The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3)

by Jayne Castel

  “Apologies for waking you, M’lord,” the warrior rumbled, his own eyes hollowed with fatigue, “but we caught someone lurking around the fringes of the encampment. I thought I’d better bring him to you.”

  “A spy?”

  The last remnants of sleep faded and Annan rose smoothly to his feet.

  “Most likely – a lad. Tried to run like a hare when we spotted him.”

  With that, another warrior bundled a struggling figure into the tent. They had thrown a jute sack over their captive to stop him from escaping, but he still writhed desperately like a trout on a hook.

  “Enough!” Annan ordered, stepping toward the captive. “Let’s see you then.”

  The figure stopped struggling at Annan’s command. In fact, he went deathly still, and stayed that way as Annan reached forward and yanked the jute sacking away.

  The captive’s hood fell back.

  Annan stared at the individual before him, his breath stilling. The warriors flanking the prisoner gaped openly.

  “What,” Annan managed finally, his voice barely above a whisper, “are you doing here?”

  Saewara stared back at her husband. Her heart-shaped face was pale; her dark eyes huge and frightened.

  “Saewara.” Annan spoke once more, his voice sharpening as the shock of seeing his wife, dressed as a man, with a longbow over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows on her back, before him, faded. In its place, he felt anger kindling. “You could have been killed on sight. Answer me. What, are you doing here?”

  He watched her struggle to compose herself under his gaze. A blush crept up her slender neck and her eyes glittered. For a moment he thought she would start crying – but instead, her jaw hardened and she lifted her chin defiantly.

  “I was attempting to join the ranks of your bowmen,” she told him calmly, “without your knowledge – when these two stopped me.”

  “What?” Annan did not know whether to laugh or fly into a rage. “You intended to join my fyrd, without asking me?”

  Saewara’s sensuous mouth thinned. “You would never have given me permission.”

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t!” Annan roared. “Are you mad?”

  To her credit, she did not cower before him.

  “Leave us!” Annan ordered his men, his gaze not leaving Saewara’s face. They went – but not without one last, awed look at their queen, dressed ready for battle. She stared at her husband without a trace of fear.

  “I’m not mad,” Saewara said quietly when they were alone. “I was tired of sitting at home, useless. You’ve seen me handle a longbow. I am of more use to you here than back in Exning waiting with the other women.”

  “Saewara.” Annan took a deep breath, seeking to control his temper. “War is for men, not women. You had no right to come here. This is not your place.”

  “No!” It was Saewara’s turn to shout. “I tire of men telling me where my place is. My place is where I choose it to be!”

  Annan had never seen her lose her temper before – and even through his own rage, he had to admit she had never looked lovelier. She had curled her hands into fists, as if she would strike him, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

  “This is my war as much as yours,” she continued, breathless with fury. “I have more cause to hate Penda of Mercia than anyone. I want to be part of the army that sends his army running home with their tails between their legs. And if the battle goes ill – if you fall – I don’t want my brother to ride into Exning with your head on a pike. I’d rather die here, by your side, than to wait for my brother’s mercy. You know as well as I do that I’d be better off dead.”

  Saewara stopped then, breathing hard, her hands still clenched by her sides. She stood, staring at him. Her body was as taut as a bowstring, and her cheeks were flushed. Annan realized then, with a jolt, that she was bracing herself for him to lash out.

  She expected him to strike her.

  Anger suddenly drained from Annan.

  “Saewara,” he said, his voice growing husky. “I would never – never – raise a hand to you. You do realize that?”

  She tore her gaze from his, staring down at her feet.

  “I’ve been beaten for less,” she replied.

  “I repeat – I will never raise a hand to you.” Annan stepped forward and gently took hold of her chin, raising her face so that her gaze met his once more. “I swear it.”

  Saewara’s eyes glistened. She nodded but Annan saw that she was struggling to keep her composure.

  “Don’t send me away,” she whispered. “I won’t get in your way. I will stay with your bowmen – I won’t encumber anyone. I swear.”

  “And how am I supposed to fight knowing that your life could be in danger?” Annan asked. “I don’t think you realize what it’s like out there. The violence, the blood, the screams of men as they die. There’s a reason we keep women from battle – and it’s not because we want all the glory for ourselves.”

  “I haven’t romanticized it,” Saewara whispered. “I’ve known terror. I’ve looked into a man’s eyes and seen death there. There were times when I thought Egfrid would kill me. Once he beat me so badly I nearly died. Yet, despite his best efforts, Egfrid did not break me, and neither did my brother. I’m not some sheltered high-born lady. I can fight.”

  Annan gave a bitter smile then – one that masked the stabbing pain in the center of his chest.

  “Why, Saewara?” he whispered.

  She stepped close to him then, staring up at him in that way that made his body melt. “Because this is my battle too,” she whispered back. “Let me fight it.”

  He pulled her against him; his arms locking around her, his face burying in her hair.

  “Damn you,” he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut to stem the tears that suddenly scalded his eyelids. “My life was so much simpler before you entered it – empty – but so much easier.”

  He felt her laugh against him; a sudden release of tension after all that had been said between them. “I was sent to torment you, Annan of the East Angles – but I am not sorry for it. For once, my brother did us both a favor.”

  The feel of her against him, her warmth even through the layers of clothing between them, burned into his flesh. His hands slid down her back and over the firm curves of her buttocks. The breeches she wore molded to her flesh.

  Annan groaned and pulled away from Saewara, his heart pounding. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with longing, and he was lost. Hunger consumed him and he bent over her, his mouth slanting over hers.

  Saewara responded by linking her arms around his neck and opening her mouth, her tongue tangling with his. Her hands travelled over his torso but were denied contact with his skin by the layers of chain mail and leather. She made a low noise of frustration deep in her throat, before her hands travelled lower to his leather breeches.

  Annan took charge then. He reached under the long chain-mail tunic she wore and undid the laces of her breeches. Then, he leant forward and kissed her deeply as he unlaced his own breeches. After that, he pushed her gently down onto the furs – on to her hands and knees. The sight of her naked rear, round, perfect and gleaming pale in the firelight, excited him beyond measure. Not lingering further, Annan knelt behind Saewara and entered her in one smooth movement.

  They both gasped. She whimpered his name and he was lost.

  Gripping her hips, Annan moved inside her. He tried to be slow – he had wanted to be gentle – yet, he was overwhelmed by an animalistic desire to take her hard. The impulse was so strong that he resisted only moments before giving in.

  Saewara arched her back and pushed her hips back to meet each thrust, encouraging him. She groaned and gasped, her body shuddering. Then, her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the furs. Annan held her hips up, thrusting into her again and again until he found his release.

  Afterwards, they lay together, panting, on the furs. When he had sufficiently recovered, Annan rolled off Saewara and pulled her gently against his chest. He
stroked her hair and held her close as their breathing slowed and reality seeped back into their world.

  “Annan.” Saewara propped herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. The softness in her eyes made him want to weep; something he had not done since his father’s death. “Whatever happens from this moment forward,” she whispered, “you need to know that I love you.”

  Annan stared back at her, his breathing growing shallow as he tried to keep his composure.

  “Lovely Saewara,” he murmured back, feeling as if his heart was being torn in two. “You brought joy into my life when I least expected it. I can’t imagine life without you.”

  He paused then, struggling to keep his composure. “I love you so much that it scares me.”

  She gave a gentle smile, and reaching out wiped away a tear from his cheek. “My brave wolf, my kind-hearted lover. If only the world had more men like you in it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Battle of Exning Woods

  A misty dawn broke over the woodland. A thin fog wreathed between the trees as the two armies packed up with the rising sun and readied themselves to do battle.

  After sleeping in each other’s arms for the remainder of the waning night, Annan and Saewara had awoken strangely rested, despite that they could have slept longer. They spoke little as they dressed, both calm despite the coming fight.

  The king and queen emerged from the tent to find Saba and Aethelhere waiting for them. The two men had heard that the queen had joined them – the entire fyrd had by now. Saba and Aethelhere’s gazes settled upon Saewara, taking in her battle dress and weaponry. Their expressions were stony. She returned their gazes evenly; she did not blame them for their reaction. She had not planned on making her presence known, although in retrospect, her plan had been flawed from the beginning.

  She had only ventured a few yards inside the encampment when she had realized that it would be impossible to slip through it without being noticed.

  “Saewara will join the bowmen,” Annan told them coolly. “Aethelhere, take her to them.”

  “What?” Aethelhere did not try to hide his displeasure. “She’s staying?”

  “She is,” Annan replied in a tone that brooked no argument. “Go on – we don’t have much time.”

  Saewara glanced quickly at her husband. “Till after the battle Milord,” she said quietly. “Fight well.”

  Annan smiled at her. “You too my love – keep your aim steady – and keep back from the front. Follow the lead from the other archers.”

  Saewara nodded. She was glad for the formality this morning. Enough had been said last night. No further words were needed, especially now in front of Annan’s warriors. If she was to stay on and fight then she needed to prove that she had the nerve for it.

  Aethelhere led her away, and Saewara followed without a backwards glance. Male gazes followed her steps but Saewara ignored them. She had pulled her hair back into a tight braid and wore her cloak about her shoulders. Her longbow was slung across one shoulder, her quiver of arrows across the other.

  They reached the bowmen, who watched Saewara curiously as she stopped before them.

  “Queen Saewara will join you,” Aethelhere told them. His voice was dispassionate. Saewara could feel the disapproval radiating off him. He then turned and met her gaze.

  “They won’t be able to look out for you once the battle starts,” he told her curtly. “You will be on your own.”

  “I know that,” Saewara responded with a half-smile. “Thank you, Aethelhere.”

  Aethelhere regarded her for a moment before shaking his head slowly. “Are you really as good with that longbow as Annan says?”

  “Better,” Saewara replied without a trace of a smile. “I should have beaten him in that tournament at Tamworth.”

  A smile tugged at Aethelhere’s mouth. “Very well – we’ll see, shall we?”

  With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his fur cloak billowing behind him.

  Saewara watched Aethelhere go and wondered if she would see him again. Today would decide it for them – Mercians or East Angles, one side had to win.

  Annan moved toward the front with Saba at his side. Their shields were slung over their backs, their swords still in their scabbards. The two men did not speak, sharing the easy silence that only good friends have. Annan knew he did not need to explain himself to Saba; even if the ealdorman might not agree with his decision to let Saewara stay and fight, he would never challenge Annan on it. He knew it was not a decision the king would have taken lightly.

  Still, it was a shocking decision, and Annan had felt the effect ripple through his army. This was yet another reason men preferred to keep women away from battle he thought dryly – they were a distraction. Saewara was quite a sight in her battle gear; if anything it heightened her fierce beauty rather than hid it.

  Annan allowed himself one more thought of his wife, as he had seen her last – strong and proud with a calm that awed him – before he snapped that part of his mind closed and focused on the coming battle.

  “The Mercians are forming their lines, M’lord,” one his warriors informed Annan as he reached the front. “As soon as the mist clears they will make their move.”

  “They will make their move before then,” Annan replied quietly, drawing looks of surprise from the warriors surrounding him, Saba included. “Penda got a nasty surprise yesterday when we set our bowmen on them. Today, we do not have the element of surprise. Penda will attack before the bowmen can get a clear view.”

  “Are you sure?” Saba asked, frowning as his gaze swept the misty forest. “Sounds like a risky move on Penda’s part.”

  “No,” Annan admitted, “however, I put myself in his place and thought what I’d do if I hadn’t brought bowmen with me. I wouldn’t give the enemy a chance to fell my men with their arrows. I’d move before they had me in their sights.”

  Saba’s face had grown grim, although he eventually nodded in agreement. “Have you warned the bowmen?”

  “Last night,” Annan replied. “I’ve told them to move back and wait for my command. They will not be able to fire into the front lines, as we would have already engaged them. Instead, I want them to aim for the second group who will be rushing up to join their comrades.”

  At that moment, Aethelhere joined them. The brothers’ gazes met for a moment, and a silent message passed between them before Annan nodded.

  Saba quickly filled Aethelhere in on Annan’s concerns while the king made his way down the lines, speaking quietly with his men, and alerting them to the imminent attack. When the king returned, the swirling mist was starting to clear.

  Annan unsheathed Night Bringer and took his place next to his brother.

  Patches of the shadowy woodland beyond became visible. Quiet and watchful, Annan’s fyrd grew still, weapons held at the ready, and waited for the enemy to come.

  ***

  Penda unsheathed his sword and inspected the blade. It had taken a battering yesterday, but the magnificent blade was still unscarred. Æthelfrith’s Bane. A sword fit for a king – pried out of Ecgric the Eager’s dead hands after the Battle of Barrow Fields. Such a sword should never have belonged to such a craven.

  Penda loved to fight with this sword; it felt made for him. It was the perfect weight and balance – and the pommel fitted his hand as if it was merely an extension of his arm. It had dealt death with joy yesterday, and would do so again today.

  “Are we ready?” Penda turned to Aldfrid, who stood to his right. The ealdorman returned his gaze with a surly expression. Having taken a few wounds the day before – gashes to his left arm and leg from a crazed East Angle axe-man – Aldfrid was in ill humor today.

  “Yes,” he finally acknowledged with a frown, “although I think we should wait till the mist clears. We’re stumbling forward blind this way.”

  “I have already explained to you why we need to move now,” Penda replied, his voice quiet with feigned patience. “Unless you
want an arrow in your chest, it’s the best chance we have of breaking through their front lines.”

  “Well, you lead the men in then,” Aldfrid snarled. “I’m not going first – we might as well rush in blind-folded.”

  Aldfrid’s last comment was a mistake, a costly one.

  Penda had put up with the ealdorman’s incessant grumbling ever since they had left Tamworth. Yet, at Aldfrid’s latest insolence, his patience snapped. Moving with the deathly speed that had made him so formidable in battle, the Mercian king turned on Aldfrid and plunged his blade into the base of his neck.

  The ealdorman fell without a sound, his eyes bulging as he clutched at the blade. Penda did not utter a word. He kicked the man to the ground and placed a heavy boot on his chest, watching with cold eyes while Aldfrid died. Around him, his warriors stirred uneasily; not one of them daring intervene.

  When he was sure Aldfrid was dead, Penda stepped back from his corpse and turned to the watching gazes of his fyrd.

  “Does anyone else have something to say?” he asked.

  Their silence was the only answer he needed.

  “Very well. On my command, we move!”

  Saewara had taken her place in the ranks of bowmen and had just notched her first arrow, when the battle started.

  She had expected shouts and the crunch of metal colliding with flesh. Yet, instead, there was a sudden release of tension in the air around her and a whisper of movement down below.

  The bowmen stood on a slight rise, fanned out in a horseshoe at the point where they would get the clearest view of the enemy. Unfortunately, as the first cries of men dying and the clang of spears against shields reached them, they could see nothing because of the swirling mist. It was starting to clear, but it was not safe to start loosing arrows.

  Wulfhere, the leader of the bowmen, had dourly informed Saewara that Annan suspected the Mercians would attack before the mist cleared; and it appeared the king had been right. As such, they stood much further back than the day before. This morning, they would have to bide their time before engaging the Mercians.