by Jayne Castel
How have I lived to twenty winters and not realized?
She had grown up in a prosperous household, in a thriving town, and had never known a day of strife in her life before going to live at Bebbanburg. Reality had been a cruel blow—one that Aelfwyn was not sure she would ever recover from.
They rode south for a while longer before the trees drew back and they traveled through open, windswept country. At noon they took a brief rest by a stream, where they refilled their water skins, let the horse drink, and ate bread and cheese from the saddlebag Thunred had carried with him.
They spoke little during their rest, each dealing with the events at dawn in their own manner. Leofric appeared in a brooding mood. His gaze was far off, his expression pensive, as he skimmed stones across the stream and waited for Aelfwyn to finish her bread and cheese.
For her part, Aelfwyn felt tense and unsettled. Until now, she had focused on her immediate survival; on escaping the men and hounds at her heels. Streonshalh still lay a few days’ ride away on horseback. Although they were now far ahead of their pursuers, she worried about what the next days would bring.
She was not foolish enough to assume they had outrun the hounds—Ecgfrith’s men would still be tracking them south. They had to ensure they widened the distance between them and their pursuers over the next few days.
They resumed their journey, cutting east toward the coast this time. A brisk breeze, laced with brine, blew in from the sea. It stung Aelfwyn’s face and whipped her hair from its braid so that it flew around her face as they rode. She now leaned back against the wall of Leofric’s chest; her back had been agony after a while and it had been impossible to sit without touching him, so she had been forced to give in. Even so, it was a relief not to be on foot. Her feet were aching and sore from where the rope sandals had cut into her, and her thigh and calf muscles were tight and cramped.
Their mount was swift, even with two passengers, and carried them quickly south along the wild Bernician coast. Gulls swooped, their lonely cries echoing, and out to sea storm clouds rolled in.
By the time dusk approached, the wind had spots of rain in it.
They camped for the night on a hillside studded with rocks and brambles. Halfway down the hill loomed a large boulder with a ledge that provided some shelter underneath. Leofric unsaddled the horse, rubbed it down with a twist of grass, and hobbled it next to the boulder. The horse, an apparently unflappable beast, began cropping at grass; ignoring the rain that was now starting to fall in large, wet splashes.
Aelfwyn wriggled under the lip of the boulder and watched the sky darken overhead. Leofric squeezed in next to her as the rain began in earnest, pattering down on the dry earth.
There was little space in their makeshift shelter, especially with saddlery and Thunred’s bag of hunting provisions keeping them company.
“No fire tonight,” Leofric announced, peering out at the rain. “The rain would just put it out anyway, and besides, I don’t want to draw any more attention to us.”
Aelfwyn nodded. He would not get any complaints from her. Despite the rain, it was not cold this evening, especially here out of the wind. However, her stomach was rumbling. It seemed like an age since her noon meal of bread and cheese. She dug around in the saddlebag and retrieved an apple each and a large piece of cheese wrapped in oiled cloth.
“That’s it,” she said, passing Leofric his share of their meagre dinner. “The end of our food.”
“We’ll buy some food in the next village we pass tomorrow,” Leofric promised, patting the small purse he now carried at his waist. “We’ve a few thrymsas, plus I can hunt so we won’t starve.”
They lapsed into silence then, each intent on devouring their supper. The apple was sweet and the cheese quite salty but good. Afterward, Aelfwyn took a sip from the water skin before passing it to Leofric. The rain drummed down on the boulder above their heads and ran in streams off the edge. Moments later, Aelfwyn heard the rumble of thunder in the distance.
“Is the horse alright?” she asked Leofric finally. “Won’t the storm frighten him?”
“Nerves of iron that one.” Leofric grinned at her, his face shadowed in the gathering dark. “Don’t worry about him.”
Aelfwyn pulled her knees up against her chest and rested her chin on them. She was exhausted and longed to stretch out upon a soft straw pallet and pull dry, warm furs over her head. Instead she would have to sleep upright tonight or risk getting soaked.
She glanced back at Leofric. He was staring out at the rain, his face pensive. She was still wary of him but the shock of this morning’s fight had dimmed somewhat, and she felt embarrassed at her behavior after he had killed Thunred.
“You probably think me ungrateful,” she began hesitantly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a man killed in front of me before … but I am glad you saved me from him.”
Leofric glanced at her, and she saw a flash of white as he grinned. “I saved us both—he wasn’t going to let me live.”
“Did he really know you?”
“Aye.” Leofric’s voice changed, the tone turning guarded.
Undaunted, Aelfwyn pressed on. It had been bothering her all day; she had to know the truth about Leofric’s past, about who he really was. “He said the ealdorman had sent you to Lindisfarena for insulting him—was that also true?”
She saw Leofric’s barely perceptible nod.
“What happened? Why did you insult him?”
Leofric gave a soft laugh. “I was waiting for this.”
“For what?”
“All the questions.”
Aelfwyn stiffened, her cheeks growing hot. She was glad it was too dark for him to see her embarrassment. “If you’d rather not talk about it …” she began.
“No, it’s fine,” he replied with a sigh of resignation. “My past isn’t something I’m that proud of, that’s all.”
Aelfwyn let a few moments of uncomfortable silence pass before she spoke once more. “Why?”
Leofric raked a hand through his short hair. “Where to begin? Let’s just say I come from a family of hot-headed men who do as they please. My father brought me up that way—only he wasn’t so happy about my arrogance the day I refused to wed the ealdorman of Eoforwic’s daughter.”
Aelfwyn did not reply, waiting instead for Leofric to continue. After a few moments he did, albeit reluctantly. “I told him I wouldn’t marry her … I insulted her—only I didn’t realize she was standing behind the arras, listening to every word.” Leofric paused here, considering his words before he continued. “Godwine of Eoforwic is not a man lightly crossed I discovered. Since I said I’d rather spend the rest of my days as a monk than marry a woman who looks like a sow, he decided to send me to Lindisfarena. He made it clear that, if I ever ran away, he would hunt me down and kill me.”
Aelfwyn digested these words. There was a lot to take in—none of it good.
Leofric had already proved not to be the gentle monk she had thought he was; watching him fight and kill a man had shattered her illusions there. Yet the thought of him insulting and humiliating a young woman made her ire rise.
He was a spoiled brat.
She had thought him noble in helping her escape south, but he had probably been planning to flee Lindisfarena anyway. She just made it easier for him.
She was tired of living in a man’s world. She was sick to the teeth of men deciding women’s fates—of judging a woman by her fairness and little else. Leofric and all men like him sickened her.
“So both the king’s men and the ealdorman’s men will be after your blood now?” she asked finally, when she had managed to leash her temper.
“Aye,” he replied heavily.
Aelfwyn pulled her robes tight around her and turned her back on him. “Good.”
Chapter Fifteen
Uneasy Companions
Good.
Aelfwyn’s last word to him before retiring for the night was a hard slap across the face. He had just poured out his g
uts to her—told her the bald truth without fancy words or lies—and she had turned her back on him.
It should not have bothered him, but it did.
He stared at her back, willing her to turn and face him—to look at him with softness in her eyes as she had until this morning. Instead she ignored him, her breathing deepening as she fell asleep against the rock.
What did you expect?
Leofric looked away from Aelfwyn, his gaze shifting to the wall of darkness beyond their shelter, to where the rain hammered down. She was a sensitive, gentle soul who clearly shunned violence. He had not wanted her to see him kill the warrior, but the fight had spiraled out of control.
Thunred had been a bully, and Leofric had wounded his pride. Leofric found himself fighting for survival. In the end, he had taken Thunred’s life in order to save his own.
Aelfwyn had not understood, and he had sensed her tension for the rest of the day. It was as if a chill wind had blown in between them, when before they had traveled in easy camaraderie, her trust in him absolute.
Leofric had not realized how much he liked being Aelfwyn’s protector until she looked at him with horror in her eyes.
But her reaction earlier paled to the scorn in that one word before she turned her back on him.
Good.
She was right of course. It just hurt coming from her.
Fatigue settled over him in a heavy mantle, weighing down his limbs. He wanted to stay awake, to keep watch in case anyone crept up on them during the night. However, the drumming of the rain—accompanied by the deep, rich scent of wet earth—was too difficult to resist. Now that he was no longer running for his life, he felt his tension slowly release.
Leofric slid into sleep’s waiting arms.
He awoke to find himself on his back, water dripping on his face.
Blinking, he pushed himself up, out of the way of the steady trickle of water that ran off the edge of the overhang. He glanced behind him, at where he had left Aelfwyn the night before and found only the leather pack and saddlery sitting there.
Leofric tensed.
Where is she?
He crawled out from under the lip of the rock and stretched. Jesu, he felt like an old man after sleeping on the hard, damp earth. The horse stood nearby, watching him with a docile gaze. It gave a low whicker in greeting.
“Morning,” Leofric replied. “Have you seen our mistress?”
The horse merely gazed at him. Leofric stepped close and ran a hand over the bay’s noble face. “I don’t know what Thunred called you, but if we’re going to become traveling companions, you need a name.”
The gelding nudged him gently and rubbed his head against him.
“How about Windræs?” Leofric murmured. “You are certainly fast enough.”
“Storm of Wind … it’s a fine name for him.”
Aelfwyn’s voice made Leofric turn. She stood a few feet away. Her expression was friendly enough although her gaze was guarded. Her fine blonde hair had long come free of its braids and framed her face, as pale and soft as thistle down. With the light behind her, she looked like one of the angels Cuthbert had droned on about.
Leofric’s breathing tightened, and he suddenly felt lightheaded. “There you are,” he drawled, in an attempt to cover up his lack of composure. “I thought you’d run off.”
Her full lips pursed. “Run where? You know I’ll never reach Streonshalh Abbey without your help.”
There it was—another slap to the face—the only reason she would suffer his company.
“Aye.” Leofric turned back to Windræs and ruffled the horse’s forelock. “You’ve got some sense at least.”
“There’s a stream at the bottom of the hill,” she continued, her voice clipped now. “I’ve filled our water bladders.”
“Good.” Leofric kept his gaze from her and ducked under the ledge to retrieve Windræs’s saddle and bridle. “Let’s get going then.”
They rode south in silence.
The woodland grew deeper; ancient groves of oaks that seemed to spread out forever around them. Numerous paths, hunting tracks mostly, wove their wave through the forest, although they met no one that morning.
After a night’s rest, Windræs was full of energy and eager for a run. He tossed his head, fighting the bit slightly as Leofric forced him to set a slow canter through the trees. There were tree roots and potholes on the path—making it dangerous to let the horse have his head—and a long ride ahead. Streonshalh lay another two days’ ride to the south, and Leofric did not want to tire Windræs out.
Aelfwyn sat in front of him, as stiff as a plank of wood. Eventually exhaustion would force her to lean into him, as it had the day before, but for now she fought to keep herself upright. Leofric could feel the tension emanating from her.
They reached a village just before noon. The hamlet was tiny, hardly more than a scattering of wattle and daub huts with sod roofs around a central clearing. The folk here had cut the woodland back, giving themselves enough space to plant out fields of vegetables and create pens for fowl and goats.
Children played in the dirt as Aelfwyn and Leofric rode in. The youngsters’ faces came alive with curiosity when they spotted the strangers.
Leofric leaned forward, so that his mouth was near Aelfwyn’s ear. Her hair tickled his face, and he found himself inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “We’re man and wife,” Leofric whispered, “if anyone asks.”
He felt her body go rigid. “Is that necessary?”
“It’s the only excuse they’ll likely believe. Let me do the talking.”
She said nothing to that although he sensed her outrage. Leofric swallowed a smile—he preferred anger to revulsion.
They did not linger long in the village. Leofric used one of Thunred’s thrymsas to buy food from a local woman: a loaf of freshly baked bread, butter, some boiled eggs still in their shells, and half a dozen crisp apples. Then they continued on their way for a short distance, until the village lay behind them, before stopping to eat.
They sat on the banks of a meandering stream with the sun on their faces, with Windræs grazing behind them. After last night’s storm the air was heavy with moisture, making it feel even hotter. Leofric’s skin was starting to itch under his dirty leather vest and breeches. He didn’t like wearing another man’s clothing, and worse still Thunred’s dried blood still covered him. As soon as he had eaten, he would wash the grime off himself. For the moment, he had his empty belly to contend with.
Leofric’s mouth watered as he opened the bag of food. He was starving. He tore off a hunk of bread and passed it to Aelfwyn with a pat of butter, and one of the eggs. She gave him a nod of thanks and balanced the food on her knees. He noted her hands shook from hunger as she peeled her egg. Neither of them had eaten properly since fleeing Lindisfarena, and it was starting to wear on them.
The fare was simple and fresh—food had never tasted so good. Leofric sighed with pleasure as he swallowed his last mouthful. Aelfwyn bit into an apple, her gaze focused on the gentle babbling waters of the stream.
Leofric stood up and started unbuckling the leather armor that covered his chest.
Aelfwyn glanced up, her grey-blue eyes widening in alarm. “What are you doing?”
“I smell worse than a rutting goat,” he muttered. “I need to wash.”
“What, right here?”
Leofric could not help himself. Her shocked face goaded him into teasing her. “You don’t have to look,” he said with a grin. “Unless you want to …”
Aelfwyn’s mouth thinned and her shoulders stiffened. Not dignifying his comment with a response, she swiveled round so that her back faced the river and took another bite of her apple.
Leofric’s grin faded. His pleasure in tormenting her was always short-lived. He just felt like a cur afterward.
He cast aside his leather vest and pulled the woolen tunic underneath over his head. As he did so, he noted the angry red slash on his left shoulder, where Thunred had cut him.
It looked like it needed cleansing, but a bath in the stream was the best he could do for now. He stripped off the rest of his clothing and brought his undershirt with him into the water to clean.
Wearing a damp tunic would mean he would smell like wet sheep for the rest of the day—but that was preferable to the reek of stale sweat, and worse.
Aelfwyn finished her apple, even devouring the core, before throwing away the stalk. She was hungry for another but prevented herself from reaching for one. There were two reasons why she did not: the first was that she knew they should ration their food, and the second was that the bag of food sat behind her.
She would have to turn around to retrieve it—and risk glancing at the naked man in the stream.
Behind her, she heard the splash of Leofric washing.
He seemed to be taking his time, whistling cheerfully as he bathed. Aelfwyn gritted her teeth. She did not mind him bathing—for he definitely needed to wash—it was the arrogance, the unspoken challenge in his gaze she did not like. His lazy sensuality when he teased her made her feel flustered, hot and cold all at once.
Aelfwyn sighed. He was taking his time. At this rate, the king’s men would catch up with them.
Then the splashing halted and Aelfwyn tensed. A few moments passed, and she heard no further sound from the river.
Has he finished?
Bristling with impatience, Aelfwyn cast a glance over her shoulder—and froze.
Leofric was swimming in the water hole about ten yards away.
He glided through the water like an otter. Sunlight dappled his skin through the clear water. Entranced, Aelfwyn watched him surface. He had his back to her; water streaming down his broad shoulders, the lean column of his back, and over his tight buttocks.
Aelfwyn’s mouth went dry. His body was beautiful: lean and muscular.
What are you doing?
Heart pounding, she turned away.
A moment later, she heard the splash of Leofric wading to the riverbank. She stared down at her lap, face burning, and tried to regain control of herself. If he saw her face, he would know she had been watching him.
