Avelynn (22 page)

“My horse? Marma?”

“Muirgen retrieved her, and your sword, while you were healing.”

I studied Muirgen. I couldn't figure her out. Her manner was curt with a hint of impatience and arrogant indifference, yet her actions were kind.

Bertram inclined his head to Muirgen and stepped outside. I felt incapable of following.

She retrieved the brooch and dropped a small packet into my other hand, closing my fist around it. It was the herbs I had come for. “For love,” she said.

After everything that had happened, love seemed so far away. “I'm not sure I should see him again. My father would never accept him. It's pointless.”

“Demas seeks to break you. If you stay, I see only suffering and pain. Your father cannot help you. Nor can he hinder you. Follow your heart, Avelynn. Don't let anyone stop you.”

“But if Leenan hadn't followed her heart, she might still be here.”

Muirgen shrugged. “We all have choices to make. Leenan's fault did not lie in following her desires, but in refusing to acknowledge what was happening around her. I could only guide her, try to show her the danger in her actions. But in the end, it was her life. Her decisions were right for her, and she made the right choice.”

“But she died.”

“Yes, but up until that moment, she lived.”

 

FOURTEEN

It was two days before the full moon in July. I sent a message to Ealhswith. I would not be coming to visit. After countless sleepless nights, churning over everything Muirgen had said, I had decided to leave England. I filled my purse with coins, hoping Alrik would give me passage. I didn't know where he was headed next, but for the right price he might be willing to take me across to the continent. I didn't expect him to want me still, not after I told him the truth of my betrothal. Like my father, Alrik struck me as a man of honor. I was promised to someone else and had willingly broken that pledge. Worse, I had lied to him, at least through omission. In his place, I wouldn't want me, either.

I didn't want to think about my father or Edward. I didn't want to think about whether Edward would come home. It made me sick to think about deserting everyone, but once my father returned, Wedmore would carry on without me. Everyone was replaceable.

I shoved some clothes into two large satchels and upended the contents of my locked chest, sorting through my most precious possessions. I left much of the jewelry, packing only a few pieces, more in case I needed their weight in gold than their ornamentation, and carefully hid my pouch of divining bones inside the sleeve of one of my kirtles. I stared at the packets of herbs Muirgen had given me and then locked them back inside the crate. I had no need of them now. I scrawled a hasty note to Bertram, entrusting the estate to his capable hands until my father's return, and headed to the stables.

Macha, the Goddess of Dawn, spread her golden cloak across the sky. I had wanted to leave before first light, but I stalled, taking my time brushing and stroking Marma. “I'll miss you, girl.” I laid my forehead against her neck. Her velvety nose nudged my arm, and I hugged her fiercely. I was being selfish, and I knew it, but I couldn't risk marrying Demas. I had seen the monster lurking behind those hazel eyes. The shadow of suffering and pain Muirgen had seen hovering around him was real. I understood that now. The vision I'd had on Avalon—the raven and the boar, the promise of death and bloodshed in my future—would come to pass if I stayed. It was never about Alrik, or war. The message was far more personal. The Goddess had sent her sacred messenger, the raven, to warn me. A caution I would finally take seriously. Demas was the beast, and he had the ability to gore me through. I didn't plan to stay long enough to give him the chance.

Unwilling to risk leaving Marma to find her way back home, and knowing I couldn't expect Alrik to give both me and my horse passage, I saddled a sprightly bay mare instead and headed to the coast. The morning had started warm and clear, and by midafternoon the sun held council; not a cloud dared defile her court. It was stifling. The slight breeze was humid and did nothing to lift the hair clinging to my neck. There had been several days of blistering heat, and the leaves on the trees were wilted as they baked under the demanding sun. As I approached a dense hawthorn bush, a startled crow squawked in alarm and set off in a flurry of feathers. I jumped, pulling a little too hard on the reins, and the mare huffed in protest. I wiped the sweat from my brow. My nerves were frayed.

It was late evening when I reached the coast. The sun hung heavy in the sky, infusing everything with a muted pink hue. I set up camp in the clearing where Alrik and I had last been together and waited. It was cooler near the ocean, but still too warm to be comfortable. I thought about Muirgen weeding her garden, her bare body offered up to the sun, and felt a stab of regret. I had just gotten to know her and was leaving her behind.

I rolled out my bedroll and lay down. I watched as several large ants marched up the stem of a nearby gooseberry bush, investigating its burgeoning fruit. How easy it was to just reach out and end life with as little effort as it takes to bring a thumb and forefinger together. I reached into the satchel at my side and grabbed a loaf of bread, crumbling some of the coarse grains into my hand. I crouched near the shrub, placing my hand alongside one of the leaves. After a few moments, a curious ant wandered onto my outstretched palm. The industrious feet tickled as the inquisitive black body explored the lines of my flesh. I lowered my hand to the earth and let the ant and crumbs go.

I retired to my bed and fell into a restless sleep. When I next opened my eyes, my breath was shallow and rapid, my pulse galloping as the specter of the dream faded. I was tied to a tree. Demas was striking me over and over again. I had been torn apart, ripped in half. He laughed. Gil drooled. I couldn't breathe.

I moaned and rolled onto my side, curling into a ball. My ribs ached. The bones were healed, the bruising gone, but sleeping awkwardly on the cool ground had irritated them. The moon was full now. A few wisps of gray, as fine as horse hairs, drifted across the brilliant mottled surface. Aine was the Goddess of the Moon. I wondered if she watched me from her throne of silvery light. “Aine, please help me. Show me what to do.”

When I awoke the next morning, a seed of thought had been planted in my mind. A filament, thin and tenuous, but glimmering with hope. The moon was gone, replaced by the dawning sun, but I had no doubt Aine had sent me the idea: the Witan.

The Witan met twice a year, once during Christmastide in December, the other during Whitsuntide in June. It was an opportunity to bring before the king disputes that could not be settled at each individual council of the shires.

I envisioned myself standing before the great men of Wessex, asking to be released from my betrothal. It was not without precedent. A noblewoman of Berkshire had appealed to the Witan only last year, demanding release from her betrothal—an arrangement her father had orchestrated without her consent. She claimed that her betrothed had committed incest with his sister, the other woman's swollen belly a testament to his lechery. The court demanded an ordeal by fire, where the accused had to walk across red-hot plowshares without injury. When the man's feet puckered and wept with blisters, he was found guilty. The court released her from the contract and set her free to marry a person of her choosing. She was even able to collect the dowry her espoused had promised.

I wondered if perhaps I might persuade the Witan to grant me a release. But what would I base the charge on? While Demas had threatened to rape me, the mere threat would be useless as a case against him, and I would not lie and say he had succeeded. I thought of the handsome Frenchman. While I held no judgment on their actions, the Christian church condemned the free expression of lust between men and women, never mind partners of the same sex—that act was reprehensible and strictly forbidden. I thought of Ealhswith. Bringing up the charge would make me a hypocrite, but what choice did I have? Demas had left me with little recourse.

The allegation would certainly be sensational enough, but to stand up in front of the king, the bishops, and my father's peers without proof? I ran a hand over my face. It was a terrible risk. Dear gods, what would my father say if I went behind his back like this? He said we would talk when he got back, but I now suspected those were merely words spoken to assuage me. There were too many uncertainties, too much left to chance. I'd rather leave than take that risk.

The sea was calm. Waves lapped softly onto the sandy beach. Alrik's ship sat high on shore, a beehive of activity swarming its hulking wooden frame. When Alrik approached me, I barely recognized him. Gone was the polished, meticulous leader of men, and in his place was a warrior, a barbarian. His hair and beard were longer, his clothes stained, and his face wore an air of savageness.

His expression lightened. “Avelynn.” He lifted me off the ground and kissed me thoroughly.

I stiffened.

“What is it?”

“I need passage to Francia. I know I have no right to ask, and no reason to expect you to help me, but I've nowhere else to turn. I have to leave England.” I offered him a purse filled with coin. “I have more than enough to cover the inconvenience. Please.”

“When last we met, you said you would never leave England; now you cannot get away fast enough. What has changed?”

“I wasn't truthful when first we met.” I lowered my head. “I'm betrothed.” All I could see was his feet. Worn leather boots caked in dried mud, metal buckles clouded with grime. They didn't move. “I should have told you. I'm sorry.”

A red-tailed bumblebee thrummed around my shoes. Its bright fuzzy backside hovered above the worn leather before venturing off in search of pollen.

His silence was deafening, and I continued quickly, desperate to fill the void. “I let him catch me off guard. He disarmed me, threatened to rape me. He would have succeeded, too, if the bear hadn't stopped him.” I knew I wasn't making any sense.

Rage contorted his face. “Did he hurt you?”

A tear slid down my cheek. “No.”

“Who is he?” He rendered each word with extreme control.

“His name is Demas. He owns a manor in Dorset called Wareham. The betrothal was my father's decision. I have no choice but to marry him if I stay. I have to leave.” I lifted the purse, hands shaking. “I don't expect you to still want me after this.…”

“Did you love him?” His face was hard, expressionless.

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

Did I love him? Gods, I loved him with an ache that made my chest seize, my stomach flutter, and my mind spin. “Yes.”

His fist clenched and then he turned his back to me and walked away. “I can't help you. Not now.”

I ran after him. “I don't blame you for hating me.…”

“Hate you?” He turned to face me, his eyes filled with pain. “I swear to Thor and his father, Odin the Furious, I will kill the bastard for threatening you. But your betrothal changes nothing. I said I wanted you for my wife. I still do.”

“You do?”

He lifted my chin in his hand. “Was any of it your choice?”

“No.”

He nodded, and sadness clouded the light in his eyes. “The Norns, the Goddesses of fate, brought me to you. I am not about to let you go so easily.” He kissed my forehead. “But I cannot bring you with me. I am sworn to help my brother in Ireland. I cannot leave until he bids me go.”

“But I'm to be married in the fall.”

The words hung between us. The sound of my heart pumped in my ears. The waves whooshed to shore. A gull flew overhead.

“I will seek release from my oath and return in September,” he said.

I didn't know if I could wait that long. “I can come with you to Ireland. My mother's family has roots there.”

“My brother has sworn vengeance against all Saxons. I cannot take you with me.”

“I could slip away at night.”

“You know nothing of Ireland. The country is torn apart by civil war. Norsemen maraud, rape, and torture for the sheer pleasure of it. Slave traders prowl the countryside, looking for women to sell to the highest, cruelest bidder.”

“But what of my mother's people?”

“Assuming they are still alive?”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

“If they are fortunate, they will be under the protection of an Irish king. There are territories to the north and west, away from the coast, that my brother has yet to penetrate, but I have no means of finding your kin or ensuring your safe passage. I cannot effect a homecoming.”

I felt lost, for myself and for the family I'd never met. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“No.”

Individual grains of sand blurred into a soggy yellow mash as tears welled. What was I going to do?

Alrik lifted me, one arm beneath my knees, the other wrapped around my shoulders. He smelled like salt water and fresh ocean breezes, and my body fell limp against him.

He carried me back to the clearing and set me down on my bedroll. He sat beside me. I hugged my legs into my chest and rested my forehead on my knees. I felt like a fool—a fool for asking, a fool for crying, a fool for subsiding into such a weak, pathetic creature. “I shouldn't have asked.”

He looked at something in the distance. “I watched my mother suffer under my father's tyranny. I felt helpless then too.” His shoulders collapsed in defeat.

I rested my hand on his forearm, faint blue veins threaded through the hard muscle. He laid his hand on mine. It was warm, his touch deeply reassuring. “Let us walk,” he said, rising.

Ivy sprawled along the ground, its pungent, bitter scent enfolding us as our footsteps crushed the soft, hairy leaves. Slender stems of wood anemone and bluebell, long past their flower, swayed in our wake. The woodland was alive with birdsong and chatter. The
tser-err-err-err
of a blue tit and the loud
pitchoo
of a marsh tit joined in chorus, their calls conducted in an ancient rhythm by the busy staccato taps of a woodpecker.