The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  Wil rolled away from her with a soft groan of protest, his eyes opening, as she slid from under him and rose to her feet.

  “Cynewyn?”

  “‘Tis cold,” she replied softly. “I need to get dressed.”

  She could feel his gaze upon her as she retrieved her tunics, from where Wil had flung them into the bushes. Now that night had gone, she suddenly felt self-conscious and had to force herself not to cover herself up under his gaze.

  ‘Tis a bit late for modesty now, she thought wryly, pulling her long linen under-tunic over her head and letting it fall about her ankles, you went too far last night to play the blushing maid now. But blush Cynewyn did, when she remembered what he had done to her, and she to him, over the arc of the long night.

  Keeping her gaze averted from Wil, she reached for the thicker, woolen tunic that would keep her warm. Her body trembled with cold as she tied her girdle about her waist.

  Wil also rose to his feet. Not in the slightest self-conscious, he went to retrieve his clothing – and despite that she was no longer held thrall by the passion that consumed them both till exhaustion – Cynewyn found herself admiring his naked, masculine body. Wil pulled on his breeches and turned back to her. Cynewyn hurriedly looked away lest he see her staring.

  It was awkward this morning. After everything that they had shared, shrouded by darkness, Cynewyn now felt at a complete loss for words. She could not bring herself to regret what had passed between them; yet, at the same time, she knew that she barely knew this man. Before they had fallen upon each other in a lust-filled frenzy, they had barely spoken. If she wished to remain unshackled, this was not the way to go about it.

  He saved your life, and you were grateful, that’s why you responded how you did, she told herself as she sat down and pulled on her fur-lined boots. Yet, she knew the truth of it. She had wanted him. Ever since she had locked gazes with Wil back in Blackhill, this had been building. Being alone together, in the middle of the woods, had just made it all the easier to give in.

  Cynewyn slung her fur cloak about her shoulders. Her stomach growled, aching with sudden hunger. Last night had distracted her from her empty belly. She was ravenous now – but there was no food to be had.

  “Let’s go,” she told Wil, glancing across their campsite for the last time. Last night already felt like a bewitching; one that could not withstand daylight. “We need to reach the others.”

  Wil nodded, his gaze searching her face.

  “Are you well?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  She nodded, smiling more brightly than necessary and stepping back from him. “Just hungry – and thirsty.”

  He stepped closer still, reaching for her, but Cynewyn slipped away, avoiding his gaze.

  “We need to go,” she murmured.

  Wil stood watching her a moment before he nodded, his expression shuttered. “Very well.”

  They left the campsite, quenching their thirsts at the stream before Wil led the way north. The mist began to clear, and the sun, containing more warmth than it had since autumn, burned the last of the fog away. The sky above the tree tops turned a bright robin’s egg blue.

  Wil and Cynewyn continued in silence for most of the morning. Cynewyn walked a few paces behind him; her gaze often straying – against her will – to the muscular breadth of his back and shoulders. She could tell her distance this morning had thrown him. He did not show hurt on this face but she had seen it flare in his eyes.

  Part of her, the part that had delighted in every moment they had shared the night before, ached at the coldness she feigned this morning. Yet, they had spoken little during the night, making it easier this morning to create a gulf between them.

  From her vantage point behind him, Cynewyn could see the tension in his shoulders. He was a man quite unlike any she had ever met; he presented a reserved mask to the world but last night had revealed a molten core. He was so much more than he appeared – frighteningly so.

  And yet, with her husband just recently departed, their coupling had been as ill-timed as it was ill-advised. She was an ealdorman’s widow – the king would not look kindly upon her if she arrived in Rendlaesham, arm-in-arm with one of his thegns. Worse still, he might insist that they marry. Cynewyn’s stomach cramped at the thought. She could not allow that to happen. Her newfound freedom was too important to her to throw away over one night of passion.

  Mid-morning, they came upon a patch of raspberries – the first of the spring. Famished, they fell upon the berries, picking the bushes clean. It was a light meal but it took the edge off their hunger nonetheless. Finishing her last mouthful, Cynewyn straightened up and gazed around the glade in which they stood. With the sun dappling the ground, and shafts of golden light filtering through the branches above them, it was an idyllic spot – far from the hardship and disappointment of everyday life. Had circumstances been different, she would have liked to remain here and enjoy the tranquility.

  However, as she gazed around at her surroundings, Cynewyn was aware of Wil staring at her. Eventually, unable to ignore him any longer, she let her gaze meet his.

  Wil stared at Cynewyn, drinking in the blueness of her eyes, her sensual features and milky skin. At last, she had acknowledged his existence. Perhaps there was hope after all. Maybe she had just needed time to come to terms with what had happened between them.

  It had changed his life.

  He had never dared dream that he could ever have the lovely Cynewyn, daughter of Eomer of Went. Even now, he had to remind himself that last night had been real and not some erotic dream. In fact, her coldness this morning had made him wonder if last night had just been some forest enchantment – a spell broken by daylight.

  Her detachment – the way she had shrank back from him when he tried to kiss her – had stung. Yet now she returned his gaze, and in her eyes he could see conflict.

  “Cynewyn,” he began, stepping close to her. He noted that her lips, still bee-stung from last night, were stained raspberry. “Do you regret what happened between us?”

  He watched her swallow, her face tensing. That expression told him all, cutting him to the quick.

  “We should not have done it,” she murmured. “It can only bring trouble to us both?”

  “Why?” he stepped closer, staring down at her face, aching to kiss her – even though her words wounded him. Her gaze told him a different story; her pupils were dilated as she held his gaze, reacting to his nearness. “Tell me why we can’t be together?”

  “It wouldn’t work,” she protested weakly, her cheeks flushing. “I’m an ealdorman’s daughter and you’re a…”

  “So it still comes back to rank?” he ground the words out, cutting her off, his anger flaring. “You still think I’m not worthy? I’m no longer the spearman you rejected. I’m the king’s thegn. Surely, after everything that’s happened, you don’t still think you’re better than me?”

  He saw her gaze narrow and knew that he had hit a nerve.

  “I am still an ealdorman’s daughter,” she informed him imperiously, “not some farmer’s daughter whose skirts you can lift whenever it pleases you.”

  Wil laughed at that, although there was no humor in it. He took a step closer so that they were almost touching. “You’re not so different to other women, Cynewyn,” he told her, his voice lowering. “You like to think you’re better than the rest, but with a man between your legs you’re all the same.”

  Cynewyn lashed out and struck him hard across the face. “Dog!” she snarled. “I won’t be making the same mistake twice!”

  With that she raised her hand to strike him again.

  However, this time, Wil was ready for her. He seized both her wrists and held her fast. His cheek burned but he tried to ignore it as he glared down at her.

  “You are too free with your hands,” he spoke calmly, although he boiled with rage inside. “‘Tis not wise to lash out at someone twice your size.”

  “Churl!” she struggled to break free of hi
s grip. “Let go of me!”

  In response, Wil pushed her backward a few paces so her back was pressed against the rough bark of a beech tree. Even as angry as he was, Cynewyn’s nearness affected him like strong mead. He had the overwhelming desire then to smother her curses with his lips, to smooth away their angry words with his hands.

  It was all going wrong. He had said things, they both had, ugly things that they could not take back. He wanted to make it right again; yet he had no idea what he could do to breach the gulf between them.

  He did then, the only thing he thought could bring them close again. He kissed her.

  Cynewyn struggled against his embrace; her knee knifing upwards toward his groin. Anticipating her, he pressed his body hard against hers, pushing her knee aside. As soon as his mouth left hers, Cynewyn spat a curse at him, so Wil kissed her again, his hands pinning her wrists against the tree trunk. He kissed her hard, his lips bruising hers; letting her feel his rage and frustration – and she fought him in return.

  Wil continued to kiss her, his mouth gradually softening. It took a while, but eventually he heard her groan in surrender. Without hesitation, he slid his tongue between her lips and released her wrists, pulling her body hard against his. Wil hitched up her skirts, his hands sliding up the smooth skin of her thighs before parting her legs.

  Cynewyn arched against him, a soft whimper escaping her. Wil’s breath caught in his throat as hunger consumed him.

  This woman was his undoing.

  He entered her with one smooth thrust, gasping at how hot and wet she was. Despite her anger, despite her words, her body could not deny the truth. Wil groaned her name and gave in to his instincts. Last night he had held back, he had drawn out their pleasure, enjoying the game between them. Today he let himself be drawn into the whirlpool of want that claimed them both.

  He drove hard into her; his hands grasping her smooth, firm buttocks, and angling her hips up against him so that he could penetrate deeper still. Moments later, Cynewyn shuddered against him then, her sobs of ecstasy echoing across the glade – and Wil heard his own hoarse cries, joining hers. He thrust deep inside her one last time and found his release.

  Sweat-soaked and panting, they slid to the ground.

  Wil’s heart was pounding, his mind a tangle of conflict. They clung together for a few moments more, waiting for the haze of passion subside. However, Wil dreaded the moment she came to her senses. He did not want to look into her eyes, for he knew what he would see there. Her body had given in to him, but her will had not.

  Neither spoke for a long while, as their breathing slowed and lucidity returned. Eventually, knowing he could put the moment off no longer, Wil propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her. Something inside his chest twisted when he saw her face.

  Cynewyn was crying.

  “Get off me,” she whispered before averting her face and refusing to look at him.

  “I’m sorry, Cynewyn,” he whispered back, his throat aching with sudden grief. He had lost whatever slim chance he’d had of winning Cynewyn over; she hated him now. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, still refusing to look at him. “Please get off me,” her voice had a pleading edge to it that cut him deeply.

  Wil climbed to his feet and gently helped her up. Cynewyn turned her back on him, pulling her fur cloak close. Suddenly, the beauty faded from the glade, and the sun lost its heat. Despair clouded the fragile hope that Wil had been holding close since last night. He was not good with words; there was nothing he could of think of that would put this right.

  Silently, he led the way out of the glade.

  Chapter Seven

  No Longer Alone

  It was early afternoon when Wil and Cynewyn left the woodland behind. They had not spoken since the glade, and the silence weighed heavily between them. Cynewyn trailed at Wil’s heels, relieved when they finally stepped out from under the shadowy boughs onto flat heathland. There was a light breeze out here on the heath, although the sun still shone, warming Cynewyn’s face as she walked.

  Cynewyn was glad the woods were behind them. Now that they were on the heath, they were likely to encounter a village, or other travelers. Anything to prevent them spending another night together – alone.

  She did not trust herself with him; and did not trust him to keep his distance.

  Even now, her cheeks flamed when she remembered how she had behaved in the glade. One moment she had been fighting him, the next gasping for his touch. One moment she had been telling him they could never be together – the next, her body had betrayed her.

  Women who gave out conflicting messages, as she had, ended up in trouble; raped or worse. She sensed that Wil was not a violent, or cruel man, but he was a man nonetheless. She was playing a dangerous game, one she wanted to end.

  I need to reach Rendlaesham, she told herself, her eyes scanning her surroundings for any sign of settlement. I need to start a new life. Marriage had brought her nothing but frustration and sadness. Perhaps, with the king’s help, she could start again – alone. She had not been able to tell Wil the real reason it could not continue between them; telling a man that she would rather remain unwed was treasonous in the world they inhabited. Instead, it had been easier to use their differing rank as an excuse, even if it had earned his contempt.

  What if our coupling has given me a child?

  The thought turned Cynewyn to ice. She had already suffered through two pregnancies, only to give birth to stillborn babes. She could not bear the thought of facing that again. Tears stung her eyelids at the memory of her grief, as she held the dead infants in her arms. Aldwulf had been no solace. He had merely gone off to drown himself in mead. Only Mildthryth had comforted her; only she seemed to realize how Cynewyn had grieved.

  She could not change what had happened, and so Cynewyn forced thoughts that she might bear Wil’s child from her mind. She needed to focus on reaching Rendlaesham. She needed to distract herself from the memories of that man, and what they had shared. Fresh tears stung her eyelids but she hurriedly brushed them away.

  Why was life so hard? Her mother had never told her how it was between men and women. She wished someone had warned her.

  The sun was sliding toward the western horizon, the sky laced in pink and gold, when they spotted the outlines of figures up ahead. There were a few horses, their shapes silhouetted against the sunset, and at least two dozen folk.

  Cynewyn’s heart started to pound, and her spirits lifted.

  The folk of Blackhill – they had found them.

  Wil glanced back over his shoulder, and their gazes met briefly. For the first time ever, his gaze did not sear hers; there was no hunger in his eyes, no longing on his face. She was staring at a mask. Although the sight of his coldness gave Cynewyn an odd pang, which she hurriedly pushed aside, she was grateful for it.

  At last, he now understands.

  Whatever had ignited between them in the woods was now over.

  “Your people,” he told her, his voice flat. “We have found them.”

  “And the king’s men?” Cynewyn reached his side, squinting against the sun as she tried to make out the figures. Had any of the warriors survived?

  “We shall soon see,” Wil replied. “Come, let’s join them.”

  The group saw them approach, and Cynewyn spied Mildthryth among them. Letting out a whoop of joy, her mother-in-law rushed toward her, breaking away from the group of survivors. She raced across the stretch of grass between them and launched herself at Cynewyn, grasping her in a fierce hug.

  “I thought you were lost!” Mildthryth’s gaze glistened with tears as she stepped back, studying Cynewyn’s face. “Are you well? Did they hurt you?”

  Cynewyn shook her head, struggling to compose herself. “Wilfrid saved me,” she motioned to the silent warrior beside her. “Thanks to him, we managed to hide from the East Saxons in the woods and slip away once they had moved on.”

  Mildthryth nodded, taking this news i
n, before her gaze shifted to Wil. “I thank you, Wilfrid of Went, for keeping Cynewyn safe.”

  He nodded and gave a small smile in reply.

  Mildthryth smiled back, before looping her arm through Cynewyn’s. Then, she steered her toward where the group were making camp for the night. “Come – the men killed a boar in the woods. They’re roasting it now.”

  Cynewyn’s stomach growled at the prospect; she felt weak with hunger and her mouth filled with saliva at the thought of roast boar. There were tears and laughter as the folk of Blackhill welcomed her back. By some miracle, they had not lost one villager during the ambush. Cynewyn’s quick thinking and the valor of the king’s men had given them the time to escape through the woods.

  However, the warriors who had been escorting them had not been so fortunate.

  There had been around forty of them – now there were less than ten men remaining. Cynewyn felt a surge of despair at the realization that so many of them had fallen; the life of a warrior was so brutal, and short.

  Among the survivors was the bearded warrior, Aelin. His face lit up with joy at seeing Wil approach. He strode forward to meet his friend.

  “I knew you’d make it out alive,” Aelin slapped Wil on the back, before slinging an arm over his friend’s shoulders and steering him toward the fire. “Thank Woden for it!”

  Cynewyn heard the low rumble of Wil’s voice as he responded, although their conversation was immediately swallowed up by the chatter of the villagers that now clustered around them.

  Cynewyn ruffled the hair of a little boy who clung to her skirts, her gaze meeting Mildthryth’s once more.

  “Come,” Mildthryth led her through the excited villagers to where a huge boar was spit-roasting over glowing embers. “You need food and rest.”

  Cynewyn nodded, grateful that the older woman was taking charge. She felt oddly numb and detached all of a sudden, as if she was watching this entire scene from afar.