Sydney bit her lip. “It will get in the way if I have to fight.”
“It will loosen and fall quick enough when you do. You must be properly attired to ride with the Lady,” Mave said firmly.
Sydney took the lesson to heart. The veil was important.
She emerged into the square twenty minutes later, feeling much more comfortable and appropriately dressed. Even the sword banging against her thigh felt right.
“The Lady will be over there waiting, I’m sure,” Mave said, pointing to the other end of the big house. “Go and God be with you!”
Sydney hurried to the end of the house, getting used to the feel of the boots, the leggings and the mail shirt. She was wearing more layers, yet didn’t feel nearly as confined as she had before. She could move easily and she could lengthen her stride and be confident that her boots would protect her feet.
Alfwynn was already sitting astride a horse. She was wearing normal female clothing and had arranged her layers to hide her ankles. The cape flowed over the back of the horse. She looked very regal. She was holding the reins of another horse and waved to Sydney.
All around them, men were heaving themselves onto the backs of horses, lifting themselves up and throwing their legs over. Ahead, Sydney saw Aethelfreda lift the hems of her dress and step onto a man’s interlaced fingers. He hoisted her up and she mounted the horse that three other men were holding steady.
A man came over to Sydney as she reached the side of the horse that Alfwynn was holding for her.
“No, that’s not necessary,” Sydney told him as he bent and put his hands together. He stepped away.
The horse was not as large as the ones she had trained upon and it was docile. A leather pad was tied around its middle, forming a crude saddle. It would be better than bare back, but not by much.
She gripped the horse’s mane, planted her hand on its rump and jumped. She pushed herself the rest of the way up with her arms, then threw her leg over and hauled herself upright.
Alfwynn was smiling. “That was very well done,” she said quietly as she handed Sydney the reins.
Wulfstan was sitting upon a tall, broad-chested stallion only a few feet away. He had been watching Sydney and as she looked at him, he nodded, then wheeled the horse around and moved up beside the Lady Aethelfreda, who was arranging her dress and settling her cloak. Wulfstan look back at Sydney, clearly expecting her to join them.
Sydney touched her heels to the mare’s side. The mare moved forward willingly and halted next to Aethelfreda on the other side from Wulfstan. It was the right side, which would give Sydney’s sword arm room to work.
Alfwynn settled behind them with two other guards and the line of horses started to walk forward. Sydney’s mare followed without her encouragement. There were three horsemen in front of Aethelfreda, forming a front shield.
Behind them, the horses and carts followed.
Just ahead, two big gates opened up between the two towers, revealing the green, open countryside beyond.
They were on their way to Brycheiniog and war.
Rafe, please be there, Sydney begged silently.
Chapter Six
The battle of Brecenan Mere Llangorse took place two days later.
“We will surprise them at sunrise,” Aethelfreda had explained to Sydney as her army moved almost silently over the open valleys and rolling countryside. “By marching through the night, we will be ready to move as soon as the light shows, which they will not expect. Tewdwr ab Elise is a weak ruler and he is not a fighter. His captains take advantage of this and do not maintain discipline.”
“You know the king well, then?”
“I have met him once,” Aethelfreda said, “when I first ordered the building of the burh at Chirbury. It is prudent to meet and measure the rulers of the lands next to mine. He dotes on his wife and his children and his drink. If Powys is not yet there, it will be an easy fight.”
“That is another reason for marching through the night?” Sydney asked. “To beat Powys?”
“An excellent reason, to be sure,” Aethelfreda agreed. “It will be a hard ride back to Chirbury if we do not, for my scouts tell me Powys has left Mathrafel and they will be snapping at our heels all the way back.”
They slept in the open, using their saddles as mattresses, while their horses munched the wild grasses next to them and guards patrolled the edges of the camp. On the second day, they made camp in the early afternoon.
“We sleep,” Alfwynn explained, “so that tonight, we can ride.”
An hour after the sun had set, they were on the move once more. The carts had been left behind with armed guards, for they were too slow and too noisy. Sydney learned to let her mare pick her way in the dark, for she seemed to see better than Sydney could. She kept her cloak wrapped tight around her against the chilly night air, and concentrated on staying on the mare’s back. This was her third day in the saddle and her hips and ass and thighs were numb with the jolting and rubbing. No one else seemed to be having similar troubles, although Aethelfreda took longer to get on and off her horse with each passing day.
The sky was growing lighter in the east when the whispered order to halt was sent back down the line.
“Where are the scouts?” Aethelfreda demanded in a murmur.
“Here, my Lady,” came a voice out of the dark, in just as soft a tone. The shadow of a man loomed up from behind an outcropping of rocks and Sydney gripped her sword instinctively.
He held up his hands as he came forward. “I would speak to the Lady,” he told Sydney, clearly expecting her to move out of his way.
“Then you will speak to her over the top of my horse,” Sydney replied.
“Speak, man,” Aethelfreda said impatiently.
“The whole island is asleep, my Lady.”
“Powys?”
“Nowhere to be seen, although runners say they will be here by noon.”
“Then we have timed it well,” Aethelfreda said with satisfaction. “Lead the way, scout.”
“It is downhill from here, my Lady. Be cautious,” the scout told her and moved to the head of the column. He kept walking. It was light enough to see him picking his way down the slope.
Below, nestled into a big valley, was a lake that was starting to glitter with the light of dawn. Close to the shore on this side there was a small island with buildings on it. There were no lights in the windows and no movement they could see.
“Such a small island,” Sydney murmured.
“For an island made by man, it is quite big, though,” Alfwynn whispered back.
“They made it?” Sydney asked, startled. She looked again. The island was very round and even, which seemed to imply it was made by man. It was also very close to the shore. “How do we cross the channel?” she asked.
“It is shallow enough for the horses to ford. When they made the island, they built a land bridge to make it and they failed to remove most of the bridge afterward.”
“Even so, only a few at a time will be able to cross over,” Sydney pointed out.
“Which is why we attack at dawn, when they are still abed,” Aethelfreda said. She kicked her horse into a trot. “Faster!” she hissed. “Hurry!”
By the time they reached the ford to the island, they were galloping. It took all Sydney’s strength and balance to stay upon her horse.
The battle was over shortly after it had begun. The horses streamed across the ford, knocked down sentries and galloped onto the island, filling it with Aethelfreda’s people. Sydney stayed by the Lady’s side, her sword out, as soldiers flung themselves off their horses and shouldered their way into the cottages and buildings, screaming battle cries and swinging their axes and swords in the first rays of sunlight.
The sleepy sentries had been the full extent of any resistance.
A group of soldiers brought a woman to Aethelfreda, who stood sobbing and shivering with a cloak drawn around her. She was bare legged beneath the cloak and Sydney suspected she was naked and had pulled the c
loak around her as she had been hauled out of bed.
“Queen Ceridwen,” Aethelfreda acknowledged. “Where is your husband, the King?”
“He isn’t here. Oh, spare me, Lady! My children will have need of me!”
“They will have to do without you for a while,” Aethelfreda told her coldly. “You are my prisoner. Someone find her some clothes and put her on the back of a horse. Keep her wrists bound.”
The queen sobbed again, as she was hauled back into the house to be dressed.
“They were not expecting us at all. Not this soon,” Wulfstan murmured, looking around the island.
“It will send a suitable message to Llewelyn, in that case,” Aethelfreda said. She glanced over her shoulder to the north, the direction Powys would come from. “Round up some hostages to take back with us. No children, though. And no slaves. Only those who can sit upon a horse and stay on it. We ride back immediately.”
Sydney put her sword back in her belt.
The day was a marathon of hard riding. Aethelfreda measured passing time by the travelling sun and pushed them ever onward. When they reached the carts, they were permitted to halt and dismount only long enough to cram handfuls of rye cakes into their mouths. Wineskins of watered mead were passed along from horse to horse as they rode on and the carts were left behind to follow as they could.
“Will we make the dyke by sunset?” Aethelfreda called out as the sun lowered in the sky.
The dyke was a massive trench that Offa, a Saxon king, had dug out of the land two hundred years before, following the borders of Mercia from north to south, as a defensive shield against the Welsh kingdoms. The earth mounded behind the trench was twenty-five feet high. On the journey to Brycheiniog, they had traversed the dyke single file, climbing through a break in the earthworks and walking the nervous horses across a narrow plank bridge over the trench itself. It was a massive bottleneck and if Powys caught them on this side of the dyke, then they would be vulnerable.
“There’s time yet!” Wulfstan shouted back to the Lady.
Shortly after that, Sydney heard a rumbling sound from behind them.
“Powys!” Alfwynn cried, looking over her shoulder.
Sydney glanced backward. There was nothing to be seen, yet the sound of beating hooves was unmistakable.
“Ride! Ride!” Wulfstan cried. He kicked his horse into a gallop, urging the tired beast with curses and slaps and kicks.
Sydney coaxed her mare into a canter, the best the poor creature could manage. Her heart was in her throat, making it ache.. If she fell behind, she would be exposed.
Just ahead, the land evened out into flat pasture and on the horizon was the mounded line of the dyke, rising and falling as it followed the lay of the land.
Behind came cries and shouts. They had been spotted. Powys were in sight.
At the first clash of steel, Aethelfreda lifted herself up from her horse. “Wheel and defend!” she cried, pointing to her left.
The line turned to the left, snaking back on itself to fight because the end of the line was under attack.
There was no time to think. No time to be afraid. Sydney urged her mare to keep up with Aethelfreda’s horse. She pulled out her sword and her long knife and dropped the reins. The mare was following the other horses.
Then, suddenly, Sydney was among the fighting. Swords were thudding against shields, swords were striking swords. Men were shouting and some were screaming.
There were as many Powys fighters as there were Mercians. They were dressed in a similar style to the Mercians, except none of them wore helmets. They were shouting and yelling insults, promising death and destruction.
She concentrated on staying by Aethelfreda and protecting her flank, as Wulfstan was doing on the other side.
A man on foot came running up toward her, his sword held over his head. He was screaming.
Her blood turned cold. Sydney dropped her sword and blocked the man’s blow. The impact jarred up to her elbow and her balance was lost. She slid off the horse. The man was raising his sword again. She kept her own sword up high and at the same time thrust her long knife forward. The man ran onto it, staking himself with a grunt of surprise.
She pushed him down with her boot and whirled as another came at her. She was fighting, with no time to think. Instinct and training and pure fear drove her defense and attack. She was no longer protecting Aethelfreda, only defending herself. Surviving. She lost track of Aethelfreda’s horse in the melee. She lost track of time.
Until she turned to face a new attacker, threw up her sword and came face to face with Rafe.
His eyes widened. “Sydney!”
She dropped her sword. “Oh my god, Rafe!”
“No, don’t drop your sword!” he hissed.
She lifted it again. He brought his sword up against hers. “We’re fighting. Keep swinging.”
She brought her sword around for a side blow and he countered it. There was no strength in either of their blows but it would look good from a distance. Between each blow, they spoke quickly.
“You’re with the Mercians?”
“I am Lady Aethelfreda’s personal guard.”
“Can you get away?”
“Can you? I don’t know these lands.”
“I’ll figure something out. Now I know where you are.”
A horn sounded, short and sharp.
“Damn, that’s the retreat,” Rafe muttered.
“Get out of the way, Rhys!” came a bellow from just behind Sydney.
Rafe’s eyes widened and he looked behind her. “Quick, kill me and run like hell,” he hissed and this time, he spoke English. Modern English.
It jolted her, as he had intended. She stepped forward and thrust her long knife into his stomach and he gasped and folded over her hand.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder. A huge man was lumbering toward her, his sword up and his eyes almost glowing with fierceness. His face was covered in blood. His sword swung in a whizzing arc and she jumped out of the way with a shriek of shock. Something hot sliced across her left arm, making her cry out again.
She swung her own sword and felt it connect, then turned and ran, just as Rafe had said. The man was slow and she knew she could outpace him. She didn’t stop until she crossed the dyke and reached safety, just as the last of the sunlight faded and was gone.
* * * * *
“Jesus! Alex! Quickly!” Brody cried out, as the sheet beneath Sydney turned crimson with blood. He gripped the wound that had appeared in her arm, keeping it closed and slowing the flow of blood.
Alex leapt to his side. “Let me see,” he said flatly.
Brody lifted his hand away for a moment, showing Alex the wound, then slapped his hand back over it and squeezed. He filled his lungs and shouted. “Veris! Get in here!”
From the floor below, he heard Veris leave the kitchen. He was running.
Alex was fumbling in the big medicine chest, grabbing equipment and dropping most of it.
“Slow down, doc,” Brody told him. “I’m stemming it for now.”
“It’s flowing too fast for a comatose patient,” Alex muttered. “Her adrenaline is up and I can hear her heart rate from here. She’s afraid.”
“You don’t know that,” Veris said firmly, from the doorway. “Speculating on what might be happening won’t help anyone, least of all Rafe and Sydney. Give me that, Alex, you’re shaking yourself.” He held out his hand.
“I’ve got this,” Alex said firmly.
“I know you want to, but you’re not going to help her right now. Sit down and breathe,” Veris said. His tone was kind.
“One of you do something, huh?” Brody suggested. “And the other one should check Rafe.”
Alex dropped the gauze and wadding into Veris’ hand and whirled away to stand by the window and look out.
Veris grabbed more supplies from the chest and hurried over to Brody’s side. “Let me see,” he said, his voice low.
Brod
y lifted his hand again.
“Not too deep,” Veris remarked. “I’ll stitch anyway.”
“Antibiotics, too,” Alex said from the window. “It’s a knife or sword wound. God knows what crap was on the blade that cut her and sterile anything didn’t exist back then.”
Veris glanced at Brody again. His brow lifted and he jerked his head toward the door.
Brody nodded. “Can I let go?”
“I’ve got it. Yes,” Veris murmured.
Brody let go of Sydney’s arm and Veris placed an absorbent pad over the open wound. Brody stepped around him and went over to the wing chair where Alex had spent the last three days, pouring over the old manuscript pages. He picked them up from the floor where Alex had dropped them and shuffled them into a neat pile.
“Alex,” he said shortly.
Alex looked around from the window. His gaze was steady, although there was a lost look in his eyes. Veris had been right. He needed to get him out of this room. “Come on,” he told Alex gently. “Come and talk to Marit. She’s been asking about you.”
“No, I…” Alex looked over at the bed where Veris was working fast and steadily.
“Get out, or I’ll kick you out,” Veris said shortly. “You’re not a doctor right now, Alex.”
Alex pressed his lips together for a moment. Then he nodded and Brody let out a breath. He didn’t want to wrestle the man downstairs.
He waited for Alex to move past him to the door, then followed him down to the dining room, which had become base camp over the last few days. Taylor and Mia were shuttling between this house and theirs, keeping everyone’s life on the rails. Marit and the twins would sit at the big table and do homework or eat.
The room was empty at the moment. Marit’s school books were scattered over one end of the table. Alex slid onto a chair and put his face in his hands. His fingers slid up until he was gripping his head, his knuckles white.
Brody put the manuscript pages down and sat next to him. He patted his shoulder. “I’ve never been left out of a jump before. I just about throttled Veris and Taylor when they suggested I stay home, that one time.”
“I remember,” Alex said, his voice hoarse.
Kiss Across Kingdoms Page 7
