The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (11 page)

In Annan’s eyes, she saw her own hunger reflected back at her.
They sat so close that all it took was for Annan to bend his head over hers, a
groan escaping him as he did so. Instinctively, Saewara tilted her head back, her
lips parting slightly. Their mouths came together.

He was not gentle, and neither was she.

The moment their lips met, a surge of need – a sensation
Saewara did not even realize her body had been capable of – exploded within
her. She let out a soft cry and reached for him.

Annan pulled her roughly to him. One moment, they had been
sitting side by side, the next she was on his lap, her mouth open under his,
her hands tangling in his wet hair. They bit at each other’s lips, as their tongues
warred for dominance. Annan’s hands slid down her wet back to the curve of her
bottom before he pulled her hard against him.

Her need for him was so intense that Saewara’s head swam. She
groaned into Annan’s mouth. He kissed her as if she was air and he was a
drowning man. She had never known that a man and woman could kiss like this.
She had never known that she could want a man so badly that it could push all
other thoughts from her head; that it could literally make her feel ill with need.

He would have taken her there on the mossy bank, she was sure
of it, and she would have begged him to, if a man’s call had not reached them.
Neither heard his shout at first, although the voice eventually reached them
through their haze of passion.

“Annan! Saewara!”

Saba was searching for them.

Annan and Saewara broke apart as if they had just been doused
with a pail of icy water. Annan stared at her, breathing heavily while he
struggled to regain control of himself. Saewara watched him, and saw the haze
of lust fade from his eyes. Her heart started to hammer against her ribs when
she saw his gaze harden.

“I’m sorry, Saewara.” His voice was cold and flat. “That was a
mistake. It won’t happen again – ever.”

Saewara gaped at him. What did he mean? They were about to be
handfasted. Was he not intending to bed her once they were married?

“Annan,” Saewara began, reaching a tentative hand toward him.

“No,” he backed away from her and rose to his feet. “You are
part of the bargain I made to save my people. I didn’t want this; I was to
marry someone else when Penda forced you upon me. He sent you to bewitch me, to
take his humiliation one step further, and he almost succeeded.”

“No, that’s not true. I’ve never bewitched anyone.” Saewara
felt hysteria rise inside her at the ridiculousness of the situation. Yet, the
look on Annan’s face was anything but comical. “Not even my own husband. I don’t
understand what you mean.”

However, Annan was no longer listening to her. She watched,
tears blurring her vision, as he strode away to find Saba.

Chapter Eleven

Homecoming

They reached Rendlaesham on a warm, sunny morning that basked
the town in golden light. Saewara rode at Annan’s side, her pony trotting to
keep up with his stallion’s brisk walk. Together, they rode down the last
incline toward the gates.

Despite Saewara’s apprehension and low spirits, she still
found herself taking in her surroundings with interest. They rode through fields
full of cabbages, onions, carrots, turnips and spring greens; it was a verdant,
lush landscape. Rendlaesham lay in the fold between two low hills, and high
above the thatched roofs of the town itself, she spied the magnificent ‘Golden
Hall’ itself. Saewara could see it was an idyllic spot. Arable fields, a
spreading apple orchard and straw thatch lay under a wide cerulean sky. The
horizon seemed wider here. In other circumstances, Saewara would have been
pleased to arrive in Rendlaesham; it was a pity she would not be welcomed.

The folk working the fields all stopped what they were doing
and hailed the king and his entourage. Ahead, townsfolk poured out of the gates
and lined the way in. All of them waiting to see the king and lay eyes on his
Mercian betrothed. Rendlaesham was bustling, as folk from nearby villages had
flooded the town to see the royal couple. Some children pushed their way to the
front of the crowd, while others perched on their fathers’ shoulders. Street
vendors selling hot pies and bread wove through the throng, taking advantage of
the occasion to hawk their wares.

Saewara kept her gaze fixed ahead, not daring to make eye
contact with any of them. She remembered her own people’s heckling when she had
ridden out of Tamworth. Although none of this was any of her fault, a
discontented people would find it easy to lay the blame on her.

She could feel their gazes, raking her from head to toe – some
hostile, others merely curious. Many folk shouted out to the king, welcoming
him home, although muttered insults about his choice of bride reached Saewara’s
ears once they entered the town itself. However, none were bold enough to shout
abuse – not with the king riding at her side.

They rode through the town, up a wide dirt street to the high
fence surrounding the Great Hall of the Wuffingas. Up close, the ‘Golden Hall’
appeared even more imposing than from a distance. Saewara could also see that a
number of outbuildings spread around the base of the hall itself. Helmed
warriors flanked the entrance, pulling the heavy gates apart to allow the king,
his betrothed and warriors to enter a wide stable yard.

Saewara brought her pony to a halt and let her gaze travel up
the wooden steps to the terrace at the top. There, before the great oaken
doors, stood a small group. Among them was a tall blond man, who bore a striking
resemblance to Annan, and a tall slender woman with hair the color of creamed
honey. Saewara saw both their gazes fix upon her and she looked away under the
intensity of their stares.

The trip here, despite its dangers and trials, had given
Saewara respite from life in a king’s hall. Now, she would no longer be ignored.
There would be no anonymity; nowhere to hide from hostile stares and whispered
insults.

Annan helped her down from her pony. It was a polite act, and
Saewara was grateful for his steadying hand as she slid down to the ground.
However, there was no warmth in his face when he looked at her.

“Come,” he said, taking her arm as tradition dictated, and
linking it through his. “Let me lead you into your new home.”

To onlookers they must have appeared a genteel couple, Saewara
thought, with Annan solicitously leading her up the steps to his hall. Yet,
ever since their kiss on the banks of the river, under the canopy of willow
branches, Annan had turned into a cold stranger.

Part of her, the rational part, completely understood his
behavior. They were enemies, after all. His revelation that he had been about
to marry another made his anger toward her even more understandable. If she had
not been enchanted by Annan, if even the sight of him had not made her pulse race,
she too would have behaved coldly toward him. Because of him, she had not been
able to retreat to a life of solitude in Bonehill. She had been forced to marry
back into a world she despised; a world where women were bargained and traded
like pieces of gold for power, land and titles.

Yet, his rejection felt like a knife to the heart, and Saewara
hated herself for caring. Yearning for something that was beyond her reach
would only add to her unhappiness here. She needed to be strong. The
vulnerability she had shown Annan needed to be forgotten; she had to build a
wall around herself, re-immerse herself in her faith and put aside the desires
of the flesh. Her body had betrayed her on the journey here; she had not been
prepared for her reaction to the King of the East Angles. It had been an
enchantment; one that stripped her of a lifetime’s defenses.

Now that the surprise had passed, and Annan had made it clear
how the land lay, Saewara had to focus on protecting herself. The ‘Golden Hall’
would be full of wolves in sheep’s clothing and soon she would be surrounded by
those who wished to see her ruin.

Courage Saewara. You’ve fought against worse than
this. Penda is in Tamworth. Egfrid is dead. Neither of them can touch you here.

Annan mounted the last set of steps to his hall and steeled
himself for the meeting he had been dreading.

Aethelhere and Hereswith. He had seen them waiting for him,
the moment he had ridden into the stable yard. They would be married now. The
thought made him feel ill.

Saba was right,
he thought bitterly.
I
should never have agreed to their marriage. I’ve now made myself a martyr.

Saewara’s hand lay lightly on his arm; a constant reminder of
the mess he was now in. He did not glance her way as they stepped up onto the
terrace before the oaken doors.

My life used to be so simple.

The woman he wanted to marry stood before him, while the woman
he would be forced to marry walked at his side. The situation was further
complicated by the fact that, although his attention was focused on the slender
blonde at his brother’s side, the sultry, dark haired woman beside him had
succeeded in completely disarming him. Her touch was a brand on his naked skin.
Even now, the memory of her lush body against his, and the hunger of their
embrace, was enough to make his step falter.

She is Mercian. You will not touch her again.

With an effort, Annan banished the lingering memories and
focused on the couple before him.

“Brother!” Aethelhere greeted him with a warm smile. “We were
starting to worry that you would never come back to us!”

“The journey home took longer than expected,” Annan replied,
his gaze resting on his brother’s face for a moment. “Outlaws and near drowning
delayed us somewhat.”

Aethelhere’s eyes widened at that.

“I expect a full account over a cup of mead,” he announced,
before his gaze swiveled down to the woman who stood silently at Annan’s side.

“So this is your new bride?”

“My betrothed,” Annan corrected him. “We are not yet wed.
Saewara, meet my brother Aethelhere and his wife Hereswith.”

“Greetings,” Saewara spoke for the first time since her
arrival.

Annan forced himself to look at Hereswith then; the woman who
was now wedded to his brother.

She was as lovely as he remembered; as pale and radiant as a
new dawn, her eyes the color of a summer’s sky. She returned his gaze boldly,
unsmiling before nodding curtly.

“Milord.”

“Hereswith.”

“So when is your handfasting?” Aethelhere continued, a little
of the friendliness and humor gone from his voice. Hereswith was his now, and
it was evident he did not like his brother greeting her personally.

“Tomorrow,” Annan replied, aware of how flat his voice
sounded. It was as if he was announcing his own execution. “At noon.”

***

The roar of voices inside the hall was deafening. Smoke from
the cooking created a haze over the interior, although it could not dim the
majesty of the cavernous space. The ‘Golden Hall’ of Rendlaesham may have been made
of timber but Saewara decided it was no less impressive than the Great Tower of
Tamworth for all that. The sheer height of the beamed ceiling above her made
Saewara feel very small in comparison.

Turning her attention back to the feast before her, Saewara
helped herself to a piece of roast pork and some braised onions. The clamor
around her was strangely soothing. For the moment, at least, everyone was too
focused on the feast to pay attention to the imposter in their midst.

Saewara sat at Annan’s side, so close that their elbows often
brushed as they reached for their cups or helped themselves to food. However,
the two of them could not have been farther apart.

They did not look at each other during the feast.

To Saewara’s left sat Aethelhere and his blonde wife. Next to the
lovely Hereswith sat a brown-haired woman who would have been attractive if her
face had not been creased in a permanent expression of disapproval.

Saba sat to Annan’s right. The warrior was in good spirits
this evening, and downed more than his fair share of mead. He flirted
outrageously with the female slave who served them; a timid girl with long
brown hair braided in a long plait down her slender back. In Saewara’s opinion,
Saba appeared to be frightening the girl, rather than impressing her, and the
slave fled to serve the other end of the table as soon as she was able.

As the feast progressed, Saewara caught a snippet of
conversation from Aethelhere and his wife.

“I have instructed the servants to prepare a suitable feast
for tomorrow afternoon, after the handfast ceremony,” the young woman told her
husband.

“Make sure they bake the honey-seed cakes,” he told her. “You
can’t have a handfasting without them.”

Hereswith nodded demurely before, seeing that Saewara was
observing them, allowing herself a sly smile.

“Of course, Aethelhere. They encourage fertility and I’d say
that your brother’s betrothed will need all the help she can get.”

“Really?” Aethelhere raised an eyebrow at his wife. “Why do
you say that?”

“Well, she was married for years, was she not, and never
produced an heir? I’d wager the poor creature is barren.”

Saewara looked down at her plate, her cheeks burning.

Poor creature.

However, there had been no pity in Hereswith’s voice when she
spoke those words, only a vindictive cruelty; the kind only a bitter, vengeful woman
could manage.

Saewara had seen the look that passed between Annan and
Hereswith earlier outside the hall. She had witnessed Aethelhere’s jealousy and
the sudden coolness between the two brothers. It appeared the situation was
even more complicated than she had anticipated. If her instincts served her right,
and they often did, Hereswith was the woman Annan was to marry before Penda’s
summons.

Instead of Annan, she had married his brother.

God help me, I’ve walked into a hornets’ nest.

Saewara was digesting this realization when the slave-girl
appeared once more with a platter of piping hot mutton pies. After days of
travel and simple food, Saewara had a ravenous appetite. Even her lack of
welcome here could not take the edge of it. She took one of the pies and
flashed the girl a grateful smile.

The slave smiled back at her, her cheeks flushing in pleasure.

“Lovely Hilda.” Saba leaned back and looked up at the slave as
she made her way round to his side of the table. “How I missed your pretty
face. Tell me, how fared you in my absence?”

“Well, M’lord,” Hilda replied, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Ah now, no need to be coy,” he grinned at her. “I know you
missed me.”

Saba was rewarded with a sharp, irritated look before the girl
slapped a pie down in front of him and continued on her way down the table.

The warrior watched her go with a shake of the head.

“Well, at least Hilda doesn’t still cower in terror every time
you speak to her,” Annan observed over the rim of his cup. “She must be warming
to you.”

“You should not encourage him, Milord,” the brown-haired woman
who sat next to Hereswith exploded, obviously unable to hold her tongue any
longer. “The girl is a slave and should be treated as such.”

Annan gave the woman a slow, measured look.

“Remind me of your name?” he asked her, his voice barely
audible over the roar of drunken voices around them.

“Eldwyn,” the woman replied, holding his gaze boldly.

“Eldwyn,” Annan said her name slowly, as if considering his
next words. “You are a newcomer to my hall, and welcome here, for you serve my
brother and his wife. However, you will never tell me how I should or should
not behave again. If you do so, I will have you packed off back to Bebbanburg
before you have time to take your next breath. Do you understand me?”