by Jayne Castel
Wordlessly, the blond monk, his blue eyes wide with what appeared to be a blend of fascination and fear, passed her a hunk of coarse bread upon an oilskin cloth.
“It’s not much, I know,” commented the redhead with a trace of irony in his voice, “but meals are simple upon Lindisfarena.”
Lindisfarena.
The sea had not swallowed her, as she had hoped. Instead it had carried her a short distance and dumped her upon the holy isle just a few leagues north from Bebbanburg.
Fear cramped Aelfwyn’s belly, making it difficult to keep down the broth; she was not safe here. Tears pricked her eyelids, making them burn brutally. Despite her best efforts, she was alive—and if she was still alive then Ecgfrith could find her and hurt her again.
“Don’t look so worried,” the red-haired monk said, his voice soothing as if he was quietening a panicked horse. “You’ll come to no harm here.”
Aelfwyn nodded and forced back the tears. She glanced down and saw that she wore nothing but a scratchy monk’s habit.
Anguish resurfaced. They had undressed her, had seen her naked body.
“My clothes,” she gasped.
“They’re drying behind you,” the blond monk told her, his own voice quivering with nervousness. “We had to get you into dry clothes.”
She nodded once more although mortification still burned through her. After what she had just endured, knowing that two more men had looked upon her nakedness when she had not been able to give permission, was too much.
Hot tears slid down her face. She looked down at the rapidly cooling cup of broth she clasped, trying to regain control.
She did not want these two men—two strangers—to see her terror, her grief. She had to keep a rein on it until she was alone.
Leofric watched the girl weep. Her glittering blue-grey eyes were filled with so much pain it was difficult not to reach out and comfort her. Yet he knew she would shrink away from his touch.
When he and Deorwine had peeled those wet clothes off her, he had seen the livid bruises on her body—covering her arms, breasts, and upper-thighs. The look of terror on her face when she had first awoken only confirmed his suspicions.
Leofric exchanged a glance with Deorwine. His friend’s mouth had thinned in anger; he too knew. Deorwine was a gentle soul but his blue eyes glittered with fury at what someone had done to this girl.
Leofric glanced back at her. He was no stranger to women; he had bedded his first at thirteen and was currently enduring his longest stretch ever without female company. Yet he had never—and would never—force himself on a woman.
The young woman hunched before him—desperately trying to stem the tears that flowed down her pale cheeks—bore wounds that were far worse than bruises; wounds no one would ever see.
“We need to go,” Deorwine reminded him quietly. “There will be trouble if we neglect our chores.”
Leofric nodded and reluctantly rose to his feet. Deorwine was right—he had already angered Cuthbert enough for one day.
“You need to stay inside this store room,” he told the girl gently. “No one knows you’re here, and it’s safer for all of us if it stays that way. One of us will be back later, with more food and water.”
The young woman looked up, her watery gaze meeting his. “I should go—I don’t want to cause trouble.” Her voice was husky and trembled slightly.
“You’re not,” Leofric replied firmly, “and as soon as you’re strong enough, we’ll find a way to get you off the island and back to the mainland.” He smiled down at her and saw the fear and mistrust in her eyes. “I’m Leofric, by the way—and this is Deorwine. What’s your name?”
The girl stared back at him, hesitating before she answered him. “Aelfwyn.”
“What monster did that to her?”
Leofric glanced across at Deorwine as they made their way to the monastery gardens, a short distance from the store huts. His friend’s vehemence surprised him.
“A man who likes to hurt women,” he replied.
“But how did she end up here—did he try drowning her? Was raping her not enough?”
Leofric shook his head. “Either that or she threw herself into the sea afterward.” The haunted look on the girl’s face told him that this was more likely the case.
Deorwine did not reply to that although Leofric could see he was seething. Leofric did not blame him. He too would have liked to geld the man responsible—yet rape was more common than perhaps Deorwine realized. His friend had grown up in a tiny village before coming to live on an island inhabited by peaceful monks. In Eoforwic, Leofric had seen another side to life. Many of the men who frequented the town’s meadhall used the whores who plied their trade there badly. He had seen a number of the girls with blackened eyes and split lips—and worse.
Deorwine wished for a world where innocence was protected, where brutality and cruelty did not exist—sadly no such world existed. Leofric was not sure it ever would.
They reached the gardens—a walled area where the monks grew most of their food—and got to work alongside the other brothers who weeded, harvested, and sowed. The wind, which had howled for days, had died down and a breathless calm settled over the world. The smoke, rising from the building where monks prepared supper, drifted straight up into the sky. Around them, the shadows were lengthening as the long twilight began.
Leofric unsheathed the knife he carried at his belt and began cutting out the cabbages, some of which were on the verge of going to seed. All this cabbage would mean days of stinking pottage but like the other monks, Leofric knew that even overcooked cabbage stew was better than an empty stomach. Lindisfarena brought in very little from the mainland as Cuthbert wished for the monastery to be as self-sufficient as possible.
A short time later, the bell rang for supper. Leofric resheathed his knife and hoisted the basket of cabbages under his arm. He then followed the stream of hungry monks into the long, low-slung feasting hall attached to the kitchens, where they would eat their final meal of the day. Only the supper was not likely to be a feast—but a watery gruel, hard cheese, and even harder bread.
This evening though Leofric did not dwell on the unappetizing fare he endured daily. Instead he was thinking about how to smuggle more food back to Aelfwyn once supper was over.
Chapter Nine
In Search of Aelfwyn
Sunlight filtered into the store hut through a crack in the wooden door—alerting Aelfwyn that she had indeed slept through the entire night and most of the morning too. Stretching on her makeshift bed, she glanced over at the wooden crate next to the pile of sacking and saw that one of the monks had left her a cup of milk and a large wedge of griddle bread and cheese.
Her mouth watered at the sight of it—she was ravenous.
She sat up, rubbed sleep out of her eyes, and started on her meal, not pausing until only crumbs remained on the wooden plate. Outside, she heard the scrape and rustle of monks moving around, going about their daily tasks. Although she would heed her saviors’ counsel to stay hidden, she longed to venture out into the sunlight and stretch her cramped limbs.
Instead she stood up, wincing at the aches and pains in her body, and peered through a gap in the door planks. It was a calm and sunny day outside. Two monks—although not the two who had saved her—were busy stocking the shelves of the hut opposite: huge wheels of white cheese from the milk of sheep and goats that Aelfwyn guessed must also live on the island.
They finished their task, bolted the door shut, and moved back toward the center of the complex. Aelfwyn watched them go, relieved they had ignored her hiding place. However, she would not be able to remain here much longer; Leofric and Deorwine had been kind but they risked much by hiding her.
At the next low tide I will go.
Aelfwyn left the door and sat back down on her pile of sacking. Leofric had visited her once more last night, to make sure she was well, before leaving her. Although she appreciated his concern, she had been relieved to see him go.
Only then did she unleash the grief—the pain—she had been bottling up ever since she had first awoken.
She had curled up on the sacking, stuffed a fist in her mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise, and sobbed until exhaustion swallowed her. She felt drained this morning—and although letting herself go last night had taken the rawness off her grief, it was still there, shadowing every moment.
Reaching behind her, Aelfwyn checked the state of her linen under-tunic and the woolen dress she had worn over it; they were both dry, although a little stiff from the salty seawater.
She shucked off the monk’s habit she wore and quickly dressed in her own clothes. Then, for warmth, she pulled the habit over the top of her dress. She had left her fur mantle and boots on the beach; the monks robe would have to take its place, and could offer her some disguise once she reached the mainland.
What then?
Ecgfrith had torn Aelfwyn’s old life away from her. She would never return to Bebbanburg, not while he ruled it. Nor could she return home to Rendlaesham. Her parents would be ashamed of her—if they believed her story at all—and were likely to send her right back to Northumbria.
I’ll never see Aethelhild again.
Tears smarted Aelfwyn’s already red-rimmed and swollen eyes. Ecgfrith had destroyed everything. She loathed him for it but was powerless to take vengeance to make him pay for what he had done.
Once she left Lindisfarena the only option open to her was the one she had once shunned in favor of service to Aethelhild: to take her vows and become a nun. Nunneries and abbeys were not just places where women could worship God in peace, but islands of safety in a brutal world.
The abbey of Streonshalh lay some distance to the south. They had passed it on the journey from Rendlaesham; Aelfwyn reckoned it was at least ten days’ journey on foot. She was not sure she was capable of traveling that far—especially on her own. If the king’s men did not catch her she would likely die of thirst or hunger first.
Aethelhild had told her that Hilda was a big-hearted woman who protected the nuns in her charge like a she-wolf. Aelfwyn did not dwell on what would happen to her if Hilda did not welcome her at Streonshalh. She felt broken—a husk. Part of her did not care what the future held.
Her only hope was that she would never again set eyes on the King of Northumbria.
Leofric was the first of the order to spot the men crossing to the island from the mainland. They rode on sturdy ponies, two abreast, having waited for the tide to ebb so they could make the journey across the Pilgrims’ Way.
He had just finished his silent vigil at the prior’s side, and was trying to ease the cramps in his limbs. The bell for the noon meal was just moments from ringing, but to stretch his stiff legs, Leofric had left the monastery and walked down the slope toward the shore.
As soon as he saw the men, Leofric turned and jogged back up the incline to warn his brothers. These were the first visitors to the isle since his arrival here, and even at a distance he could see they were warriors, for their spears bristled like porcupine quills against the sky.
Prior Cuthbert went forth to greet the newcomers, with his flock of monks gathered close behind him. As a postulant, Leofric brought up the rear, next to Deorwine.
“Who are they?” one of the other postulants whispered, peering over the shoulder of the monk in front of him.
“One of them carries a Northumbrian standard,” Deorwine whispered back. “They’re the king’s men.”
Leofric watched the newcomers closely. The men reminded him of the swaggering warriors who filled Godwine of Eoforwic’s hall: renowned fighters, their arms gleaming with béagas—armrings—and clad in leather, mail and iron. The sort of men he had planned to join the ranks of, before he ruined everything for himself.
Jealousy curdled his stomach at the sight of them. Godwine had ensured that Leofric could never serve one of the lords of the north. Once he left here, he would have to travel far to avoid the ealdorman’s wrath.
The band of men rode up the path toward the monastery, leather creaking and bits jangling. They halted a few yards from where Cuthbert stood. One of the warriors, a big man clad in a mail vest, swung down from his horse and crossed to the prior. He then knelt before him and kissed his hand.
“Father, forgive the intrusion on your solitude,” he rumbled, his rough voice and appearance at odds with the gentleness of his actions. Leofric raised his eyebrows; this man might have looked like a fierce pagan warrior, but he clearly followed Cuthbert’s god.
“There’s nothing to be forgiven, Boden,” the prior replied with a gentle smile. “Tell me, what brings Ecgfrith’s men across the perilous sands?”
The warrior rose to his feet. “We search for a girl—the queen’s handmaid. She disappeared from the Great Tower yesterday morning and has not been seen since.” The warrior’s gaze left Cuthbert’s face, traveling over the monks assembled behind him. “She is small and fair with pale blonde hair. Her name is Aelfwyn. Have any of you seen her?”
Leofric’s pulse quickened at the warrior’s words. He felt Deorwine shift nervously beside him. Although Leofric did not look his way, he bit down on the urge to kick his friend in the shin. He could sense Deorwine’s struggle not to answer the king’s man.
Keep your mouth shut.
Mercifully, Deorwine did just that. The crowd jostled in front them as the other monks cast looks at each other and shrugged their shoulders. A chorus of ‘no’ drifted back to the waiting warriors.
“It appears none of us have seen this young woman,” Cuthbert said eventually. “Why do you believe she would come here?”
“We found her cloak and boots washed up on the shore in front of Bebbanburg,” Boden replied, “and thought she may have tried to cross to the isle.”
The prior shook his head, genuine concern darkening his gaze. “If she attempted such a journey on a rising tide she would have been swept out to sea.”
“That is also my thought.”
Silence stretched between them, before Boden turned and crossed back to his horse.
“If you see the girl—bring her back to Bebbanburg,” he said. His voice hardened, as did his gaze. “She might not be of right mind. The king wants her returned safely.”
Cuthbert nodded. “You have our word.”
Aelfwyn stared up at Leofric and Deorwine, fear coiling hard knots in her belly.
“I knew they’d come,” she whispered. “I knew they’d start looking for me.”
Leofric knelt down so his gaze was level with hers. His eyes—hazel-green and fringed by auburn lashes—fixed her coolly.
“They said you are handmaid to the queen. Is that so?”
Aelfwyn nodded, her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
“They also said you were ‘not of your right mind’—what did they mean?”
Terror rose up within Aelfwyn; she felt like a cornered hare with nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she gasped. “Don’t make me … I just can’t.”
“Be gentle, Leofric,” Deorwine said, his sensitive face creased with concern. He hunkered down next to Aelfwyn and reached out a hand to comfort her. His gaze widened in alarm when she shrank back from his touch. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, withdrawing his hand. “It’s just that we can see you’ve been through a lot, and we just want to help.”
Aelfwyn nodded. She wanted to believe him, but after what Ecgfrith had done, she did not think she would ever trust another man again. “I must go,” she finally managed. “I have to leave here … now.”
“Not so hasty,” Leofric spoke up, his tone firm. “It’s the middle of the day, and the tide is high. You wouldn’t get five yards before someone spotted you, and after that you’d have nowhere to run.”
Tears blurred Aelfwyn’s vision. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding. “I can’t go back there … I can’t.”
“Aelfwyn,” Leofric’s voice, calm and sure, drew her out of her panic. “Look at me.�
��
She did. He was standing close to her and was a lot taller than she was. Aelfwyn had to crane her neck up to meet his eye. He smelled nice, the faintest whiff of lye soap mixed with a spicy masculine smell. It was a comforting scent, and her pulse slowed slightly.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his mouth curving into that cocky half-smile she had seen the day before. “We’ll help you get off this isle. The tide recedes at dusk. Wait till then, and I’ll escort you back to the mainland myself.”
Chapter Ten
Cuthbert’s Orders
“Are you trying to play the hero—or are you really this stupid.”
Leofric turned, surprised by Deorwine’s vehemence. “Neither. I’m just helping her.”
“No—you’re acting like a fool. How are you going to get Aelfwyn safely to the mainland in darkness, let alone return here without anyone noticing you’re gone?”
“Hengist and Eomer sleep like the dead—they won’t notice I’m gone,” Leofric replied with a grin. “There’s a full-moon tonight so we’ll be able to see to make the crossing. You can keep a look out and if—”
“There you go again, telling me what to do. You just assume I’m helping you.”
They were carrying sacks of turnips toward one of the store houses. The two men spoke in hushed tones, although Deorwine’s voice was growing more strident with each passing moment.
Leofric stopped, his grin fading. “You are—we’re both in too deep now. You saw how terrified Aelfwyn is of going back. We have to help her.”
“But what then? Have you even stopped to think about what happens after you leave her on the shore? She has no food—no one to protect her. How long do you think she’ll last before the king’s men track her down?”
Leofric frowned. Deorwine had no idea that he was planning to make his escape from the island tonight. Aelfwyn would have protection because he would lead her south. He would leave her at the abbey at Streonshalh before disappearing into the wild. However, if Deorwine got a whiff of his true plans he could ruin everything. “At least she’ll have a chance,” he replied, setting his jaw. “If we hand her over to Cuthbert, she has none at all.”
