by Jayne Castel
“Very well,” she gave a sweet smile that made him ache to reach for her. “Dylan.”
She really had no idea how lovely she was, he realized. Perhaps that was part of her allure.
They lapsed into silence then, and when the quiet started to become uncomfortable, Dylan climbed to his feet and dusted the leaves off his cloak.
“I will go now,” he told Merwenna, gazing down at her face, “and you should do the same.”
She nodded, remaining silent as she too rose to her feet and faced him.
“Goodbye, Merwenna,” he said softly, resisting the urge to lean down and kiss her. They both knew where that led. “I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve it.”
“Farewell, Dylan,” she replied, her voice suddenly throaty, as if she were on the verge of weeping again. “For what it’s worth, I think you will make a good king.”
They stood for a few moments, their gazes fused one last time. Dylan then smiled, and let what he really wanted to say at that moment go unsaid. He did not deserve her kindness, but to say so would only upset her.
Then, without another word, the Prince of Powys turned and walked away through the trees.
Merwenna watched Cynddylan go, keeping her gaze upon his back until he disappeared from sight. Then, she let out the breath she was holding.
Frankly, the prince had surprised her. Not only that, but he had confused, and touched, her. She had not expected him to react the way he had when she had refused him. Even now, she trembled at how close she had come to surrendering.
Merwenna shivered and pulled her cloak tightly about her. Dylan was right, she should not linger here. She took the woodland path toward Weyham. Walking briskly, she made her way through the slumbering village, prudently skirting the mead hall where she could hear the strains of raucous singing. She arrived home to find her family all asleep.
Aeaba was curled up like a puppy on her furs next to the glowing fire pit, and Seward was stretched out nearby. The soft, rhythmic sound of his snoring filled the room.
Merwenna tip-toed across the rush-matting floor and lay down on her own furs, which Aeaba had laid out for her before going to bed. The furs were soft and Merwenna’s body ached with tiredness. Yet, sleep would not come.
She tried not to think of Dylan. She tried not to run their last conversation over and over again in her mind, but thoughts of him kept creeping back. At the memory of his tongue tangling with hers, his hands massaging her scalp as he kissed her, heat began to pulse between her thighs once more.
Damn him.
Merwenna rolled over on to her side, away from the fire pit and clenched her eyes shut.
She had come home, and yet she had never felt so lost.
***
A golden sunrise blazed in the east as Dylan and his army rode away from Weyham. It was a mild morning, although the scent of autumn was in the air, along with the smell of wood smoke.
Dylan rode near the front of his men, alongside Gwyn. His eyes stung with fatigue; after a sleepless night, the last thing he needed was a long day in the saddle. Powys still lay at least two days’ ride from Weyham, and Dylan was eager to move on.
They had delayed in Mercia long enough.
“Where did you get to last night?” Gwyn asked as they rode up the sloping hillside, his dark gaze gleaming with mischief. “I was about to send out a search party for you.”
Dylan gave him a sidelong glance.
His captain grinned. “Judging from the cycles under your eyes, I’d say the lass wore you out.”
Dylan gave a wry smile. “Would you believe me if I told you we just talked?”
Gwyn roared with laughter. “I’d say you were lying through your teeth.”
“Well then, you’ll just have to call me a liar.”
His captain’s laughter died away and his gaze narrowed in disbelief. “You’re telling me the truth – you didn’t take her?
“I am,” Dylan admitted, “although I can’t say I’m crowing about it.”
Gwyn snorted rudely. “What’s happened to you? Time was, you saw a girl you wanted and you took her.”
The prince shrugged. He cast his thoughts back to the night before and how Merwenna had shrunk away from his touch.
For some things, the price was too high.
With that, he urged his stallion into a canter and rode up to the head of the column, leaving Gwyn ruefully shaking his head behind him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Consequences
Merwenna’s first day back in Weyham fell into a timeless rhythm that made her feel as if she had never left. It was easier than she had thought to slip back into old routines.
She spent the morning threshing barley with her sister and mother. They laid out sheaves across a large rectangle of sacking and set to, taking turns at flailing the barley, in order to separate the grain from the chaff. It was hot, laborious work but the women fell into a rhythm, chatting amongst themselves as they worked.
Merwenna was grateful to be kept busy. It helped keep her mind from thoughts she would rather not dwell upon. She had hoped that she would awake with a fresh perspective, ready to begin a new life in Weyham. However, she had just woken feeling depressed.
What future awaited her here?
Weyham was an isolated village. Like Beorn, most of the young men her age had ridden off to war against the Northumbrians. Few had returned. By now, the whole village knew what she and Seward had done. Then, they had seen her return with the Prince of Powys, and Merwenna shuddered to think about the conclusions they had drawn.
Whether she wanted to admit it, or not, life would not go back to the way it was.
After an industrious morning, the family stopped for the noon meal. Wilfrid and Seward came in from the fields and they shared fresh griddle bread, cheese and small, sweet onions. It was a warm day, so they sat outside, under the shade of their home, enjoying the light breeze that whispered down the valley.
Even so, the meal was consumed in silence. Merwenna stole a glance at her brother as she ate. After last night’s conversation, his attitude had thawed toward her somewhat; however, he barely spoke to anyone, withdrawn in his own thoughts.
Merwenna picked at her lunch, her stomach closed.
Things were still not right with her parents, either. At dawn, the family had broken their fast together, as always, but a tense silence remained. Cynewyn had appeared the readiest to forgive both her children for their transgressions, but Wilfrid had lapsed into stubborn silence, his anger a brooding presence.
Now, he sat silently chewing his meal, saying little and avoiding her gaze.
Merwenna could see that she had deeply hurt him and she felt a lingering guilt over it. Wilfrid had only ever treated his daughter like his princess, and in return, she had shamed him before the whole village.
“How much more of the harvest is there?” Merwenna asked eventually, breaking the weighty silence.
“Still quite a bit,” her mother replied, handing her a cup of water. “We will need to hurry before the weather turns.”
“The carrots and onions in the lower field are getting past their best,” Wil spoke up for the first time since sitting down to eat. “They need picking today.”
“Yes fæder,” Merwenna replied hurriedly, anxious to please him. “I will do it this afternoon.”
Wil regarded her, his gaze narrowing. She realized, with a sinking feeling in her belly, that he was not so easily appeased.
“You let your family down,” he accused. “Do you think survival is easy out here on the fringes of the kingdom? Don’t you care that because of your selfishness, your sister might not have enough to eat this winter?”
“Wil,” Cynewyn interrupted gently, “Merwenna knows what she’s done.” She placed a hand on her husband’s thigh to calm him but he brushed it aside.
“Does she?” Wil got to his feet and brushed crumbs off his breeches. “I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for my family. I stepped away from a wa
rrior’s life to ensure you all had a roof over your heads and food in your bellies. In return, my son and daughter run off at harvest, without a thought to the consequences.”
“I’m sorry,” Merwenna pleaded, “I will do my best to make amends for what I’ve done.”
“Good,” Wil grunted, not remotely placated by his daughters apology. “Make sure that you do.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed back to the fields.
***
“Merwenna, I can see something is troubling you.” Cynewyn gave her daughter a sidelong glance. It was mid-afternoon and the two of them were alone in the fields, harvesting carrots. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”
Merwenna grimaced and pulled up a bunch of carrots up, before brushing soil off them.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Sometimes it helps to speak of such things,” her mother took the carrots and placed them in the enormous wicker basket she carried. “Don’t worry about your father. He is hurt but he will recover in time.”
Merwenna looked down at her dirt-encrusted hands and frowned. “I’m not sure I deserve his forgiveness, or yours. I’m sorry, mōder, I have behaved selfishly.”
Cynewyn nodded. She obviously agreed with her daughter on that. “I’m not going to ask you why you did it. I was young once – and I know youth is rash and extreme.”
“Part of me knew Beorn wasn’t coming back,” Merwenna uprooted another bunch of carrots with more force than was necessary. “Perhaps, I went looking for him because I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”
“It’s easier to take action rather than be made to wait,” Cynewyn replied. “Whatever the reason – it is done with now.”
“Beorn was my future,” Merwenna sat back on her heels and met her mother’s gaze. “Now that he’s gone I feel as if I’m just drifting.”
“You will find your path soon enough,” Cynewyn smiled. “You may not realize it, but you have already started.”
Merwenna frowned, not understanding her mother’s meaning. “How so?”
“I saw how the Prince of Powys looked at you, Merwenna. And the way you looked at him.”
“Mōder!” Merwenna gasped, turning on her mother. “What are you saying?”
“You stayed out late last night,” Cynewyn pressed on. “Were you with him?”
“No!”
“Listen to me,” Cynewyn put the basket of carrots to one side and took hold of her daughter’s hands. “There’s no shame in it. Sometimes we believe we’re in love but it’s really something else. You’re not betraying Beorn by wanting Cynddylan.”
“Are you saying I didn’t love Beorn?” Merwenna was angry now, and near to tears.
“No – I’m just saying that love isn’t as clear-sighted as you think it to be. You wouldn’t be the first young woman to make that mistake. I did.”
“What do you mean?” Merwenna extracted her hands from her mother’s grip. She did not like what she was hearing. Of course she loved Beorn, and she was furious that her mother would suggest otherwise.
“You know I was married to another man before your father?”
Merwenna nodded. She knew her mother’s first husband had been an ealdorman killed during a Saxon raid. She had heard the story of how her parents came together many times. Her parents were from the village of Went in the Kingdom of the East Angles; her father had once served King Raedwald of the East Angles – the greatest of all the Wuffinga kings. Cynewyn and Wil had been reunited a decade after she had rejected him, and the lovers had ended up running away from their old lives together, to begin again in Mercia.
“Aldwulf was every young maid’s dream – confident, blond, and charming,” Cynewyn continued with a wistful smile. “He was everything Wil wasn’t. It took me a decade, and a lot of heart-ache to realize that a young woman often loves for what she wants to see – not for what’s truly there.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Merwenna replied stonily.
Cynewyn continued to watch her daughter’s face, the sad smile lingering.
“What I’m trying to explain is that none of us know what lies ahead. A blessing can end up a curse, and tragedy can open doors you never knew existed.”
Cynewyn rose to her feet and picked up the basket, which was now overflowing with carrots.
“I won’t go on. Just remember that your life didn’t end because Beorn died. Don’t torture yourself over what you cannot change.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Newcomers to Weyham
Light seeped out from the mead hall and pooled like molten iron on the path ahead.
Seward and his father approached the long, low-slung, thatched building, weary after a hard day in the fields. They did not converse. After the initial confrontation upon Seward’s return, father and son had spoken little. Yet, Seward knew the matter was not closed. He could tell his father’s anger still simmered. They would face off again sooner or later.
Seward paused at the entrance to the mead hall, allowing his father through the low doorway first. Immediately the sweet scent of mead hit Seward, mingled with the less pleasant smell of sweating male bodies.
Ducking through the entrance, Seward saw that the hall was packed this evening. It was far busier than he had seen it in a while. The Cymry army had departed; these newcomers were Mercian.
Seward waited, as his father joined the line for a cup of mead, and cast a glance to the far end of the hall, where a loud burst of drunken laughter had erupted.
Seward’s gaze focused on the man in the center of the group. Suddenly, he felt as if he had just plunged head first into a trough of icy water.
The man was ruggedly handsome, with shaggy brown hair and cold eyes. His mouth was twisted in a smirk as he listened to the man beside him.
Rodor of Tamworth.
A group of warriors surrounded Rodor. They were rough, dangerous-looking men who were drinking fast – too fast.
Seward swallowed hard, his bowels cramping. Rodor was the last individual he wished to see in this world, or beyond. The warrior had not yet looked his way, but Seward knew the moment he did, he was likely to recognize, and then humiliate, him.
His parents knew nothing about what had really happened in Tamworth, and he was in no hurry to tell them. They would not look kindly on their son rutting with one of the king’s slaves, but what would anger them even more was that he had been foolish enough to get caught.
“Seward?” his father must have noticed his son’s sudden pallor, for he was frowning at him. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” Seward muttered, turning away. “I need to piss – back soon.”
Not waiting for Wil’s reply, but feeling his father’s gaze burning him between his shoulder blades, Seward ducked out of the mead hall and into the gathering dusk.
Outside, he strode away, forcing himself not to run.
***
His family were seated companionably around the gently crackling fire pit – his wife and daughters sewing, his son whittling a piece of wood – when Wil returned home from the mead hall.
Wil halted in the doorway, his gaze immediately going to Seward.
“Where did you get to?”
Seward shrugged, keeping his gaze focused upon the piece of wood he was whittling. “Wasn’t in the mood for mead.”
“A pity,” Wil stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him, “for there was intriguing talk inside the mead hall. There are visitors to Weyham this night, a group of the king’s men.”
“Really,” Cynewyn put down her sewing. “Why would they be here?”
“They didn’t say initially – although drink loosens men’s lips and I gained the ear of one of the men. He was well into his cups by the time I spoke to him. What he told me was very interesting indeed.”
Seward looked up at that, his young face milk-white in the fire light.
“You’re as pale as a shade, Seward,” Wil said, his tone sharpeni
ng. “Why do those men frighten you?”
“Who’s says I’m scared?” Seward replied belligerently.
“I do.”
“Those men,” Cynewyn interrupted, “did you learn why they’re here?”
“They’re led by a man named Rodor,” Wil replied, his gaze still upon his son. “One of the king’s finest warriors. He and his men are tracking the Prince of Powys. They plan to kill him before he reaches the border.”
“Kill him?” Merwenna spoke up, her face taut in the firelight. “But Mercia and Powys are allies.”
“They are – but it appears that Cynddylan insulted Penda at Tamworth. He now seeks reckoning against him.”
“Cynddylan and his men rode to Mercia’s aid and this is how Penda repays him?” Merwenna countered angrily.
Wil’s gaze shifted from his son to his eldest daughter, his gaze narrowing.
“You forget – our village lost good men for Penda too.”
“But Cynddylan lost half his army! This is a reckoning without honor.”
Wil’s frown deepened. “You are right, they are without honor. They intend to sneak into Cynddylan’s encampment and slay him while he sleeps. Yet, whatever their motives, it has nothing to do with us – or you. We must look after ourselves, if we want to survive.”
Merwenna’s gaze left his, settling upon the tunic she was mending. Her cheeks were flushed and he could see she was upset. “Yes, fæder.”
Satisfied that his daughter had minded him, Wil turned his attention back to his son.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Seward.”
“What’s that?” Seward replied, his expression sullen.
“You took one look at Rodor and nearly collapsed. Why?”
Seward stared back at him, his face set in hard lines of defiance.
“We’re not finishing this conversation till I get the truth out of you,” Wil folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not enough that you abandon your family in the middle of harvest, but you are now covering up something. Tell me what it is.”
