Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (16 page)

“I’ll be right here.”

She nodded and floated across the room to greet her latest guests. Being able to avoid Marared on the journey had been fortuitous, but it would seem my peace was short lived. Fortunately, Angharad found them empty seats at separate tables, each one situated on the opposite side of the room from where I sat.

“What is it between you two?” Angharad asked the moment she sat down. “That woman has been throwing daggers at you since she stepped foot through the door.”

“She has a certain affinity for Alrik, and since learning we are promised, she has had a rather difficult time accepting the news.”

“You’re promised?”

I showed her the ring. While Christian, both Ealhswith and Angharad knew of my pagan roots. As a young child, I hadn’t been as discrete as I should have been.

“It’s beautiful and so unique.”

“The figure is a woman—most likely Freya, the Viking goddess of fertility and desire.” The ring wasn’t Norse in origin, but no one had to know that.

She giggled at that. “Fitting. While I’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting your Viking, he looked like a dog guarding a meaty bone. I bet if we hadn’t been there, he’d have taken you over to the nearest bench and speared you thoroughly. Right in front of Eadfrith, just to prove he could.”

I almost spat the wine across the fine jet and ivory playing pieces. “Whatever do you mean?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Do not even begin to deny you’ve had the man in your bed. You may look the angel, but you are no saint.”

The look on my face must have been amusing, for she buckled over in hysterics, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “No, I guess I’m not.”

She raised her cup again, and I tapped my rim against hers. She took a demure sip. “Me neither.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which gentleman here has your devotion?”

“No one amongst this lot. It’s been some time since I’ve had a worthy companion.”

“You’re not betrothed?”

She shook her head. “Not that my brother hasn’t tried, but most of the men who have sought my hand have done it only as a means of buoying up their own households. I told Gwgon that I will not marry until it benefits Seisyllwg and strengthens his position on the throne. So far, no one has stepped forward who matches the criteria.”

“It’s nice your brother gives you the choice.”

She shrugged. “It would go poorly for him if he didn’t. I can be very difficult if I don’t get my way.”

I smirked. I could well imagine.

“You roll first.” She pointed to the game table.

I picked up the small die and rolled it on the table. Four.

She shook the die in her hand and rolled. Three.

“I’ll be white,” I said, taking the position of king and his men.

“So tell me what happened in England.” She rolled the die and moved a black rook the required three places.

“I was betrothed to a man—”

“Yes, Ealhswith mentioned him. Turned out to be a brute.”

“How much do you know?”

“Only that he told you he would marry you whether you liked it or not. Ealhswith mentioned a certain disagreement at Christmastide.”

“Well, turns out that was his good side.” I moved another one of my men to capture hers, sandwiching it between two of mine. I removed it from the board. She frowned—due to my statement or the defeat of one of her pieces, I didn’t know.

“I’m almost afraid to ask.” She studied the board, obviously rethinking her strategy.

“I have no proof, other than his confession given in private, of course, but he murdered my father and grandmother and had a hand in Edward’s disappearance. I led Somerset’s army into battle, where I was captured by the Viking king, Halfdan; tortured; and ransomed back to Demas. He came out looking the hero, when in fact he had arranged it all.”

She was staring at me, game forgotten. “Arranged how?”

“Demas and my uncle, Osric, offered Halfdan gold in exchange for his help in their efforts to assume control over Somerset. I was part of that deal and their deception. I have no way to prove any of this. It’s my word against theirs.” I thought about my will and testament. I had written one bequeathing my land, title, and possessions to Ealhswith’s daughter, to be held in trust by her mother until she came of age. Aethelred, the king of Wessex, knew this, as did Alfred, Aethelred’s brother and Ealhswith’s husband, but I had been forced to alter my will. I wondered if the sudden change of heart to naming Demas as my beneficiary would raise any suspicions, or at least offer some proof as to his powers of manipulation and the use of extortion to get me to change my mind. A copy of both documents was stored at Wedmore, but one was also sent to Winchester, since the change involved Alfred’s daughter.

“Dare I ask where the trouble comes in that caused you to leave England?”

A young woman bowed and whispered in Angharad’s ear.

Angharad nodded and shooed her away, drawing her attention back to me. “I would love for you to join me after the feast so that we might continue our conversation.”

“Of course.”

She stood and addressed the gaggle of women. “The feast is ready to begin. Let us leave these simple pleasures and rejoin the menfolk and their illustrious banter.”

The women giggled, leaving the room arm in arm, in a flurry of skirts and heated cheeks—the last, in part due to Angharad’s rather strong wine.

Gwgon’s hall was twice the size of my father’s, back in Wedmore. I paused, realization dawning. My father lay dead. The hall belonged to me, but Osric, Demas, and their conniving little weasel, Sigberht, had usurped it from me. How long had Sigberht been in my uncle’s pockets, undermining my father’s position and authority?

I studied the room—impressive, but not as lofty or grand as King Aethelred’s hall in Wessex. Large central beams flanked by two oak sentinels on either side joined wide arches, each part integral to the support of a towering turf roof. In front of the raised dais, at the northernmost aspect of the hall, woven rugs and pelts covered the freshly laid rushes. Iron candle trees stood rooted near each of the oak beams. Oil lamps hung from the rafters by finely worked copper chains.

I wasn’t given a choice as to seating. Angharad accosted me for the evening and ushered me to the head table. Alrik sat, flanked between Hyffaid and Gwgon.

Tollak, Cormac, and the entire crew from Raven’s Blood reclined on benches close to the dais, a sign of great privilege. Gwgon meant to make sure everyone knew that the Norsemen were his guests and allies—and honored ones, at that.

Music and drink flowed as the feast got underway. Gwgon indulged on the meal. Nine courses ran the gamut, from breads, cheeses, and sweet cakes to racks and roasts of venison, lamb, and pork. Sky and sea were also well represented, with trout, eel, and pheasant rounding out the grouping. Servants and pages catered to every whim, refilling every horn and replenishing every trencher.

When the butler ordered the food cleared from each table, the scop regaled the crowd with his honeyed voice. I didn’t understand the language, but his tone and cadence brought the songs to life. His words conveyed emotion, love, struggle, and loss through each note, bringing tears to my eyes. I’d never heard anything so moving.

When the last note reverberated in the air, the hall was silent. It wasn’t until the man stood that the room erupted in cheers, and fists pounded on tables.

Gwgon stood and held up his hand, waiting for the applause to subside. He spoke in turn English and Welsh, pausing every so often as men translated his words to Norse. “No finer harp and voice in all of Wales.” Gwgon held out a gold chalice. “I am grateful you have graced our table with your talent. Come forward and find your reward!”

The bard stepped to the dais and accepted the cup, which was inlaid with rubies and clear crystals. He bowed his thanks and took up a seat at the head table, where he was served food and wine.

Gwgon remained standing and the crowd hushed once more. “My friends, I have fine news to share this day.” He motioned for Hyffaid to stand.

“Hyffaid ap Meurig has accepted my offer to marry his niece, Marared of Dyfed. This match further strengthens the alliance of our great kingdoms.” He raised his horn. “To allies.”

Hyffaid raised his own cup in acknowledgment. The crowd thundered its approval.

Marared’s nostrils flared, and her skin blotched a mottled red. She stood and nodded, accepting the applause, but her fists curled tight at her sides, the knuckles alabaster white. When she sat back down, her eyes locked with those of her mother.

“This must stop!” A screeching voice carried above the assembled mass. The room dinned.

“What say you, Father Llewelyn?” Gwgon addressed a pockmarked, sallow-faced priest who disentangled himself from the crowd and stormed up to the head table.

“The girl and her family are known witches.” He pointed to Marared.

The crowd sensed blood, and they tittered and buzzed with excitement.

Hyffaid stood. “How dare you insult my niece.”

“Peace, my friend.” Gwgon laid a calming hand on Hyffaid’s arm, and Hyffaid sat back down. “Father, you owe my betrothed and her house an apology.”

“First, you bring heathens into our midst.” He pointed a gnarled finger at the Viking table. “Then you agree to copulate with the spawn of Satan. These whores of Babylon have deceived you, Lord.” He batted his hand between Sigy and Marared. “I’ve witnessed their sorcery. If you continue this madness, you will incur the wrath of God.”

“I will not stand for this.” Hyffaid rose again and looked at Gwgon, whose eyes were wide like those of a snared fawn. Clearly, the priest knew his weak spot.

Where Llywelyn shook with anger, Sigy’s manner exuded the epitome of calm and patience. “It’s all right, brother. Let me address the matter.” She waited until Hyffaid reclaimed his seat before turning her attention to Llywelyn. “As you are well aware, Father, we have no leeches in our land and care for our people with plants and herbs, just as men in your monasteries do.”

“Yes—men. Men trained and guided by God. Not women known to practice dark arts.” Llywelyn scowled. “Your own mother cursed my wife and made her birth a deformed creature. Your daughter witnessed the birth. She uttered spells and curses over the child. My wife died of her pains. The creature’s cry pierced the household with its foul breath before it shriveled, lifeless.”

The hall grew silent. Accusations of curses on childbirth and babies were serious. All midwives lived with the fear that an angry husband would accuse them of witchcraft, and a manhunt would find them alone without support. They were bound and tossed into a deep grave, thrashing and writhing as dirt closed in over top of them.

Sigy folded her hands on the table. “I am sorry for your loss, but my family had no part in that tragedy. Mothers die far too often in childbirth, whether a man, woman, priest, or layman presides over the event. Only God in his infinite wisdom knows why this happens. Your wife and child are safe in His hands.”

He spat. “How dare you hide behind the name of the one true God.”

“And what of you, Father Llewellyn? Last I saw you, you had been excommunicated from the church. Your bizarre ramblings and radical behavior caused your fall from grace. The pope admonished you. You were unfit to hold a church office. I think, perhaps, you are still unwell.”

“You did that. You and your daughter cursed me to hell.”

“That is enough, good father.” Gwgon looked dazed but determined to get his hall back under control. “I demand you reclaim your seat.”

Llywelyn sat but continued to hurl venom at Sigy with the heat of his glare.

“I offer my apologies, Hyffaid ap Meurig, to you and your family.” Gwgon raised a cup. “To our powerful new alliance!” He drank deeply. In the awkward silence that ensued, only Hyffaid raised a cup in acceptance of the olive branch. I wasn’t convinced he drank.

With the formalities and spectacle concluded, everyone delved into animated conversation. Father Llewelyn’s accusations were damning, but Sigy had managed to plant doubt in the crowd’s mind. The priest’s continued rantings lent credence to her words.

I wanted to dismiss outright Llewelyn’s claims, but Marared’s behavior toward me and her threats did little to aid her position of innocence in my mind. To die in childbirth was a risk all women took, but to give birth to a hideous and deformed child? I shuddered and looked at Marared. Perhaps I’d underestimated her.

I wondered what Alrik thought of Llewelyn’s claims, but he remained engrossed in conversation with Tollak, Gwgon, and Hyffaid. Occasionally throughout the evening’s festivities, Alrik caught my eye. It wasn’t a warm, tender gesture. I sensed tightly held restraint, though I’d done nothing wrong. Marared fawned over Alrik when we arrived. Eadfrith and I had shared only a brief flirtation. I wanted to talk with Alrik to smooth the ruffles between us, but given his mood and the intent focus of his conversation, I was confident it could wait until morning.

At some point between the fourth and sixth course, Nest informed me that the cottage set aside for my use while a guest at Dinefwr was ready. Now, with the feast winding down, and Alrik otherwise engaged, I yearned for my bed. My muscles were sluggish, and my body weighed several stone heavier as I lugged it across the room. I had my hand on the hall’s great oak door, ready to pull back the latch, when Angharad swept up and grasped my shoulders.

“You promised to revisit our conversation. Come, you must join me for some wine.” The deep flush to her cheeks told me she’d had more than enough wine already, but I found myself drawn into her exuberance, hoping some of that windstorm of energy would rub off.

My hand slid from the door handle, and I followed her into her chambers. She shooed all the servants out and locked the door.

“Please.” She motioned to a chair while she set about filling two cups.

The extra furniture and games had been cleared from the room. A large table with two benches and a lush reclining couch took part of their place. She handed me the drink and flopped back on the couch, lying on her side, her arm resting on the curved wood as she sipped her drink. “Your story has captivated me all night. I can think of nothing else. You must continue.”