Dark Under the Cover of Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 1) (16 page)

Seaxwyn
nodded and Raedwyn saw in the cold, silver light of the moon, that her mother’s
cheeks were wet with tears. Raedwyn put her arm around her mother’s waist and
hugged her tightly as they walked. Before them loomed the Great Hall and soon
they were swallowed within its shadow.

Inside the
hall it was deserted. The hearth still burned, and after putting some logs on the
fire, Raedwyn began to remove her cloak.

“What are
you doing Raedwyn?” Seaxwyn, who had removed her own cloak and sat by the fire
pit warming her hands, raised her eyebrows at her daughter. “Mother Night has
only just begun and you are young. Don’t stay here with your old mother. Dance,
enjoy yourself!”

“You sound
like Eanfled,” Raedwyn replied sourly. “Frankly, it was a relief to get away
from that annoying Osric!”

Seaxwyn
laughed then and upon hearing her, Raedwyn realized it was the first time she
had heard her mother laugh in a while.

“He won’t
be able to get up to much mischief in a crowd.” Seaxwyn reminded her daughter,
“and besides I so rarely have solitude that I wish just to sit here by the fire
and enjoy the silence.”

“I can see
I’m not wanted,” Raedwyn grumbled. She placed a kiss on her mother’s cold cheek
and refastened her cloak. “I shall leave you in peace.”

Raedwyn
left the Great Hall and realized, as she stepped outside into the crisp night
air, that she felt a little lighter of heart. Her conversation with Seaxwyn had
reforged the link between them that Raedwyn had thought lost, and she felt less
alone after speaking to her mother.

Raedwyn
walked slowly down the steps, away from the hall, taking care not to slip and
hurt her ankle again. It had just healed, although it could be tender at the
end of the day. Raedwyn was in no hurry to return to the bonfire, to Osric’s
pawing and her father’s heart-wrenching songs. She walked slowly across the
stable-yard towards the gates and hesitated.

There were
no guards at the gate. All were at the Yule bonfire. Raedwyn wondered if Caelin
had also gone to the bonfire, to watch from the shadows while the townsfolk
reveled, but not able to join in. On instinct, Raedwyn turned away from the
gate and ducked inside the stables. She did not question her decision, but
rather followed a nameless impulse. If her father caught her here he would be
livid – but she would hazard the risk.

She found
Caelin grooming one of the king’s prized stallions in a stall at the far end of
the stables. Caelin had not noticed her approach. He was talking to the horse
gently as he worked. It was warm inside the stables and Caelin was dressed
lightly in leggings, boots and a loose, sleeveless tunic belted at the waist.
His clothing was simple and of poor cloth but it molded his tall, muscular
frame. The skin of his arms was still slightly tanned, despite the long, cold
winter they were enduring.

“Caelin.”

He turned
with a suddenness that made the stallion start. The horse rolled its eyes
nervously and stomped, narrowly missing Caelin’s foot.

Caelin
stared at Raedwyn. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His
reaction surprised Raedwyn. She had expected a warmer reception. Moments of
silence passed before Raedwyn spoke.

“You
weren’t at the bonfire.”

“I didn’t
think I’d be welcome.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in Caelin’s voice.

Raedwyn
could feel a creeping embarrassment steal over her and realized that she had
made a fool of herself by coming here.

“It is a
beautiful night out,” she said lightly. “It has stopped snowing.”

Caelin
gave her an incredulous look. “Have you come here to inform me of the weather?”

Raedwyn
felt herself go hot from growing mortification.

“N..no,”
Raedwyn stuttered, watching as he put the brush aside and ducked out of the
stable, so that he stood before her in the straw-strewn corridor between the
stalls.

“Do you
realize the danger you’ve put us both in coming here?” Caelin was frowning and
did not look at all happy about her surprise visit. “Do you want to see me
killed? Is that your game?”

“No!”
Raedwyn choked out. “I only…”

“You are a
spoiled child. Your father forbids something and you must test him. You’re not
used to being told what to do Raedwyn – and it shows.”

“Why are
you being so nasty?” Embarrassment faded and anger surfaced in its place.
“Nobody knows I’m here. Everyone is at the bonfire. I only wanted to make sure
you were well. There is no need to insult me!”

“Well as
you can see I am well. Thank you for your concern.”

Raedwyn’s
eyes narrowed into slits.

“Why do
you insist on treating me like a child? You have no right!”

“Because
that’s what you are.” Caelin’s face darkened. “You come here because it suits
you, because you’re bored. Did you really think I’d be pleased to see you?”

Under
Raedwyn’s anger, hurt stung her to the quick. Perhaps she should not have come
here but there was no need for him to be so rude. She stepped back from Caelin,
forcing down the ridiculous urge to cry – then he really would think her a
child.

“You are
wrong about me,” she whispered, staring into his eyes for a moment before she
turned and fled down the aisle between the stalls. 

Raedwyn
had almost reached the door when Caelin caught up with her. Before Raedwyn even
had time to react, he had pulled her up short, pushed her against one of wooden
supports that held up the stable roof, and covered her mouth with his.

Outraged,
Raedwyn pushed against Caelin’s chest, but instantly lost any will to fight him
when his tongue plunged into her mouth. Raedwyn groaned and let her own tongue
dart forward to tangle with his. Her hands moved across his chest to his broad
shoulders and the finely chiseled muscles of his upper arms. She pressed
herself up against him and ran her hands down his back as Caelin slid his thigh
between her legs and tangled his hands in her hair.

Raedwyn’s
head swam and she drank him in. She did not care that anyone could walk in on
them. He could have taken her right there against the wall and she would have
let him. All good sense left her and the world shrank till only the two of them
existed.

It was
Caelin who stopped it. He tore his mouth from hers and, gasping for breath,
stepped back from her.

“Caelin…”
Raedwyn reached for him but Caelin shook his head and took another step back.

“Please,”
Caelin’s voice was hoarse with longing, “I shouldn’t have done that. This is
madness Raedwyn. Just go.”

Raedwyn
took a shuddering breath and the haze of lust that had momentarily consumed her
began to ebb. Without another word, she turned and fled from the stables.

Caelin
watched Raedwyn’s retreating back and suppressed the urge to drag her back into
his arms.

Raedwyn
intoxicated him, as she had from the first time he had kissed her. Caelin could
still feel her hair entangled in his fingers, the heat and taste of her mouth
as it opened under his and the feel of her soft body against him. She had
nearly unraveled his self-control. On one level Raedwyn had no idea what she
did to him, and on another she was only too aware of the power she wielded. For
that she was dangerous.

Caelin
leaned up against the beam and stared up at the thatched ceiling. He had been
harsh with Raedwyn in an attempt to distance himself from her. Plans for
escaping Rendlaesham occupied his thoughts of late. Once the snow thawed, he
would start to lay provisions on the edge of the apple orchard near the town.

Caelin
planned to leave his past at his back and travel to a corner of Britannia where
Raedwald would never find him. He had never been a free man – first a servant
to his father’s quest for revenge and now Raedwald’s slave. His life had never
been his own.

He would
not allow his lust for this beautiful woman sabotage his plans.

Caelin
returned to the stall, picked up the brush he had abandoned upon seeing
Raedwyn, and resumed grooming the stallion. He had to forget Raedwyn the Fair
for she was part of the existence he would soon leave behind.    

Chapter
Thirteen

“Raedwyn,
I have found you a husband.”

Raedwald’s
announcement caused all seated at the long table below the king and queen, to
cease eating and stare at the king. Then, collectively, they turned their
attention to his daughter. It was nearly a moon’s cycle since Yuletide and
winter’s chill still held Rendlaesham within its grip. Raedwyn had dressed
warmly this eve; a fur cloak around her shoulders, and her thick hair pulled
back from her face. She paled at Raedwald’s words. Then, she swallowed the
mouthful of pottage she had been chewing and met her father’s gaze.

“Who’s the
lucky man then?” Eni boomed, pretending not to notice the tension between
father and daughter.

Beside
Raedwald, Seaxwyn glanced nervously at her husband. Despite that relations
between them had improved, Raedwald had not shared his plans with his queen.
Opposite Raedwyn, Eorpwald took a sip of mead and watched his sister over the
rim of his cup.

“Yes,
father?” Raedwyn finally spoke up. “Who am I to marry?”

Raedwald
leaned back in his ornately carved wooden throne and took a draught of mead.

“Come
spring you will be married to Eafa the Merciful of Mercia.”

Raedwyn’s
eyes grew huge on her pale face. Seaxwyn’s sharply indrawn breath and Eni’s
hiss of shock accompanied the sound of Eorpwald choking on his mead.

“You
cannot marry Raedwyn to Eafa, father!” Eorpwald managed after Annan had belted
him across the back a few times, expelling the mead from his windpipe. “He's an
animal!”

Raedwald
brought his tankard down on the table with a thump, his eyes flashing at his
son. “We need to strengthen our alliances in Mercia. It’s newly conquered
territory. Raedwyn will serve her family well by marrying Eafa. I sent word to
him before Yuletide and a rider arrived with tidings of his acceptance
yesterday. Upon my word they will marry!”

Raedwyn
breathed in deeply to quell the panic rising within her. Folk had named Eafa
‘the Merciful’ in irony, for he was among one of the cruelest, most terrifying
men in Britannia. He had fought against Raedwald in his younger days before
making peace with the East Anglian King. Of late, relations had been good
between the East Angles and the Mercians but, ever an able politician, Raedwald
would not miss an opportunity to strengthen his alliances – or to punish
Raedwyn.

Raedwyn
looked down at her hands and struggled to keep her composure. She had met Eafa
once, three summers ago. Eafa had visited Raedwald, bringing gifts and pledging
loyalty to his king. Raedwyn remembered him as a tall, raw-boned man with a
cruel face, long thick pale hair and eyes colder than a frozen lake. He had
watched her often during that visit and Raedwyn had squirmed under his gaze.
She could not bear the thought of marrying Eafa. Raedwald was not a fool. He
knew what sort of man he had betrothed his daughter to.

 “How can
you be so cruel father?” Raedwyn finally replied. “Eorpwald is right. The man
is not human. Why would you consign me to such a life?”

 
Raedwald’s eyes narrowed but his face revealed no emotion. “As a daughter of
the Wuffinga line you have a duty to your king. You will marry whoever I deem
suitable.

“But
father…”

“Silence!”
Raedwald’s temper boiled over. “You are turning into a nagging shrew Raedwyn.
My word is law here. You will obey me!”

Raedwyn
fixed her gaze on her trencher, still half filled with food, and remained
silent, fighting back tears. Everyone’s gaze was upon her. She could feel the
hall charged with unvoiced emotion; some in favor of the king’s decision, some
pitying her. She avoided their eyes and got to her feet.

“Raedwyn.”
The king’s voice was rough with anger. “You will stay here and finish your
meal.”

Unspeaking,
Raedwyn fled to her bower.

“Raedwyn!”
Raedwald bellowed after her but she ignored his command. She disappeared within
her bower, the heavy tapestry swinging shut behind her.

Within her
bower, Raedwyn stood at her small window and looked down at the thatched roof
of the barracks below. She heard her father shout her name once more, before
soothing words from Seaxwyn and protests from Eorpwald silenced him. Raedwyn
almost expected him to come in after her and drag her back out by the hair, but
he did not. He had never been a violent, domineering father – before now that
was. She did not know him these days; she was afraid of him, but more than that
she was furious.

Tears of
rage wet Raedwyn’s face and she curled her hands into painful fists. If only I
had been born a man!  She was not like other royal women; she could not bear
being treated like a fattened pig to be sold at market. She hated that her fate
was in the hands of her father.

I
cannot believe he will marry me off to that monster!

Raedwyn
stayed still, facing the window for a long time, her eyes fixed on a horizon
that she could not see. Gradually, the serpent of rage within her stopped
writhing and coiled itself into an iron core. If her father thought he could
turn her into a cowed, fawning drab he was wrong.

***

An icy
wind howled through Rendlaesham, rattling and pummeling the wattle and daub
buildings; its cruel fingers probing under doorways and tearing at the clothes
of those unfortunate enough to be outside.

Caelin was
one such unlucky individual. He was warmly dressed – slaves were no use if they
died from the cold – in thick leather breeches cross-gartered to the knee, two
wool tunics and a heavy fur cloak, but still the cold penetrated to the bone.
Using a crudely constructed shovel, Caelin scooped muck onto a cart while the
wind buffeted him. The manure pile he stood before was nearly shoulder high, as
they kept many of the animals confined for weeks due to the bad weather. The
snow was slowly melting, turning the stable yard into a stinking sea of mud and
dung, but the manure had to be moved. The stench made Caelin’s eyes water.

Once the
cart was full, Caelin then pulled it through the mud, out of the gates and down
to the outskirts of Rendlaesham. There, he unloaded the manure around some of
the fruit trees. Caelin worked methodically, but without hurrying. He welcomed
the hard, physical labor for when he worked he was warm. Work also allowed him
respite from his thoughts. He was by nature a patient man but this winter was
dragging on interminably and he longed for some sign of approaching spring.

Spring
would herald his escape from this place.

Unfortunately,
the apple trees in the orchard were still bare of leaves. Nature was still in
hibernation. He would wait a while longer.

Returning
to the muckheap, Caelin set about reloading the cart before dragging it back
down to the orchard once more. A gray dusk was approaching as he pulled the
empty cart back up towards the Great Hall. The wind had not lessened. It
slapped him around the face and stung his cheeks. Back at the stable yard,
Caelin deposited the stinking cart under a lean-to and made his way, not back
to his freezing stall, but into the main stable building.

Inside,
three other slaves, Alchfrid, Immin and Sebbi, were standing around a small fire
warming their hands. A pot simmered over the embers. Caelin liked these men;
they were Northumbrian, taken after Raedwald bested the Northumbrian ruler,
Aethelfrith, nine years earlier. Then, they would have been boys on the edge of
manhood. Now they were tall, gruff men who, a few summers younger than Caelin,
looked to him as their unofficial leader. Caelin’s life here was harder than
theirs; his duties the heaviest and most unpleasant, but this only increased
his standing with his three new friends. Their common bondage united the four
of them. They were at best ignored, or at worst, reviled by Raedwald’s other
servants.

“Whew, you
reek of the dung heap.” Sebbi made space for Caelin by the fire.

Caelin
shrugged and placed his hands before the flames, sighing as the fire’s warmth
seeped into his numb fingers.

“Who would
have thought a horse could shit so much!” Immin, who was looking pale and
pinched, grumbled. He wrinkled his nose as the stench reached him. “Bloody
beasts!”

Caelin
grinned, despite his tiredness, at Immin’s outburst. Alchfrid caught his eye
and winked. “Someone got kicked in the cods today.”

Caelin
scrunched up his face in sympathy. “Not Raven?”

“He’s a
demon,” Immin exploded. Relations between Immin and Raedwald’s prize young
stallion were not friendly. The yearling chaffed at being cooped up indoors and
regularly took his vile temper out on Immin who was charged with his care. “A
vicious beast only fit for the dogs!”

Caelin
shook his head, suppressing laughter. “You and Raven would tolerate each other
better if you stayed clear of his rear end.”

“Believe
me, I try to.” Immin shifted his weight and winced. “But he twists like a
snake. The bastard nearly gelded me!”

“There is
a pail of hot water in the stall at the back Caelin,” Alchfrid interrupted
Immin’s lament. “We thought you might need it.”

Caelin
nodded, tiredness creeping over him now that he no longer had to fight with the
howling wind. He could still hear it, hammering against the walls.

“I thank
you Alchfrid,” Caelin replied. “What’s this foul thing you’ve got boiling
here?” Caelin peered into the pot. “Looks like innards. Immin – you didn’t gut
Raven did you?”

“If I
didn’t fear having my head parted from my shoulders by Raedwald’s blade I would
have,” Immin replied looking glum.

“It’s a
stew I made with pork scraps,” Sebbi interjected with an injured tone. “It will
be better than an empty belly.”

“When will
it be ready?” Immin complained. “A man could starve to death waiting to be
fed.”

“Stop
bleating,” Sebbi snapped before giving the stew a cautious stir. “It will be
ready soon Caelin if you want to wash up.”

Caelin
removed his stinking self from the fireside and left his friends to breathe
sweeter air. Reaching the stall where he slept, he found a steaming pail of
water, clean clothes and a rag to wash with. Caelin stripped off and hung his
filthy clothes over the partition between the stalls. There was no use in
washing them, as there was still muck to shovel tomorrow. He hurriedly sluiced
himself down with hot water, scrubbing at his skin until it glowed a dull red,
before dunking his head into the cooling water and scrubbing at his scalp. It
was cold inside the stables now that he was away from the fire. Caelin quickly
dressed in the only semi-clean clothes he had: woolen leggings and a long wool
tunic. He then pulled on some fur-lined boots before re-joining his friends.

They were
gossiping about the goings on within the King’s Hall when Caelin inserted
himself between Immin and Sebbi. He took the stale trencher Alchfrid handed
him, while Sebbi filled it with steaming stew. Breaking off their conversation
to eat, the four men sat cross-legged on straw around the fire and attacked
their food. Despite its vile appearance, Sebbi’s pork stew was tasty. He had
somehow managed to purloin a few onions and carrots from the servants to add
flavor to the meal. The stale bread trenchers softened with the stew and the
hungry men ripped them into bits and ate them too once the stew was finished.

Once their
bellies were full, the men continued their earlier conversation.

“I
overheard the servants today.” Immin, ever eager to spread a good rumor, leaned
forward over the fire as he began his tale. “They say the king’s betrothed his
daughter to Eafa of Mercia.”

Alchfrid
shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Her husband’s been dead
since summer.”

“Yes, but
do any of you know who this Eafa is?” Immin continued.

Sebbi and
Alchfrid shook their heads while Caelin remained still. Pleased he could finish
his tale unhindered, Immin belched, before continuing. “The servants spoke of
him as a great Mercian ealdorman. He is known as ‘the Merciful’.”

“Eafa the
Merciful,” Sebbi nodded. “Indeed, I have heard of him.”

“So have
I,” Alchfrid added before shaking his head. “I pity Raedwyn.”

“What do
you mean?” Caelin turned to Alchfrid, his voice sharper than he had intended.
None of them knew of the connection he had with Raedwyn, and now Caelin cursed
himself for showing too much interest. They were intelligent men and it would
take little for them to suspect something.

However,
Alchfrid was so involved in the tale, that he did not appear to notice. “You’ve
never heard of Eafa the Merciful?  Raedwald did well to make him an ally. He is
a great warrior but famed for his cruelty.”

“I thought
he was married,” Sebbi added. “His wife must have died.”

Sebbi’s
words hung in the air between them. Caelin sat quietly and tried to keep his
face expressionless. In reality, this news hit him like a blow to his gut.
Sudden, stomach-knotting jealousy that another man would be able to touch the
woman he could not have, consumed him. Then, a chill that had nothing to do
with the icy wind outside, crept over Caelin.