The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (33 page)

“So King Sexred really had no idea?” Cynewyn blurted
out, incredulous. She could not believe those warriors, who had destroyed Went
and killed her husband, had not been sent by their king.

“No,” Raedwald’s gaze met hers. “To be sure, we
rode south to Colenceaster, and I spoke to Sexred himself. I am content that
the East Saxon King spoke the truth. They were outlaws; the matter has now been
dealt with.”

The matter has not been dealt with
,
Cynewyn thought, silently fuming. No amount of bloodshed would ever bring her
parents back, or would ever right the wrongs that had been committed against
her people.

“Can’t we rebuild Went and resettle Blackhill?” she
asked. “Surely, we can reclaim our land now that the outlaws have been dealt
with?”

“No, there are too few of you left,” the hard edge
to the king’s tone was unmistakable. “You will remain here at Rendlaesham.”

Silence fell at the table and Cynewyn looked down
at the wooden plate before her. She burned to argue the point and had to bite
down on her tongue to stop herself. The king considered the matter closed; she
would be a fool to anger him now.

“Wilfrid,” Raedwald turned to his thegn. “Speaking
of the folk of Blackhill, how goes the building?”

“Well, Milord,” Wil replied with a tight smile.
“Another moon’s cycle and the villagers can move into their new homes.”

The king nodded, pleased at the news, before
turning his attention to the platters of roast venison that slaves were now
bringing to the table. He helped himself to a huge plate. Further down the
table, Cynewyn took a slice of roast venison. She was picking at her meal, her
appetite dulled, when the king called her name.

“Lady Cynewyn,” Raedwald fixed her in that
disarming midnight blue gaze of his – and Cynewyn knew she would not like what
was coming. “On my return journey from Colenceaster I spoke with a man who will
make you an excellent husband. He’s one of my ealdorman, of course. Oxa of
Soham. Like you, he is recently widowed.”

“Oxa? Isn’t he a bit old for Lady Cynewyn,
fæder
?”
the king’s daughter, Raedwyn, spoke up from where she had been sitting quietly
beside her mother, listening to the conversation with interest.

The king cast an indulgent gaze over his golden
haired daughter. “He’s not that old, Raedwyn. You speak with the eyes of the
very young. He’s fifteen winters older than our Lady Cynewyn, no more.”

Raedwald then turned his attention back to Cynewyn.
“What say you Milady? Shall I send for Oxa, so you can meet him?”

Cynewyn felt like a hare trapped by wolves on all
sides. She was painfully aware of Wil sitting there, his presence radiating out
toward her like a furnace. However, she did not make the error of looking his
way. He would not thank her for it.

“As you wish, Milord,” she bowed her head so that
none present could see the despair in her eyes.

“Very well,” the king raised his cup once more for
a passing slave to refill. “If I send for Oxa tomorrow, he should arrive here
just after Beltaine. Let us make us another toast – for it will be an excellent
match!”

Chapter
Ten

Beltaine

Outside of the walls of Rendlaesham, the folk built
two large bonfires from birch branches and twigs in preparation for the
fertility festival – Beltaine. Meanwhile, inside the walls bustled with
activity as a group of men erected a birch May pole in the market square, and
women placed bouquets and garlands of bright yellow, sweet-smelling gorse
flowers throughout the town. The gorse flower’s bright yellow evoked the sun;
Beltaine celebrated fertility and the rebirth of warmth and light of the coming
summer.

The weather was warming and a buzz of excitement
regarding the approaching festival, infused Rendlaesham.

Cynewyn was one of the few who did not view the
steadily growing mounds of twigs on the edge of the apple orchards with
anticipation. The May pole merely reminded her of her coming union with a man
she had never met. The cloying scent of the gorse flowers reminded her of the
garlands that would surround her during the handfasting. It was all she could
do, in the days before Beltaine, not to bolt from Rendlaesham.

She would have, had there been somewhere to go.

The days slid by with terrifying swiftness. Cynewyn
did her best to keep busy, helping the other women in the Great Hall with their
endless chores of sewing, weaving, winding and mending.

Often, she would bring her work outside and sit on
the wide terrace before the great oaken doors of the ‘Golden Hall’. Working in
daylight was better for her eyes and it was a relief to be free of the fetid,
smoky air inside the hall. Up on the terrace, the air was warm and the sweet
perfume of blossom laced the breeze. From this height, she had an unobstructed
view of the surrounding landscape – the spray of pale pink blossom from the
apple orchards, and the explosion of bright green from the willows lining the
stream far below. Cynewyn could see why the Wuffinga kings had decided to build
their Great Hall here. Rendlaesham sat in an idyllic spot; a place the locals
were proud to call home.

Only, it would not be her home for much longer.
Soon, Oxa of Soham would take her away from Rendlaesham, away from Mildthryth
and the folk of Blackhill – the only people she cared for. The only folk who
cared what happened to her.

A hard knot of dread formed in Cynewyn’s belly at
the thought.

Try as she might, Cynewyn could not stall the
steady progress of time, and eventually, the eve of Beltaine arrived.

A warm, breezy day drew to a close in a gentle,
golden sunset. At dusk, the wind died and the air grew still and heavy with the
smell of lush grass, gorse and blossom. Due to the mild weather, the townsfolk,
including the king and his kin, feasted outdoors.

Cynewyn would have preferred to have hidden away,
and let the folk of Rendlaesham enjoy their festival without her company, but
it was impossible. She was part of the King’s Hall now, and the king’s
daughter, Raedwyn, had developed a particular fondness for her. The girl’s
excitement for the Beltaine celebrations showed on her face as she walked
through the milling crowds, arm in arm with Cynewyn.

“Haven’t they done a wonderful job of the
decorations?” Raedwyn gasped, her gaze sweeping over the garlands of yellow
spring flowers that hung from the surrounding trees, looping in streamers
between the apple trees.

Cynewyn nodded and gave the princess a smile. “‘Tis
magical,” she admitted.

Together, they made their way over to the long
feasting tables. Nearby, lamb and goat kid roasted over fire pits, while a
spread of delicacies waited upon the tables: honey griddle cakes, rich breads
studded with seeds, tureens of thick cream, baskets of strawberries and
raspberries, massive wheels of cheese and bowls of fresh spring greens. It was
all luscious, rich food – all laid out to represent, and encourage, fertility.

Raedwyn and Cynewyn sat down toward the end of one
of the long tables, upon a low bench. Around them, some of the townsfolk were
already beating the drums of Beltaine; a throbbing rhythm, designed to awaken
revelers’ passions as the eve progressed. Slaves poured frothy cups of mead, a
necessity at Beltaine, and passed them around the table.

Cynewyn watched as Mildthryth took a seat next to
Coenred further down the table. Neither of them bothered to hide their
infatuation for each other, not on this eve. Coenred fed Mildthryth a
strawberry before leaning down to give her kiss.

Tears stung Cynewyn’s eyes and she looked away. She
was happy for them both but their joy just made her misery cut deeper.

It had been a mistake to attend Beltaine. She
should have begged off, or feigned sickness – anything to avoid spending the
night surrounded by lovers. Aelin and Aeva sat together at another table,
unable to keep their hands and lips off each other. Later, many couples would
go ‘green gowning’. They would run off into the trees, find a secluded spot and
make love. It was the night of joining.

Cynewyn took a sip of mead and let her gaze travel
around the tables. She was looking for a familiar face, searching for a man she
had not seen in days.

Wil had made an even greater effort to avoid her of
late; ever since Raedwald had announced the name of her husband-to-be. His
actions did not surprise her, especially after their last conversation, and yet
she found herself missing him. The sensation was a constant ache at the base of
her ribs, with her day and night.

She eventually spied Wil at a table on the far side
of the clearing. He was chatting to another warrior. The man said something and
Wil laughed. Watching him, Cynewyn felt her chest constrict; she had not
forgotten how handsome he was when he smiled, how it transformed his face. The
sight of him enjoying himself only added fuel to her misery. It appeared that
he had made the wise decision of moving on and forgetting her. Cynewyn stared
down at her hands and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying.

No – she should never have let Raedwyn talk her
into attending Beltaine.

“Cynewyn?” Raedwyn’s sweet voice reached her,
tinged with concern. “Are you well?”

Cynewyn looked up and schooled her features into a
serene mask. “Of course,” she said brightly. “Would you pass me the
strawberries, Raedwyn?”

The Beltaine fires roared, illuminating the still
night. The drums beat a primal rhythm and the folk of Rendlaesham celebrated.
They danced with oblivion, fueled by strong mead and rich food. They danced to
celebrate the end of a bitter winter and the joy of the coming summer – to
rejoice in abundance and growth.

The king and queen sat upon a wooden dais, watching
the dancing. Their daughter sat with them; Raedwyn was too young to take part
in the revelry, and these days Raedwald and Seaxwyn preferred to watch the
dancers rather than join them.

Cynewyn hung back as far as she was able from the
revelry. She had no desire to take part. Even the mead she had drunk had not
numbed the ache in her chest; if anything it had brought her regrets to the
fore.

Her gaze moved over the crowd, once again looking
for Wil. However, this time, she did not find him.

I was a fool
,
she thought bitterly. She had pushed him away for a hope, an illusion – one the
king had shattered.
I could have been his
, she thought, letting the
tears run silently down her face.
Instead, I told him he wasn’t good enough
for me. I got what I deserved in return; an arranged marriage to a stranger
.

There was no point in lamenting her choices now,
not when Wil hated her and her new husband was on his way to Rendlaesham. However,
there was an odd relief in admitting it to herself.

She remembered Mildthryth’s words back in
Blackhill, when she had shocked Cynewyn by telling her that men like her late
husband and son never made good husbands.

I would have been happy with Wil
,
she thought wiping away the last of her tears.
Only it matters not now.

“M’lady Cynewyn – you look ravishing this eve.”

A male voice suddenly intruded upon her thoughts
and Cynewyn looked up to see the blond stable hand staring down at her. He was
tall, even taller than Aldwulf had been, and she had to crane her neck to meet
his gaze. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed with mead, and the firelight
caught the angles of his handsome face.

“Good evening,” Cynewyn greeted him with a bright
smile, hoping that he did not see that she had been crying. “You know my name,
but it seems I do not know yours.”

“Tolan,” he grinned, stepping closer to her. “I
made it my business to learn your name the moment you arrived in Rendlaesham
M’lady. Your beauty stole my heart.”

Cynewyn shook her head, her smile turning rueful.
“You flatter me. There are many women as pretty in Rendlaesham.”

Tolan shook his head, his expression turning
serious. “‘Tis the truth. Your eyes are the color of a summer’s sky, your skin
is like milk, your lips are like rose petals, your hair is…”

Cynewyn’s laughter cut him off. “Please,” she said,
not unkindly, before placing a hand on his arm. “I am a widow, not a blushing
young maid you need to impress.”

The young man looked momentarily crestfallen,
although the fact that she had touched his arm, emboldened him.

“Dance with me!” he placed his hand over where hers
gently rested on his forearm, and pulled her toward the nearest fire. “Let us
celebrate Beltaine together, as man and woman – not stable hand and widow!”

Cynewyn shook her head and pulled back from him.

“No, Tolan.” For the first time since he had
approached her, she felt a twinge of discomfort. The mead had made him bold,
far bolder than he had right to be. “I don’t wish to dance.”

“Come, Cynewyn,” he took hold of her arm, his
fingers digging into her flesh. “I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Look at that,” Aelin nudged Wil on the arm and
pointed at the nearest fire. “Tolan’s asked Cynewyn to dance.”

Wil looked up from where he had been staring down
at his boots, and followed his friend’s gaze, across the jostling crowd to
where a young man pulled Cynewyn toward the dancing. Jealousy slashed through
him – the sensation so sharp it momentarily took his breath away. He knew
Tolan. The youth was full of himself, but Wil could not believe he had managed
to convince Cynewyn to dance with him.

Isn’t a stable hand beneath you?
He
thought bitterly.

For his part, Wil had spent the evening trying to
ignore Cynewyn, even when he had sensed her gaze upon him. He had been trying
to fade into the shadows, and had found a quiet spot against an apple tree. But
Aelin, having taken a break from the dancing, had sought him out.

“He doesn’t have a chance with Cynewyn,” Aelin
observed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Isn’t her betrothed due to arrive here
at any moment?”

Wil nodded, his gaze still riveted on the fire,
where Tolan pulled Cynewyn into his arms and twirled her around. Was it his
imagination, or did she appear to be resisting him?

“Either tomorrow or the day after,” he replied
tonelessly.

Wil felt Aelin’s gaze upon him, and wished his
friend would leave him be, retrieve Aeva and rejoin the dancing. He was not in
the mood for company this eve.

“Something happened between you after the ambush?”
Aelin asked finally. “Didn’t it?”

Wil tore his gaze away from the dancing, his gaze
narrowing.

“What?”

“You heard me. You’ve not been the same since.”

“Leave it be,” Wil growled. “You know nothing.”

Aelin shook his head and gave Wil a rueful smile.
“I’m no fool. I saw her staring at you tonight – and just then when you looked
at her, I saw it in your eyes. Why are you letting her go?”

“To let someone go they need to have been yours to
begin with,” Wil replied, his voice bleak.

Aelin’s smile widened. “I knew it.”

“Go torment someone else,” Wil replied, angry now.
“So I’ve just proved you right – congratulations.”

Aelin watched him silently a moment. Wil’s gaze
returned briefly to the dancing, where Tolan had his hands around Cynewyn’s
waist and was pulling her against him. The sight made him feel sick. His
stomach knotted in rage.

“Your time is running out Wil,” Aelin told him
gently. “I’m going to find Aeva now. You get your wish; I’ll leave you in
peace. Remember this though – a man only has a few chances in life to make
things right. Don’t waste this one.”

With that, Aelin walked off, disappearing into the
heaving crowd of revelers. Wil watched him go, conflict writhing within him.
Aelin’s self-righteous advice made him want to smash his fist into his friend’s
face. Yet at the same time he knew Aelin was right.

Wil looked back at the dancing, his gaze scanning
the silhouettes of men and woman in front of the flames, as he looked for
Cynewyn. Moments later, Wil’s anger and frustration dissolved. His breath stilled
and alarm coursed through him.