Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) (23 page)

They reached Laegrecastrescir shortly after noon. A
stoutly made town, perched upon the banks of the River Legro, and ringed by a
high wooden palisade, Laegrecastrescir was a welcome sight after nothing but
woodland for the last day and a half. Alchflaed nearly wept for joy at the
sight of its walls. She was hungry, thirsty and felt as if horses had trampled
her. She longed to sleep for a week.

Well-tended fields of kale, turnips and onions lined the
road into town, where folk were hard at work, weeding and sowing. The sun that danced
in and out of scudding clouds, glittered off the gently rippling river. To the
south, Alchflaed saw that the sky had turned an ominous iron grey. A storm was
rolling in.

Alchflaed and Maric joined the throng of townsfolk who
were coming and going from Laegrecastrescir and entered the town through a wide
gate. A dirt street ran through the center of the town, leading up to the
ealdorman’s hall at the northern end.

“We shall avoid making ourselves known to the ealdorman,”
Maric told her. “I’ve met the man and know he’d be only too happy to hand us
over to the rulers of Tamworth – for a price of course.”

Alchflaed shuddered at the thought. To come so far, and
risk so much, only to be captured now, terrified her. Maric must have seen her
fear, for he placed a reassuring arm about her shoulders.

“I will look after you,” he promised.

Believing him, Alchflaed relaxed in the circle of Maric’s
arm.

They asked at the mead hall and found lodging with an old
woman. The widow had a small hovel behind her home that she rented to
travelers. The woman was nearly blind and had a thin, whispery voice, but she
welcomed them warmly, and asked no questions – not even when Alchflaed handed
over one of her bronze bracelets as payment.

“This will do nicely,” the widow gave a toothless grin.
“I will bring you some food and drink as well.”

“Could we also have some hot water and lye to bathe
with?” Maric asked.

“There’s a cauldron over the fire pit inside,” the widow
answered. “I will bring you water to heat, and some lye.”

Alchflaed and Maric retired inside their lodgings, and
although it was very basic accommodation, Alchflaed’s heart lifted the moment
she stepped inside. The hovel had a dirt floor, a single fire pit and a small
pallet in one corner, covered with a single fur.

Seeing Alchflaed’s gaze rest apprehensively upon the
narrow bed, Maric smiled.

“I shall sleep on the floor, next to the fire,” he told
her.

Alchflaed turned to him, flushing, and was about to
excuse herself, when the old woman appeared at the open doorway with two pails
of water.

“My sight is failing me,” she lamented, eyeing Maric up
and down, “but you look like a well-built man. “Can I get you to refill these
from the well while I fetch the soap and some linens?”

Maric nodded before relieving the widow of her burden. He
emptied the water into the cauldron and disappeared outside to fetch some more.
Meanwhile, Alchflaed busied herself by lighting the fire under the cauldron.

By the time Maric had finished filling the cauldron, and
the old woman had brought the items they needed to bathe with, it was starting
to spit with rain. Alchflaed stood at the door to the hovel and looked at where
the heavy raindrops splattered upon the dry earth.

“Finally,” the widow appeared at her side and squinted up
at the gathering storm clouds. “We need some rain.”

Alchflaed smiled. If it washed away her scent so that the
hounds could not track her, she also welcomed this storm.

The rain hammered against the thatch roof and rattled the
shutters, but inside the hovel, it was warm and dry.

Alchflaed sat on a low stool next to the fire, a platter
of food balanced upon her knee and a large cup of ale at her side. Like the accommodation,
the fare was simple but good: boiled eggs, fresh bread and butter, and honey.
Never had food tasted so delicious. Opposite her, Maric attacked his meal with
vigor, only looking up when his platter was empty.

“After two months of gruel and stale bread that was a
meal fit for a king,” he said before raising his cup of ale to his lips.

Alchflaed licked the honey off her fingers and sighed in
contentment. Then, she saw he was watching her, and she looked away,
embarrassed.

“The water has heated,” he said finally, breaking the
tension between them. “Do you want to bathe first?”

Alchflaed felt her body go hot, although she covered her awkwardness
by frowning. “Here… in front of you?”

Maric laughed at that. “There’s a curtain next to the
bed. I will draw it back and wait in there while you bathe.”

Alchflaed nodded, although her pulse had now quickened.
The thought that he would be just behind the curtain, while she stood naked on
the other side, was doing strange things to her breathing.

As promised, once he had finished his ale, Maric
retreated behind the curtain and left Alchflaed to bathe.

Standing next to the hearth, Alchflaed undressed, pulling
her woolen tunic and linen under-dress over her head so that she stood naked. The
air was warm inside the hovel so she did not shiver. If anything, the warmth of
the fire felt pleasant against her skin.

Listening to the drumming of the rain on the thatch above
her head, she took ladles of water from the cauldron and soaped herself with
lye.

On the other side of the curtain, Maric took a deep
breath and struggled with his impulses.

He ached for Alchflaed, so strongly that it was starting
to torment him. It had been easy enough to ignore it during their flight east,
but now that they were temporarily safe from danger, his need for her was
torture.

He sat upon the bed and tried to steady his breathing, to
think of anything except the naked woman on the other side of the curtain.
However, he could no longer bear it. Gently, he parted the curtains, just a
crack, and what he saw beyond made his breath catch.

There she was, naked and glistening as she soaped her
tall, curvaceous body with lye. Long-limbed with proud pink-tipped breasts, and
a thatch of hair between her legs the same color as the tumbling auburn curls on
her head, Alchflaed entranced him. Her pale skin glistened wetly as she washed
herself. Maric bit down on his tongue and let the curtain drop before he
disgraced himself.

His shaft now pulsed, straining against his breeches.
Sweating, Maric inhaled deeply and cursed himself for looking. How was he ever
going to be able to spend the night alone in the same room as this woman?

Alchflaed wrung the last of the water from her hair and
dried herself off with a linen cloth the old woman had brought. Then, she pulled
on the linen under-dress. It was warm inside, so she did not put on her woolen
tunic over it.

“I’m dressed,” she called to Maric, “and the water’s
still warm, if you’d like to bathe.”

The curtain parted and Maric stepped out. His face was
serious, and he avoided her gaze.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Alchflaed nodded and edged past him. She stepped onto the
pallet and drew the curtains closed behind her, before sinking down onto the
fur. She was exhausted, although she had to admit that her bath had restored
her.

On the other side of the curtain, she heard Maric moving
around and imagined he was undressing. That thought was a mistake, for she
immediately remembered his naked torso that day she had visited him at his
home. She remembered how lithe and lean he was, how he moved with feline grace,
and her mouth went dry.

Then, she heard splashes and realized that Maric must be
bathing.

Alchflaed sat, frozen to the spot for a few moments, her
heart pounding as if she had just finished a sprint.

Don’t think about it
, she
chastised herself.
You’re tired and traumatized. Go to sleep.

Yet, she could not. All she could think of was the man on
the other side of the curtain. How she longed for him.

Eventually, she could not bear it any longer.

Alchflaed shuffled up to the edge of the furs. Then,
carefully, her hands shaking, she parted the curtain slightly and looked out.

Indeed, he was naked. Maric looked down at the cauldron
as he scooped up some warm water in his palms and sluiced it down his body,
rinsing off the lye he had just soaped himself with. As he straightened up,
Alchflaed’s gaze slid down his torso, to his belly, where his manhood strained,
hard and proud.

Alchflaed had not expected to see him aroused and she
gasped, the curtain gaping open before her as she forgot that she was supposed
to be hidden from view.

Maric looked up and their gazes met.

A heartbeat passed, and then another before Maric moved.
He did not move to reach for his clothing but toward her. One moment, he had
been standing on the other side of the fire pit, the next he strode toward her,
ripped the curtain aside and pulled Alchflaed into his arms.

Alchflaed cried out in surprise, for at first she thought
she had angered him, before Maric’s mouth came down over hers. She was suddenly
aware of his hard, slick body pressed against her, soaking through the thin
linen of her tunic.

Then, all rational thought fled her mind.

She groaned, her lips parting under his, their tongues
tangling. She kissed him wildly, clinging to him; her finger nails digging into
his bare shoulders. She drank him in, reveling in the taste and smell of him,
and the shivers of pleasure his touch sent thrilling through her.

Maric cursed under his breath and tore her undertunic off
her. Then, he knelt and suckled her breasts, drawing each nipple deep into the
heat of his mouth until she screamed.

Alchflaed’s legs gave way under her and they sank back
onto the fur. He crawled up over her, as if stalking her, and held himself up
over the length of her body as he kissed her once more.

“Alchflaed,” he gasped her name as he ripped his mouth
from hers. “Please touch me.”

He did not need to ask twice. Alchflaed let her hands
trace down his chest, allowing her nails to rake over his heated skin, and down
to his flat belly. He groaned, his body quivering above her, and when she
curled her hand around his shaft, he rasped her name once more.

Alchflaed stroked him slowly, marveling in the heat, silkiness
and hardness of him. This was so different to her experience with Paeda, whom
she had been loath to touch. She wanted to make this man hers, to brand her
soul upon his.

She stroked him until he growled for her to stop. Then,
he parted her legs wide and sat back on his heels to gaze upon her. The look on
his face as his gaze raked over her, before settling upon the most intimate
part of her, made her shudder with need.

“Please, Maric,” she gasped. “Please.”

Maric smiled and he lowered himself over her. Then, he entered
her in one deep thrust. Alchflaed screamed and dug her nails into his back,
urging him deeper still. She angled her hips against him, pleading with him,
and he answered her call.

He took her hard, cupping his hands under her buttocks as
he thrust deep. She heard his cries, blending with her own. With each plunge
Alchflaed’s body trembled, until she shook uncontrollably and pleasure crested
in a molten wave that threatened to drown her. She screamed, the sound mingling
with the hiss of the lashing rain outside.

Then, Maric reared back and roared his pleasure, emptying
his seed deep inside her.

Breathing hard, Maric propped himself up on one elbow and
gazed down upon Alchflaed.

She returned his stare, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, suddenly worried.

She shook her head.

“I had wanted to wait,” he continued, stroking her cheek
with his thumb, “but when you opened the curtain, I lost control. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” she replied softly, “don’t ever say
you’re sorry for that…”

She reached up, trailing a fingertip along his lower lip.

“I knew, from the first moment I saw you… I knew,” she
whispered.

Maric nodded. He had been married to Gytha, the first
time he had set eyes upon the flame-haired huntress who had swept into her
father’s hall like the North Wind. Yet, he had felt it too, the inexorable pull
between them. Wyrd – fate – had marked them both that day. All of it – the loss,
the pain, the bloodshed that followed – had all been leading up to this. He had
loved Gytha but he had never felt for her what he did for Alchflaed.

“I thought to never have this,” he murmured. “I never
thought I would feel this.”

Alchflaed smiled and brushed away a tear that he had not
even realized was running down his cheek.

“I’ve lived in the dark for so long,” he continued,
wanting to share his heart with her, “and of late, it seemed as if the gods
were raging against me.”

“It’s always darkest before dawn,” Alchflaed replied
softly. “I too never believed I would be happy.”

Maric looked down at her and his throat constricted. She
was indescribably lovely, laying upon the furs with firelight playing across
her skin, her auburn hair fanned out around her. Her moss-colored eyes had
darkened to a sultry forest-green. Her full lips had parted slightly as she gazed
up at him.

“I didn’t know it was possible to love like this,” he
said, his voice suddenly husky. “I would protect you with my last breath.”

He watched her tears overflow then and he kissed them
away. After that, he kissed her mouth, parting her lips so he could taste her.
Then, there were no more words, for he kissed and licked his way down her body,
till she was shuddering with joy and gasping his name.

Maric rolled onto his back and took her with him. There,
he let her slide down upon his shaft until he was deeply seated within her.

Alchflaed rode Maric, her magnificent breasts bouncing as
she slid up and down the length of him. He gazed up at her, and saw the creamy
skin of her chest and neck flush, while her back arched.

He watched her slowly lose control. His own excitement
rose as he pulled her hips down to meet each thrust of his – and when she
started to cry his name, he too felt the last shreds of his control dissolving.

She was his, he was hers, and together they would wipe
the slate clean and begin again.

***

Alchflaed stepped out into a drizzling, gray morning and
wished she had not given Elfhere her cloak. Then, she remembered that in doing
so, she had gained her freedom, and the rain did not bother her any more. She
silently thanked Elfhere and turned her face up to the sky, smiling as she did
so.

Maric stepped out of the hovel, joining her.

“Do you want my cloak?” he asked.

Alchflaed shook her head.

“You need to keep your iron collar hidden. Should we ask
the smith in Laegrecastrescir to remove it?”

“We’re too close to Tamworth to risk drawing attention to
me,” Maric replied. “He’d think I was a theow who’d run away from his master…
and he’d be right.”

They began walking toward the town gates. It was not long
after dawn, although a pale blanket of low cloud hid the sun from view. The
rain fell in a gentle, silent veil without disturbing a leaf. Alchflaed and
Maric emerged from the gate onto the paved way known as Watling Street, an
ancient track that the Romans had built, which stretched far to the southeast
of Britannia.

As they set out along it, Maric glanced at Alchflaed, his
brow furrowing.

“We have a long journey ahead of us. Are you sure you’re
rested enough?”

Alchflaed met his gaze and favored him with an impish
smile. “I’ve never felt more rested.”

Even so, she understood his concern. They owned only the
clothes on their backs, and even though Maric carried her seax, they had no
other weapons or means of hunting food. Their only wealth was a brooch, which
Alchflaed had used to pin her cloak, and her two silver arm-rings. Maric had
told her that the brooch would be enough to buy them a fast horse, although it
would be safer to do so once they distanced themselves from Mercia. The Kingdom
of the East Angles lay directly to the east; a land of marshes, flat grasslands
and huge skies – they would buy a horse there.

There were few travelers about on this dreary day, and
Alchflaed was grateful for it. Still, she found herself often glancing over her
shoulder, just to ensure there was no one following them; or straining her ears
for the baying of hounds in the distance. Wyrd smiled upon them, however, for
there came no sign of either.

“This is the life I was meant for,” Alchflaed told Maric
suddenly. They had been walking in silence for a while, each immersed in their
own thoughts. “Remember I told you on the journey to Tamworth that I’m my
happiest when I’m free.”

Maric grinned at her, pleased by her comment.

“Do you mean to tell me you won’t miss all those fine
dresses, rich food, and having slaves tend to you?”

Alchflaed screwed up her face at the thought. “Or having
ambitious relatives knife you in the back? That life is a gilded cage. This is
living.”

Maric laughed and slung an arm across her shoulders,
holding her against him as they walked.

“I shall remind you of that when we’re living in a sod
hut eating turnips,” he teased.

Alchflaed gave him a playful slap on the arm. Certainly,
a completely different life lay ahead; one that would bring its own challenges.
Excitement fluttered in the pit of her belly, for hardship or not, she was
ready for it.

“I’m a fine cook,” she admonished Maric, although it was
difficult to keep a straight face. “You’d be surprised at how many ways I can
prepare turnip.”