“Sunngifu,” Aethelfreda said, pronouncing it sung-eva. “Is that a British name?”
“No, my Lady,” Sydney said. “It is quite Saxon.” She didn’t know where that knowledge came from, yet she knew it was true.
“Your coloring is pure Saxon. Perhaps that is just as well,” the Lady said, “as we are to march upon the Britons tomorrow. My Reeve tells me that you have deprived me of one of my strongest soldiers.”
“He is only temporarily unfit for fighting,” Sydney said. “I could have cut his throat, yet I did not.”
Aethelfreda’s brows lifted and she glanced at Wulfstan, who nodded. She turned her attention back to Sydney. “Your husband was a soldier? This is how you learned to fight?”
“He was, my Lady. He taught me much of what he learned from the wars he fought.” Which was perfectly true. Rafe had been a dedicated teacher and Alexander had added self-defense to her repertoire, too. Also, at the top of her mind was the knowledge that her husband in this time had served the Lady’s army until dying in battle two years ago.
“I pay my soldiers well,” Aethelfreda said. “You appear to have fallen upon hard times since his death.”
Sydney didn’t answer. The truth was there for everyone to see, in her plain and stained dress and her simple head cloth.
“You have no children to care for?” the Lady asked.
Sydney swallowed. “We were not blessed with children, my Lady.”
“That may be a blessing in disguise,” Aethelfreda said, her tone dry.
“My Lady?”
“Let me see your knife,” she demanded.
Sydney glanced at Wulfstan, startled. He nodded.
Slowly, she withdrew the long knife and held it out for the Lady to inspect.
“It is almost a sword,” the Lady declared. “Do you know swords at all?” Her keen blue eyes held steady upon her.
“I…er…yes, I do,” Sydney said, feeling that it was also the truth. She remembered the feel of a sword hilt in her hand, even though she knew she had never held one before.
“I’m told that the wives of the Northmen that ravage our lands are all keen fighters,” the Lady said. “They perhaps understand the truth that those without swords can still die upon them.”
“I do not know much about the Northmen,” Sydney told her. “Although I met one, once. He was a physician, not a warrior.”
“Proving that Northmen can be wounded just as any other man and require stitching,” the Lady said. “We march upon the king of Brycheiniog tomorrow.”
“I have heard this.”
“I, of course, will lead my men into battle.”
“You, my Lady?” Sydney asked curiously. “You are skilled with a sword?”
“Skilled enough. However, I fully expect Brycheiniog will call to Powys for support and I do not have skill enough against the might of Powys to defend myself and lead at the same time. You will come with me and stay at my side. When I am attacked, as I fully expect to be, you will defend me.”
Sydney’s heart squeezed. “I have never fought in a battle, my Lady,” she said quickly.
“You fought and won your first battle, this morning,” the Lady told her. “None of my women are also warriors like you. You will be among them, guarding my flank, so that no man suspects I am not as vulnerable as I appear.”
Sydney glanced at the silent women, who were all measuring her with their gazes.
“You want the Powys fighters to attack you?” she asked Aethelfreda.
She smiled. “When they do, as they will, I will be able to measure their true strength for myself.”
“Then you march upon Brycheiniog merely to gauge the strength of Powys?”
Aethelfreda smiled. “The killing of my abbot gives me a reason to cross the dyke without invitation. When Powys joins the fight, I can ride into Powys and see for myself the strength of Mathrafel and the length of their defenses.”
“You consider Powys to be your real enemy?” Sydney asked.
“Very good. You grasp military matters as well as you hold your knife. You may put that away now, until I have need of it once more.”
Sydney put the knife back in the loop on her belt. “Why is Powys the enemy, my Lady?” she asked. “Forgive me, but I would have thought the Northmen, who raid endlessly, would be more of a threat.”
Aethelfreda dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “They pillage and burn, yet they do not seek to steal our lands permanently. They are a nuisance, nothing more.”
“While Powys does seek new lands?”
Aethelfreda glanced around the room, at the men standing silently at the other end of it and the women gathered around her. “Everyone, leave me. Wulfstan, stay. Alfwynn…?”
There was a stir and murmur as the room emptied of all except one woman and Wulfstan. The woman, who was young and pretty with a sharp jawline and blue eyes identical to Aethelfreda’s, drew closer to the Lady’s chair. Her circlet was thick although not as heavy as Aethelfreda’s. Her golden hair hung in two braids in front of her shoulders, reaching down past her waist. She stared at Sydney.
“This is my daughter, Alfwynn,” Aethelfreda said, confirming Sydney’s guess. “She and you are of an age in appearance, so you will become her companion, which will create no further gossip. As Alfwynn insists on riding with me tomorrow, she will also benefit from your skills.”
Aethelfreda looked up at her daughter. “Find Sunnefu something more suitable to wear. I don’t want her to be an oddity among the retinue.”
“Yes, mother,” Alfwynn murmured.
“And Wulfstan, find her a sword. A good one.”
“My Lady.” Wulfstan bowed from the waist and backed up two steps, then turned and strode away.
“You may go now,” Aethelfreda told Sydney. “Alfwynn, see if Mave can do something about her cheek. It looks as though it will bruise.”
Alfwynn turned and headed for the nearest door. That would have been the door that Wulfstan had used to come in. Rank had its privileges. Sydney hesitated, wondering if it was expected of her to use the far end door she had come in through.
However, Alfwynn turned at the door and looked at her over her shoulder, one blue eye visible beyond the edge of the veil. “Come along,” she said quietly.
Sydney followed her, only now starting to feel the throb and beat of the bruise on her cheekbone, where Osgar had back-handed her. Aspirin didn’t exist in this century, so she would have to suffer through the ache of it.
She should have cut his throat for him. A nick, at the very least.
* * * * *
Taylor leaned over the two still forms on the bed, until she was close enough to Sydney’s face to see details. She frowned. She was still getting used to the night vision that came with being a vampire. It wasn’t the same as normal vision. She could see large prey in the dark as if they were haloed with neon lights, while minute detail was difficult to focus upon.
Finally, she turned on the bedside lamp and turned it to shed light on Sydney’s still face and closed eyes.
Veris looked up from the book he was reading. For once, he had unbent enough to read an e-copy. The tablet he was reading on looked small in his big hands. Taylor grimaced, then glanced at Alexander where he was studying the Nennius script in the winged chair in the corner of the room.
Veris’ gaze flickered in his direction, too. Then he got silently to his feet and moved over to her side.
Taylor turned Sydney’s head to display the left cheek better. Just under her eye was swollen and there was a bruise forming around the corner of the eye. Across the middle of the swelling was a red scrape.
“Let me see,” Alex said quietly.
Veris glanced at Taylor. She knew what he was thinking—that it would have been better if Alex didn’t get to see this. Now it was too late.
Veris stepped aside.
Alex bent over Sydney and examined the bruise. Then he glanced at Rafe sharply. “Rafe is fine,” he said.
“Ye
s, he is,” Veris agreed, his voice low.
“Then how did they get through his guard and reach her?” Alex asked. He sat on the side of the bed and brushed Sydney’s hair back. “What has happened?” he breathed and there was pain in his voice.
Veris rested his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Taylor, an ice pack for the swelling, please. Alex, Ibruprofen will help with the pain and won’t make her sleepy.”
“Yes, of course.” Alex got to his feet again and went over to the multi-drawer medical chest sitting on the bureau and started pulling out drawers, looking for syringes and the medication.
“It’s minor,” Veris said. “It just looks dramatic.”
“That’s your medical opinion, doctor?” Alex asked dryly, as he came back with the syringe. He injected it into the tube of the IV in Sydney’s arm. “If we don’t get the swelling down, it could interfere with her sight. Perhaps she is in dire need of unobstructed vision right now. That’s not minor.”
“All we can do is watch over her,” Taylor told him quietly. “She and Rafe must figure out the rest for themselves.”
Veris looked at her once more. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Sitting here and watching, and wondering what on earth is happening. I remember you lying on the floor bleeding, once.”
Alex glanced at him, and let out a gusty sigh. “And I have watched over both of you. I never thought I would have to do it again.”
Veris gripped his shoulder once more. “The Ibuprofen will help.”
“And I’ll get the ice packs,” Taylor said. She passed the winged chair where Alex had been sitting and glanced down at the sheets of manuscript lying on the floor where he had dropped them.
For a moment she wished she had never brought the book home with her.
Chapter Five
Because Llewelyn couldn’t read or write, he always took a scribe with him wherever he went, to deal with messages from captains and to compose his own. He had two official scribes and Siorus, who was also a lettered man, could write or read for the king when needed. However, Siorus was one of Llewelyn’s trusted lieutenants with heavy duties of his own, so Llewelyn ordered Rafe to take the journey to Brecenan Mere Llangorse Lake in the Brycheiniog kingdom.
Rafe couldn’t protest about the assignment, even though he badly wanted to stay in Mathrafel where Sydney would look for him first. However, there were people left behind who could tell her where the King of Powys had gone. She would infer the rest. With that, he tried to be content, even while he seethed with every mile his horse trod that took him farther away from the fortress.
Why hadn’t she arrived in Mathrafel with him?
The question had vexed him all through the night as he lay pretending to sleep on the narrow pallet in the dormitory where a dozen single men in the household were quartered.
If Sydney had not arrived with him, where was she? He couldn’t begin to guess. Although finding Sydney was now his first priority. The monk with the manuscript would have to wait.
Because he was part of the king’s household retinue, Rafe got to ride only a few lengths behind the King himself, surrounded by the royal guard, while the rest of the army were strung out behind, spread over half a mile. The captains spent most of their time encouraging the soldiers with curses and threats to keep closer together. If they became too strung out, they were vulnerable to attack. The hills and valleys they were travelling through could easily hide another army in waiting and all manner of thieves and desperate bandits, including lone Northmen or even shiploads of them.
Scouts were sent ahead and to either side of the travelling army, to ensure the way ahead was clear and to monitor their flanks, but lone scouts could be killed before raising the alarm.
Even though Powys and Brycheiniog were technically at peace, the open road was still chancy. Rafe was rapidly remembering to keep checking his flanks and his rear and to keep listening for anything unusual. It had been this way when he had been living through it the first time around. After centuries of nearly civilized living, staying constantly alert to the perils of these times was draining.
Siorus rode up beside him, his big war horse prancing and snorting with impatience at the slow pace it was forced to keep. “I see you brought a sword with you, scribe. Spoiling to try out your new skills?”
Rafe kept his gaze on the nose of his horse. The people of Powys thought him to be a quiet, non-violent man who liked his books and stories of far-off lands. Getting into it with Siorus would break with that impression. He glanced at Siorus and away. The man was taller and sitting higher than him, although Rafe could still have him rolling in the dirt before he knew what had happened, if he wanted to, and he did want to. Violence would be a handy vent for the roiling frustration he was feeling.
Yet he couldn’t change history. As far as anyone here knew, he had died with his reputation as a simple scribe intact, during the Viking raid that had destroyed Powys and moved on to kill the high king of England. He had to let that history unravel the same way now.
So he clenched his teeth and reigned in his temper.
Siorus laughed and kicked his horse into a trot, moving to the head of the column where the King was riding.
Rafe let out his breath and peered ahead through the shoulders of the men in front of him. The king had brought no women with him. This was to be a fast campaign. It was only three easy days’ ride to Brycheiniog, so they would arrive fresh and ready to fight. The king was fully expecting the Mercians to be there already and Tewdwr, the king of Brycheiniog, to be ensconced upon his island fortress, holding Aethelfreda’s army off with stones and insults. Such was Llewelyn’s opinion of Brycheiniog’s fighting abilities.
Rafe just had to stay low and return to Mathrafel as soon as possible. Sydney might be there waiting for him already. Then they could end this time jump and go home.
* * * * *
Sydney presented herself to Aethelfreda after the evening meal of rye cakes and mutton slices, and a sloe wine that was sour enough to make her grimace. The water that was available to drink was cloudy, so Sydney persevered with the wine, trying to avoid dripping it on her new dress, despite the jogging of her elbows from the women beside her.
The dress was very plain and so was her veil. Alfwynn had taken her to a small house next to the big one and opened up trunks of clothing and sorted through the colorful garments, while eyeing Sydney’s figure for size and shape.
“Please…nothing elaborate, my lady,” Sydney told her.
Alfwynn paused to look at her fully. “You are to look the same as the others,” she pointed out.
“They already resent me,” Sydney told her. “A more simple dress would help deflect their irritation that I am to be counted among them.”
“So would a good whipping,” Alfwynn said, her tone flat. “They are all completely useless and none of them will come with us to Brycheiniog. That is not your fault.”
“I am someone they can vent their feelings upon.”
Alfwynn put her hands on her hips, the long sleeves fluttering around her. “They would not dare!”
“Not while you or your lady mother are looking, no, they would not,” Sydney said carefully. “I have had experience with the resentment of others and what they can do when their supervi…when their king is not looking.”
Alfwynn considered her for another minute. “Very well,” she said at last. “A plain dress, if I have such an item. And a simple filet.”
“Thank you.”
“Your very plainness will make you stand out,” Alfwynn warned. “My mother will not appreciate that. You are supposed to be hidden among the women.”
“No one will notice me,” Sydney assured her.
Alfwynn had provided her with a complete set of garments and had unwittingly provided a lesson in tenth century dress at the same time. A soft underdress of very fine linen was worn next to the body and the more decorative kirtle came next. The kirtle Alfwynn chose for her was a cream color, with close fitting sleeves and a simple, round neck. I
t clung to her shoulders and breasts and her hips and was full at the hem, which was embroidered with simple cream colored thread.
The overdress, the gunna, was heavier. Made of wool, it was a silvery grey color, soft and warm. The sleeves were full, but not excessively so. They bore even more embroidery that was subdued, in keeping with the grey tones. The neck of the gunna was shaped into a V and the kirtle showed above it. It was tight around her breasts and hips.
Then Alfwynn showed her how to tie the plain belt around her waist, to let it hang in the front. It pulled the gunna in around her waist and lifted the hem so the edge of the kirtle was revealed.
The finishing touch was the veil and a simple fillet that sat over the top of it and kept it in place. Sydney left her hair braided down her back and the veil covered most of it.
The shoes she had been wearing were tossed aside as useless. “How have you managed with such simple coverings?” Alfwynn asked with disdain. “Your feet and mine are about the same. You will wear my shoes tonight. Tomorrow, we will arrange boots for you.”
“Will they have better soles?”
“Soles?” Alfwynn repeated.
“The undersides. Will they be tough?”
“Of course. You cannot go to war with inadequate boots.” Alfwynn smiled. “They will be of the same standard as the sword you will wear. Now hurry, put on the hose. The evening meal will be served by now.”
Sydney had squeezed her feet into the shoes Alfwynn had provided, thankful that she would have better-fitting boots tomorrow. She hung the long knife from her new belt, plus the leather pouch with a single small coin in it and followed Alfwynn back to the big house.
Long tables and benches had been placed down one side of the room and men and women sat at separate tables. Alfwynn waved Sydney toward one of the ladies-only tables, then joined her mother at the top table.
The women sitting at the table all watched her in silence as Sydney settled on the very end of the bench. A plate already lay upon the table in front of her. A young boy placed slices of meat upon it while another dropped rye cakes beside the meat.
Kiss Across Kingdoms Page 5
