The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

Unsaid

Dylan looked down at Merwenna’s tear-streaked face
and realized he had taken things too far.

He had not meant to kiss her. It was not his fault
she was out here alone in the woods. He had never thought to set eyes on her
again; and here she was sitting on a tree stump looking like a fairy maid sent
to trap mortal men with her beauty.

Indeed she had – for he had been ready to strip her
of her clothes and take her on the acorn-strewn ground. Had she not started to
weep, he would have.

Merwenna may have been a sheltered young virgin
from a Mercian backwater, but she had the capability to make him forget who he
was.

Dylan took a deep, shuddering breath and released
her. She stumbled back from him, and her legs gave way. She would have fallen,
if he had not caught her.

“Leave me be!” she cried out, cringing away from
him as if he were a leper.

Dylan’s lust drained from him. He had never seen a
woman shrink from his touch; it shocked him as if she had struck him.

“Merwenna,” he rasped, guiding her to the tree
stump. “Calm yourself – I won’t hurt you.”

“You were about to rape me!” she replied, the words
coming out in gasping sobs. “I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t.”

“I’ve stopped now,” he hunkered down before her, so
their gazes were level, and placed his hands on her trembling shoulders.
“Listen to me, Merwenna. I’m sorry I lost control, but believe me, I would
never take you against your will.”

She stared at him, her eyes huge on her pale, wet
face. Seeing the depth of her anguish, Dylan silently cursed himself.

He was the Prince of Powys; a leader of men. What
was he doing terrifying young virgins? Back in Pengwern, there were plenty of
women willing to share his bed. He had no need to force himself on girls who
wanted to be left alone.

“I know you’re grieving,” he finally ground out.

“Then why did you do it?” she wiped at her wet
cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Because, like a lot of men, I want what I can’t
have,” Dylan replied with a frankness that caught him by surprise. He had not
realized he felt that way until he uttered the words. “Your Beorn was a
fortunate man indeed.”

Merwenna gazed at him, clearly confused by his
admission. He could see that she was struggling to believe him.

Dylan gave a lopsided smile and, reaching out,
brushed away the last of Merwenna’s tears. Something twisted inside him as he
did so and he suddenly wished he was a better man than he was.

“I never thought to see you again,” he murmured.
“You are sweet and tender, an entrancing beauty. Without realizing it, you left
your mark upon me, Merwenna of Weyham. It took me till now to realize it.”

“But you could have anyone,” she replied, a crease
forming between her eyebrows. “Don’t you have a betrothed back in Powys?”

He smiled at that, relieved that she was no longer
hysterical. “No, although my father pressured me to take a wife for years.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I had an army to manage, wars to fight. A wife was
not my priority. Now that my father is dead, I will be crowned upon my return
to Pengwern. Only then, will I think about finding myself a wife.”

“You make it sound as if you were selecting a cow
at market,” she replied, lifting her chin, some of her fire returning.

“That’s what high born marriage is,” he replied
with a shrug. “You marry to strengthen your bloodline, to build alliances, make
pacts. You marry a woman who will breed strong sons – for no other reason.”

“Makes me glad I am not high born,” she replied,
and their gazes met once more.

“Life isn’t easy, whichever rank you’re born to,”
he replied before taking a seat on the ground next to her. “Our women are pawns
in a man’s world, but low born women face cold, hunger and back breaking work
that ages them before their time.”

He looked away then, thinking of his mother, who
had died giving birth to his sister, Heledd. She had been much like Penda’s
wife, Cyneswide. A beautiful but submissive woman living in the shadow of a
hard, uncompromising man.

When he looked up, he saw that Merwenna was
studying him, her face serious.

“You are far more complex than you seem, Milord.”

The prince gave a soft laugh. “You give me too much
credit,
cariad
. And, please, call me Dylan.”

“Very well,” she gave a sweet smile that made him
ache to reach for her. “
Dylan
.”

She really had no idea how lovely she was, he
realized. Perhaps that was part of her allure.

They lapsed into silence then, and when the quiet
started to become uncomfortable, Dylan climbed to his feet and dusted the
leaves off his cloak.

“I will go now,” he told Merwenna, gazing down at
her face, “and you should do the same.”

She nodded, remaining silent as she too rose to her
feet and faced him.

“Goodbye, Merwenna,” he said softly, resisting the
urge to lean down and kiss her. They both knew where that led. “I wish you all
the happiness in the world. You deserve it.”

“Farewell, Dylan,” she replied, her voice suddenly
throaty, as if she were on the verge of weeping again. “For what it’s worth, I
think you will make a good king.”

They stood for a few moments, their gazes fused one
last time. Dylan then smiled, and let what he really wanted to say at that
moment go unsaid. He did not deserve her kindness, but to say so would only
upset her.

Then, without another word, the Prince of Powys
turned and walked away through the trees.

Merwenna watched Cynddylan go, keeping her gaze
upon his back until he disappeared from sight. Then, she let out the breath she
was holding.

Frankly, the prince had surprised her. Not only
that, but he had confused, and touched, her. She had not expected him to react
the way he had when she had refused him. Even now, she trembled at how close
she had come to surrendering.

Merwenna shivered and pulled her cloak tightly
about her. Dylan was right, she should not linger here. She took the woodland
path toward Weyham. Walking briskly, she made her way through the slumbering
village, prudently skirting the mead hall where she could hear the strains of
raucous singing. She arrived home to find her family all asleep.

Aeaba was curled up like a puppy on her furs next
to the glowing fire pit, and Seward was stretched out nearby. The soft,
rhythmic sound of his snoring filled the room.

Merwenna tip-toed across the rush-matting floor and
lay down on her own furs, which Aeaba had laid out for her before going to bed.
The furs were soft and Merwenna’s body ached with tiredness. Yet, sleep would
not come.

She tried not to think of Dylan. She tried not to
run their last conversation over and over again in her mind, but thoughts of
him kept creeping back. At the memory of his tongue tangling with hers, his
hands massaging her scalp as he kissed her, heat began to pulse between her
thighs once more.

Damn him.

Merwenna rolled over on to her side, away from the
fire pit and clenched her eyes shut.

She had come home, and yet she had never felt so
lost.

***

A golden sunrise blazed in the east as Dylan and
his army rode away from Weyham. It was a mild morning, although the scent of
autumn was in the air, along with the smell of wood smoke.

Dylan rode near the front of his men, alongside
Gwyn. His eyes stung with fatigue; after a sleepless night, the last thing he
needed was a long day in the saddle. Powys still lay at least two days’ ride
from Weyham, and Dylan was eager to move on.

They had delayed in Mercia long enough.

“Where did you get to last night?” Gwyn asked as
they rode up the sloping hillside, his dark gaze gleaming with mischief. “I was
about to send out a search party for you.”

Dylan gave him a sidelong glance.

His captain grinned. “Judging from the cycles under
your eyes, I’d say the lass wore you out.”

Dylan gave a wry smile. “Would you believe me if I
told you we just talked?”

Gwyn roared with laughter. “I’d say you were lying
through your teeth.”

“Well then, you’ll just have to call me a liar.”

His captain’s laughter died away and his gaze
narrowed in disbelief. “You’re telling me the truth – you didn’t take her?

“I am,” Dylan admitted, “although I can’t say I’m
crowing about it.”

Gwyn snorted rudely. “What’s happened to you? Time
was, you saw a girl you wanted and you took her.”

The prince shrugged. He cast his thoughts back to
the night before and how Merwenna had shrunk away from his touch.

For some things, the price was too high.

With that, he urged his stallion into a canter and
rode up to the head of the column, leaving Gwyn ruefully shaking his head
behind him.

Chapter Twenty-one

Consequences

Merwenna’s first day back in Weyham fell into a
timeless rhythm that made her feel as if she had never left. It was easier than
she had thought to slip back into old routines.

She spent the morning threshing barley with her
sister and mother. They laid out sheaves across a large rectangle of sacking
and set to, taking turns at flailing the barley, in order to separate the grain
from the chaff. It was hot, laborious work but the women fell into a rhythm,
chatting amongst themselves as they worked.

Merwenna was grateful to be kept busy. It helped
keep her mind from thoughts she would rather not dwell upon. She had hoped that
she would awake with a fresh perspective, ready to begin a new life in Weyham.
However, she had just woken feeling depressed.

What future awaited her here?

Weyham was an isolated village. Like Beorn, most of
the young men her age had ridden off to war against the Northumbrians. Few had
returned. By now, the whole village knew what she and Seward had done. Then, they
had seen her return with the Prince of Powys, and Merwenna shuddered to think
about the conclusions they had drawn.

Whether she wanted to admit it, or not, life would
not go back to the way it was.

After an industrious morning, the family stopped
for the noon meal. Wilfrid and Seward came in from the fields and they shared
fresh griddle bread, cheese and small, sweet onions. It was a warm day, so they
sat outside, under the shade of their home, enjoying the light breeze that
whispered down the valley.

Even so, the meal was consumed in silence. Merwenna
stole a glance at her brother as she ate. After last night’s conversation, his
attitude had thawed toward her somewhat; however, he barely spoke to anyone,
withdrawn in his own thoughts.

Merwenna picked at her lunch, her stomach closed.

Things were still not right with her parents,
either. At dawn, the family had broken their fast together, as always, but a
tense silence remained. Cynewyn had appeared the readiest to forgive both her
children for their transgressions, but Wilfrid had lapsed into stubborn
silence, his anger a brooding presence.

Now, he sat silently chewing his meal, saying
little and avoiding her gaze.

Merwenna could see that she had deeply hurt him and
she felt a lingering guilt over it. Wilfrid had only ever treated his daughter
like his princess, and in return, she had shamed him before the whole village.

“How much more of the harvest is there?” Merwenna
asked eventually, breaking the weighty silence.

“Still quite a bit,” her mother replied, handing
her a cup of water. “We will need to hurry before the weather turns.”

“The carrots and onions in the lower field are
getting past their best,” Wil spoke up for the first time since sitting down to
eat. “They need picking today.”

“Yes
fæder
,” Merwenna replied hurriedly,
anxious to please him. “I will do it this afternoon.”

Wil regarded her, his gaze narrowing. She realized,
with a sinking feeling in her belly, that he was not so easily appeased.

“You let your family down,” he accused. “Do you think
survival is easy out here on the fringes of the kingdom? Don’t you care that
because of your selfishness, your sister might not have enough to eat this
winter?”

“Wil,” Cynewyn interrupted gently, “Merwenna knows
what she’s done.” She placed a hand on her husband’s thigh to calm him but he
brushed it aside.

“Does she?” Wil got to his feet and brushed crumbs
off his breeches. “I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for my family. I stepped
away from a warrior’s life to ensure you all had a roof over your heads and
food in your bellies. In return, my son and daughter run off at harvest,
without a thought to the consequences.”

“I’m sorry,” Merwenna pleaded, “I will do my best
to make amends for what I’ve done.”

“Good,” Wil grunted, not remotely placated by his daughters
apology. “Make sure that you do.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed back
to the fields.

***

“Merwenna, I can see something is troubling you.”
Cynewyn gave her daughter a sidelong glance. It was mid-afternoon and the two
of them were alone in the fields, harvesting carrots. “Are you going to tell me
what it is?”

Merwenna grimaced and pulled up a bunch of carrots
up, before brushing soil off them.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Sometimes it helps to speak of such things,” her
mother took the carrots and placed them in the enormous wicker basket she
carried. “Don’t worry about your father. He is hurt but he will recover in
time.”

Merwenna looked down at her dirt-encrusted hands
and frowned. “I’m not sure I deserve his forgiveness, or yours. I’m sorry,
mōder
,
I have behaved selfishly.”

Cynewyn nodded. She obviously agreed with her
daughter on that. “I’m not going to ask you why you did it. I was young once –
and I know youth is rash and extreme.”

“Part of me knew Beorn wasn’t coming back,”
Merwenna uprooted another bunch of carrots with more force than was necessary.
“Perhaps, I went looking for him because I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

“It’s easier to take action rather than be made to
wait,” Cynewyn replied. “Whatever the reason – it is done with now.”

“Beorn was my future,” Merwenna sat back on her
heels and met her mother’s gaze. “Now that he’s gone I feel as if I’m just
drifting.”

“You will find your path soon enough,” Cynewyn
smiled. “You may not realize it, but you have already started.”

Merwenna frowned, not understanding her mother’s
meaning. “How so?”

“I saw how the Prince of Powys looked at you,
Merwenna. And the way you looked at him.”

“
Mōder!”
Merwenna gasped, turning on
her mother. “What are you saying?”

“You stayed out late last night,” Cynewyn pressed
on. “Were you with him?”

“No!”

“Listen to me,” Cynewyn put the basket of carrots
to one side and took hold of her daughter’s hands. “There’s no shame in it.
Sometimes we believe we’re in love but it’s really something else. You’re not
betraying Beorn by wanting Cynddylan.”

“Are you saying I didn’t love Beorn?” Merwenna was
angry now, and near to tears.

“No – I’m just saying that love isn’t as
clear-sighted as you think it to be. You wouldn’t be the first young woman to
make that mistake. I did.”

“What do you mean?” Merwenna extracted her hands
from her mother’s grip. She did not like what she was hearing. Of course she
loved Beorn, and she was furious that her mother would suggest otherwise.

“You know I was married to another man before your
father?”

Merwenna nodded. She knew her mother’s first
husband had been an ealdorman killed during a Saxon raid. She had heard the
story of how her parents came together many times. Her parents were from the
village of Went in the Kingdom of the East Angles; her father had once served
King Raedwald of the East Angles – the greatest of all the Wuffinga kings.
Cynewyn and Wil had been reunited a decade after she had rejected him, and the
lovers had ended up running away from their old lives together, to begin again
in Mercia.

 “Aldwulf was every young maid’s dream – confident,
blond, and charming,” Cynewyn continued with a wistful smile. “He was
everything Wil wasn’t. It took me a decade, and a lot of heart-ache to realize
that a young woman often loves for what she wants to see – not for what’s truly
there.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Merwenna
replied stonily.

Cynewyn continued to watch her daughter’s face, the
sad smile lingering.

“What I’m trying to explain is that none of us know
what lies ahead. A blessing can end up a curse, and tragedy can open doors you
never knew existed.”

Cynewyn rose to her feet and picked up the basket,
which was now overflowing with carrots.

“I won’t go on. Just remember that your life didn’t
end because Beorn died. Don’t torture yourself over what you cannot change.”