapsed into silence. Idin’s eyes strayed to the corner of the room, where Æva lay curled up, sleeping.

  “What are we going to do with her?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know,” Wulfram replied quietly, his gaze troubled as he watched Æva sleep.

  ᚹ

  Æva woke warm and comfortable. She stretched her arms out in front of her, undulating in the soft bed. As she moved, the sweet smell of straw and heather wafted into the air. She turned, twisting into the heat source behind her, mewling softly as the arms adjusted to curl her closer. For a moment she lay, safe, relaxed and contented, her face pressed against the soft tunic fabric.

  Her eyes snapped open as she realised where she was. She sat bolt upright, her hair half tangled out of the bun and falling around her face. Idin lay sleeping beside her, his arm slung around her middle. He stirred at her sudden movement but didn’t wake. Æva looked down at him; she must have edged close to him in the night, seeking the comfort of his body heat.

  Embarrassed at the thought of him rousing and finding them entwined like lovers, she gingerly lifted his arm, resting his hand across his torso before scuttling across the small room and
settling down with her back against the rough wooden partition wall. Idin frowned, rolling forward into the shallow impression her body had made, still warm. Only then did she realise Wulfram was missing, and Ælric had not returned.

  The antechamber had no door. A curtain hung for privacy, but it had been swept aside. Though the Great Hall was almost empty, Æva noticed servants walking to and fro. The chaos and mess from the previous night’s banquet had already been cleared away. Æva leaned forward, peering out of the doorway, intrigued by the activity. One servant paused, glancing towards the antechamber, aware of her scrutiny. Automatically Æva yanked herself back out of sight, the force of her movement slamming her back against the wall, head smacking into the wood. She sucked a breath in with a hiss, rubbing the almost healed bump that now throbbed again. A muffled snicker drew her attention back to Idin. He lay on his back, his arms resting behind his head, watching her with amusement.

  “Too frightened to go outside, little rabbit?” he asked, a teasing smile on his face.

  Æva smiled shyly.

  “I was just making sure no one came near enough to hear you snoring,” she joked back, experiencing a thrill at her daring.

  Idin laughed, coiling his body up from the bedding and rising to his feet.

  “Come,” he said, ruffling her hair with affection as he passed.

  Æva scrambled up after him, hastily smoothing her hair. Idin walked through the Great Hall, exchanging nods with several men who were wearily coming around, their eyes blood-shot and unfocused, food and drink staining their clothes. The door to the hall was open, grey light filtering in. The unseasonable sunshine had vanished, a thick layer of cloud hanging oppressively over them. Idin jogged down the stairs, leaving Æva trotting after him. Wulfram and Ælric were sat on a low stone wall at the opposite end of the square. As Æva approached she realised they were breakfasting.

  “Good morning, little one,” Ælric grinned at her in welcome and she smiled back without thinking. Already, she felt almost at ease in their company.