by Jayne Castel
Moving around the edge of the square, Maric spied Osulf and Elfhere on the far side. His friends were deep in discussion and did not see him approach. Osulf was scowling, his heavy-featured face creased in annoyance as he replied to something Elfhere had just said. Seeing Maric approach, both men broke off their discussion.
“I knew I’d find you both here,” Maric greeted them.
“We got tired of waiting for you in the mead hall,” Osulf grumbled. His face was florid and he was swaying slightly on his feet. Elfhere’s gaze was slightly glazed, although he appeared to be more sober than his companion.
“Sorry, I was delayed,” Maric replied. “Edgard’s wife died in childbirth while he was away and he has only just learned of it.”
The belligerence faded from Osulf’s face. “Poor bastard.”
“How many children does he have?” Elfhere asked.
“Four.”
“He will have to find another wife to raise them,” Osulf, ever practical, pointed out.
Maric gave his friend a look of exasperation. “He likely will, in time. For now though, other matters concern him.”
Osulf nodded before glowering down at his half-empty cup of hot, spiced cider.
“Will you join the handfasting feast?” Elfhere interrupted, drawing the conversation away from Edgard’s loss. “I hear it will be one of the Great Hall’s finest.”
Maric glanced up at where the shadow of the Great Tower pierced the night sky. Golden slivers of light filtered from the thin windows and the sound of drunken voices and laughter echoed from within its thick stone walls.
“I think not,” Maric replied. “I have seen enough of our king for today.”
Truthfully, although he had no wish to see Paeda again, he was avoiding Alchflaed. Even though Maric knew she was reluctant to wed Paeda, he did want to see her feasting and dancing with her new husband.
“The sight of Paeda turns my stomach,” Osulf growled before draining the remnants of his cup. “The thought of that battle-shirking, kin-slaying turd sitting upon Penda’s throne makes my blood boil.”
Elfhere’s pained look told Maric that this was what they had been discussing before his arrival.
“None of us are happy about how things have turned out,” Elfhere answered, his voice holding a note of warning. “However, Paeda is our king – and we have sworn allegiance to him.”
“It was either that or be gutted on a Northumbrian sword,” Osulf replied bitterly. “He is their puppet – king in only name. Oswiu rules Mercia now, and our new queen will ensure her husband does her father’s bidding.”
“This has nothing to do with Lady Alchflaed,” Maric replied. He did not appreciate the way Osulf screwed his face up when mentioning Paeda’s bride. “She is a peace-maker, nothing more.”
Osulf spat on the ground, making his opinion on the matter clear.
“She is her father’s spy,” Osulf replied. “Paeda was a fool to betray his own kin for her.”
***
The feasting ended, and the dancing began. A knot of musicians stood upon the high seat, and played upon a bone whistle and a lyre. Paeda led Alchflaed out for the first dance. Slightly unsteady on her feet, after the three large cups of wine she had consumed with her meal, Alchflaed was grateful for the firm – almost bruising – grip he kept upon her hand.
They completed the first dance together, something that she could see her new husband barely suffered. He was not a natural dancer and dragged, rather than guided, his partner through the steps. Both Paeda and Alchflaed wore expressions of relief when the song ended and they were able to return to their seats.
The musicians struck up another tune, and a number of couples rose from their seats and threw themselves into the dancing. Back at her seat, Alchflaed took another sip of wine and allowed her gaze to travel over the faces of the ealdormen, thegns and ceorls, and their wives, at their table.
There was no sign of Maric – or any of the men she had travelled south with – and Alchflaed felt a pang of disappointment. She would have liked to have seen them.
The thought of Maric caused a strange ache to take up residence in the center of her chest, and she realized that she missed him.
All too soon, the time for the bride and groom to leave the celebrations and retire to their bed, arrived. Alchflaed found herself blushing furiously as the king’s brothers hooted and Paeda’s men made lewd comments and gestures. It was a spectacle she had seen before, when Alchfrith and Cyneburh wed, but it humiliated her all the same.
Paeda, his eyes glazed from all the wine he had drunk, appeared to enjoy the attention. He grabbed Alchflaed around the waist and towed her across the rushes toward the wooden stairs that lead up into the ‘King’s Loft’ above. The hooting and whistling continued until they stepped out of sight. Then, a moment later, the music and revelry continued once more.
Standing upon the landing, Alchflaed cast her gaze around the space that Penda and Cyneswide had shared until recently. There was no denying it was luxurious. Thick tapestries hung from the walls, and a thick fur covered the wooden floor. There was a separate area, shielded from view by a curtain, where there was the privy. Large leather trunks lined the walls, where the king and queen kept their clothing. A huge pile of furs dominated the space.
At the sight of it, Alchflaed’s stomach clenched. The moment she had been dreading had come.
“My pretty wife.”
Paeda stepped up to Alchflaed and gently hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“I have sacrificed much for you.”
Alchflaed did not reply. They both knew of what he spoke. His eyes were pale blue, a similar shade to Maric’s, but the similarity stopped there. The memory of the simmering intensity and sensitivity in Maric’s gaze made Paeda’s look cold and empty in comparison.
I must stop comparing them. I must stop thinking about him.
Alchflaed forced herself to steady her breathing and held Paeda’s gaze.
“I am here now, Milord,” she replied.
Paeda smiled, the expression softening his cruelly handsome face.
“Aye, and you are mine.”
With that, he stepped back from her and began to undress. His gaze upon her, he undid his jeweled belt and let it drop to the floor with a thud. Then, he pulled his deep blue, gold-edged tunic over his head, revealing a heavily muscled torso beneath. Dark hair covered his chest.
Alchflaed’s mouth went dry, not from lust but from fear. She was not ready for this moment. Paeda still watched her as he started to untie the laces on his breeches.
“Take off your clothes.”
Woodenly, Alchflaed complied, although her hands were shaking so badly that the process took much longer than usual, especially since her handfasting gown had many ties to unfasten. Paeda did not come to her aid. Instead, he strode over to the furs and waited for her there. Alchflaed felt his gaze scorch her as she wriggled out of the gown and then pulled the gauzy undertunic over her head.
When she finally turned to him, she had to stifle a gasp of shock. Her new husband lay on the furs, propped up on one elbow, watching her. His arousal was evident; his erection strained up from the dark thatch at his groin. His face was taut, his eyes glazed with mead and lust.
“Come here,” he commanded.
Legs shaking, Alchflaed complied. She had no choice, he was her husband and she was his property. To disobey him was unthinkable. When she had almost reached the furs, Paeda reached out, as fast as a striking adder, and hauled her against him.
Alchflaed cried out in surprise but he smothered her mouth with his and kissed her. Like at their handfasting, his kisses were rough and possessive, branding her as his. His hands roamed over her naked body – squeezing, exploring, appraising. He kneaded her breasts before tweaking her nipples hard, laughing when she squealed in pain.
Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down to his groin.
“Touch me,” he commanded.
Not
knowing what to do, Alchflaed tentatively reached out and touched the hard column of his erection. She closed her hand around its girth and gingerly stroked its length.
“Yes,” Paeda groaned, “that’s right, woman. Did your stepmother teach you how to do that, eh?”
Alchflaed drew back from him, as if slapped. “Hwaet?”
Paeda grinned wolfishly, enjoying her shock.
“Eanflaed looked like a woman who enjoys pleasing her man.”
Not waiting for Alchflaed’s response, for perhaps shocking her was enough, Paeda pushed her onto her back and spread her legs.
“Let’s see if you really are a maid,” he said. “A woman who knows how to touch a man like that rarely is.”
Alchflaed tensed, anger surging through her at his words. Although she had no love for Eanflaed, she did not like his insinuations that her stepmother was a slut and that she was not still a maid. However, she had no time to dwell upon her outrage, for she felt the head of Paeda’s manhood, pressing against her.
A moment later, he thrust deeply inside her.
White-hot pain lanced through Alchflaed; it felt as if he were tearing her in two. She screamed but the sound was lost in the roar of music and voices below their platform. She dug her nails into Paeda’s back as he loomed over her, but her reaction seemed to inflame him. Murmuring a curse under his breath, and grasping her buttocks tight, he withdrew and plunged into her once again.
Alchflaed struggled against him, but Paeda held her down on the furs. He was so much stronger than Alchflaed. He grabbed hold of her wrists and pinned them above her head, so that her breasts arched toward him. His face was a rictus of pleasure as he took her, although each thrust was agony for Alchflaed.
Eventually, he gave a great roar and reared back, his large body going rigid as he spilled his seed within her. Afterward, Paeda remained on his knees above her, breathing heavily as he recovered from his climax.
“That was even better than I imagined,” he panted. “The first time I saw you, I knew you were the woman I would have to tame. I didn’t want a meek wife, not like my mother and sisters. I wanted a woman who fights back.”
Alchflaed stared up at him, anger at his rough treatment of her rising within her like milk boiling over.
“You hurt me,” she accused him.
To her chagrin, Paeda laughed.
“It’s all part of the game, wife,” he replied, staring down at her with glittering eyes. “You are mine, and I will leave my mark upon you.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Cyneswide’s Announcement
Alchflaed approached the hearth and took a seat next to the Queen Mother. Despite her best efforts to hide her discomfort, she winced as she sat down, an expression that was not lost upon Cyneswide.
The Queen Mother frowned but said nothing.
Alchflaed was grateful. She had no wish to speak of her wedding night, for she knew she would weep if she did so. The throbbing-ache between her legs and the bruises upon her breasts were a reminder of the longest, and most unpleasant, night of her life.
Cyneswide was busy embroidering a tunic for one of her sons. Wordlessly, she reached out and passed Alchflaed a distaff and a basket of wool to wind upon it. The task was familiar, and monotonous, but Alchflaed welcomed it. After everything that had occurred since her arrival at Tamworth, she found solace in the mundane.
Still, as she began to tease out the wool and wrap it about the wooden spindle, her thoughts returned to the ordeal of the night before.
Paeda had taken her twice more – each time as roughly as the first – before he collapsed upon the furs, spent. When he tried to take her for the third time, Alchflaed’s restraint had snapped. She tried to rake his face with her nails and knee him in the cods – anything to keep him from hurting her again. However, Paeda had slapped her across the face and thrown her back down upon the furs. He laughed, aroused by her defiance. Then he had taken her savagely.
Alchflaed stared down at the distaff and blinked back tears. She had barely been married a day to Paeda of Mercia, and already she loathed him. Before arriving in Tamworth, she had worried that she would not be able to kill her husband-to-be. Yet, the way she felt now, Alchflaed would have happily driven her seax into his heart.
“Alchflaed,” Cyneswide’s gentle voice roused her from her thoughts. “Are you well?”
Alchflaed nodded, although the Queen Mother’s concern just made it harder to rein back the sobs that were building within her.
“I thought it would be different between a man and wife,” she admitted finally, “that he would be gentler.”
She looked up and saw that the mask of bitterness and detachment that Cyneswide had worn ever since her arrival had gone. She saw the pity in the older woman’s eyes, her worry.
“He is the cruelest of the three,” she said softly, “but I prayed he would be like his father; hard to the whole world except his wife.”
Alchflaed stared at the Queen Mother in surprise. “King Penda was kind to you?”
Cyneswide smiled, and Alchflaed realized with a jolt that she had loved her dead husband dearly. It was hard to reconcile the cold, stone-hewn man she had seen in Bebbanburg, to the husband that Cyneswide clearly missed.
How could any woman love such a man?
“Penda was complicated,” Cyneswide said, her smile turning wistful. “A man of contradictions. All who knew him feared him, except me. In the thirty years we were married, he was ever gentle with me; even though I witnessed him act with violence and cruelty to others. I still remember the day he beat his sister because she defied him; a terrible scene that shocked us all. Yet, Penda never once raised a hand to me. Paeda has sought to emulate his father in all things, and I thought…”
Alchflaed shook her head. “Not in this…”
The Queen Mother picked up her embroidery, her expression pained, and resumed work. Still reeling from Cyneswide’s admission, Alchflaed carried on spinning wool onto her distaff.
They sat amidst a sea of great industry within the king’s hall. Slaves scrubbed tables and swept up food from the rush-strewn floor, still tidying up after the feasting of the previous evening; while others pummeled dough for griddle bread at a worktable next to the second fire pit. Two women, the wives of king’s thegns, were overseeing the preparation of the noon meal: roast fowl and braised onions.
There were few men about at this time of the morning. It was the time when the slaves and women residing within the Great Tower carried out the chores that kept the king’s hall running. The men would not reappear until it was time to eat. Alchflaed was used to this routine, for it was the same at Bebbanburg. Men might have run the world, but women ruled the home.
The two women had been working for only a short while, when Cyneswide put down her embroidery. The Queen Mother’s posture stiffened and her face hardened into her usual expression of exhaustion and bitterness. Alchflaed glanced over her shoulder, following Cyneswide’s gaze, and spied the king crossing the floor toward them.
Paeda walked with a jaunty stride this morning. Aethelred, his youngest brother, followed close at the king’s heels while Wulfhere – easily the most physically striking of the three brothers – trailed behind. Next to Wulfhere stalked a white wolf.
Alchflaed gaped at the animal, dumbstruck. The wolf was a frightening sight. Alchflaed loved animals – and had an affinity with dogs – yet she was wary of this beast. The wolf fixed her with yellow eyes as it approached, holding her in its mesmerizing stare.
“I wouldn’t make eye contact with Mōna, if I were you,” Paeda warned Alchflaed as he stopped before her. “She’s not fond of being stared at.”
Mōna, Moon. Indeed, the beast’s pelt had a silvery hue. Alchflaed tore her gaze away from the wolf’s hypnotic stare, although she could not bring herself to meet her husband’s gaze instead.
Wulfhere stopped a few feet away and folded his arms across his chest. The wolf sat obediently at his feet.
“She cannot stand
you, dear brother,” he said coolly. “Mōna won’t cause any trouble as long as she’s not threatened.”
Alchflaed glanced toward her husband, and saw him favor his brother with a sour look. Then, he turned to the Queen Mother.
“Mōder, we are thirsty. Fetch us some mead.”
Cyneswide nodded and rose gracefully to her feet.
“Come, Alchflaed,” she commanded quietly. “You can bring the cups.”
Alchflaed did as she was bid. She carried a tray with three cups, following Cyneswide to the table upon the high seat, where the king and his brothers awaited. She set out the cups before the men, and stood back while Cyneswide poured the mead. Once the Queen Mother had completed her task, she did not retreat to her place at the fire pit. Instead, she fixed her eldest son in a level gaze.
“Paeda, I am glad that you have returned to the hall early this morning for there is something I must tell you.”
“Mōder, you must address me as king now,” her son growled before taking a deep draught of mead.
“Milord,” Cyneswide corrected herself with a bow of her head. “I have decided to take the veil and leave Tamworth.”
When stunned silence met her announcement, Cyneswide continued.
“With your permission, I shall depart for Bonehill tomorrow.”
All three of her sons stared at the Queen Mother, clearly surprised by her request. However, Wulfhere responded first.
“Are you sure about this, mōder? You have only recently been baptized. Is this truly your will?”
The Queen Mother nodded. “With your father gone, I no longer wish to reside in Tamworth. A life serving God is what I now choose.”
Her gaze shifted to Paeda, where it stayed. “Milord?”
Paeda regarded his mother speculatively.
“Seaxwulf will be pleased to see that Penda’s pagan queen has become so pious.”
Cyneswide nodded but said nothing more for there was a mocking edge to Paeda’s voice. Watching Cyneswide’s face, Alchflaed thought about what she had told her earlier. She wondered at what Cyneswide must have felt for her son. Surely she blamed Paeda for her husband’s death.
