Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (28 page)

I battled the wind and rain and returned to the main hall, hoping to find someone still awake. The grounds were empty, the torches extinguished. The monastery comprised several outbuildings, and I wasn’t confident which one was the nun’s dormitory. I felt it prudent to seek counsel. I was relieved to see a few familiar faces when I pushed open the heavy oak doors.

“Where have you been?” Eadfrith bustled up to me and led me to a bench. “Sister Frances has been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry.” I hadn’t considered anyone would miss me. “I’ve been in the scriptorium.”

“Doing what?”

The hazy fuzz of mead shifted as I scrambled to determine a reasonable excuse. “Admiring a beautiful illuminated manuscript with one of the monks.”

“Do you read?”

“Yes. I was fortunate to have a good teacher.” I looked about the room. “Where is Sister Frances? Has she gone to bed?” I hoped not. She could show me to the dormitory.

“Off looking for you, I believe.”

“I should go to my bed.”

“Let me help you. You will not find it in the dark. I know the grounds well.”

“Thank you.” I stood and the room tilted away from me. Exhaustion and mead took their toll.

Eadfrith locked my arm against his side. “Come.”

The chill and damp cleared my head as we bent against the push, half running, half tripping to the nun’s quarters. He opened the door, and we stumbled inside. I threw off my hood, letting the ends of my braid drip soundlessly onto the rushes. “Wales is not terribly hospitable at times.”

He chuckled. “No, it’s not. But other days, when the mist settles over the dales, or the lakes shimmer with silver moonlight, or snow caps the mountains, it is beautiful.”

I would have to take his word for it.

He roused the fire to life, and we huddled around its warmth. He released my brooch and removed my wet cloak. His fingers trailed down my arms, and I shivered. He removed his own cloak and hung them both over a frame on the other side of the fire. “You’re cold.” He grabbed a blanket from one of the beds and wrapped it around my shoulders, drawing me into him as he wrapped his hands around my waist.

I closed my eyes. The hearth crackled and popped. The air hung damp with moisture, the essence fresh with a lilt of the sea. His lips nuzzled my ear, and he kissed my neck. My body grew warm. Hands moved from my waist to my breasts, and I moaned, leaning my back into his chest. “I want you, Avelynn.”

My eyes flew open. The voice, the tone was all wrong. I shook myself as if out of a dream. We were alone in a small cottage. There were only two beds. This wasn’t the dormitory. I wasn’t with Alrik. I spun in Eadfrith’s arms, and he took the opportunity to grab my backside, his mouth seeking mine. I pushed hard against his chest. “Eadfrith. Stop.”

He pressed me backward, and the mead helped to contribute to my lack of balance. My calves hit the wooden frame, and I fell onto the bed. Eadfrith landed heavily on top of me. His lips continued to press their advantage, while his hand sought the hem of my kirtle. “Eadfrith.” I shoved and writhed beneath him. “Leave off!”

He growled. “Mmm. Yes, let’s get these clothes off.”

I hooked my leg around his, leveraged my arm, and flipped him onto his back. He smiled up at me as I sat on top of him. He placed his hands on my waist. “I like a woman who takes charge.” He tried to kilt up my skirt and get his hands beneath the fabric. My fist connected with his nose and stopped any further progress. I leapt off of him as he cupped his face.

“What the—?”

“I said enough, Eadfrith.”

Blood oozed from one of his nostrils, and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his arm. “Don’t play hard to get now.”

I growled. “I never played easy. I don’t know where you got the notion that there was more to our relationship than just friendship, but this goes no further.”

I stormed to the door and swung it open to find Frances with her hand raised, knuckles posed to knock. She looked at my disheveled state and then to Eadfrith’s bloodied face and charged through the door. She stopped at the foot of Eadfrith’s bed. He looked up sheepishly at her. His eyes flew wide and started to water as her open palm connected with his cheek. I could hear the smack from where I stood.

“How dare you,” she said.

“The lady—”

“Wanted nothing to do with your advances or you would not be looking up at me with a bloody nose!”

He glanced at me. “I thought—”

She cut him off again. “No. You did not think. That is the problem. You owe the lady an apology.”

He grumbled but stood. “Please accept my deepest apologies, Avelynn.” He regarded Frances. “Satisfied?”

“Not nearly.”

He retrieved a cup from a small bedside table and moved to the back of the room. He ladled out some wine from a large amphora. Liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup. He took a long drought and then coughed and sputtered. He snorted the contents of one nostril onto the ground. Blood splattered the rushes. “What more would you have me do?”

“Avelynn, please come here, dear.”

I wanted to get out of that room, but something in her voice made me pause. I closed the door and took a couple of steps closer.

“Why don’t we start by telling Avelynn the truth of Branwen.” Frances stood with her arms locked across her chest.

Eadfrith looked like a cornered stag. His gaze darted for some means of escape while his body tensed, ready to fight.

“What of Branwen?” I moved even closer.

Frances’s gaze never left Eadfrith. “Branwen is Marared’s child, but Alrik is not the father.”

“But Eadfrith said he was there at the birth.”

“Oh, he was there. For the child is his.”

My mouth flew open. Eadfrith dropped onto a bench.

Frances continued. “When Marared returned from her ordeal in Ireland, she was ripe with child. Sigy and Hyffaid sent her away to Bangor to hide her disgrace, but she lost the babe. She confided in Eadfrith. Newly ordained, he provided the succor the girl needed. His intentions were altruistic at first, but his affections grew with each passing day. Marared saw opportunity. Eadfrith on the other hand fell in love. Despite her impropriety, as a priest, he held a position of power and took advantage of that sacred covenant.”

Eadfrith seemed to shrink into himself with the admonition.

“In time, Marared confessed to Eadfrith that she had missed her monthly bleed. He did the honorable thing and offered to wed her, petitioning Hyffaid and Sigy. Sigy was furious. Marared left the child behind and returned home. The family’s peace-weaving prospects rested on her shoulders. Sigy knew Marared’s beauty would secure a strong alliance. Men throughout Wales and beyond desired her.”

Eadfrith flinched, and my gaze drifted from his defeated face to Frances’s stern countenance.

“Eadfrith took it upon himself to see to the child’s welfare. He cared for her up until three years ago, when Sigy demanded he release Branwen into her care as a foster daughter. Eadfrith took over the leadership of the local church and took up residence in Dyfed to be near her.

“Marared said she would forbid me to see the girl.” Eadfrith’s voice was small.

Frances tsked. “Eadfrith is a good father. He has spent the last seven years watching over the child. I’m not surprised Marared hit him where it hurts most.”

“Did Marared have anything to do with your … advances?” I felt sick to my stomach.

His nod was enough to bring bile to the back of my throat.

“If I could get you to stray, if I could draw you away from Wales and the Northman, she would invite me back into her bed.”

Frances’s face pinched with pain. I could only assume it was the disappointment of a favored child gone astray. “There is no excuse for what you have done.”

“I know.” His head bent in contrition.

She addressed me. “You need to return to Lampeter.”

“I have no proof. No one to support my claim. Marared has Alrik convinced otherwise.”

She frowned. “After I settle my business with Abbott Rys, I must return to Bangor, but I will write you a letter, explaining the situation. It will lend support as witness.”

I hugged her. “Thank you.”

Eadfrith’s voice was small. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Frances shook her head. “Despite the woman’s threats, and the fact that she used your own child to lure another man to her bed, you still pine for her?”

He dropped his head into his hands.

She sighed. “We will address this matter with the Archbishop of St. David’s himself.”

Eadfrith groaned.

“Come.” She motioned to me. “Let him think on his actions while we seek the assistance of Abbot Rys.”

A monk admitted us into a small cottage, adjacent to the chapel. He took our wet cloaks and hung them on hooks by the door. A stout man in his middle years bustled up to us. “My word. Look at the sight of you both. Please, sit yourselves by the fire.”

“Thank you. I am sorry for the lateness of our visit.” Sister Frances motioned me ahead of her.

“No trouble at all. To what do I owe the honor, Sister?” the older man asked.

Frances smiled. “May I present Avelynn of England. Avelynn, this is Abbot Rhys.”

“Delighted.” Rhys extended his hand and clasped mine between both of his. “Now, how can I help you on such a blustery eve?”

“I need to write a letter,” Frances said.

“Please, help yourself.” He pointed to a small table in the corner of the room. Ink stains splotched the surface, and a pile of manuscript pages lay scattered about the legs like leaves after an autumn storm. Frances picked her way through the maze of cured hides and sat at the high stool. She grabbed a square of vellum, making sure to examine both sides to determine its safe use, and went to work.

The material seemed a bit rich for a simple letter, but since it was at hand, I was not about to point out the expense.

A knock on the door brought the abbot’s brown eyes twinkling. “Such a night for visitors!” The monk attending the priest opened the door to reveal a sodden traveler. He was shown to the fire at once.

“And who might you be?” Rhys asked.

The boy bowed. “My lord, Abbot Rhys. I am here at the behest of Sigy, daughter of Siegfried, sister to King Hyffaid of Dyfed. She seeks your assistance in finding a guest at your monastery.”

The lord, Abbot Rhys, teetered on the balls of his feet. “A mystery? How thrilling. Of course, young man. I shall endeavor to assist. Who is it you are seeking?”

“The Lady Avelynn of England. She traveled with a group of pilgrims on their way to St. David’s. I had hoped to find them seeking lodging here.”

He sighed. “Very well, yes, yes, of course. Search no more, my good man. The lady is before you.”

“Mistress?” Two earnest blue eyes sought mine.

“I am Avelynn.”

He handed me a wet and well-traveled note.

The letter was indeed from Sigy, begging for my immediate return. She denounced Marared’s most recent claims, affirming what Frances had said of Branwen’s parentage.

I passed the note to Frances, who had been watching the exchange with interest. “My letter will give credence to Sigy’s argument. Hopefully the two together will be enough to convince your Northman of Marared’s transgressions.”

I addressed the messenger. “If the good abbot is kind enough to provide you lodging for the night, we will leave at first light.”

“There are always beds for guests. My young acolyte will show you to the dormitory,” Rhys said.

“Thank you.” The lad bowed and ducked back out into the driving rain.

We also thanked the abbot for his kindness and retired to the women’s quarters. The nuns had plenty of toiletries to spare and left them out for our use. I accepted their hospitality gratefully. Using a swatch of linen, I scooped out some paste made of ground allium seeds and scrubbed the film and grit from my teeth. A wash bowl had been set aside, and I dipped the cloth into the warm water. I rubbed in a good measure of wood ash lye soap and scrubbed the dirt and grime from my face and neck. I blew out the candle and slipped beneath the rough, homespun blanket on the straw pallet.

A few soft snores and grumbled rustling competed with the hiss of wind and pelt of rain against the plank walls. I stared into the dark. The nuns had banked the fire, and my bed was furthest from the light and heat. I snuggled deeper into my cocoon of warmth. I needed a plan. I wished Ealhswith was here. She’d know what to do.

The hurt I’d felt after Alrik’s revelation and subsequent dismissal had faded. In its wake, anger bloomed large and heavy, threatening to bow me under its weight. I would return to Lampeter, proof in my hands of Branwen’s parentage and Marared’s manipulations, march up to that arrogant ass, and demand respect. If he still wanted to dismiss me after learning the truth, so be it. I would not coddle or beg. There would be time to rejoin the monks and nuns leaving for the continent. I pinched the bridge of my nose and attempted to rub away the strain building between my eyes.

Deep down inside, I knew Alrik had sent me away in a foolhardy attempt to protect me. If my suspicions were right, he loved me still, and we could move past this—once we laid matters to rest.

Despite my stern demands to trust me and let me fend for myself, Alrik’s position infuriated me. He needed to consult with me, not demand and order me about. If it wasn’t his need to save me from opportunistic vagabonds, seeking to send me back to England, or angry Welshmen, now he wrung his hands over magic. I didn’t care about his chivalrous excuses. I’d had enough. He needed to place me on an equal footing. I had to live my own life, make my own choices, and deal with the ramifications. I was fully capable of taking care of myself. I’d led men into battle. I’d fought in a shield wall. I was not some delicate little flower. I rubbed a hand over my face. The more I brooded, the more enraged I became, and not only with Alrik. Both Alrik and Marared shared equally as the objects my ire.

I’d had enough of Marared’s threats, her lies, and her machinations. I had all the information I needed to try to stop her. I would no longer sit idle and let her determine the steps while I danced around them. It was as if we played a calculated game of tafl. She had taken away my defenses, forcing me into a corner, but I had plenty of moves left. I would fight back. I would find a way to beat her at her own game.