Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) (15 page)

Maric walked into Market Square and paused at the sight
of the great Yule bonfire roaring before him. He stood far back from it, but
the fire’s heat still bathed his face and chased away the night’s chill.

“Wes h
ā
l.”

A portly woman bearing a steaming cauldron of spiced
apple cider stopped before him.

“Can I tempt you with a cup?”

Maric nodded, appreciating the woman’s warm smile and
rosy cheeks – especially after the grim scene he had just left in Edgard’s
house.

“Go on then.”

The woman nodded to the boy next to her who bore a
platter of wooden cups.

“Give him a cup, Alric.”

The boy handed Maric one, and the woman ladled in the hot
liquid.

“Good health,” she beamed at him before bustling off to
offer some cider to a family that had just entered the square behind them.

Maric took a sip and sighed as the liquid warmed his
belly. The cider contained cinnamon, an exotic spice that Maric had only tasted
a handful of times as it was rare. It had been brought in from traders from
lands far to the southeast. It was common for folk to offer a hot brew to
others on Mother Night; and after the woman and her son had circuited Market
Square, Maric imagined she would go door to door until her cauldron was empty.

Moving around the edge of the square, Maric spied Osulf
and Elfhere on the far side. His friends were deep in discussion and did not
see him approach. Osulf was scowling, his heavy-featured face creased in
annoyance as he replied to something Elfhere had just said. Seeing Maric
approach, both men broke off their discussion.

“I knew I’d find you both here,” Maric greeted them.

“We got tired of waiting for you in the mead hall,” Osulf
grumbled. His face was florid and he was swaying slightly on his feet.
Elfhere’s gaze was slightly glazed, although he appeared to be more sober than his
companion.

“Sorry, I was delayed,” Maric replied. “Edgard’s wife
died in childbirth while he was away and he has only just learned of it.”

The belligerence faded from Osulf’s face. “Poor bastard.”

“How many children does he have?” Elfhere asked.

“Four.”

“He will have to find another wife to raise them,” Osulf,
ever practical, pointed out.

Maric gave his friend a look of exasperation. “He likely
will, in time. For now though, other matters concern him.”

Osulf nodded before glowering down at his half-empty cup
of hot, spiced cider.

“Will you join the handfasting feast?” Elfhere
interrupted, drawing the conversation away from Edgard’s loss. “I hear it will
be one of the Great Hall’s finest.”

Maric glanced up at where the shadow of the Great Tower
pierced the night sky. Golden slivers of light filtered from the thin windows
and the sound of drunken voices and laughter echoed from within its thick stone
walls.

“I think not,” Maric replied. “I have seen enough of our
king for today.”

Truthfully, although he had no wish to see Paeda again,
he was avoiding Alchflaed. Even though Maric knew she was reluctant to wed
Paeda, he did want to see her feasting and dancing with her new husband.

“The sight of Paeda turns my stomach,” Osulf growled
before draining the remnants of his cup. “The thought of that battle-shirking,
kin-slaying turd sitting upon Penda’s throne makes my blood boil.”

Elfhere’s pained look told Maric that this was what they
had been discussing before his arrival.

“None of us are happy about how things have turned out,”
Elfhere answered, his voice holding a note of warning. “However, Paeda is our
king – and we have sworn allegiance to him.”

“It was either that or be gutted on a Northumbrian
sword,” Osulf replied bitterly. “He is their puppet – king in only name. Oswiu
rules Mercia now, and our new queen will ensure her husband does her father’s
bidding.”

“This has nothing to do with Lady Alchflaed,” Maric
replied. He did not appreciate the way Osulf screwed his face up when
mentioning Paeda’s bride. “She is a peace-maker, nothing more.”

Osulf spat on the ground, making his opinion on the
matter clear.

“She is her father’s spy,” Osulf replied. “Paeda was a
fool to betray his own kin for her.”

***

The feasting ended, and the dancing began. A knot of
musicians stood upon the high seat, and played upon a bone whistle and a lyre.
Paeda led Alchflaed out for the first dance. Slightly unsteady on her feet,
after the three large cups of wine she had consumed with her meal, Alchflaed
was grateful for the firm – almost bruising – grip he kept upon her hand.

They completed the first dance together, something that
she could see her new husband barely suffered. He was not a natural dancer and
dragged, rather than guided, his partner through the steps. Both Paeda and Alchflaed
wore expressions of relief when the song ended and they were able to return to
their seats.

The musicians struck up another tune, and a number of
couples rose from their seats and threw themselves into the dancing. Back at
her seat, Alchflaed took another sip of wine and allowed her gaze to travel
over the faces of the ealdormen, thegns and ceorls, and their wives, at their
table.

There was no sign of Maric – or any of the men she had
travelled south with – and Alchflaed felt a pang of disappointment. She would
have liked to have seen them.

The thought of Maric caused a strange ache to take up
residence in the center of her chest, and she realized that she missed him.

All too soon, the time for the bride and groom to leave
the celebrations and retire to their bed, arrived. Alchflaed found herself
blushing furiously as the king’s brothers hooted and Paeda’s men made lewd
comments and gestures. It was a spectacle she had seen before, when Alchfrith
and Cyneburh wed, but it humiliated her all the same.

Paeda, his eyes glazed from all the wine he had drunk,
appeared to enjoy the attention. He grabbed Alchflaed around the waist and
towed her across the rushes toward the wooden stairs that lead up into the
‘King’s Loft’ above. The hooting and whistling continued until they stepped out
of sight. Then, a moment later, the music and revelry continued once more.

Standing upon the landing, Alchflaed cast her gaze around
the space that Penda and Cyneswide had shared until recently. There was no
denying it was luxurious. Thick tapestries hung from the walls, and a thick fur
covered the wooden floor. There was a separate area, shielded from view by a
curtain, where there was the privy. Large leather trunks lined the walls, where
the king and queen kept their clothing. A huge pile of furs dominated the
space.

At the sight of it, Alchflaed’s stomach clenched. The
moment she had been dreading had come.

“My pretty wife.”

Paeda stepped up to Alchflaed and gently hooked a finger
under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I have sacrificed much for you.”

Alchflaed did not reply. They both knew of what he spoke.
His eyes were pale blue, a similar shade to Maric’s, but the similarity stopped
there. The memory of the simmering intensity and sensitivity in Maric’s gaze made
Paeda’s look cold and empty in comparison.

I must stop comparing them. I must stop
thinking about him.

Alchflaed forced herself to steady her breathing and held
Paeda’s gaze.

“I am here now, Milord,” she replied.

Paeda smiled, the expression softening his cruelly
handsome face.

“Aye, and you are mine.”

With that, he stepped back from her and began to undress.
His gaze upon her, he undid his jeweled belt and let it drop to the floor with
a thud. Then, he pulled his deep blue, gold-edged tunic over his head,
revealing a heavily muscled torso beneath. Dark hair covered his chest.

Alchflaed’s mouth went dry, not from lust but from fear.
She was not ready for this moment. Paeda still watched her as he started to
untie the laces on his breeches.

“Take off your clothes.”

Woodenly, Alchflaed complied, although her hands were
shaking so badly that the process took much longer than usual, especially since
her handfasting gown had many ties to unfasten. Paeda did not come to her aid.
Instead, he strode over to the furs and waited for her there. Alchflaed felt
his gaze scorch her as she wriggled out of the gown and then pulled the gauzy
undertunic over her head.

When she finally turned to him, she had to stifle a gasp
of shock. Her new husband lay on the furs, propped up on one elbow, watching
her. His arousal was evident; his erection strained up from the dark thatch at
his groin. His face was taut, his eyes glazed with mead and lust.

“Come here,” he commanded.

Legs shaking, Alchflaed complied. She had no choice, he was
her husband and she was his property. To disobey him was unthinkable. When she
had almost reached the furs, Paeda reached out, as fast as a striking adder, and
hauled her against him.

Alchflaed cried out in surprise but he smothered her
mouth with his and kissed her. Like at their handfasting, his kisses were rough
and possessive, branding her as his. His hands roamed over her naked body –
squeezing, exploring, appraising. He kneaded her breasts before tweaking her
nipples hard, laughing when she squealed in pain.

Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down to his
groin.

“Touch me,” he commanded.

Not knowing what to do, Alchflaed tentatively reached out
and touched the hard column of his erection. She closed her hand around its
girth and gingerly stroked its length.

“Yes,” Paeda groaned, “that’s right, woman. Did your stepmother
teach you how to do that, eh?”

Alchflaed drew back from him, as if slapped. “Hwaet?”

Paeda grinned wolfishly, enjoying her shock.

“Eanflaed looked like a woman who enjoys pleasing her
man.”

Not waiting for Alchflaed’s response, for perhaps
shocking her was enough, Paeda pushed her onto her back and spread her legs.

“Let’s see if you really are a maid,” he said. “A woman
who knows how to touch a man like that rarely is.”

Alchflaed tensed, anger surging through her at his words.
Although she had no love for Eanflaed, she did not like his insinuations that
her stepmother was a slut and that she was not still a maid. However, she had
no time to dwell upon her outrage, for she felt the head of Paeda’s manhood,
pressing against her.

A moment later, he thrust deeply inside her.

White-hot pain lanced through Alchflaed; it felt as if he
were tearing her in two. She screamed but the sound was lost in the roar of
music and voices below their platform. She dug her nails into Paeda’s back as
he loomed over her, but her reaction seemed to inflame him. Murmuring a curse
under his breath, and grasping her buttocks tight, he withdrew and plunged into
her once again.

Alchflaed struggled against him, but Paeda held her down
on the furs. He was so much stronger than Alchflaed. He grabbed hold of her
wrists and pinned them above her head, so that her breasts arched toward him.
His face was a rictus of pleasure as he took her, although each thrust was
agony for Alchflaed.

Eventually, he gave a great roar and reared back, his
large body going rigid as he spilled his seed within her. Afterward, Paeda
remained on his knees above her, breathing heavily as he recovered from his
climax.

“That was even better than I imagined,” he panted. “The
first time I saw you, I knew you were the woman I would have to tame. I didn’t
want a meek wife, not like my mother and sisters. I wanted a woman who fights
back.”

Alchflaed stared up at him, anger at his rough treatment
of her rising within her like milk boiling over.

“You hurt me,” she accused him.

To her chagrin, Paeda laughed.

“It’s all part of the game, wife,” he replied, staring
down at her with glittering eyes. “You are mine, and I will leave my mark upon
you.”

Alchflaed approached the hearth and took a seat next to
the Queen Mother. Despite her best efforts to hide her discomfort, she winced
as she sat down, an expression that was not lost upon Cyneswide.

The Queen Mother frowned but said nothing.

Alchflaed was grateful. She had no wish to speak of her
wedding night, for she knew she would weep if she did so. The throbbing-ache
between her legs and the bruises upon her breasts were a reminder of the
longest, and most unpleasant, night of her life.

Cyneswide was busy embroidering a tunic for one of her
sons. Wordlessly, she reached out and passed Alchflaed a distaff and a basket
of wool to wind upon it. The task was familiar, and monotonous, but Alchflaed
welcomed it. After everything that had occurred since her arrival at Tamworth,
she found solace in the mundane.

Still, as she began to tease out the wool and wrap it
about the wooden spindle, her thoughts returned to the ordeal of the night
before.

Paeda had taken her twice more – each time as roughly as
the first – before he collapsed upon the furs, spent. When he tried to take her
for the third time, Alchflaed’s restraint had snapped. She tried to rake his
face with her nails and knee him in the cods – anything to keep him from
hurting her again. However, Paeda had slapped her across the face and thrown
her back down upon the furs. He laughed, aroused by her defiance. Then he had
taken her savagely.

Alchflaed stared down at the distaff and blinked back
tears. She had barely been married a day to Paeda of Mercia, and already she
loathed him. Before arriving in Tamworth, she had worried that she would not be
able to kill her husband-to-be. Yet, the way she felt now, Alchflaed would have
happily driven her seax into his heart.

“Alchflaed,” Cyneswide’s gentle voice roused her from her
thoughts. “Are you well?”

Alchflaed nodded, although the Queen Mother’s concern
just made it harder to rein back the sobs that were building within her.

“I thought it would be different between a man and wife,”
she admitted finally, “that he would be gentler.”

She looked up and saw that the mask of bitterness and
detachment that Cyneswide had worn ever since her arrival had gone. She saw the
pity in the older woman’s eyes, her worry.

“He is the cruelest of the three,” she said softly, “but
I prayed he would be like his father; hard to the whole world except his wife.”

Alchflaed stared at the Queen Mother in surprise. “King
Penda was kind to you?”

Cyneswide smiled, and Alchflaed realized with a jolt that
she had loved her dead husband dearly. It was hard to reconcile the cold,
stone-hewn man she had seen in Bebbanburg, to the husband that Cyneswide
clearly missed.

How could any woman love such a man?

“Penda was complicated,” Cyneswide said, her smile
turning wistful. “A man of contradictions. All who knew him feared him, except
me. In the thirty years we were married, he was ever gentle with me; even
though I witnessed him act with violence and cruelty to others. I still
remember the day he beat his sister because she defied him; a terrible scene
that shocked us all. Yet, Penda never once raised a hand to me. Paeda has
sought to emulate his father in all things, and I thought…”

Alchflaed shook her head. “Not in this…”

The Queen Mother picked up her embroidery, her expression
pained, and resumed work. Still reeling from Cyneswide’s admission, Alchflaed
carried on spinning wool onto her distaff.

They sat amidst a sea of great industry within the king’s
hall. Slaves scrubbed tables and swept up food from the rush-strewn floor, still
tidying up after the feasting of the previous evening; while others pummeled
dough for griddle bread at a worktable next to the second fire pit. Two women,
the wives of king’s thegns, were overseeing the preparation of the noon meal:
roast fowl and braised onions.

There were few men about at this time of the morning. It
was the time when the slaves and women residing within the Great Tower carried
out the chores that kept the king’s hall running. The men would not reappear
until it was time to eat. Alchflaed was used to this routine, for it was the
same at Bebbanburg. Men might have run the world, but women ruled the home.

The two women had been working for only a short while,
when Cyneswide put down her embroidery. The Queen Mother’s posture stiffened
and her face hardened into her usual expression of exhaustion and bitterness. Alchflaed
glanced over her shoulder, following Cyneswide’s gaze, and spied the king
crossing the floor toward them.

Paeda walked with a jaunty stride this morning. Aethelred,
his youngest brother, followed close at the king’s heels while Wulfhere –
easily the most physically striking of the three brothers – trailed behind.
Next to Wulfhere stalked a white wolf.

Alchflaed gaped at the animal, dumbstruck. The wolf was a
frightening sight. Alchflaed loved animals – and had an affinity with dogs –
yet she was wary of this beast. The wolf fixed her with yellow eyes as it
approached, holding her in its mesmerizing stare.

“I wouldn’t make eye contact with Mōna, if I were
you,” Paeda warned Alchflaed as he stopped before her. “She’s not fond of being
stared at.”

Mōna
, Moon. Indeed, the
beast’s pelt had a silvery hue. Alchflaed tore her gaze away from the wolf’s
hypnotic stare, although she could not bring herself to meet her husband’s gaze
instead.

Wulfhere stopped a few feet away and folded his arms
across his chest. The wolf sat obediently at his feet.

“She cannot stand you, dear brother,” he said coolly. “Mōna
won’t cause any trouble as long as she’s not threatened.”

Alchflaed glanced toward her husband, and saw him favor
his brother with a sour look. Then, he turned to the Queen Mother.

“Mōder, we are thirsty. Fetch us some mead.”

Cyneswide nodded and rose gracefully to her feet.

“Come, Alchflaed,” she commanded quietly. “You can bring
the cups.”

Alchflaed did as she was bid. She carried a tray with
three cups, following Cyneswide to the table upon the high seat, where the king
and his brothers awaited. She set out the cups before the men, and stood back
while Cyneswide poured the mead. Once the Queen Mother had completed her task,
she did not retreat to her place at the fire pit. Instead, she fixed her eldest
son in a level gaze.

“Paeda, I am glad that you have returned to the hall
early this morning for there is something I must tell you.”

 “Mōder, you must address me as king now,” her son
growled before taking a deep draught of mead.

“
Milord
,” Cyneswide corrected herself with a bow
of her head. “I have decided to take the veil and leave Tamworth.”

When stunned silence met her announcement, Cyneswide
continued.

“With your permission, I shall depart for Bonehill
tomorrow.”

All three of her sons stared at the Queen Mother, clearly
surprised by her request. However, Wulfhere responded first.

“Are you sure about this, mōder? You have only
recently been baptized. Is this truly your will?”

The Queen Mother nodded. “With your father gone, I no
longer wish to reside in Tamworth. A life serving God is what I now choose.”

Her gaze shifted to Paeda, where it stayed. “Milord?”

Paeda regarded his mother speculatively.

“Seaxwulf will be pleased to see that Penda’s pagan queen
has become so pious.”

Cyneswide nodded but said nothing more for there was a
mocking edge to Paeda’s voice. Watching Cyneswide’s face, Alchflaed thought about
what she had told her earlier. She wondered at what Cyneswide must have felt
for her son. Surely she blamed Paeda for her husband’s death.

“Very well,” Paeda said finally, “if it is your wish to
end your days at Bonehill, I shall grant it.”

“Thank you, Milord.”

The Queen Mother’s face was unreadable, although
Alchflaed caught the glimpse of victory in the older woman’s blue eyes. Wulfhere
and Aethelred were watching their mother, clearly perplexed by her
announcement, but Cyneswide did not look their way.

Without waiting for her son to dismiss her, the Queen
Mother turned and left the king to his mead upon the heah-setl.

***

Cyneswide departed at dawn the following morning.

Alchflaed arose early, leaving her husband slumbering in
the furs, and descended the ladder to the hall. Here, there was a platform,
raised around three feet off the ground, which ringed the edge of the hall. This
was where the rest of the Mercian royal family, and the king’s most favored
retainers slept. Heavy tapestries shrouded their alcoves from view, while the remainder
of Paeda’s household, warriors and slaves, slept upon the rushes on the
draughty floor below.

Dawn was just breaking, pale light filtering in through
the narrow slits high up in the tower. The fire pits had burned low overnight
and Alchflaed’s breath steamed before her as she padded around the rim of the
platform to the Queen Mother’s bower.

Already dressed, Cyneswide was busy packing the last of
her clothing into a leather pack, ready for transporting to her new home. She
smiled upon seeing Alchflaed, and the lines of care and sadness eased on her
lovely face.

“You are up early,” she greeted Alchflaed.

“I wanted to help you pack, but I see I am too late.”

“I could not sleep.”

Alchflaed nodded, before returning Cyneswide’s smile.

“We are just beginning to know each other; I will miss
your company.”

Cyneswide’s smile turned weary. “I cannot stay here.
There are too many memories inside this hall; everywhere I turn, I see Penda.”

“You know what Paeda did?” Alchflaed asked quietly.

Cyneswide nodded, her expression turning hard.

“I am no Christian but I happily renounce Woden, Thunor
and all the rest, if it means I do not have to set eyes on my treacherous son
ever again.”

Alchflaed was not surprised by the Queen Mother’s
sentiment, although the vehemence of her words took her aback.

“You hide your feelings well,” she observed.

There was no humor in Cyneswide’s answering smile.

“It is the only way a woman survives in a king’s hall…
remember that, Alchflaed.”

Outdoors, a thick frost blanketed the world. Frozen straw
crunched underfoot as Cyneswide’s kin followed her across the stable yard to
the high gate that led out of the inner fort into the township beyond.

Alchflaed walked a few steps behind Paeda and his
brothers, before stopping next to Wulfhere and Mōna. She looked on while
slaves loaded the last of Cyneswide’s possessions – mostly gifts she would
bestow upon the church – on a small wagon. An escort of six warriors would
accompany the Queen Mother to Bonehill, a small nunnery that lay half a day’s
ride to the south.

The monk, Seaxwulf, would also form part of the escort.
He rode upon a shaggy palfrey, which chomped at the bit, eager to be off. Cyneswide’s
mount was a fine-boned grey mare; a beautiful horse that Alchflaed later
learned had been a gift from Penda to his wife.

Paeda helped Cyneswide mount before stepping back and
raising a ring-encrusted hand. The king wore a squirrel fur cloak about his
broad shoulders this morning, to stave off the chill. Stubble covered his jaw
and his gaze was hooded.

“Farewell, Mōder.”

Cyneswide nodded curtly, before her gaze shifted to
Aethelred and Wulfhere.

“My sons,” she murmured, her eyes glittering. Alchflaed
could see the grief on Cyneswide’s face and sensed she wished to say more.
However, with Paeda glowering at her, the Queen Mother held her tongue.

“Go well, Mōder,” Wulfhere replied softly.

“We shall visit,” Aethelred promised.

Cyneswide smiled. “I would like that.”

The Queen Mother reined her horse around and urged it toward
the gate. Alchflaed watched Seaxwulf ride after Cyneswide, followed by the rest
of her escort and the wagon. The drumming of hooves on the frozen ground broke
the stillness of the frosty morning.

As she watched Cyneswide leave, Alchflaed felt something
nuzzle against her leg. Her gaze still riveted upon the travelers, she reached
down and touched a cold, wet nose. Surprised, Alchflaed glanced down to find Mōna
pressed up against her. The beast’s unexpected show of affection made Alchflaed
long for her two dogs.

“Good morning, Mōna,” she murmured, fondling the
wolf’s furry ears.

Aware that gazes were upon her, Alchflaed glanced up to
find Paeda and his brothers staring at her. Paeda was scowling and Aethelred
smirked, while an enigmatic smile tugged at the corner of Wulfhere’s mouth.

“You have a way with the wolf,” the prince observed.