Dark Under the Cover of Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 1) (4 page)

They were
chasing her.

Panic
seized Raedwyn. If she followed the riverbank they would be sure to catch her.
She turned her horse into the trees and dug her heels into the mare’s slick
sides. Wispy shrouds of mist made visibility poor in the thickly wooded copse.
Raedwyn grabbed hold of the mare’s bristly mane and flattened herself against
her neck. The frightened horse stumbled over tree roots, dodged tree trunks and
ripped through undergrowth. Raedwyn rode, clinging to her mount and praying the
mare would not break a leg on the uneven footing.

Then,
Raedwyn chanced a glance over her shoulder – and that was her mistake. For in
turning in the saddle to see that she had outrun her pursuers, she failed to
spy the low-hanging branch looming before her. 

A large,
solid object hit the side of her head and ripped her from the saddle.

***

The hand
that slapped her across the face was hard and calloused, bringing Raedwyn
violently back to her senses. Her cheek stung from the slap and her head
throbbed from the collision with the tree branch. Raedwyn looked up into the
leering face of a bearded man with wild dark hair who loomed over her. 

Once again
acting on instinct, Raedwyn brought her knee sharply up. Her aim was dead-on
and her knee connected with his groin. The man gave a strangled yell and fell
to one side. Raedwyn scrambled away, her long skirts and cloak catching on
brambles. She had barely managed a few yards when a hand fastened around her
ankle and pulled her back.

“Little
bitch!” the man was no longer leering. “I’ll teach you some manners wench!” He
hit her hard across the face and threw her on to her back.

It seemed
Raedwyn had not kneed the man hard enough to damage him, for he was pulling up
his tunic and attempting to free his manhood from his breeches with one hand
while pulling up Raedwyn’s skirts with the other. She still had a dull ache
between her legs after Cynric’s attentions. The thought of another man using
her, filled Raedwyn with cold fear.

Panicked,
Raedwyn kicked and struggled, bit and punched, oblivious to his blows.
Eventually her skirts were up around her hips while her attacker was trying, in
vain, to rip open the front of her tunic. Her linen tunic fitted her snugly and
a thick wool sleeveless overdress covered it. Her mother had designed this
outfit for traveling; it was near impossible to rip with bare hands. Finally,
realizing he was getting nowhere, the man pulled out a knife and raised it to
Raedwyn’s face.

“You’re
almost too much trouble,” he hissed, “but I’m going to have you now or I’ll cut
you up!”

Raedwyn
stared up at his maddened face in horror. She was sure he would cut her throat.
She had to decide whether letting him use her was better or worse than death.

Fate
spared her the decision.

“Hengist!”
An angry male voice cut through the close air. Raedwyn’s attacker froze in the
midst of parting Raedwyn’s thighs. His face blanched.

A figure
loomed out of the mist and hauled Hengist off her. The knife tumbled into the
undergrowth and fists flew. Moments later, Raedwyn’s would-be rapist was
cringing on the ground, winded. A tall man, wrapped in a dark cloak, stood over
him. A large cowl shrouded his face but Raedwyn could feel his gaze burning
into her. For a moment, she stared back at him, before remembering she lay in
the undergrowth naked from the waist down with her legs spread.    

Mortification
flooded through her. She yanked her skirts down and dived for the knife that
lay an arm’s length away. The stranger was too fast for her. He kicked the
knife out of reach and pulled her to her feet, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Quiet now
milady,” he admonished as Raedwyn attempted to twist free. “I mean you no harm
but you will injure yourself if you continue to fight me.”

“You mean
me no harm?” Raedwyn’s voice was shrill with hysteria. “You ambush us and kill
my husband, before one of you tries to rape me! You mean me no harm? Someone
should cut off your lying tongue!”

The
cloaked man did not respond to her scorn. Instead, he turned to the groaning
man who was picking himself up off the ground.

“Touch her
again Hengist and I’ll cut your hands off. My father wants her unharmed and
unspoiled.”

“Your
father is welcome to her,” Hengist spat. “Vicious bitch!”

“Come,
Lady Raedwyn.” The cloaked man pushed her ahead of him, back in the direction
of the river. “You have an audience with Ceolwulf the Exiled.”

Chapter Three

Raedwyn
emerged from the copse, accompanied by her captors, into a torrential downpour.
Within seconds, she was soaked. Water streamed down her face and bounced off
the muddy track. Clutching her cloak tightly around her, Raedwyn struggled
through the mud, to where two bedraggled horses stood tied to a tree, patiently
awaiting their masters’ return. Hengist mounted his beast while his companion
hoisted Raedwyn up into his horse’s saddle. Now that her anger had worn off, a
numb chill settled over Raedwyn. She meekly sat atop the horse, shivering as
the rain pelted against her. 

Hengist
rode ahead while the cloaked man walked next to Raedwyn. They retraced their
steps to the site of the ambush. Upon seeing the dead bodies of her husband and
escorts, riddled with arrows and sprawled across the path, Raedwyn’s stomach
roiled. She struggled off the horse and tried to squeeze past her cloaked
captor.

“Wait
milady.” His hand fastened around her forearm like an iron band and halted her.

“I must go
to my husband!” Raedwyn ripped her arm free. “Let me be!” 

Raedwyn
pushed against him and this time he stood back to let her pass. A crowd of
bloodied and mud-splattered men stood around and watched Raedwyn pick her way
across the mud, to where Cynric the Bold lay face down. Reaching him, she knelt
next to his inert body and rolled him over. He was indeed dead. His body had a
heaviness that live flesh did not possess. It was an effort to get him onto his
back. Two arrows pierced his chest.  Cynric’s face wore an awful expression.
His blue eyes stared sightlessly skyward. Raedwyn had known, as she had watched
the arrows hit him, that the shots were mortal. She sat back on her haunches
and looked at the men lying scattered around her – not one of them moved. They
had killed them all.

“Butchers!”
she hissed. Anger rose up in her as she surveyed the carnage. Cynric’s men had
fought back, but in the end the outlaws outnumbered and overwhelmed them.
Raedwyn took a good look at the crowd of men around her. They were dirty and
unkempt but well armed. They had used the element of surprise well, for trees
surrounded this part of the riverbank. The men gawked at her and Raedwyn stared
back, her eyes narrowing into sapphire slits.

Had she
the means, she would have slaughtered them all.

“I see you
have some of your father’s fire m’lady.” A rough voice caught Raedwyn’s
attention. She struggled to her feet and stood to face the tall bear of a man
who limped onto the path. He was a giant, with a long black beard and hair
streaked with white. He fixed her with a cold, obsidian gaze. “It’s a pity you
had not been born a man.”

This man
scared Raedwyn. Shivering and in shock, the desire to crumble before him was
overwhelming but she stood her ground.

“If I had
been, you and your toadies would be groveling at my feet now,” she ground out
between chattering teeth.

To her
surprise and indignation, the giant laughed. Around him, his men sniggered,
including Hengist, who looked upon Raedwyn with a malicious leer. Only the
cloaked man stood silent, like a wraith, at the edge of the group.

“That
mother of yours is a hard, shrew of a woman. It appears you are no different.”

The giant
recovered from his laughter and took a menacing step towards her.

“I see no
grief in your eyes for your departed husband. You do not have the guile to
feign sadness.”

“We knew
each other but two days,” Raedwyn replied. “I see no point in putting on a show
so you and your men can jeer at a woman’s tears.”

The giant
cocked his head to one side and grimaced. “A forked tongue, just like your
mother.”

“You know
nothing of my mother!” Raedwyn spat, stepping back from his menacing presence.

“Don’t I?”
he was clearly enjoying tormenting Raedwyn. “You are too young to have memories
of me but I remember your family well. I was once your father’s most trusted
ealdormen. I was more of a brother to him than one of his own kin.”

Raedwyn
stared back at him, disbelieving. Only the fierce expression on his dark face
stopped her from declaring him a liar.

“Seaxwyn
was a fire-haired Saxon beauty in those days and you were but a young child.
However, behind her fairness your mother was devious and sly. She poisoned the
king against me. She fed him with lies until Raedwald banished me from his
kingdom on pain of death.”

The giant
reached forward and placed his hands on Raedwyn’s shoulders, pinning her to the
spot.

“Ceolwulf
the Exiled am I – and exiled I was – for many long winters. I have lived in Gaul, awaiting the day I would take revenge on the Wuffingas. That day has now come.”

Raedwyn’s
stomach churned and bile rose into the back of her throat. She thought then of
her half-brother whom she had never met, Sigeberht, who Raedwald had also
exiled to Gaul. However, her father had never told her of this man.

Ceolwulf
was obviously a lunatic; she did not believe a word he uttered but she would
not dare contradict him. Her mind scampered about, frantically searching for a
way to escape, but there was none. Her false bravado dissolved and she stood
there, too frightened to move.

Ceolwulf
stepped back from Raedwyn before glancing over to where the cloaked man stood
watching.

“Caelin,”
he said softly, “come.”

The man
crossed the path, stepping over bodies as he did so, before he stood next to
Raedwyn.

“This is
my son.” Ceolwulf’s voice lightened for the first time since their meeting. “He
was but a boy when I was exiled, but he remembers your family’s treachery
well.”

Raedwyn
turned to the cloaked man. He pushed back his hood and looked directly into
Raedwyn’s eyes. 

“Milady.”
His voice was low, soothing like the drumming rain.

The impact
of their gazes meeting was like a hard punch to the stomach. Raedwyn smothered
a gasp and tore her gaze away from his. Gathering control of herself, she
looked back at him and tried to fathom what it was about this man that affected
her so.

Caelin was
dark like his father but the similarity ended there. He was tall, long-limbed
but without Ceolwulf’s heaviness of stature. Long wavy black hair surrounded a
sharply featured face and aquiline nose. He, like a few of the men surrounding
them, was clean-shaven. He had piercing dark eyes that were unusual in these
parts; more reminiscent of a Roman than a Celt or Saxon. He was a handsome man
but there was a quiet, brooding power in him; a sensuality that made Raedwyn’s
skin prickle. Her reaction to this stranger appalled her. Here she was, her
husband not yet cold at her feet, and she was lusting after one of his
killers. 

Caelin
stared back at her, his face giving no hint as to his thoughts. 

Raedwyn
looked down at the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. It seemed so long ago now
since her world had been innocent and light-hearted – just two days and yet a
lifetime ago.

She wanted
her mother. She wanted to open her eyes and find herself in her father’s hall,
watching the flames dance in the fire pit while Raedwald and his men sat around
drinking mead and swapping stories.

Raedwyn
opened her eyes to find the outlaws all staring at her. The rain enveloped them
all like a great curtain. Tears leaked down Raedwyn’s already wet cheeks.
Rendlaesham was lost to her.

***

The
outlaws took her into a dense, dark wood where the trees swallowed all trace of
the band. They had bound her wrists, for it was clear Raedwyn would try to
escape the moment they turned their backs on her. The ragged group led their
horses through the densely packed trees, on and on until the oaks, beeches and
elms gave way to a wide clearing. A shabby hamlet filled the glade. A
collection of low, thatch roofed timber dwellings; it was a makeshift
settlement and there were no women in sight, just lean-faced, hungry-eyed men.

They
welcomed Ceolwulf back into the fold like a king. Raedwyn bristled at the sight
of them fawning over the gigantic, wild-haired man. The East Angles already had
a king – and it was not this bloodthirsty brute. Raedwyn smiled inwardly at the
thought of her father’s rage when he heard of this treachery. There would be no
wood large enough for Ceolwulf and his minions to hide in when Raedwald learned
of this.

Ceolwulf’s
son led Raedwyn through the center of the hamlet, towards the largest of the
thatched huts. Ever since she had locked eyes with him back by the river,
Raedwyn had avoided looking in Caelin’s direction. Even so, she could feel his
presence next to her, his hand on her back, steering her through the leering
crowd. His hand burned through her sodden clothing and warmed her chilled skin.

Raedwyn’s
mouth went dry and she walked a little faster. She had to distance herself from
this man. She ducked under the low doorway, entering a narrow hall with a small
fire pit in the center. Two curtains made of rabbit pelts sewn together, hung
either side of the doorway that led through into separate anterooms. Caelin
pulled the right hand curtain aside and steered her into a small, sparsely
furnished bower. A pile of furs lay in the center of the room and there was a
clay washbasin and a privy in the corner. The tiny window was bolted shut.
Hanging from the exterior wall, a torch burned steadily. Flickering shadows
played across the walls.

“We
brought your belongings,” Caelin said, dumping four sodden leather bags next to
the pile of furs, “so you can change out of your wet clothes.”

Raedwyn
pushed back her hood and wiped the rain out of her eyes. She looked at Caelin
properly then. He met her gaze boldly. Raedwyn scowled at him.

“Leave
me,” she said coldly.

“When you
have made yourself presentable, my father wants you to join us,” he replied,
his tone equally cold.

Raedwyn
watched him turn and duck around the fur partition. In the hall beyond she
could hear Ceolwulf laughing and his men congratulating each other. Raedwyn’s
fists balled in fury. It had been a planned, well-executed attack. They had
known King Raedwald’s daughter was to wed Cynric the Bold and they had known
Cynric had docked his long ship below the Great Barrows of Kings. They had lain
in wait and finally the prey had come to them.

Shaking
with cold and rage, Raedwyn peeled off her wet clothes and put on a plain
woolen tunic. She wrung the water out of her hair and shook her curls out like
a dog. Then, she coiled her hair severely at the nape of her neck. Finally, she
hung her wet clothes to dry on the wall of her bower before unfastening
Cynric’s morning gifts from her sodden cloak. She held the amber brooches in
the palm of her hand. The amber glowed gold in the torch light. Poor Cynric,
she thought. Yet, she could not feel true grief for him. Her only emotion
towards him was a vague relief that she would never have to suffer his
attentions again.

However,
with a shudder Raedwyn realized her husband’s unwelcome attentions were
preferable to what awaited her.

When
Raedwyn finally emerged from behind the curtain, Ceolwulf and his men sat
around the fire pit downing jugs of mead. They ogled her as she stood before
them, stone-faced. A rabbit stew simmered over the fire pit and the aroma made
Raedwyn’s stomach rumble, reminding her she had not eaten since the morning.

“Ah,
Raedwyn the Fair.” Ceolwulf took a swig of mead and wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand. “Such a luscious wench you are as well. Cynric must have
enjoyed his wedding night.”

“One fine
memory before death m’lord,” one of his men chortled, causing the entire
assembly to break into raucous laughter.

Raedwyn
stood there with her head down, loathing them. Her father would make them pay
for their insolence.

“Come
girl, sit next to me.” Ceolwulf patted the ground next to him. Raedwyn walked
stiffly over and sat down between Ceolwulf and his son. Caelin was the only
warrior not laughing and smiling. He drank his mead quietly, listening to the
chatter around him with still indifference. He glanced across at Raedwyn,
watching her under veiled lids.

Raedwyn
sat, feigning submission, hands folded meekly in her lap while the men poured
mead down their throats and waited for the stew to cook. Eventually, a trencher
bread bowl was passed to her and she ate hungrily. Ignoring the lecherous looks
from some of Ceolwulf’s warriors, including the vile Hengist, who sat directly
opposite her, Raedwyn kept her gaze downcast.

“You don’t
fool anyone milady.” Caelin’s voice, low and teasing, intruded on her reverie.
“The role of meek maid does not sit well with you.”

Raedwyn
looked up sharply and found Caelin watching her.

“I have
little choice but to sit here quietly,” Raedwyn replied frostily, “since I am
not here by my own will.”

“Then you
can drop the act,” Caelin replied. “My father despises simpering women.”

“I care
not whether I please him,” Raedwyn shot back, her spine straightening with indignation,
“or you!”