The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

The
Kiss

Merwenna added another stick to her armload of
kindling. The wood was damper than she would have liked. She had been forced to
venture into the trees, away from the fringes of the woods, to find anything
worth burning. 

It had been drizzling for most of the day, and
around her the daylight was slowly fading into a murky twilight. She would not
linger out here for much longer, for it was becoming difficult to see. She
picked up one final piece of kindling and was about to retrace her steps back
to camp, when she heard footsteps behind her.

She whirled around, and in her fright, dropped the
wood she had been carrying.

Cynddylan was standing a few feet behind her.

Merwenna stared at him, her heart hammering. “What
are you doing here, Milord? You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he gave an apologetic smile. “You were
gone awhile, so I thought I’d better come find you.”

“Well, as you can see I’m unharmed,” Merwenna’s
face flamed as she bent to retrieve the sticks. “I thank you for your concern.”

“It was well meant, Merwenna,” he replied. “I’ve
seen the way my men look at you. Many of them are hungry for a woman. Seeing
you wander off alone into the woods is too much temptation.”

I’ve seen the way you look at me
,
Merwenna tried to ignore her palpitating heart.
It’s you I need to be wary
of.

 The only man she feared in the Cymry encampment
was the one standing before her.

“I don’t need your protection,” she insisted,
lifting her chin stubbornly. “Please leave me be.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he raised an
eyebrow. “Drefan of Chester may have followed us. Such a man does not abandon
his quarry without a fight.”

The mention of the cloth merchant’s name caused a
shiver of dread to run down Merwenna’s spine. She cast a nervous glance around
her, as if she expected Drefan to leap at her from the shadows.

“Well then,” she clutched the wood to her breast,
feigning courage. “Escort me back to the camp, if it pleases you.”

The Prince of Powys nodded, but instead of turning
and leading the way back through the trees – he slowly walked toward her. He
stopped, so close that they were barely touching.

“It pleases me to look upon you,” he murmured.

Merwenna swallowed, her mouth was suddenly dry and
her heart was racing as if she had finished a sprint.

Gods, no.

“Please don’t,” she finally managed, gripping the
twigs as if they were keeping her afloat.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his gaze roaming over her face.

“Stare at me.”

“But, I can’t help myself. You are lovely,
Merwenna.”

“Well, you should stop,” Merwenna’s voice was
barely above a whisper. “It’s wrong. I am grieving for Beorn. I just want to go
home.”

Even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow.

He stepped closer still, his hand reaching out to
lightly caress her cheek. Merwenna trembled under his touch and hated herself
for it.

“I can’t stop,” he said simply. “You are too
lovely. I am but a moth to your flame.”

“But I…”

The prince’s mouth came down over hers, cutting off
her protest. The shock of his lips against her own caused her to gasp. The
twigs slid from her arms and fell to her feet.

With a groan low in his throat, Cynddylan pulled
her hard against him. In moments, his kiss changed from a gentle caress, to
hungry, hot and demanding.

Merwenna struggled against him at first – but, a
moment later, she was lost. The feel of his lips on hers caused all rational
thought to cease. Her body and senses betrayed her completely. She melted into
his arms, her mouth opening under his.

He kissed her hungrily, pulling her body against
the length of his. The hardness of him, the musky scent of his skin, the
roughness of his new growth of beard, the taste of him – together unleashed
something within Merwenna.

With a groan of surrender, she gave herself up to
the kiss.

Cynddylan’s hands slid up the length of her back,
up her neck, and tangled in her hair. He then deepened the kiss further,
exploring her mouth with his tongue. Merwenna’s knees gave, and had he not been
holding up upright, she would have crumpled to the ground.

The kiss drew out. Yet – eventually – it was the
prince who broke it.

Merwenna’s pulse was throbbing in her throat, and
her head spinning. Cynddylan was breathing heavily. His cheeks were flushed and
his eyes had gone dark. His gaze still locked with hers, the prince released
Merwenna and stepped back from her.

Around them, the rain fell in a gentle, silent
mist.

Mortification slowly crept across Merwenna’s body.
The desire that had momentarily overtaken her was seeping away; replaced with
burning shame.

What had she done? Beorn’s ashes were barely cold
and here she was kissing another. Not only that, but she had enjoyed it.

A sob rose in Merwenna’s chest. She had not
deserved Beorn, and it was for that Tiu, God of war and the sky, had taken him
from her. This was her punishment.

“Leave me be,” she gasped, hating herself as much
as him in that moment.

The firewood forgotten, she pushed past Cynddylan
and, without another word, fled back to the camp.

Chapter Seventeen

Homecoming

“I’m walking today,” Merwenna informed the prince
coldly.

They had not spoken since their kiss the night
before. Dawn had just broken, and the army were packing up. Cynddylan had been
in the midst of saddling his horse when she strode up to him.

“Excuse me?” he turned and regarded her, clearly
amused.

Merwenna wished she had the courage to strike him.
“You heard. I’m not riding with you. I will travel on foot.”

Merwenna clenched her fists by her sides as she
finished speaking and braced herself for his refusal. However, she would not be
swayed. She had spent most of the night in tears, but had woken ready for a
fight. The only way he would get her to ride with him today would be to tie her
up.

Cynddylan observed her silently for a moment
before, unexpectedly, shrugging. “As you wish,
cariad
.”

Merwenna ground her teeth. She hated when he called
her ‘sweetheart’ in Cymraeg. After what had happened last night, it was like a
slap in the face. Without another word she turned and stalked off to retrieve
her things.

She was still seething when the army moved off, traveling
northwest down the shallow Weyham valley. She walked amongst the sea of men,
anger a painful knot in her belly. The Prince of Powys had been playing with
her. He had known she was grieving for her betrothed but had wanted to prove he
could have her nonetheless. No doubt he had congratulated himself on how easily
she had succumbed to him.

Is that what power did to a man? She only hoped
that now he had made his point, Cynddylan would leave her alone.

Merwenna walked behind the horsemen, where the
first of the spearmen marched. They carried long ash spears and walked with
shields slung across their backs. Some of them also carried throwing axes notched
in their belt and
scramasax
, fighting daggers, at their sides. It was a
mild morning. There had been a little mist at daybreak, but as the sun rose
into the sky, it quickly burned off and the day began to warm.

They were close to her home now. She knew the brook
that babbled its way over the smooth stones here – the Larkflow. In the upper
reaches of the valley, the Larkflow was a gentle stream, however, it widened
and deepened by the time it reached Weyham. Merwenna had many memories of
bathing in its cool water, of sitting with her little sister on in its banks
watching her brother skim stones across its gently rippling surface.

The sight of the river distracted Merwenna from her
rage, and made her focus on what lay ahead.

***

They reached Weyham in the late afternoon, as the
shadows were beginning to lengthen and the sun drenched the world in a veil of
gold. It was the perfect afternoon for a homecoming. Yet, Merwenna’s stomach
was knotted in dread when Cynddylan’s army drew up in the meadows.

To the west was a belt of woodland. Beyond those
trees lay Weyham.

Merwenna made her way up to the front of the
column, where she knew she would find the prince. He was waiting for her, still
mounted upon his stallion. Around him was a small company of riders, who also
waited while the rest of the army made camp for the day.

“Are you ready?” Cynddylan asked, his face
impassive.

Merwenna nodded.

“Ride with me.”

She shook her head. “No thank you, Milord, I’ll
walk.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Climb up or
Gwyn will throw you across the saddle. Your choice.”

Merwenna glanced across at where Gwyn stood,
frowning at her. His thick arms were crossed before him and he looked in an ill
temper.

Conceding with a glower, she took Cynddylan’s
proffered hand and vaulted lightly up onto the stallion’s back. She had hardly
settled into place, when Dylan wheeled the horse around and spurred it toward
the trees.

“Let’s get you home.”

The company of riders cantered to the tree line,
before slowing to a trot. They entered the woods single-file along a narrow
track through dappled sunlight, under a canopy of oak and beech. They rode in
silence; the only sound the clump of the horses’ heavy hooves on the damp
earth.

Merwenna was thrown against Dylan with every
stride, although she was grateful he did not speak. He had not shared the tent
with her last night, leaving her alone with her tears and self-recrimination.
For that she had been grateful.

They passed through the woods quickly, past the
very spot where Merwenna and Beorn had stood on that early spring day, when he
had proposed to her. It was only four months ago, but it seemed as if years had
passed since that moment.

Merwenna did not feel like the same person. She had
changed – and not for the better. She had been happier before; cloaked in the
security that ignorance brings. Only, once that cloak fell away, there was no
going back to the way things were. The thought of returning home suddenly
filled her with dread.

The horses emerged from the trees and rode down a
dirt track in-between fields of barley. Folk were out harvesting, sweating in
the humidity of the late afternoon. Up ahead, Merwenna spied the thatched roofs
of Weyham, with the ealdorman’s hall rising above the others.

“Where do we find your parents?” Cynddylan asked.

“On the far side of the village,” Merwenna replied,
averting her gaze from the curious faces of the villagers they passed.

It was difficult to maintain her composure. Here
she was, escorted by Cymry warriors on Mercian land. All those who gazed upon
her, would recognize her face. Weyham was small enough that she knew everyone
by name. Some folk even called out to her, and waved. Merwenna pretended that
she had not heard, keeping her head downcast. She wished she had donned her
cloak before riding here; at least then she could have pulled up her hood to
protect her identity.

Weyham was little more than a scattering of
dwellings around a central grassy area. On the way in they passed the village’s
mead hall; a low-slung, wedge-shaped, windowless building. It was empty at this
hour – although as soon as dusk settled it would be full of thirsty men.
Farther in, they rode before the ealdorman’s hall.

“I should stop and give my regards to the
ealdorman, lest he takes offence,” the Prince of Powys commented as they rode
by the impressive timbered hall. “However, I know how keen you are to be free
of me – so I’ll take you home first.”

Merwenna did not reply. They both knew the truth of
it.

The house belonging to Wilfrid was made of oak with
a thick thatch. It was far humbler than the ealdorman’s hall but, at the same
time, much grander than most of the wattle and daub dwellings in Weyham. It sat
apart from the other houses, on the edge of tended fields, and had two
out-buildings: a food store and a chicken coop.

Cynddylan drew his horse up outside the dwelling
and looked about.

“This is a fine home,” he observed.

Merwenna ignored him and slid off the stallion’s
back.

“Where are your parents?” Cynddylan turned in the
saddle, regarding her.

“They’ll be out in the fields at this hour,”
Merwenna replied. “Harvesting.”

“Well then,” Cynddylan dismounted and tossed his
reins to one of his men. “I’d better deliver you to them.”

“That’s not necessary, Milord,” Merwenna replied
coldly. “I can deal with them myself, thank you.”

“Oh, but I insist,” Cynddylan smiled. “I’ve brought
you all this way. I intend to make sure you’re safe before I take my leave.”

“I’m not a child,” Merwenna answered through
gritted teeth.

“I’m well aware of that,” the prince gave her a
lingering glance before he turned to his men. “Llywelyn, Ifan – come with us.”

Merwenna and Cynddylan skirted the edge of the
timbered dwelling and walked out into the fields with two warriors trailing
them. Merwenna spotted her family immediately. She could see four figures, hard
at work in the distance. The fields grew enough food to feed them, and enough
to trade with neighbors. Her father, who had spent his younger years as a
warrior, had shown a flair for farming in middle-age; one that had kept his
family well-fed through poor harvests and bitter winters.

The newcomers walked across the tended fields, in
between rows of cabbages, carrots and onions, still much of it to be harvested.
Merwenna grew steadily more nervous as they approached her family. The rock that
had settled in the pit of her belly was growing heavier by the moment. Her step
faltered, but the prince took her by the arm and gently propelled her forward.

“Go on – they are waiting for you.”

Merwenna threw him a venomous look, wrenched her
arm free and stalked off ahead. As she neared the group, she could make them
all out individually. She could see her father and Seward scything barley.
Aeaba and her mother trailed behind, gathering up the fallen stalks and
bundling them into sheaves.

“Merwenna!” Aeaba was the first to spot her
sister’s approach. The little girl threw down the sheaf she had just finished
tying and sprinted across the stubble toward her. Merwenna had to physically
brace herself for the onslaught; Aeaba was more powerful than she looked. The
force of her sister’s hug nearly knocked Merwenna off her feet.

Merwenna hugged her sister fiercely, her eyes
stinging with tears. Finally extracting herself from Aeaba’s bone-crushing
embrace, Merwenna looked up to see that the rest of her family approached.

The moment she had been dreading had finally come.