The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (31 page)

Chapter
Six

Daylight

A misty dawn crept across the woodland, chasing away
the night. The embers of last night’s fire smoldered next to the man and woman
who stirred next to it.

Eventually, after exhaustion had claimed them both,
Cynewyn had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep under the shelter of the
fallen oak; yet, the chill of the dawn and the sunlight filtering in through
the gaps in the trees roused her. They had slept on Wil’s cloak, and pulled
Cynewyn’s fur cloak over them to keep warm. However, now that the night’s
enchantment had ended, Cynewyn had started to shiver in the cold.

Wil rolled away from her with a soft groan of
protest, his eyes opening, as she slid from under him and rose to her feet.

“Cynewyn?”

“‘Tis cold,” she replied softly. “I need to get
dressed.”

She could feel his gaze upon her as she retrieved
her tunics, from where Wil had flung them into the bushes. Now that night had
gone, she suddenly felt self-conscious and had to force herself not to cover
herself up under his gaze.

‘Tis a bit late for modesty now
,
she thought wryly, pulling her long linen under-tunic over her head and letting
it fall about her ankles,
you went too far last night to play the blushing
maid now
. But blush Cynewyn did, when she remembered what he had done to
her, and she to him, over the arc of the long night.

Keeping her gaze averted from Wil, she reached for
the thicker, woolen tunic that would keep her warm. Her body trembled with cold
as she tied her girdle about her waist.

Wil also rose to his feet. Not in the slightest
self-conscious, he went to retrieve his clothing – and despite that she was no
longer held thrall by the passion that consumed them both till exhaustion –
Cynewyn found herself admiring his naked, masculine body. Wil pulled on his
breeches and turned back to her. Cynewyn hurriedly looked away lest he see her
staring.

It was awkward this morning. After everything that
they had shared, shrouded by darkness, Cynewyn now felt at a complete loss for
words. She could not bring herself to regret what had passed between them; yet,
at the same time, she knew that she barely knew this man. Before they had
fallen upon each other in a lust-filled frenzy, they had barely spoken. If she
wished to remain unshackled, this was not the way to go about it.

He saved your life, and you were
grateful, that’s why you responded how you did,
she told
herself as she sat down and pulled on her fur-lined boots. Yet, she knew the
truth of it. She had wanted him. Ever since she had locked gazes with Wil back
in Blackhill, this had been building. Being alone together, in the middle of the
woods, had just made it all the easier to give in.

Cynewyn slung her fur cloak about her shoulders.
Her stomach growled, aching with sudden hunger. Last night had distracted her
from her empty belly. She was ravenous now – but there was no food to be had.

“Let’s go,” she told Wil, glancing across their
campsite for the last time. Last night already felt like a bewitching; one that
could not withstand daylight. “We need to reach the others.”

Wil nodded, his gaze searching her face.

“Are you well?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

She nodded, smiling more brightly than necessary
and stepping back from him. “Just hungry – and thirsty.”

He stepped closer still, reaching for her, but
Cynewyn slipped away, avoiding his gaze.

“We need to go,” she murmured.

Wil stood watching her a moment before he nodded,
his expression shuttered. “Very well.”

They left the campsite, quenching their thirsts at
the stream before Wil led the way north. The mist began to clear, and the sun,
containing more warmth than it had since autumn, burned the last of the fog
away. The sky above the tree tops turned a bright robin’s egg blue.

Wil and Cynewyn continued in silence for most of
the morning. Cynewyn walked a few paces behind him; her gaze often straying –
against her will – to the muscular breadth of his back and shoulders. She could
tell her distance this morning had thrown him. He did not show hurt on this
face but she had seen it flare in his eyes.

Part of her, the part that had delighted in every
moment they had shared the night before, ached at the coldness she feigned this
morning. Yet, they had spoken little during the night, making it easier this
morning to create a gulf between them.

From her vantage point behind him, Cynewyn could
see the tension in his shoulders. He was a man quite unlike any she had ever
met; he presented a reserved mask to the world but last night had revealed a
molten core. He was so much more than he appeared – frighteningly so.

And yet, with her husband just recently departed,
their coupling had been as ill-timed as it was ill-advised. She was an
ealdorman’s widow – the king would not look kindly upon her if she arrived in
Rendlaesham, arm-in-arm with one of his thegns. Worse still, he might insist
that they marry. Cynewyn’s stomach cramped at the thought. She could not allow
that to happen. Her newfound freedom was too important to her to throw away
over one night of passion.

Mid-morning, they came upon a patch of raspberries
– the first of the spring. Famished, they fell upon the berries, picking the bushes
clean. It was a light meal but it took the edge off their hunger nonetheless.
Finishing her last mouthful, Cynewyn straightened up and gazed around the glade
in which they stood. With the sun dappling the ground, and shafts of golden
light filtering through the branches above them, it was an idyllic spot – far
from the hardship and disappointment of everyday life. Had circumstances been
different, she would have liked to remain here and enjoy the tranquility.

However, as she gazed around at her surroundings,
Cynewyn was aware of Wil staring at her. Eventually, unable to ignore him any
longer, she let her gaze meet his.

Wil stared at Cynewyn, drinking in the blueness of
her eyes, her sensual features and milky skin. At last, she had acknowledged
his existence. Perhaps there was hope after all. Maybe she had just needed time
to come to terms with what had happened between them.

It had changed his life.

He had never dared dream that he could ever have
the lovely Cynewyn, daughter of Eomer of Went. Even now, he had to remind
himself that last night had been real and not some erotic dream. In fact, her
coldness this morning had made him wonder if last night had just been some
forest enchantment – a spell broken by daylight.

Her detachment – the way she had shrank back from
him when he tried to kiss her – had stung. Yet now she returned his gaze, and
in her eyes he could see conflict.

“Cynewyn,” he began, stepping close to her. He
noted that her lips, still bee-stung from last night, were stained raspberry. “Do
you regret what happened between us?”

He watched her swallow, her face tensing. That
expression told him all, cutting him to the quick.

“We should not have done it,” she murmured. “It can
only bring trouble to us both?”

“Why?” he stepped closer, staring down at her face,
aching to kiss her – even though her words wounded him. Her gaze told him a
different story; her pupils were dilated as she held his gaze, reacting to his
nearness. “Tell me why we can’t be together?”

“It wouldn’t work,” she protested weakly, her
cheeks flushing. “I’m an ealdorman’s daughter and you’re a…”

“So it still comes back to rank?” he ground the
words out, cutting her off, his anger flaring. “You still think I’m not worthy?
I’m no longer the spearman you rejected. I’m the king’s thegn. Surely, after
everything that’s happened, you don’t still think you’re better than me?”

He saw her gaze narrow and knew that he had hit a
nerve.

“I am still an ealdorman’s daughter,” she informed
him imperiously, “not some farmer’s daughter whose skirts you can lift whenever
it pleases you.”

Wil laughed at that, although there was no humor in
it. He took a step closer so that they were almost touching. “You’re not so
different to other women, Cynewyn,” he told her, his voice lowering. “You like
to think you’re better than the rest, but with a man between your legs you’re
all the same.”

Cynewyn lashed out and struck him hard across the
face. “Dog!” she snarled. “I won’t be making the same mistake twice!”

With that she raised her hand to strike him again.

However, this time, Wil was ready for her. He
seized both her wrists and held her fast. His cheek burned but he tried to
ignore it as he glared down at her.

“You are too free with your hands,” he spoke
calmly, although he boiled with rage inside. “‘Tis not wise to lash out at
someone twice your size.”

“Churl!” she struggled to break free of his grip.
“Let go of me!”

In response, Wil pushed her backward a few paces so
her back was pressed against the rough bark of a beech tree. Even as angry as
he was, Cynewyn’s nearness affected him like strong mead. He had the
overwhelming desire then to smother her curses with his lips, to smooth away
their angry words with his hands.

It was all going wrong. He had said things, they
both had, ugly things that they could not take back. He wanted to make it right
again; yet he had no idea what he could do to breach the gulf between them.

He did then, the only thing he thought could bring
them close again. He kissed her.

Cynewyn struggled against his embrace; her knee knifing
upwards toward his groin. Anticipating her, he pressed his body hard against
hers, pushing her knee aside. As soon as his mouth left hers, Cynewyn spat a
curse at him, so Wil kissed her again, his hands pinning her wrists against the
tree trunk. He kissed her hard, his lips bruising hers; letting her feel his
rage and frustration – and she fought him in return.

Wil continued to kiss her, his mouth gradually
softening. It took a while, but eventually he heard her groan in surrender.
Without hesitation, he slid his tongue between her lips and released her
wrists, pulling her body hard against his. Wil hitched up her skirts, his hands
sliding up the smooth skin of her thighs before parting her legs.

Cynewyn arched against him, a soft whimper escaping
her. Wil’s breath caught in his throat as hunger consumed him.

This woman was his undoing.

He entered her with one smooth thrust, gasping at
how hot and wet she was. Despite her anger, despite her words, her body could
not deny the truth. Wil groaned her name and gave in to his instincts. Last
night he had held back, he had drawn out their pleasure, enjoying the game
between them. Today he let himself be drawn into the whirlpool of want that
claimed them both.

He drove hard into her; his hands grasping her smooth,
firm buttocks, and angling her hips up against him so that he could penetrate
deeper still. Moments later, Cynewyn shuddered against him then, her sobs of
ecstasy echoing across the glade – and Wil heard his own hoarse cries, joining
hers. He thrust deep inside her one last time and found his release.

Sweat-soaked and panting, they slid to the ground.

Wil’s heart was pounding, his mind a tangle of
conflict. They clung together for a few moments more, waiting for the haze of
passion subside. However, Wil dreaded the moment she came to her senses. He did
not want to look into her eyes, for he knew what he would see there. Her body
had given in to him, but her will had not.

Neither spoke for a long while, as their breathing
slowed and lucidity returned. Eventually, knowing he could put the moment off
no longer, Wil propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her.
Something inside his chest twisted when he saw her face.

Cynewyn was crying.

“Get off me,” she whispered before averting her
face and refusing to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Cynewyn,” he whispered back, his throat
aching with sudden grief. He had lost whatever slim chance he’d had of winning
Cynewyn over; she hated him now. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, still refusing to look at him.
“Please get off me,” her voice had a pleading edge to it that cut him deeply.

Wil climbed to his feet and gently helped her up.
Cynewyn turned her back on him, pulling her fur cloak close. Suddenly, the
beauty faded from the glade, and the sun lost its heat. Despair clouded the
fragile hope that Wil had been holding close since last night. He was not good
with words; there was nothing he could of think of that would put this right.

Silently, he led the way out of the glade. 

Chapter Seven

No
Longer Alone

It was early afternoon when Wil and Cynewyn left
the woodland behind. They had not spoken since the glade, and the silence
weighed heavily between them. Cynewyn trailed at Wil’s heels, relieved when
they finally stepped out from under the shadowy boughs onto flat heathland.
There was a light breeze out here on the heath, although the sun still shone,
warming Cynewyn’s face as she walked.

Cynewyn was glad the woods were behind them. Now
that they were on the heath, they were likely to encounter a village, or other
travelers. Anything to prevent them spending another night together – alone.

 She did not trust herself with him; and did not
trust him to keep his distance.

Even now, her cheeks flamed when she remembered how
she had behaved in the glade. One moment she had been fighting him, the next
gasping for his touch. One moment she had been telling him they could never be
together – the next, her body had betrayed her.

Women who gave out conflicting messages, as she
had, ended up in trouble; raped or worse. She sensed that Wil was not a
violent, or cruel man, but he was a man nonetheless. She was playing a
dangerous game, one she wanted to end.

I need to reach Rendlaesham,
she
told herself, her eyes scanning her surroundings for any sign of settlement.
I
need to start a new life
. Marriage had brought her nothing but frustration
and sadness. Perhaps, with the king’s help, she could start again – alone. She
had not been able to tell Wil the real reason it could not continue between
them; telling a man that she would rather remain unwed was treasonous in the
world they inhabited. Instead, it had been easier to use their differing rank
as an excuse, even if it had earned his contempt.

What if our coupling has given me a
child?

The thought turned Cynewyn to ice. She had already
suffered through two pregnancies, only to give birth to stillborn babes. She
could not bear the thought of facing that again. Tears stung her eyelids at the
memory of her grief, as she held the dead infants in her arms. Aldwulf had been
no solace. He had merely gone off to drown himself in mead. Only Mildthryth had
comforted her; only she seemed to realize how Cynewyn had grieved.

She could not change what had happened, and so
Cynewyn forced thoughts that she might bear Wil’s child from her mind. She
needed to focus on reaching Rendlaesham. She needed to distract herself from
the memories of that man, and what they had shared. Fresh tears stung her
eyelids but she hurriedly brushed them away.

Why was life so hard? Her mother had never told her
how it was between men and women. She wished someone had warned her.

The sun was sliding toward the western horizon, the
sky laced in pink and gold, when they spotted the outlines of figures up ahead.
There were a few horses, their shapes silhouetted against the sunset, and at
least two dozen folk.

Cynewyn’s heart started to pound, and her spirits
lifted.

The folk of Blackhill – they had found them.

Wil glanced back over his shoulder, and their gazes
met briefly. For the first time ever, his gaze did not sear hers; there was no
hunger in his eyes, no longing on his face. She was staring at a mask. Although
the sight of his coldness gave Cynewyn an odd pang, which she hurriedly pushed
aside, she was grateful for it.

At last, he now understands.

Whatever had ignited between them in the woods was
now over.

“Your people,” he told her, his voice flat. “We
have found them.”

“And the king’s men?” Cynewyn reached his side,
squinting against the sun as she tried to make out the figures. Had any of the
warriors survived?

“We shall soon see,” Wil replied. “Come, let’s join
them.”

The group saw them approach, and Cynewyn spied
Mildthryth among them. Letting out a whoop of joy, her mother-in-law rushed
toward her, breaking away from the group of survivors. She raced across the
stretch of grass between them and launched herself at Cynewyn, grasping her in
a fierce hug.

“I thought you were lost!” Mildthryth’s gaze
glistened with tears as she stepped back, studying Cynewyn’s face. “Are you
well? Did they hurt you?”

Cynewyn shook her head, struggling to compose
herself. “Wilfrid saved me,” she motioned to the silent warrior beside her.
“Thanks to him, we managed to hide from the East Saxons in the woods and slip
away once they had moved on.”

Mildthryth nodded, taking this news in, before her
gaze shifted to Wil. “I thank you, Wilfrid of Went, for keeping Cynewyn safe.”

He nodded and gave a small smile in reply.

Mildthryth smiled back, before looping her arm
through Cynewyn’s. Then, she steered her toward where the group were making
camp for the night. “Come – the men killed a boar in the woods. They’re
roasting it now.”

Cynewyn’s stomach growled at the prospect; she felt
weak with hunger and her mouth filled with saliva at the thought of roast boar.
There were tears and laughter as the folk of Blackhill welcomed her back. By
some miracle, they had not lost one villager during the ambush. Cynewyn’s quick
thinking and the valor of the king’s men had given them the time to escape
through the woods.

However, the warriors who had been escorting them
had not been so fortunate.

There had been around forty of them – now there
were less than ten men remaining. Cynewyn felt a surge of despair at the
realization that so many of them had fallen; the life of a warrior was so
brutal, and short.

Among the survivors was the bearded warrior, Aelin.
His face lit up with joy at seeing Wil approach. He strode forward to meet his
friend.

“I knew you’d make it out alive,” Aelin slapped Wil
on the back, before slinging an arm over his friend’s shoulders and steering
him toward the fire. “Thank Woden for it!”

Cynewyn heard the low rumble of Wil’s voice as he
responded, although their conversation was immediately swallowed up by the
chatter of the villagers that now clustered around them.

Cynewyn ruffled the hair of a little boy who clung
to her skirts, her gaze meeting Mildthryth’s once more.

“Come,” Mildthryth led her through the excited
villagers to where a huge boar was spit-roasting over glowing embers. “You need
food and rest.”

Cynewyn nodded, grateful that the older woman was
taking charge. She felt oddly numb and detached all of a sudden, as if she was
watching this entire scene from afar.

It’s just hunger and exhaustion
,
she told herself.
Once you’ve eaten and slept, the world will return to
normal again.

Cynewyn glanced over, at where Wil drank deeply
from a water bladder on the other side of the fire. When he lowered it, his
face was like stone.

His face, so different from the man who had gazed
into her eyes while he moved inside her, made Cynewyn feel wretched.

I caused that.

Cynewyn turned away, her stomach suddenly twisting
in guilt. She desperately needed to rest. She hoped that tomorrow would bring
clarity and a fresh start; for right now she felt strangely adrift.

The night drew out; the crackling flames in the
fire pit the only noise on the silent heath. The king’s men were taking turns
at watching the sleeping camp, allowing the folk of Blackhill to stretch out
under the stars.

Wil sat on the edge of the fire, staring into the glowing
embers. He was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than for sleep to claim him.
Yet, it would not come. His eyes burned with fatigue, his limbs ached – but
still, his mind would not let him slip over the abyss into oblivion.

“Can’t sleep?” Aelin, returning from taking the
first watch, sat down next to Wil.

Wil shook his head, avoiding his friend’s gaze. He
had rarely known happiness during his life, but the misery that now claimed him
caused a deep ache in the center of his chest.

“Did Went bring back memories?” Aelin asked,
mistaking the reason for his friend’s melancholy.

Wil nodded. “My father was a brute who beat me, and
my mother was a cold, bitter woman,” he said quietly, deliberately failing to
mention the real reason for his bleak mood. “They both died of a fever that
raged through Went one winter. I barely grieved for either of them.”

 Silence fell between the friends then, as Aelin
digested Wil’s words. It was not an unusual tale, for childhood and innocence
were short-lived for most folk. Yet, it was the first time in all the years
they had known each other that Wil had divulged details of his life in Went.

“It does not matter how much we distance ourselves,
how far we run – the past always shadows us,” Wil continued, his voice barely
above a whisper.

“Yet, you’ve achieved much in the past decade,”
Aelin reminded him. “You’re now one of the king’s thegns. You fought at the
king’s side and proved your valor and loyalty.”

Wil nodded, not disputing Aelin’s words. It was
true, he had spent most of the last decade at Raedwald’s side. He and Aelin had
fought alongside the king during the East Angles’ campaign against the
Northumbrians. They had seen the king’s son, Raegenhere, fall under the
Northumbrian king’s blade – and had witnessed Raedwald cut down Aethelfrith of
Northumbria in a blind rage. It had been a terrible battle; but despite the
death of Raedwald’s beloved son, the East Angles had bested their enemies.

Yes, he had achieved much, and traveled far from
the loneliness of his life in Went – yet it never filled the void inside.