by Jayne Castel
Deorwine glared at him. Leofric could see that although his friend was still furious with him, Deorwine was going to cooperate.
“I rue the day I met you,” Deorwine muttered.
Leofric laughed and slung an arm over Deorwine’s shoulder, playfully shoving him forward so he nearly dropped his sack of turnips. “Admit it—life was dull before I arrived.”
Deorwine cast him a jaundiced look. “No, it was peaceful.”
A glowing, breathless dusk settled over Lindisfarena. It was a sultry evening and cloudless—the perfect weather for what Leofric had planned. He sat in Night Prayer, listening to the steady chanting of the monks around him, and counted the heartbeats until it was over.
He did not care that he was taking a huge risk—the potential rewards more than compensated for it. Actually, he could not believe his stroke of good fortune. Wyrd—fate—was definitely with him today. Escorting Aelfwyn to safety was exactly the excuse he had needed. Deorwine would never have helped him otherwise. Unlike the other two they shared lodgings with, Deorwine was a light sleeper; there was no chance of Leofric sneaking off unnoticed. This way, he had his friend’s help; even if Deorwine did not know Leofric would not be returning.
Eventually Night Prayers ended, and Leofric followed the others out into the balmy evening. The sun was just sliding behind the headland to the west, leaving a trail of flame in its wake. Leofric grinned at the sight of it, his belly tightening with excitement.
Good weather tomorrow. Perfect for a journey.
The monks all retired early; life was hard here and none of them stayed up after nightfall, as they would all arise from their pallets at the first blush of dawn. Leofric followed Deorwine, Hengist, and Eomer into their hut. Inside, he stripped off his habit and climbed onto his hard straw pallet. Unlike other evenings, he and Deorwine did not chat in low voices—something they often did until one of the others complained. Instead they lay in silence, waiting for the appointed time.
Leofric lay on his back, listening to the breathing of the men around him. Deorwine’s breathing was quiet, measured and watchful—he was still very much awake—but the other two soon fell into a deep slumber. Leofric waited a while longer, scarcely breathing, until Hengist and Eomer were snoring like old dogs.
Only then did he slowly ease himself out of his pallet. Deftly, he wriggled into his habit, before picking up his sandals and creeping from the hut. Outside, the moon was rising, casting a silver veil over the complex and making the thatched roofs appear frosted.
Leofric had just finished lacing his sandals when Deorwine emerged from the hut and carefully pulled the wattle doorway closed. Once he too had put on his sandals, the two made their way toward the outskirts of the monastery.
Both young men were light-footed, moving from shadow to shadow like wraiths. Although Leofric was pleased that the weather was good and that a full moon would light his way, the night’s stillness bothered him a little. It was so quiet that even his breathing seemed far too loud in the silence. He kept his mouth shut and breathed through his nose, but he was still aware that every sound he made, every scrape of his sandals against dry earth, seemed magnified.
They reached the store hut where Aelfwyn hid. Deorwine kept watch, while Leofric opened the door and poked his head inside. He could see nothing in the darkness, but he could hear her breathing. “Aelfwyn—it’s Leofric. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Come on.” He reached into the darkness. “Take my hand so I don’t lose you.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Leofric had seen her reaction to Deorwine earlier; he knew that she was loath to touch a man. Still, he did not want to leave her behind as they raced for the shore. Then he felt cool, slender fingers fold around his hand. The sensation of her skin touching his caused a frisson of warmth to slide up his arm. Her touch was gentle yet firm, and he felt a surge of protectiveness. Pushing the sensation aside, for distraction was the last thing he needed at that moment, he led her from the hut.
Deorwine led the way out of the monastery complex, weaving in and out of the scattered buildings, until they reached the slope leading down to the shore. They would leave Deorwine here. Leofric and Aelfwyn would make a break for the silver-hued sand-flats that lay between them and Bebbanburg.
Leofric’s pulse started to race. Freedom was so close he could almost taste it—yet this escape was proving almost too easy. The fine hair on the back of his arms prickled in warning. Something was not right, but he had no time to dwell on what exactly disturbed him about the night.
Perhaps the unnatural silence after days of howling wind was getting to him.
Deorwine stopped, allowing them to pass silently by. There would be no time to thank his friend, or properly say goodbye—and for an instant, Leofric was sorry. They had become close, and Deorwine deserved better. Still his friend thought he was coming back so it was best not to make him suspicious.
Adrenalin surged through Leofric, masking his earlier uneasiness. He needed to focus on escaping. He squeezed Aelfwyn’s hand gently and tensed, ready to break into a sprint.
“Stop them!”
Cuthbert’s voice cut through the still night like a loosed arrow.
Leofric’s heart leaped against his breastbone and he nearly stumbled. Any thought of bidding his friend goodbye vanished. He started running, dragging the girl after him.
Dark figures appeared from the edge of the complex, hurtling toward them. Aelfwyn whimpered but managed to keep up with him, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.
Behind them, Deorwine cried out. Leofric’s stride faltered once more before he forced himself to focus on the gleaming expanse of wet sand that stretched before them. A few more strides and they would reach it—perhaps then their pursuers would fall back. It was a desperate hope but it was all he had to cling to.
A heartbeat later, someone tackled him from behind.
Aelfwyn screamed, the sound shattering the night’s eerie quiet.
Leofric pitched forward onto the hard, stony ground, the air rushing out of his lungs. Aelfwyn’s hand ripped from his, and she screamed again.
“Let me go!”
Leofric tried to rise, to help her. Yet there was a man sitting on his back, pinning him to the ground. Rage filled him and he twisted like a serpent, his fist slamming up into his assailant’s face. The monk gave a muffled cry and fell off him—but two more took his place. They threw themselves on top of him, pinning him to the ground despite the fact that he bucked and writhed under their grip. He kneed another one in the cods; the monk gave a strangled yell and collapsed onto the ground next to him.
Three more monks piled on top of Leofric, determined to subdue him.
“Brother Leofric—cease this madness!”
Still struggling, Leofric looked up and saw a man’s outline looming over him. He recognized the prior’s tall, lean silhouette. Despair choked him. Freedom had been so close he had almost tasted it—only to be ripped from his grasp.
The mood inside the church was ominous, the air heavy with repressed anger.
Aelfwyn knelt on the paved floor, in between Leofric and Deorwine, and stared down at her trembling hands. Tears ran silently down her cheeks, but she paid them no mind.
It was over—she was going back to King Ecgfrith.
To her right, Deorwine sported a bloodied lip, his expression panicked. To her left, Leofric glared at the prior, his hazel-green eyes blazing with defiance.
She was grateful that they had tried to help her, but neither of them could do anything more. They had taken a risk on her behalf, and now she had gotten them both in trouble.
Eventually, Prior Cuthbert spoke. “Words cannot express my disappointment in you both.”
Aelfwyn heard Deorwine’s breathing quicken, whereas Leofric had gone still.
“I did not want to believe it, when one of your brothers came to me this afternoon with news he’d overheard you plotting to spirit away the girl you were hiding un
der the cover of night.” The prior paused here, as if considering his next words carefully. “If the king thinks I lied to his men—that we’ve been hiding the girl here—he will punish us all.”
“Just tell him the truth,” Leofric ground out. “Tell him you had nothing to do with it.”
Cuthbert glared at Leofric, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “You will learn penitence for your grievous disobedience—in the meantime this young woman cannot stay here.”
Aelfwyn looked up, for the first time meeting Prior Cuthbert of Lindisfarena’s gaze. He did not have hard face, or unkind eyes. Perhaps, she could convince him to help her.
“Please, Father,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to trouble you—or your monks. I washed up on the shore and they took care of me. Can I not stay here and serve you?”
The question brought gasps from the group of monks amassed behind them. Some of them started muttering under their breaths, but Cuthbert stilled them with a gesture.
“You cannot stay here, Aelfwyn. I will not risk the king’s wrath.”
“Then send me to Streonshalh, and I will devote the rest of my life to god.”
Cuthbert regarded her, concern in his dark eyes. “You have a gentle soul. A nun’s life would indeed suit you—but unfortunately that decision is not mine to make. You are part of the king’s house-hold and he wants you back.”
“Don’t send me back there,” Aelfwyn replied, swallowing the sobs that rose up within her. “I can’t return to Bebbanburg.”
The prior frowned, concern flowering into naked worry. “Why are so you so afraid, child?”
“I don’t …” Aelfwyn began. “I can’t …”
She was desperate to tell the prior the truth, but the words lodged like dry bread in her throat. If she told them the sordid tale, she would shatter into pieces—and what then? Would a room full of men believe the words of a hysterical young woman over those of a king?
Instead she buried her face in her hands and started to cry in earnest.
“Father Cuthbert,” Leofric said, his voice edged with anger. “The girl’s body is covered with bruises. I’d say she was attacked and raped before she tried to take her life by running into the sea.”
Aelfwyn’s sobs choked off. Her head snapped up, and she stared at Leofric, shocked that he knew what happened to her. She had no idea her body was livid with bruises. However, when her gaze shifted to the prior, she realized the young monk had committed a grave error.
Cuthbert now looked angry. His finely shaped brows had knitted together, making his long aquiline nose look even beakier. His pursed mouth thinned into a hard line. Around him the other monks had gone silent. Aelfwyn saw the shock and censure on some of their faces.
“You and Deorwine looked upon this girl’s naked body?” he asked, his voice flat.
“She was wet and cold, Father.” Leofric’s tone was unrepentant.
Cuthbert’s gaze swung round to Deorwine. “Is this true?”
Deorwine made a choking sound. “We were only trying to help her, Father. We didn’t touch her.”
“Enough,” Cuthbert snapped. “Not another word. Neither of you understand what you’re meddling with. This monastery and others like it in this kingdom only exist because the king permits it. This girl is Ecgfrith’s property. Your behavior threatens us all.”
Aelfwyn saw Deorwine blanch. His slender frame started to tremble, and he bowed his head.
Silence stretched out inside the church. Aelfwyn held her breath, awaiting the axe to fall. Eventually, the prior spoke once more, his voice regaining its gentleness as if he had fought and mastered the anger that had risked consuming him.
“Leofric and Deorwine—you will both escort Aelfwyn to King Ecgfrith at first light. You will go alone, for I want none of your brothers to suffer for your crime. When you go before the king, you will tell him the truth—that you found her, hid her, and lied to his men about her whereabouts.” The prior’s gaze fixed upon Leofric as he spoke his final words. “Once Ecgfrith has exacted his punishment upon you, return here and receive god’s penance.”
Chapter Eleven
Deorwine’s Ruse
Aelfwyn watched the sky lighten to the east and knew her doom had come.
She stood in the yard at the heart of the monastery while around her monks moved about, their hoods pulled up as if they were all trying to avoid looking at her; faceless ghosts amongst the shadows.
Although it was not cold, Aelfwyn was shivering. Grateful she still wore the monk’s robe on top of her woolen dress, she drew it close about her. Nearby, a goat bleated as someone led it out of its enclosure for milking. Aelfwyn inhaled deeply in an attempt to steady her nerves, breathing in the scent of wood-smoke from a nearby hearth. Life went on as usual upon the Isle of Lindisfarena this morning. It was as if last night had never happened.
Yet it was not so for her.
Last night had dashed her hopes, leaving only despair in its place.
Leofric and Deorwine emerged from the church, where the prior had spoken to them in private. Deorwine was ashen and looked close to tears, whereas Leofric’s usually sanguine face was serious, his jaw tight.
Despite her fear for her own fate at the hands of Ecgfrith, she was sorry that she would also bring his wrath down upon these two men. They had only tried to help her. She hoped the king would show them mercy.
Aelfwyn shuddered, shoving aside thoughts of Ecgfrith.
The two monks approached her. “Come, Aelfwyn,” Leofric said, his voice gruff. “We must go now.”
Wordlessly, she followed them out of the complex and down to the shore. It was an irony that they walked the same route they had attempted to flee down in darkness. This time no one tried to stop them, for this time they were not running away but doing the prior’s bidding.
They walked in single-file across the sands, with Leofric leading, Aelfwyn behind him, and Deorwine bringing up the rear. The Pilgrim’s Way—the route all travelers used to cross from the mainland to Lindisfarena—was the only safe place to cross. Otherwise you risked stepping into soft sand or mud that had sucked many unwary travelers to their deaths.
They had gone a short distance across the wet sand when Aelfwyn spoke. The manner of their departure from the monastery bothered her. “Why has Cuthbert not sent an escort of monks with us?” she asked quietly. “Does he not fear we’ll try and flee again?”
Ahead, Leofric gave a bitter laugh. She watched his shoulders tense. “Worry not, he has already dealt with that possibility,” he replied. “If Deorwine and I are not back before None, he will send an emissary to the king with the next low tide, with his permission to hunt Deorwine and me down and kill us.”
Horrified, Aelfwyn glanced over her shoulder at Deorwine. The young man’s gaze was bleak, telling her that his friend was not lying. “But the prior is a man of god,” she gasped. “He abhors violence.”
Deorwine shook his head, avoiding her eye. “It appears we’ve stretched his patience too far this time.”
“This time?” Leofric gave another humorless chuckle. “Aye, poor Deorwine. His friendship with me has cost him dearly. I have a habit of getting myself into trouble—only I managed to drag him into it this time.”
Aelfwyn did not reply, although the situation now made more sense to her. She realized that both young men were still postulants—they were undergoing a trial period before taking their vows. Neither had tonsures, and they wore fawn-colored homespun robes, unlike the other monks whose robes were a deep walnut brown.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, keeping her gaze upon Leofric’s broad shoulders so she would not stare at the bulk of Bebbanburg to the south as they crossed the sand flats. “I’ve brought trouble upon you.”
Deorwine snorted at this. “When Leofric’s around, trouble finds you. You’re not to blame.”
Leofric glanced back then, hurt flashing across his handsome features. He opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it and turn
ed away once more. Watching him, Aelfwyn wondered at Leofric’s decision to become a monk; unlike Deorwine, he seemed wholly unsuited.
They walked the rest of the distance in silence. It was a still, mild morning, and the air was humid and briny. Try as she might, Aelfwyn could not remain focused on Leofric’s back. Soon Bebbanburg towered over the surrounding lands like a red stone king of giants, the fort resembling his jagged wooden crown.
The closer they got to the beach, the sicker Aelfwyn felt. Now that she had stopped conversing with the monks, there was nothing to distract her from what lay ahead. She could not bear to meet Aethelhild’s eye again, not after what the king had done. She could not stomach the idea of standing before Ecgfrith and pretending as if nothing was wrong, as if he had not taken everything from her.
Nausea rose within Aelfwyn, bile stinging the back of her throat. Her legs started to feel weak and her stomach churned. Images from two nights earlier resurfaced.
His hot breath on her cheek.
His hand pressing down on her mouth, suffocating her.
They reached the edge of the wide stretch of sandy beach. The fortress lay to the south, at least three leagues distant, separated from them by a jutting spit of land edged in silver sand. It was still a way off, but the sight of Bebbanburg brought back every terror Aelfwyn had felt while Ecgfrith trapped her beneath him.
Her stomach convulsed, and she dropped to her knees on the wet sand, throwing up the broth and stale bread she had consumed before departing Lindisfarena. She was aware of the monks stopping nearby, their gazes riveted upon her—but she was past caring. Sending her back to Bebbanburg would be the end of her—they had to know the truth before they delivered her to the Ecgfrith.
“I can’t …” she gasped. “I can’t go back there. Not to him.”
