Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia) (29 page)

Ermenilda gave a cautious nod. The fact had not been lost on her either. Guilt needled her, for Wulfhere had sustained that injury defending her honor.

The priest was watching her under veiled lids. They had barely spoken since her return to Tamworth. She had sensed his disapproval of her, as she did now.

Ermenilda held his gaze. “Speak freely, Brother Seaxwulf. You have every right to be angry with me.”

Seaxwulf’s mouth thinned, but he said nothing. After a few moments, he looked away, his gaze settling upon the trencher of half-eaten pottage before him.

“My opinion does not matter,” he said, finally. “I expect the abbess would have told you how the church views such deceit.”

Ermenilda nodded. She still felt the sting of Abbess Ardwyn’s shrill words.

“She was incensed,” Ermenilda admitted.

Seaxwulf’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “The abbess is not a woman lightly crossed.”

Ermenilda did not reply. Instead, she took a sip of watered-down wine from her cup, her gaze taking in the long tables where folk ate, drank, and chatted over their pottage. After the sternness and silence of Bonehill, the noise inside the hall almost overwhelmed her.

“So, Wulfhere has forgiven you?” Seaxwulf asked. Ermenilda’s attention shifted back to the priest, and she frowned.

“No . . . I think not.”

“Yet, he has taken you back, as his queen.”

Ermenilda nodded, wary of where this conversation was heading.

“What is it you wish to say, Brother Seaxwulf?”

“It is not easy to wear the crown,” the priest replied gently. “Wulfhere has come to realize that with power comes great responsibility.”

Seaxwulf paused, as if measuring his words, before concluding.

“He is still finding his way, but he needs you at his side to guide him.”

Ermenilda retired to the King’s Loft, in a tense and pensive mood.

Seaxwulf’s words had bothered her more than she liked to admit. The priest had left her to work at her distaff, as soon as the meal ended, and she had been relieved to see him go.

Ermenilda stepped up onto the platform that ringed the edge of the hall and stopped to pat Mōna. The wolf silently guarded her master from below. Ermenilda climbed the ladder to the loft. No one paid the queen any mind as she left the main hall, or bid her good night, but Ermenilda did not care. She preferred they ignored her than reviled her.

Upstairs, Wulfhere lay clad only in his breeches on his side of the furs. The sight of him half-naked caused an odd flutter in Ermenilda’s chest. She paused at the top of the ladder, discomforted. Even from this distance, she could see a sheen of sweat covered his naked skin. Quietly, Ermenilda stepped onto the platform and made her way over the furs.

His eyes opened as she approached him.

“Good eve, Ermenilda,” he rasped.

She nodded in response before deftly removing her woolen overdress, so that she was clad only in a thin linen tunic, and sliding into the furs beside him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Terrible,” he replied and attempted a smile. “Like I’ve been clubbed repeatedly before being dunked in scalding water.”

Ermenilda winced at the description. “Surely, Glaedwine will be able to heal you. I hear his skill is famed throughout Mercia.”

“He worries that Werbode’s seax blade carried a taint, which has poisoned my blood,” Wulfhere replied. “If that’s the case, there’s little he can do.”

Ermenilda did not reply. Wulfhere spoke in such a matter-of-fact fashion that she wondered if he cared what happened to him.

Silence stretched out between them for a few moments, before Wulfhere broke it.

“If I die, you will be in danger.”

“You won’t die,” Ermenilda replied quickly. Too quickly, for his fever-glazed eyes widened. “You don’t need to worry about me,” she concluded, looking away from him.

“I’ve seen the way folk here now look at you,” Wulfhere answered. “Without my protection, you risk harm.”

Ermenilda met his gaze once more. The intensity in his voice worried her, and this time she did not deny the danger she was in. Eventually, she nodded.

“What should I do?”

Wulfhere reached to the right of the bed, where his fighting dagger lay sheathed in its leather scabbard. He handed it to her. “Take my seax. Wear it strapped around your waist at all times.”

Ermenilda took it wordlessly, fear fluttering in the pit of her belly.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to use it,” she murmured.

Wulfhere ignored her protest. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed upon her face.

“Mōna will protect you. From tomorrow onward, wear the seax and take my wolf everywhere with you.”

When Ermenilda remained silent, he reached out and placed a hand on her forearm. She stifled a gasp of surprise. His skin burned as if lit by a furnace within.

“Promise me,” Wulfhere rasped.

“Very well,” Ermenilda agreed.

This conversation had put her on edge. She found it awkward that Wulfhere focused so entirely upon her, when he was the one lying there with an infected leg and a fever raging through his body.

She was the last thing he should be worrying over.

The next morning, Ermenilda awoke to find Wulfhere’s condition had deteriorated further. He could not even summon the energy to rise from the furs, so Ermenilda went downstairs to break her fast alone.

As he had asked, she strapped the seax around her waist before doing so.

Ermenilda sent for Glaedwine and sat alone upon the high seat. She ate a light meal of fresh bread, washed down with a cup of milk. Afterward, she retrieved a bowl of water and a clean square of cloth, and climbed back up the ladder to the King’s Loft.

“What are you doing back here?” Wulfhere greeted her. His tone was surly. He was not taking well to being ill and bedridden.

“The healer will be here soon,” she replied, ignoring his brusqueness. She placed the bowl of water and cloth on the floor, near the furs, and crossed to a small table, where a clay jug and cup rested. Wordlessly, she poured the king a cup of water before crossing to him and kneeling.

“You must drink something.”

“I’m not a child,” he grumbled.

“No, but you’re ill, and you need water,” Ermenilda replied.

Wulfhere raised himself up on his elbows, groaning from the effort, and let her raise the cup to his lips. He took two gulps before sinking back down into the furs with a groan.

“I feel like an old man.”

Ermenilda wet the cloth she had brought upstairs and bathed his forehead. Wulfhere let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes.

“You have gentle hands,” he murmured.

Ermenilda smiled at that but said nothing. She was wringing out the cloth and about to wipe Wulfhere’s face with it when she heard the clunk of booted feet upon the ladder leading up to the loft. She swiveled to see Glaedwine step up onto the platform, his robes swishing around him. He clutched a basket of his herbs, tinctures, and remedies by his side.

“How fares the king this morning?” he asked.

“Worse,” Ermenilda replied, rising to her feet. She looked down at Wulfhere. He had opened his eyes and was watching her. Usually, the cunning man attended to Wulfhere on his own, but she thought she might stay to assist.

“Would you like me to remain, and help Glaedwine?” she asked.

Wulfhere shook his head. “You don’t need to see this, Ermenilda. Leave us for a while.”

Ermenilda nodded and, without another word, left the platform. She knew that the healer would have to clean and dress Wulfhere’s infected leg, something that would cause the king great pain. She did not blame him for not wanting others to witness it.

She descended the ladder, but the moment she stepped down from it, Ermenilda felt hostile stares digging into her flesh. Word that the king’s condition had worsened had obviously spread around the hall. She could see the accusations in their stares.

Nearby, she spied two women, Aeaba and Burghild, who sat together sewing. Before her departure, they had been friendly toward her, although Ermenilda had found their delight in gossip wearisome. Now, they viewed her like an imposter. Their hate-filled stares pinned her to the spot.

Wulfhere had spoken true. If he died, they would surely stone her to death.

Ermenilda suppressed a shudder and decided it was time she removed herself from the hall for a while. She had not visited her garden since returning to Tamworth and suddenly longed for it.

“Come, Mōna,” she commanded. The wolf, which had been sitting at the foot of the ladder, smoothly rose to her feet and trotted to Ermenilda. Mōna glanced back at the ladder expectantly.

Ermenilda reached down and stroked the wolf’s pelt. In answer, Mōna gave a low whine and nudged Ermenilda’s leg with her muzzle.

“He’s not joining us today,” she murmured. “Sorry, girl.”

Ignoring Aeaba and Burghild—who continued to glare at her—Ermenilda led the way out of the Great Hall, with the wolf trotting at her side.

The moment that Ermenilda stepped beyond the wattle gate into her garden, the gloom that had dogged her steps for the past few days lifted. Weeds had started to choke some of the vegetables, but the peace of her surroundings welcomed her.

Tears blurred Ermenilda’s vision as she walked up the path between the vegetable beds.

I should have come here earlier.

At the center of the garden, there were signs that someone had been working here recently—a pile of weeds, freshly pulled from the damp soil. Ermenilda smiled. Wynflaed had not abandoned the garden in her absence.

Mōna sat down nearby, watching her.

“We’ll stay here awhile, girl,” Ermenilda told her, before retrieving a basket and a small wooden trowel. “I have some work to do.”

Relieved to be alone, Ermenilda knelt at the edge of one of the beds and began to weed.

Her return to Tamworth had been even harder than she had anticipated. Wulfhere’s fight with Werbode and now his sickness had thrown her into turmoil. Guilt was now her companion. Wulfhere grew increasingly ill, while the atmosphere in the hall itself crackled with tension, like heavy air before a storm.

It was a cool, overcast morning, perfect for gardening. Ermenilda worked hard, losing track of time. The sun had reached its zenith in the sky before she eventually took a break.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, she sat upon the stone bench at the heart of the garden and took a gulp of water from the bladder she had brought with her. Nearby, Mōna had stretched out on the pebbly ground and fallen asleep.

Ermenilda knew she should probably return to the hall and join the king’s retainers for the noon meal. Indeed, her belly rumbled—but she could not face them all so soon. The silence and solitude of her garden embraced her like an old friend, and she did not want to leave it.

She rested upon the bench for a few moments more, before returning to her work. The wind had got up, fanning Ermenilda’s heated cheeks. She was in the midst of pulling up some cabbages, which had gone to seed, when she heard the gate creak open.

Ermenilda tensed and turned to the sound. Likewise, Mōna sat up, instantly alert.

Wynflaed had entered the garden, bearing a basket. The young woman stopped just inside the gate, her gaze going to Mōna. Like many inside the hall, Wynflaed was wary of the king’s white wolf.

Ermenilda rose to her feet, brushing dirt off her hands. After their conversation the day before, she was worried what Wynflaed might say to her.

“Good day,” Ermenilda greeted her hesitantly.

Wynflaed nodded, her gaze never leaving Mōna.

“It is safe for me to enter?”

Ermenilda smiled. “Of course, Mōna won’t hurt you.”

Unconvinced, Wynflaed moved slowly up the path.

“The wolf always ignored you before. What has changed?”

Ermenilda shrugged. “She has become protective of me since my return.”

Wynflaed stopped a few feet away and held out the basket.

“You weren’t at the noon meal, so I brought you something to eat.”

Ermenilda smiled once more, gratitude washing over her.

“That is kind, Wynflaed. Thank you.”

She approached the maid and took the basket from her, before seating herself upon the bench. Ermenilda peeked inside and saw there was bread, cheese, slices of cold mutton. and some small sweet onions. Her mouth watered in anticipation.

“There’s enough for two, would you like some?”

The girl shook her head. “I have already eaten.”

Ermenilda helped herself to some bread and a slice of mutton and began to eat. After the second mouthful, she motioned to a spot on the bench beside her.

“Please, it’s difficult to eat while being watched. Why don’t you sit down?”

Wynflaed did as bade, although Ermenilda could feel the tension emanating off her. Eventually, the maid broke the silence between them.

“They say the king is worse.”

“He is,” Ermenilda confirmed.

“What will you do if he dies?”

Ermenilda’s stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

“I don’t know.”

Life as a nun at Bonehill was not an option. In fact, she wondered if any nunnery would take her after what she had done. She could go to her aunt in Ely, or return to her parents in Cantwareburh, but neither of those options tempted. She still missed her mother and sister, but the last few months had changed her—she knew she could not return to her old life.

Still, the thought of remaining in Tamworth, reviled by all, did not appeal either.

Ermenilda finished her meal and brushed the crumbs off her skirts. She glanced across at Wynflaed to find her staring morosely at the ground.

“I missed you, Wynflaed,” she admitted. “Yet, I remember you used to smile more. Have I angered you so much?”

Wynflaed sighed and glanced up. “It was a shock, seeing you again, milady, but I am glad you are alive,” she began, her voice subdued. “Much changed after you disappeared—life here changed. I no longer had you as my companion. Now, with Elfhere gone, accompanying Aethelred to Ely, I feel isolated.”