When the butler ordered the food cleared from each table, the scop regaled the crowd with his honeyed voice. I didn’t understand the language, but his tone and cadence brought the songs to life. His words conveyed emotion, love, struggle, and loss through each note, bringing tears to my eyes. I’d never heard anything so moving.
When the last note reverberated in the air, the hall was silent. It wasn’t until the man stood that the room erupted in cheers, and fists pounded on tables.
Gwgon stood and held up his hand, waiting for the applause to subside. He spoke in turn English and Welsh, pausing every so often as men translated his words to Norse. “No finer harp and voice in all of Wales.” Gwgon held out a gold chalice. “I am grateful you have graced our table with your talent. Come forward and find your reward!”
The bard stepped to the dais and accepted the cup, which was inlaid with rubies and clear crystals. He bowed his thanks and took up a seat at the head table, where he was served food and wine.
Gwgon remained standing and the crowd hushed once more. “My friends, I have fine news to share this day.” He motioned for Hyffaid to stand.
“Hyffaid ap Meurig has accepted my offer to marry his niece, Marared of Dyfed. This match further strengthens the alliance of our great kingdoms.” He raised his horn. “To allies.”
Hyffaid raised his own cup in acknowledgment. The crowd thundered its approval.
Marared’s nostrils flared, and her skin blotched a mottled red. She stood and nodded, accepting the applause, but her fists curled tight at her sides, the knuckles alabaster white. When she sat back down, her eyes locked with those of her mother.
“This must stop!” A screeching voice carried above the assembled mass. The room dinned.
“What say you, Father Llewelyn?” Gwgon addressed a pockmarked, sallow-faced priest who disentangled himself from the crowd and stormed up to the head table.
“The girl and her family are known witches.” He pointed to Marared.
The crowd sensed blood, and they tittered and buzzed with excitement.
Hyffaid stood. “How dare you insult my niece.”
“Peace, my friend.” Gwgon laid a calming hand on Hyffaid’s arm, and Hyffaid sat back down. “Father, you owe my betrothed and her house an apology.”
“First, you bring heathens into our midst.” He pointed a gnarled finger at the Viking table. “Then you agree to copulate with the spawn of Satan. These whores of Babylon have deceived you, Lord.” He batted his hand between Sigy and Marared. “I’ve witnessed their sorcery. If you continue this madness, you will incur the wrath of God.”
“I will not stand for this.” Hyffaid rose again and looked at Gwgon, whose eyes were wide like those of a snared fawn. Clearly, the priest knew his weak spot.
Where Llywelyn shook with anger, Sigy’s manner exuded the epitome of calm and patience. “It’s all right, brother. Let me address the matter.” She waited until Hyffaid reclaimed his seat before turning her attention to Llywelyn. “As you are well aware, Father, we have no leeches in our land and care for our people with plants and herbs, just as men in your monasteries do.”
“Yes—men. Men trained and guided by God. Not women known to practice dark arts.” Llywelyn scowled. “Your own mother cursed my wife and made her birth a deformed creature. Your daughter witnessed the birth. She uttered spells and curses over the child. My wife died of her pains. The creature’s cry pierced the household with its foul breath before it shriveled, lifeless.”
The hall grew silent. Accusations of curses on childbirth and babies were serious. All midwives lived with the fear that an angry husband would accuse them of witchcraft, and a manhunt would find them alone without support. They were bound and tossed into a deep grave, thrashing and writhing as dirt closed in over top of them.
Sigy folded her hands on the table. “I am sorry for your loss, but my family had no part in that tragedy. Mothers die far too often in childbirth, whether a man, woman, priest, or layman presides over the event. Only God in his infinite wisdom knows why this happens. Your wife and child are safe in His hands.”
He spat. “How dare you hide behind the name of the one true God.”
“And what of you, Father Llewellyn? Last I saw you, you had been excommunicated from the church. Your bizarre ramblings and radical behavior caused your fall from grace. The pope admonished you. You were unfit to hold a church office. I think, perhaps, you are still unwell.”
“You did that. You and your daughter cursed me to hell.”
“That is enough, good father.” Gwgon looked dazed but determined to get his hall back under control. “I demand you reclaim your seat.”
Llywelyn sat but continued to hurl venom at Sigy with the heat of his glare.
“I offer my apologies, Hyffaid ap Meurig, to you and your family.” Gwgon raised a cup. “To our powerful new alliance!” He drank deeply. In the awkward silence that ensued, only Hyffaid raised a cup in acceptance of the olive branch. I wasn’t convinced he drank.
With the formalities and spectacle concluded, everyone delved into animated conversation. Father Llewelyn’s accusations were damning, but Sigy had managed to plant doubt in the crowd’s mind. The priest’s continued rantings lent credence to her words.
I wanted to dismiss outright Llewelyn’s claims, but Marared’s behavior toward me and her threats did little to aid her position of innocence in my mind. To die in childbirth was a risk all women took, but to give birth to a hideous and deformed child? I shuddered and looked at Marared. Perhaps I’d underestimated her.
I wondered what Alrik thought of Llewelyn’s claims, but he remained engrossed in conversation with Tollak, Gwgon, and Hyffaid. Occasionally throughout the evening’s festivities, Alrik caught my eye. It wasn’t a warm, tender gesture. I sensed tightly held restraint, though I’d done nothing wrong. Marared fawned over Alrik when we arrived. Eadfrith and I had shared only a brief flirtation. I wanted to talk with Alrik to smooth the ruffles between us, but given his mood and the intent focus of his conversation, I was confident it could wait until morning.
At some point between the fourth and sixth course, Nest informed me that the cottage set aside for my use while a guest at Dinefwr was ready. Now, with the feast winding down, and Alrik otherwise engaged, I yearned for my bed. My muscles were sluggish, and my body weighed several stone heavier as I lugged it across the room. I had my hand on the hall’s great oak door, ready to pull back the latch, when Angharad swept up and grasped my shoulders.
“You promised to revisit our conversation. Come, you must join me for some wine.” The deep flush to her cheeks told me she’d had more than enough wine already, but I found myself drawn into her exuberance, hoping some of that windstorm of energy would rub off.
My hand slid from the door handle, and I followed her into her chambers. She shooed all the servants out and locked the door.
“Please.” She motioned to a chair while she set about filling two cups.
The extra furniture and games had been cleared from the room. A large table with two benches and a lush reclining couch took part of their place. She handed me the drink and flopped back on the couch, lying on her side, her arm resting on the curved wood as she sipped her drink. “Your story has captivated me all night. I can think of nothing else. You must continue.”
“What else would you like to know?”
“Everything.”
I took a sip of the wine, steeling myself to drink it slowly. I was already light-headed. “Where was I?”
“You had just finished telling me that your uncle and your betrothed entered into an alliance with the Vikings.”
“A strategy that your brother has just done with Alrik.”
“My brother has accepted Alrik’s help in his efforts to hold onto his kingdom against the threat of outside pressure. It would appear Osric and Demas entered into an alliance to acquire holdings and wealth. If the stories of Vikings are true, this king, this Halfdan, will not be content to play second fiddle to Engl
ishmen. They assume control and put in puppet rulers to do as they say. They only keep English blood on a throne to appease the people. Anyone with eyes or a mind between his ears can see what game they play. Who do Demas and Osric think they are—the puppets or the masters?”
I’d never thought about it like that before. “I can assure you, Osric believes he is in firm control. It’s my opinion he will use the Vikings to expand his power and influence.”
She shook her head and pointed her cup at me. “Aside from being beasts and cowards, those two are fools. No Viking has ever played servant to an Englishman, Irishman, Welshman, or the French. No amount of gold has kept them complacent and docile. Mark my words, they will rue the day they tried to play with fire.”
I didn’t doubt it. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected she was right. The vision I’d had of Alfred and Ealhswith fleeing into the night, clutching their children close, came crashing back to me now. They were on horseback and Alfred kept looking over his shoulder. Riders, close on their heels, pursued them into the marshes. I had assumed Demas and Osric sent those men, and perhaps they had, but the villains hunting the young family were not English. Savage and wild, axes raised, spears ready, their pursuers were Norse.
I blinked, my eyes settling back on Angharad’s quizzical expression. I covered my confusion with a drink of wine and coughed. “I agree.”
She studied me a second longer. “So, then what? They make their deal, and what happens to you?”
“Demas’s plan was to keep me around as a slave if I was compliant or as a prisoner if I wasn’t. He forced me to change my will, and as my husband, he planned to rule in my place. In the event of my death, all would be his.”
I shrugged. “When I disagreed with the plan, he became bitter, and Osric charged me with a spate of crimes, including witchcraft and murder. Fortunately, Alrik rescued me from a terrible fate, but since he was a Viking, it gave Osric a convenient means of adding treason to the list of charges. I had no choice but to leave.” I wasn’t sure why I told her everything. Perhaps it was the wine or perhaps the desire to unburden and confide in someone. I didn’t know, but I realized I gripped my cup, anxious of her reaction.
She got up and paced the floor. “Bastards. This is why I can’t stand men. To do this to you in a mad struggle for power and influence. The lot of them are fools. This is why I will marry only when it serves to help my brother or to protect the kingdom. I love my people and would do anything for them, but marrying an ass with a cock just to maintain appearances is something I will never do.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is it cock in general you dislike, or just certain ones in particular?” I gasped at the forwardness of my question. The drink and comfort of rekindling our friendship left me feeling cheeky and a little brazen. I’d never had to be someone I wasn’t when I was with Ealhswith, and by extension, I’d never hid who I was in front of Angharad, either, though that had been a world of youth ago.
She stopped her pacing and froze, perhaps realizing for the first time the implications of her words.
I waved away her concern. “Your secrets are safe with me. I would never betray our friendship.”
She sat back down on the couch, regarding me. “In general, then.”
I laughed. “Ealhswith learned to acquire a taste for them, but her interests seem to include a wider variety of experiences.”
“And where do your interests lie, Avelynn?”
The air changed. I swallowed, the wine making my head light and fuzzy. “You know my past. You know I’m not bound by strict religious adherence, but even still, I’m not one to cast judgement.”
“Really? Why not?” She got up and stood behind me. A finger traced the skin from my ear to my shoulder as she swept up my hair and started braiding it. Gooseflesh rippled down my arms, and I shivered. “When Ealhswith and I stayed in Leicaster, we discovered a world full of women who found comfort in each other’s arms. It was prohibited, of course, and if the Abbess had found out, we would have been flogged or caned or worse, but that didn’t stop any of us.”
My eyes closed, my body relaxing with each skim of her fingers through my hair.
“Ealhswith met a young man—”
“Regin.”
Her laughed purred deep in her chest. “Yes, Regin. He appreciated Ealhswith’s broader tastes.”
“Really?”
“Most men enjoy it when women pleasure each other. They like to watch.”
My mouth gaped open. Was that true?
“You and Ealhswith have shared many secrets,” she said.
“We’ve been friends forever.”
Her breath tickled as she whispered in my ear. “Yes, but have you been more?”
My heart thumped harder in my chest. “Once.”
When I opened my eyes she stood in front of me. She reached out, brushed my cheek with the back of her hand, and toyed with a tendril of hair that had escaped the braid. “You’re so beautiful.” She leaned down, her hand slipping under my chin. “May I?”
I must have nodded, for she closed the distance and her lips found mine. Lightening shot through me. Every fiber of my being coursed to life. Her lips were soft, her pressure gentle, and I lost myself in the kiss.
She pulled away and I blinked, as if coming to after a captivating dream.
“You and I are going to get along wonderfully,” she said.
I stumbled to my cottage, my legs cumbersome with drink and heavy with exhaustion. Torches flickered throughout the manor grounds, lighting the way between outbuildings. There were so many beacons it seemed as if night hadn’t come, that here on this raised island above the river, the sun still shone.
I brushed my finger across my lips; they were swollen with desire. Alrik mentioned I had a fire in my belly. Was that what he meant? A stab of guilt twisted. Would Alrik be angry with me? I hadn’t meant for it to happen, but I hadn’t stopped it either. I considered what Angharad had said about Regin. Did men enjoy watching women together? Would Alrik? Could I do something like that? My body’s eager response assured me I could. I thought of Eadfrith and his hands on my ankle and sobered, groaning. Clearly, Alrik didn’t enjoy seeing that.
There was a small footpath behind the hall that led to the cottage. Flanked by a long, thick hedgerow on one side, the hall on the other, it was darker than the rest of the manor. As I rounded the corner, I caught a flurry of skirts. Marared stormed through the courtyard. She seemed hell bent with fury, and after my previous altercations with her, on instinct, I stepped back. I pressed myself against the wall, out of her line of sight. The hall had a large building attached to one end, most likely Gwgon’s private chambers. There were no windows, only a solid oak door. She rapped her knuckles on the wood and waited, arms crossed. The door opened, and Sigy stepped outside.
Marared’s voice rose above a hissing whisper. “How dare you stoop so low to arrange this behind my back.”
Sigy closed the door and pulled Marared farther into the darkness and closer to where I stood. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to be there, but I couldn’t slip past them without stepping back into the light and alerting them to my presence. I shrunk closer to the treeline. The last time I’d overheard a conversation I shouldn’t have, I was crouched beside a weaving shed listening to my uncle berate Demas for his recklessness.
Sigy’s voice cracked with controlled calm. “Gwgon made the offer. Hyffaid accepted it on your behalf, as is his legal right. I had no hand in the business.”
“Hyffaid only agreed because you threatened or cajoled him. He would never have done this to me without your influence. This is all your doing. Don’t bother denying it.”
“And what if it is? You would sit beside the man who rules a kingdom, have considerable power and reach, and enviable wealth.”
“I don’t want Gwgon. I want Alrik. Hyffaid was to help me achieve that end.”
“You simple child. Have I not taught you better than this? Is your mind that narrow? Think of the future.
How long does a king live? Most do not survive long enough to see their children leave the cradle. Being a king is a deadly business. Once you have the title, you can fill your bed with as many men as you need to satisfy your wanton behavior. You need only maintain an image of propriety.”
“With Hyffaid and Alrik’s support, Gwgon will not perish in battle.”
Sigy’s voice lowered. “Accidents happen all the time. War, treachery … poison.” Her voice lingered, caressing that final word. “You will not be bound long to the chains of marriage. Can you not at least abide by it for a time?”
“I’ve told you my answer. I’ve already warned Avelynn to leave. Alrik will be mine and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Do not do anything reckless, Marared. This alliance benefits our entire family.”
“It benefits you.”
“Were you not in the hall this night? Did you not hear Llewelyn charge you with witchcraft?”
“The man is mad.”
“Perhaps, but he is respected here. It’s not like it was in Dyfed. I do not have the power or influence to remove him from his position.”
“You’ll manage something. It matters not to me.” She turned to walk away, but Sigy grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
“My patience will only stretch so far, daughter. I will not allow you to jeopardize everything I have worked for. Leave off this conflict with Avelynn and do your duty as peace weaver. Do not think to test me.”
Footfalls receded in the darkness and somewhere across the courtyard a door slammed shut. I fell on my backside, landing in a disorganized heap. Whichever one left, thank the gods, had turned in the opposite direction from where I hid.
Light pooled from the opened door, the brilliance flickering as a figure stepped inside. The door closed.
Avelynn: The Edge of Faith Page 12
