Dark Under the Cover of Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 1) (17 page)

“It is
sad.” Alchfrid’s young face creased into a frown. “For Eafa will ruin a lovely
wench like Raedwyn.”

Alchfrid,
like many young men in Rendlaesham, had lusted after Raedwyn from afar. Her
ill-fate since the death of her husband had been the topic of many a
conversation over the long winter months.

“She’s too
headstrong,” Immin replied, shaking his head. “A woman like her needs a firm
hand. Maybe that’s why the king’s chosen Eafa for her.”

Caelin sat
listening to them discussing Raedwyn’s fate. His dinner sat heavily in his
stomach like a lump of clay. Bitterness soured Caelin’s mouth then, and he
tasted what his father must have felt. For the first time, he understood
Ceolwulf’s rage and hatred. Fate had always ridden against Ceolwulf the Exiled.
It had soured his mind and poisoned his soul – Raedwald of the East Angles had
been its instrument then, as it was now. 

Chapter
Fourteen

Short days
and long, cold nights passed before winter relaxed its grip. The days gradually
lengthened and the wind lost its raw edge. The snow had long since melted and
life at Rendlaesham continued in a steady rhythm, as it had for many a year.

Raedwyn
the Fair tried to forget what the spring held in store for her.

Eni and
Eorpwald had argued with Raedwald about the king’s decision to marry Raedwyn to
Eafa, but their protests had done no good. It only made Raedwald even more stubborn.
Still, Raedwyn appreciated the efforts her uncle and brother had made on her
behalf. It was a far cry from Eni’s earlier insistence that the king find his
daughter a husband. These days Eni had become protective of his niece. It
seemed that the further Raedwald withdrew from Raedwyn, the closer she became
to her uncle.

Embracing
the warmer weather, Raedwyn took to walking. After the incident with Caelin,
the king had forbidden Raedwyn to go riding. Instead, she enjoyed walks through
Rendlaesham and into the fields beyond. Some days she did not stray far,
visiting the weekly produce market near the main gates, or Eanfled, who was now
heavily pregnant; while on others she would walk all afternoon through the
gentle folds of land around Rendlaesham.

One
afternoon, Raedwyn decided to take one of her longer walks. She had spent the
day winding wool onto her distaff, which would later be used for spinning
clothes. It was mundane work and Raedwyn longed to stretch her legs. She
wrapped herself in a thick blue wool cloak and slipped out of the Great Hall.

It was a
fresh, sunny day; the first that heralded the coming spring, with a limpid sky
overhead. The Wuffinga menfolk were all out hunting so there was no one except
her mother who would notice her departure from the hall. Raedwyn left
Rendlaesham through the rear gate and set off down the narrow dirt road that
bisected the apple orchards. Signs of spring were everywhere; bright green
shoots pushing up by the roadside and splashes of white and pink as the first
spring blossom appeared. 

Usually,
Raedwyn adored the spring but today the first signs of it unnerved her. It
heralded Eafa’s coming. She followed the road through the shallow valley and up
another hill before descending into thickets of ash and beech. Here, scrubby
undergrowth framed the road on both sides. Although Raedwyn was enjoying the
beautiful day, the fresh air and the sun on her face, her mind returned to the
tale she had heard that morning about Eafa the Merciful.

Two female
servants had been whispering, not far from where Raedwyn sat at her distaff,
about how Eafa’s last wife had died of mysterious injuries. His young wife had
once been a sweet, gentle girl, one of the women had explained in a grave
voice, but Eafa had enjoyed turning her into a broken, miserable creature.
Raedwyn had listened with growing concern, before she had realized that the
women had deliberately positioned themselves within earshot of her. They had
wanted Raedwyn to hear.

“Take your
poison elsewhere!” she had instructed them, enjoying the shock on their faces
at being spoken to thus. However, ever since that moment, Raedwyn’s thoughts
kept returning to their words.

“Raedwyn!”

Lost in
her musings, Raedwyn did not hear someone approach from behind. She turned
swiftly to see Caelin standing behind her. He was dressed in leggings and a
patched but clean shirt, belted around his waist. His hair was slightly damp,
as if he had just bathed.

 “Did you
follow me?” Raedwyn had not seen Caelin since their encounter on Mother Night.
Her surprise at seeing him now made her voice harsher than she intended.

Caelin
nodded, unfazed by her coldness.

“I thought
you wanted us to keep away from each other?”

Caelin did
not respond, instead he stood there before her, his gaze fixed upon her face.

“I hear
you are to be married,” he said eventually.

“Have you
come to congratulate me?” Raedwyn could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

“I have heard
of this Eafa the Merciful.” Caelin’s voice was quiet, measured, as if he was
testing each word. “And I do not like the sound of him.”

“His
cruelty is legendary,” she replied flatly, “but he is an important ally who
must be kept happy. It is my father’s will.”

Silence
stretched between them then. The air was heavy with so many things unsaid.

“You
father is a proud, conceited fool.” Caelin’s voice was hard and bitter when he
eventually spoke. “You deserve so much better than this Raedwyn.”

Raedwyn
studied him for a moment and was opening her mouth to reply, when the tattoo of
approaching hoof beats intruded. Birds flew up from nearby trees and the
tranquility shattered.

Horses
were approaching fast from beyond the bend in the road.

“My
father!” Panic seized Raedwyn by the throat.

Caelin
grasped Raedwyn by the arm and propelled her into the thickets on the roadside.
Branches and brambles tore at their clothes. They dove into the undergrowth and
rolled to the ground, hidden from sight. Moments later, a group of horses
thundered past. Raedwyn risked a peek over the edge of the brambles and caught
a glimpse of her father out front, with his long, gray-threaded hair, flying
behind him. Eorpwald rode close behind the king, followed by the rest of the
Wuffinga men and a small group of warriors. Some had deer slung over their
saddles; the Great Hall would dine well on roast venison.

When the
riders had disappeared towards Rendlaesham, Raedwyn sank back against the
ground, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could feel the cool damp
against her back, even through layers of clothing. Looking around her, she
realized that the brambles hid her and Caelin from view on all sides – they
were alone together in a damp, bramble-enclosed bower. Caelin must have
realized this too, for he remained on his side, next to Raedwyn, and in no
hurry to move on.

Caelin
propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Raedwyn. His face was
unreadable, and she longed to know what he was thinking. Suddenly, it was
airless and overly warm in their bramble hiding-place, and Raedwyn was aware of
the rise and fall of her chest, and of Caelin’s nearness.

Raedwyn
felt her face heat up under the scrutiny of his stare and, attempting to
distance herself from him, she tried to push herself up into a sitting
position. In doing so, she merely launched herself into his arms.

One moment,
they were laying side-by-side, and the next, they were in each others arms.

Caelin’s
mouth sought hers with a hunger that bordered on violence. He pulled her hard
against him so that Raedwyn straddled his lap. Unfastening her hair, he tangled
his fingers in it.

All
thought, fled Raedwyn’s mind. All sense, all caution, all fear disappeared. Her
hands tore at his clothes, seeking the warm skin beneath, and she drank him in
like a hot cup of mead at the end of a bitter winter day.

They shed
their clothes with fumbling, desperate fingers – their cloaks pooling on the
ground next to them. Caelin shrugged off his shirt and pulled Raedwyn’s linen
shift over her head with one movement. Naked, her hands trembling, Raedwyn
undid the laces of his breeches and pulled them down. His manhood greeted her,
hard and proud against his flat belly. She whimpered and, reaching out, stroked
the long, silky length of it.

He growled
her name and pulled her back onto his lap, kissing her deeply, his tongue
exploring her mouth and lips. Pleasure pulsed through Raedwyn’s body as his hot
mouth moved down her neck, and she bit her lip to stop herself from screaming
when he took one of her nipples into his mouth and suckled her.

It all
became a wild, ecstasy-filled blur from that moment on. Raedwyn was vaguely
aware of her own voice, sobbing, pleading and begging as Caelin kissed, sucked
and stroked his way down her body.

Finally,
his eyes glazed with desire, Caelin sat back. Raedwyn could feel him trembling
as he pulled her on to his lap so that she straddled him.

“Caelin,”
Raedwyn whispered, tracing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

 “Sweet
goddess!” he gasped. “Raedwyn!”

She
laughed, enjoying the feeling of power she had over him.

Caelin’s
next act stilled Raedwyn’s laughter and drove all thought from her mind. He
lifted her hips and slowly lowered her on to him, impaling her on his hard
shaft. Now it was Raedwyn’s turn to gasp. Heat vibrated up the core of her body
and she shuddered. Raedwyn cried out and a feeling of throbbing torpor filled
her; she clung to Caelin as the pleasure crested once more.

Caelin
pushed her back onto his cloak and, spreading her legs wide, took her hard.
Then he withdrew and thrust deep into her once again. Raedwyn wrapped her legs
about him, pulling him in deeper with each thrust, until she could bear it no
longer. Her body arched and shuddered, and pleasure pushed her over the brink.
She could hear Caelin crying her name before he too lost control. Then he cried
out, spilling his seed deep within her.

They lay
there for a while, limbs entangled and hearts pounding. Then, Caelin gently
cupped her face with his hands and kissed her deeply, tenderly. When they broke
apart, Raedwyn buried her face in his neck. She did not want this moment to
end, but already reality was stealing back in, robbing her of these wonderful
moments of freedom. For a short while, the world had existed only of her,
Caelin and their bramble bower – everything else had ceased to be.

“Raedwyn,”
Caelin said, gently cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him, “I will
never be sorry for this.”

Raedwyn
stared into his dark eyes and felt emotion choke her.

“Neither
will I,” she whispered, “but I am sorry that we can never be together again.”
Tears suddenly split down her cheeks then, despite Raedwyn’s attempt to keep
her composure. “
Wyrd
is so cruel.”

Caelin
nodded, his own eyes glittering with tears, before he pulled her into his arms
and held her fast.

“You are
mine Raedwyn,” he whispered fiercely into her ear, “and I am yours. Whatever
happens, never forget that.”

Chapter
Fifteen

Heavy
spring rain sluiced across the flat landscape as Eafa the Merciful rode east
towards Rendlaesham. The rain, though not cold, was a deluge that blinded man
and beast alike. It was a five-day ride from Eafa’s Hall at Tamworth in Mercia
– home of Ceorl, the ailing Mercian King – to Rendlaesham. However, Eafa did
not mind the long journey. It made his anticipation all the sweeter. Rivulets
of water ran down his face. He was soaked through. His wet clothes chafed him
and he knew by the time he reached Rendlaesham he would be stiff and sore.
Nonetheless, Eafa was the closest to happy he had ever been, or was capable of.

Life was
good for Eafa the Merciful. The king, his uncle, was getting sicker by the day
of an unnamed illness that gnawed at his innards and caused him terrible pain.
The old king had no surviving sons while his brother Pybba, who had once been
King of the Mercians, had produced two sons – Eafa, the elder, and Penda. Eafa
was next in line to the throne, and judging from the king’s rapidly declining
health, Eafa would take the crown within a year at most. The other boon was
that Aedilhild, his wife of five years and a constant source of irritation to
him, had died, leaving him free to marry again.

Aedilhild
had been a disappointment of a wife; too eager to please, too easily subdued.
In the beginning, she had even seemed to enjoy his attempts to dominate and
humiliate her, both within the walls of their bower and without, in front of
his family and servants. It had not taken her long to fear his touch. Then,
just after the harvest last autumn, after he had beaten her viciously before
bedding her, as was his habit, Aedilhild’s health had deteriorated. Her bruises
never healed and she started to lose weight and get severe nosebleeds. Within a
moon’s cycle, she was dead. Eafa had not mourned her passing.

Through
the curtains of rain, Eafa spied the banks of a river ahead. The river was at
its narrowest at this spot and spanned by a crudely built wooden bridge.
However, the heavy rain had caused the river to swell to a muddy torrent that
almost touched the belly of the bridge. Eafa and his men dismounted and led
their nervous horses across on foot. The bridge creaked and whined under their
weight and the company was relieved to reach the other-side without one of
their number toppling into the water. None of them could swim.

Eafa
remounted his stallion and spurred it along a muddy track leading southeast.
They would reach Rendlaesham before nightfall. Now that the treacherous river
was behind them, Eafa’s thoughts shifted to his betrothed and he felt his loins
tightening in response. Raedwyn the Fair was a maid he had long coveted. Golden
haired and lusciously built with a fiery temperament to match, Raedwyn was the
type of girl who would fight him. He imagined her spitting and clawing like a
cat, naked and trapped within their bower while he used his fists on her until
she was barely conscious. Then he would use her as he pleased. Such a daydream
caused his manhood to strain uncomfortably against his wet clothes. Eafa
shifted in the saddle to ease his aching groin and reluctantly pushed aside his
favorite fantasy.

Soon
Raedwyn would become a delightful reality, a dream no more. Eafa cared not that
she was a widow, no longer a virgin. By all accounts, Cynric the Bold had only
spent a night with his new bride. Then there were the rumors that while
Ceolwulf had held her captive, he had handed her around like a plaything to be
used by the Exiled and his men. Eafa cared not for the rumors either. Raedwyn
would fare far worse in his hands than theirs; he would make sure of it. And if
she had given herself to them willingly he would discover the truth – and take
pleasure in punishing her for it.

Shifting
his thoughts from Raedwyn, Eafa took note of his surroundings as he rode. They
had entered the Kingdom of the East Angles, Raedwald’s territory, and already
Eafa was beginning to tire of the flat, marshy landscape. He loved the wooded
hills of Mercia and the king’s fortress at Tamworth, rising like a stone
sentinel above the trees. Raedwald had long been a thorn in his side. He was a
formidable leader and a warrior, whom it was unwise to anger. The
Northumbrian’s defeat was still fresh in everyone’s minds. The Mercians did not
want a dispute with the East Anglians.

Eafa would
have preferred to arrive at Rendlaesham, wed Raedwyn and depart the next
morning, but Raedwald had insisted that Eafa turn up seven days before the
handfast ceremony and enjoy some East Anglian hospitality. They would feast,
hunt and down copious quantities of mead in the days leading up to the wedding.

Eafa was
no fool; he understood Raedwald wanted information about the state of the Mercian
Kingdom, the king’s health and the likelihood of Eafa’s succession. Raedwald
wanted to build an alliance between them that would benefit them both. Eafa had
a grudging respect for the East Anglian King; he was a shrewd politician who
understood leadership was more than being able to lead a
fyrd
into
battle.

Eafa’s
company rode on through the day. The pouring rain finally lessened to a drizzle
and they rode across a gently undulating, marshy landscape dotted with thickets
of coppicing trees. Signs of civilization appeared; small clusters of thatched
wattle and daub buildings rose in the distance. These were satellite
settlements around Rendlaesham, which grew ever more common as they approached
the heart of the East Anglian Kingdom.

Finally,
Rendlaesham itself appeared; a carpet of thatched huts encircled by a high
wooden wall. On a hill in the center of the town, surrounded by another
fortified wall, was the famed Great Hall. Today, rather than gold, it was a
dirty yellow. Nevertheless, Eafa had to admit it was an impressive building of
considerable workmanship and grace.

Eafa rode
through the town gates and up the muddy street towards the Great Hall.
Townsfolk came out to gaze at the infamous Eafa the Merciful. He rode like Thor
himself through their midst without once looking in their direction. He was a
magnificent man to behold; tall with a mane of ice-blonde hair. However, to
gaze upon him was to look upon one of the cold, marble statues the Romans had
left behind – devoid of mercy, empty of warmth.

Eafa left
the people of Rendlaesham chilled and subdued in his wake.

***

The
banquet was one of the finest Raedwald had ever held. It was the end of a long,
hard winter but the king had recklessly emptied out his store to impress his
prospective son-in-law. Pies, stews, spit-roasted meats and sweet apple cakes
covered the table in the Great Hall. A servant poured Raedwald’s best mead into
the large mug at Eafa’s elbow.

Whereas
Eafa drank slowly, the king threw back his mead with abandon. As the meal
progressed, his face grew ever more florid. His gestures were increasingly
enthusiastic, and his voice roared like a stag’s across the table. He regaled
Eafa with every hilarious anecdote he had ever recited and often broke into
song. At one stage, he called for his lyre to be brought to the table. Then, he
sung a rousing song of victorious battle and of brotherhood among warriors.

At the
table, the mood amongst the diners varied. Seaxwyn was pleasant and
conversational, although there were lines around her eyes that had not been
present before the winter and her face had a strained look. Eni and his sons
were loud, encouraging the king to recount tales of his youth.

Eorpwald
was an enigma as usual, his cool manner giving nothing away – although his keen
gaze missed nothing. He observed Eafa the Merciful, noticing that he ate and
drank leisurely, savoring the quality of the meal. An aura of self-contained
power surrounded the Mercian. Eafa largely ignored the woman who would be his
wife in just six nights. Only occasionally did his pale gaze flick in her
direction, but his expression revealed nothing of his emotion towards her.
Raedwyn was beautiful. She had spring flowers braided into her hair and wore a
blue wool gown that revealed the pale curves of her shoulders.

Eorpwald
was secretly impressed by his sister. Despite everything that had befallen her
of late, she radiated strength and calm. She had matured greatly in the past
year; gone was the indulged girl who was the apple of her father’s eye and the
center of attention at every meal, and a poised young woman had replaced her.
Although he had never resented his sister, Eorpwald had not been close to
Raedwyn before now. He had always come a poor second to their dead brother,
Raegenhere. Now, the two of them were friends but soon, Eorpwald reminded
himself, he would lose his sister to this cold stranger.

Eorpwald
looked down at his half-eaten pie. He did not have an appetite for the events
of late.

He turned
his attention to the king, watching his father down yet another mug of mead and
sway drunkenly across the table. Where was the man who had led his people to
victory in Northumbria? Where was the king of temperance and mercy? Eorpwald
doubted he would ever respect his father again.

***

The feast
dragged on late into the night. It was a long while before Raedwyn was able to
excuse herself from the table. If the king had not been so drunk, music and
dancing would have followed the feast. However, Raedwald was in no state to
either sing or dance. He slumped over the table upon the dais and his snores
filled the hall, signaling the evening had ended. Eni and Annan, both barely
able to stand, dragged Raedwald to his feet and maneuvered him towards his
bower. The queen bid the rest of the revelers goodnight and followed in their
wake.

Raedwyn
tentatively drew back her chair and got to her feet. She threw Eafa a sidelong
glance and his gaze snared her. He had the eyes of a lizard, holding her fast.

“Milady.”
His voice was as cold as his eyes. He rose from the table, took hold of her
hand and made a show of leading her away from the others.

Raedwyn’s
skin prickled as if she had just dived into an icy pond. She sensed danger in
every pore. She did not want to be alone with this man – ever. His grip on her
hand was light but Raedwyn could feel the power he held in check.

“I bid you
goodnight milord.” Raedwyn halted and found her voice.

“Goodnight,
Raedwyn.” Eafa fixed her with his gimlet stare and, raising her hand to his
lips, kissed it. His lips burned her skin like salt and Raedwyn barely resisted
the urge to yank her hand away.

“Till the
morrow.” The innocuous words sounded like a threat.

With as
much good grace as she could manage, Raedwyn extracted her hand from his and
fled to her bower. Once inside, she sat down on a stool next to her furs and was
surprised to note she was trembling.

Raedwyn
poured herself a mug of water from a pitcher beside her furs and drained it.
Outside it was a still night. She imagined Eafa sleeping just a few feet away
from her, near the fire pit, and suppressed a shudder.

Putting
down her empty mug, Raedwyn began to undress, readying herself for bed.

Perhaps
I am overreacting,
she
told herself, as she combed out her hair,
still the man makes my skin crawl.
Even in my father’s hall I do not feel safe from him.

Tomorrow she
would take a knife, one of the wicked-looking implements the servants used to
gut animals, and find a way to hide it on her person. What would she do when
she was Eafa’s wife though?

Raedwyn
slipped into the nest of furs. She enjoyed this time of day – but the solace of
being alone in the darkness, able to think her own thoughts, was bittersweet.
Now, was the only time she allowed herself to think of Caelin. She had not seen
him since their tryst in the brambles.

She had
actively gone out of her way to avoid him.

Raedwyn
could not bring herself to regret what had happened, but it was painful to see
her father’s slave, knowing she could never again touch him. She imagined he
felt the same, for there had been no sign of him around the Great Hall for days.
Their union had been the most beautiful moment of her life – and she longed to
repeat it. Tears stung Raedwyn’s eyes as they did every night when she thought
upon Caelin. Memories of him rushed back – the warmth of his skin, the timbre
of his voice, and the wildness of his passion. It was him she should have been
marrying – not this cold, cruel Mercian.