Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  She frowned. “After I settle my business with Abbott Rys, I must return to Bangor, but I will write you a letter, explaining the situation. It will lend support as witness.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you.”

  Eadfrith’s voice was small. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

  Frances shook her head. “Despite the woman’s threats, and the fact that she used your own child to lure another man to her bed, you still pine for her?”

  He dropped his head into his hands.

  She sighed. “We will address this matter with the Archbishop of St. David’s himself.”

  Eadfrith groaned.

  “Come.” She motioned to me. “Let him think on his actions while we seek the assistance of Abbot Rys.”

  A monk admitted us into a small cottage, adjacent to the chapel. He took our wet cloaks and hung them on hooks by the door. A stout man in his middle years bustled up to us. “My word. Look at the sight of you both. Please, sit yourselves by the fire.”

  “Thank you. I am sorry for the lateness of our visit.” Sister Frances motioned me ahead of her.

  “No trouble at all. To what do I owe the honor, Sister?” the older man asked.

  Frances smiled. “May I present Avelynn of England. Avelynn, this is Abbot Rhys.”

  “Delighted.” Rhys extended his hand and clasped mine between both of his. “Now, how can I help you on such a blustery eve?”

  “I need to write a letter,” Frances said.

  “Please, help yourself.” He pointed to a small table in the corner of the room. Ink stains splotched the surface, and a pile of manuscript pages lay scattered about the legs like leaves after an autumn storm. Frances picked her way through the maze of cured hides and sat at the high stool. She grabbed a square of vellum, making sure to examine both sides to determine its safe use, and went to work.

  The material seemed a bit rich for a simple letter, but since it was at hand, I was not about to point out the expense.

  A knock on the door brought the abbot’s brown eyes twinkling. “Such a night for visitors!” The monk attending the priest opened the door to reveal a sodden traveler. He was shown to the fire at once.

  “And who might you be?” Rhys asked.

  The boy bowed. “My lord, Abbot Rhys. I am here at the behest of Sigy, daughter of Siegfried, sister to King Hyffaid of Dyfed. She seeks your assistance in finding a guest at your monastery.”

  The lord, Abbot Rhys, teetered on the balls of his feet. “A mystery? How thrilling. Of course, young man. I shall endeavor to assist. Who is it you are seeking?”

  “The Lady Avelynn of England. She traveled with a group of pilgrims on their way to St. David’s. I had hoped to find them seeking lodging here.”

  He sighed. “Very well, yes, yes, of course. Search no more, my good man. The lady is before you.”

  “Mistress?” Two earnest blue eyes sought mine.

  “I am Avelynn.”

  He handed me a wet and well-traveled note.

  The letter was indeed from Sigy, begging for my immediate return. She denounced Marared’s most recent claims, affirming what Frances had said of Branwen’s parentage.

  I passed the note to Frances, who had been watching the exchange with interest. “My letter will give credence to Sigy’s argument. Hopefully the two together will be enough to convince your Northman of Marared’s transgressions.”

  I addressed the messenger. “If the good abbot is kind enough to provide you lodging for the night, we will leave at first light.”

  “There are always beds for guests. My young acolyte will show you to the dormitory,” Rhys said.

  “Thank you.” The lad bowed and ducked back out into the driving rain.

  We also thanked the abbot for his kindness and retired to the women’s quarters. The nuns had plenty of toiletries to spare and left them out for our use. I accepted their hospitality gratefully. Using a swatch of linen, I scooped out some paste made of ground allium seeds and scrubbed the film and grit from my teeth. A wash bowl had been set aside, and I dipped the cloth into the warm water. I rubbed in a good measure of wood ash lye soap and scrubbed the dirt and grime from my face and neck. I blew out the candle and slipped beneath the rough, homespun blanket on the straw pallet.

  A few soft snores and grumbled rustling competed with the hiss of wind and pelt of rain against the plank walls. I stared into the dark. The nuns had banked the fire, and my bed was furthest from the light and heat. I snuggled deeper into my cocoon of warmth. I needed a plan. I wished Ealhswith was here. She’d know what to do.

  The hurt I’d felt after Alrik’s revelation and subsequent dismissal had faded. In its wake, anger bloomed large and heavy, threatening to bow me under its weight. I would return to Lampeter, proof in my hands of Branwen’s parentage and Marared’s manipulations, march up to that arrogant ass, and demand respect. If he still wanted to dismiss me after learning the truth, so be it. I would not coddle or beg. There would be time to rejoin the monks and nuns leaving for the continent. I pinched the bridge of my nose and attempted to rub away the strain building between my eyes.

  Deep down inside, I knew Alrik had sent me away in a foolhardy attempt to protect me. If my suspicions were right, he loved me still, and we could move past this—once we laid matters to rest.

  Despite my stern demands to trust me and let me fend for myself, Alrik’s position infuriated me. He needed to consult with me, not demand and order me about. If it wasn’t his need to save me from opportunistic vagabonds, seeking to send me back to England, or angry Welshmen, now he wrung his hands over magic. I didn’t care about his chivalrous excuses. I’d had enough. He needed to place me on an equal footing. I had to live my own life, make my own choices, and deal with the ramifications. I was fully capable of taking care of myself. I’d led men into battle. I’d fought in a shield wall. I was not some delicate little flower. I rubbed a hand over my face. The more I brooded, the more enraged I became, and not only with Alrik. Both Alrik and Marared shared equally as the objects my ire.

  I’d had enough of Marared’s threats, her lies, and her machinations. I had all the information I needed to try to stop her. I would no longer sit idle and let her determine the steps while I danced around them. It was as if we played a calculated game of tafl. She had taken away my defenses, forcing me into a corner, but I had plenty of moves left. I would fight back. I would find a way to beat her at her own game.

  If Sigy was right, I needed to obtain a personal possession of Marared’s—something I could enchant or use to channel the magic. I rubbed my foot back and forth. While it would be easiest to ask Sigy to provide me with such an object, it seemed prudent to keep my intentions secret. I thought of Angharad. I didn’t want to involve her in any of this. She didn’t need the specter of witchcraft hanging over her head, but she might be able to help me discreetly obtain something of Marared’s. I didn’t know if Marared was capable of magic. Everything pointed to her using manipulation and herbs to affect her aims. There was no sorcery involved in that; however, I couldn’t prove or disprove the theory, either.

  I was tired of running. I itched to confront Alrik and put this conflict behind us. The promise of Eadfrith’s letters buoyed me with hope, and the need to fight back boiled hard in my veins.

  I rolled onto my stomach. I was a high priestess now. It was time to find out what I could really do.

  April 1

  The storm sputtered itself out in the early hours before dawn. The sky loomed dark and brooding to the southeast, but only a drizzling mist remained. I left instruction for a page to deliver my possessions forthwith, but I wanted speed. Every moment Alrik was alone with that manipulative bicche was one too many. Rhys offered me a swift horse—a gift to the Lady Sigy, he’d said.

  Sigy’s messenger took the lead, and we followed the road back to Lampeter. With the mountains forever towering into the sky on our right, we made Llanbadarn just before dusk.

  A sprawling royal center, many of the outbuildings
had been turned into cottages for esteemed guests. Others of the noble gentry would sleep in the hall or find lodging with crofters in the village. The remainder would sleep under tents or the starlit sky. Campfires stretched into the night, flickering like fireflies.

  Grooms whisked our horses away to the stables, and the messenger showed me to Sigy’s cottage.

  A chambermaid answered our summons at the door. The messenger stepped inside. “My lady, the mistress Avelynn.” He bowed. I slipped past him through the door, and he scampered back out.

  Sigy laid a hand on her heart. “I am so relieved to see you. Please, have a seat.” She snapped her fingers and another maid stepped forward, offering me a drink.

  I declined, holding up my hand. “Where is Branwen?”

  “She’s en route to England and will remain in Northumbria with Eadfrith’s family. Marared has exposed a shameful secret. My patience for her behavior has reached its limit.”

  I was glad for the child. She would do well to be far away from both Marared and Eadfrith.

  A knock on the door announced the arrival once again of the messenger. He bowed and held the door open. Marared and Gil stepped into the room, followed by Alrik. I closed my eyes, shoring up strength.

  “What is she doing here?” Marared spat the words as if I were a vile insect.

  “Avelynn?” Alrik looked like a spooked horse.

  I ignored them both and rested my hands in my lap, my attention on Sigy.

  “Everyone sit,” she commanded.

  Alrik and Gil found chairs opposite from Sigy. Marared crossed her arms and refused to budge.

  Sigy raised an eyebrow but otherwise dismissed the act of defiance. “Alrik, there has been a misunderstanding as to Branwen’s parentage.”

  “Stay out of this, mother.” Marared’s voice prickled with ice.

  “The child is Marared’s daughter, it is true—”

  “I’m warning you.”

  Sigy stormed to her daughter and grabbed her hair, yanking her into the center of the room. “And what will you do, daughter?” Sigy set Marared away from her as if she had defiled her hand just touching her. “You are finished. Your behavior toward Alrik, your threats, and your pageantry stop here. You will do as I say, or so help me by the gods, you will regret it.”

  Marared’s lip trembled.

  Sigy’s face flushed, her eyes wide. “I have sent a letter to Abbess Frances. You will abide in Bangor. You have undermined me for the last time.”

  “Hyffaid will never stand for this.”

  “Your uncle has no bearing on what transpires here.”

  “And how will you explain my sudden disappearance? What of my betrothal. I’m Hyffaid’s favorite. You can’t just toss me aside.”

  “Would you rather I inform the court of your death?”

  Gil stood. “Marared, please. Do as mother bids. Collect your possessions and leave. Do not antagonize her further.”

  Marared shook off Gil’s assistance. “You always preferred Gil. He could do no wrong—the perfect son.”

  “Gil honors my wishes. He cares about what happens to our family. You care only for yourself. Now leave my sight. Get out.”

  Marared buzzed with hostility, and her focus narrowed on me. I swallowed. If she was capable of magic, I could well imagine her setting me to flame or choking the very life out of me with only her glare. I refused to let her intimidate me and made a point of maintaining eye contact with her as she made her way to the door. She was the first to look away.

  “You’ll regret this. You’ll all regret this.”

  Sigy closed the latch behind Marared. “I’m sorry, Alrik, but my daughter has deceived you. Branwen is the result of a tawdry coupling between Marared and the English priest, Eadfrith. She seduced the fool, believing one day she could convince you the child was yours. Regardless, we could not have the child’s true parentage come to light. Marared’s prospects to strengthen our family’s ties hinged on her desirability. Prospects that have since come to naught. I’m sure you can understand.”

  Alrik’s face wore an expressionless mask, but his hand curled at his side. I handed him the note. “This is from Sister Frances. Her own words will confirm Sigy’s statement.”

  He glanced at the note. “I see.” He tucked the vellum in his satchel. “Thank you for your honesty.” He bowed to Sigy. “Gil.” He nodded by way of leavetaking and held out his hand to me. I moved to his side, but refused to acknowledge the gesture. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the tightening of his jaw. I walked through the door without looking back.

  I didn’t make it very far before he tried to steer me in a different direction. While I didn’t know where I was going, I knew where I wanted to be, and it wasn’t with Alrik. I needed to find Angharad. I moved closer to the main hall. It was dark, but torches had been lit, and Sigy’s cottage wasn’t far removed. I could make out the hulking shadow of the hall from where I stood. Angharad’s cottage could be any one of the buildings I passed.

  “Where are Angharad’s chambers?” I didn’t want his help, but I also didn’t want to be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. He’d know where it was.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Avelynn.”

  I ignored the pleading in his voice. Part of me felt vindicated, hearing it. “Where.” I stopped and glared at him.

  He pointed to one of the larger framed buildings a stone’s throw from where we stood.

  “Thank you.” I nodded and set off. For a moment, I thought he was going to let me go. Part of me screamed at him for not trying harder, but then he stood in front of me, barring any further progress.

  “Let me explain.”

  I locked my arms across my chest. “You can try.”

  Leading me by the arm, he weaved through a few smaller buildings, most likely granaries or weaving sheds. He stopped in front of a circular structure. Using his shoulder and body weight, he pressed and pushed until rivets tore away from the wood and he forced his way in. Locks didn’t stop Vikings. I heard some rustling and grunting and then caught a spark, then another, then a faint glow, growing brighter. He drew me inside and shoved the door closed behind us. The air smelled of fresh cream and the tangy, pungent notes of ripe cheeses. He’d let us into the buttery. Linen-wrapped rinds, barrels, and pitchers packed the tight space. An iron holder affixed to the wall held the rush light.

  He turned to me, and the hard lines of his face deepened with shadows. There was not a lot of space to maneuver. If we held hands and reached our arms out to our sides, we would each touch a wall.

  “I was only trying to protect—”

  “Enough. I am not yours to protect.” The raised volume of my voice bounced back off the rows of cheese and butter and settled louder in my own ears. Alrik flinched, but I let it all go, as if a cork released. “If you want us to be together, you need to understand I am capable of taking care of myself. Before you, before this mess with Demas and Osric, I had the respect of an entire village. I governed in my father’s stead. I handled disputes. On Odin’s eye, Alrik, I led men in battle.” I waved away his burbling objection. “Battles are fought. Some are won; some are lost. I held that wall all morning. I would have continued to do so if I’d not been betrayed. I don’t need you to look out for me. I don’t want you to. You need to afford me the same respect as Tollak or Cormac. You would never coddle them like children. You’d let them fight their own battles and make their own mistakes. You’d fight by their side, with honor. Do not show me any less respect.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. He looked like a fish out of water. And perhaps he was. My chest heaved. I still had a lot of fight left in me. I wanted him to yell back—I almost dared him to try.

  His lips pinched together, and he took a deep breath. “I did not believe Marared’s claims. I only used them as a means to convince you to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “She bade me meet her in
the glen. When I got there, she was covered in blood, the entrails of a stag laid out before her. The wriggling mass steamed in the morning air. She flew at me, spewing foul curses over my head. The world spun. I sank to my knees. She drained me of my strength. I could do no more than look up at her. Had voices not carried close by, Marared would have stayed and stolen my soul. She left me there on the ground and slipped into the trees.”

  “How is that possible?” The thought of Alrik being helpless turned my own legs to seaweed.

  “I misjudged her powers and thought only to send you away. I have done you a disservice.” He stepped closer and tucked my hair behind my ear. The back of his fingers brushed my cheek. His hand fell impotent at his side. “I have never met anyone like you. I tried to shield my mother from others’ judgements and cruelty. Even the girls in my village or those at Ragnar’s court were silly things. I do not have a great deal of experience with shield maidens.” He looked at me with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. I felt a rush of pride, and my anger deflated like a pricked swollen bladder.

  He sighed. “I will endeavor to do better. If you will still have me.”

  I wanted to slap him. Instead, I reached up on tiptoes, drew his face closer, and kissed him. Hard.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tighter.

  I pulled back. “Whatever Marared’s powers and threats, we will confront them together. But I’m warning you. Do not—ever—treat me like that again. Do you understand? You are mine, Alrik Ragnarson. No one else’s. And if you try to push me away again, I may decide to never come back.”

  “Part of me died when I saw you walk away. I will not let you down.”

  That would remain to be seen, but at this moment, I saw only him and my need to make him understand. My mouth was urgent against his, and he pressed me up against the door. I locked my legs around his hips while he tugged one handed at his trousers. I fought against the wedge of our bodies to hike up my skirts. When fabric no longer impeded our progress, he slid inside me.

  His movements were tender and gentle, and I growled in frustration. My body craved a passion so raw it verged on violence. I unlocked my legs, and pushed him onto the ground, straddling him. I rode him hard, fisting his tunic. I needed to possess him. He was mine. I leaned down and kissed him, biting his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth. All my hurt, grief, and anger boiled over, and I poured my dolor into each touch, each frenzied thrust. Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I moved faster, yoking our bodies, merging our souls.