The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Keeping
Secrets

Her parents did not rush to her, as her sister had,
and Merwenna’s heart sank.

It was as she had feared.

Their faces were pale and taut. Her mother’s blue
eyes brimmed with tears, and her father’s expression was stony. His hazel eyes
– so like her brother’s – were harder than she had ever seen them. A few feet
behind him, Seward looked on, his face a cold mask.

If the Prince of Powys had not been standing behind
her, Merwenna would have turned and fled.

“Hello
mōder
,” she smiled wanly at her
mother. Cynewyn stared back, her expression suddenly torn. Merwenna could tell
she wished to embrace her, but anger held her back.

“Merwenna,” Cynewyn finally managed. “I was
beginning to think you would never return.”

Merwenna gave a tearful smile, her gaze shifting to
her father. “
Fæder
?”

Her father, Wilfrid, did not speak. Instead, his
gaze was riveted upon the men who stood a few paces behind her.

One in particular drew his eye – Cynddylan.

Wilfrid stepped forward, still gripping his scythe.
“Who are these men?”

Merwenna stepped back from her mother and hastily
wiped away the tears that had wet her cheeks. Now was not the time for weeping.
She had done something selfish and foolish, and she would have to deal with the
consequences. “They are my escorts from Tamworth. This is Cynddylan ap Cyndrwyn
of Powys.”

“Wes hāl,
”
the prince greeted Wil.

“
Prynhawn da
,” Wil replied, bidding the
newcomer good-afternoon in Cymraeg. “Thank you for bringing our daughter home
safe.”

Cynddylan nodded in response. “It was no bother. We
were traveling the same road. My men are camped just outside the village.”

The prince then inclined his head toward Merwenna,
and gave her an enigmatic smile. “
Hwyl fawr, cariad
. I wish you well.”

With that, the Prince of Powys turned, his purple
cloak billowing behind him, and strode away. His men, Llywelyn and Ifan, fell
in behind him without a word.

Merwenna watched him go, suddenly overwhelmed by a
strange, and unwelcome, sense of loss. The man had caused her no end of stress
on the journey home, yet he had also been her anchor. Now that he was leaving,
she would have to navigate treacherous waters alone. Forcing herself to look
away from him, she turned back to her waiting family.

“You have made powerful friends on your journey
home I see,” Wil observed, his expression even grimmer than before. “Have you
forgotten Beorn already?”

Merwenna flushed at the scorn in her father’s
voice. Never, had he spoken to her thus.

“Of course not,” she gasped as if he had slapped
her. “
Fæder
, Beorn is dead.”

“And you wasted no time finding another,” Seward
spoke up for the first time. “Such is the allure of power.”

“No!”

Silence fell then, punctuated only by the chirping
of crickets and the whisper of the wind through the barley. It was Wilfrid who
broke it.

“We know about Beorn,” he said, his tone softening.
“Word arrived two days ago.”

Merwenna did not reply. It was all she could do not
to dissolve into tears.

“Merwenna,” Wil stepped forward so that he and his
daughter were only two feet apart. He then reached out and took hold of her
chin gently, forcing her to meet his eye. “Why?”

Merwenna’s gaze flicked over to Seward – obviously
he had not provided much of an excuse. In fact, after what had happened in
Tamworth, he would have laid the blame entirely at her feet.

She expected nothing less, for it was the truth.

“I’m so sorry
fæder
,” she began, choking
back a sob. “I thought that if I traveled to Tamworth in search of Beorn, it
would bring him safely home. I knew it was wrong to leave in the midst of
harvest but I could not think of anything except finding him. I realize my
mistake now.”

“It’s too late for that. The pair of you have
gravely disappointed me.”

“Please don’t blame Seward,” Merwenna pleaded. “He
only went because I asked him.”

“He holds as much blame as you,” Wil countered, his
voice as harsh. His baleful gaze shifted to Seward. “He should never have left
Tamworth without you.”

 “Merwenna’s stubborn,” Seward protested, his face
growing pink under his father’s glare. “I couldn’t force her.”

“That’s no excuse,” Wil snarled. “Leaving your sister
to fend for herself in the King’s Hall is unforgivable.”

Merwenna watched the exchange between her brother
and father, before her gaze flicked to her mother’s face. Suddenly, the truth
dawned on her. She had been a fool for not realizing sooner.

Seward had not told them of his disgrace.

***

Merwenna took a bite of leek and rabbit pie and
chewed slowly. She had sorely missed her mother’s cooking. Still, the
atmosphere at the table meant that the evening meal was a tense affair. Even
Aeaba, who usually chirped like a bird during mealtimes, kept silent this
evening.

Seward sat opposite Merwenna, digging into his pie
without a glance in her direction.

He would be wondering when – not if – Merwenna
would betray him to their parents.

Taking another bite of pie, Merwenna glanced to
where her father sat at the head of the table. Wilfrid’s mood had not improved
since her arrival. He was usually such an even-tempered man, it upset her to
see him so angered. Trust was everything to her father. Perhaps things would
never go back to the way they had been.

They concluded the meal in silence, fraught with
the tension of unsaid things. Merwenna helped her mother and sister clear the
table, and wipe it down. Meanwhile, her father went outside to chop wood, and
her brother sloped off to the mead hall.

“Merwenna,” Cynewyn spoke finally, once they were
alone. She had sent Aeaba out to shut the chicken coop for the night, and
Merwenna knew that her mother had been waiting for a chance to speak to her on
her own. “The news of Beorn’s death saddens us all – but how are you coping?”

“I’m fine,” Merwenna lied, refusing to meet her
mother’s eye as she scrubbed down the table with more force than was necessary.
“It was a shock, but I will have to learn to live with it.”

“Stop that and come here,” her mother replied
gently. “I can see you’re suffering. There’s no need to hide it from me.”

Merwenna hurriedly brushed at the tears that now
trickled down her cheeks.

“Crying won’t change anything,” Merwenna whispered.
“He’s gone.”

She dropped the cloth and covered her face with her
hands in an attempt to stifle the sobs that were building inside her. Yet, her
mother’s gentle concern, her understanding, unleashed the tears Merwenna had
been holding back since her arrival. She was vaguely aware of her mother
wrapping her arms around her, and whispering soothing words into her ear,
before the dam burst.

Then, she wept as if her heart would break.

***

A waxing gibbous moon rose high into the sky; a
silver crescent against an inky curtain. It was a warm night, slightly sticky,
and the air smelt of grass and sun-warmed earth. Merwenna sat on a tree stump,
outside her home, listening to the croak of frogs. Inside, her mother and
father had already retired for the night, behind the goat-skin partition at the
back of the dwelling.

Merwenna had left her sister sleeping soundly,
curled up on a pile of furs near the fire pit, and ventured out into the crisp
night air. After her tears earlier, she felt wrung out, tired. Yet, she would
not sleep tonight until she had spoken honestly with Seward.

He was still at the mead hall, and Merwenna would
not seek him out there. The mead hall was the domain of men, not women. If it
took all night, she would wait. He would come home eventually.

It was a restful eve, apart from the distant rise
and fall of drunken voices at the mead hall on the other side of Weyham.
Merwenna felt relief and safety at being home again. She knew this village so
well. The surroundings were all so familiar to her, like the faces of her kin.
Yet, despite her relief, she felt melancholy settle upon her in a heavy mantle
this evening. Her tears had not washed away her sadness.

Weyham had been where she and Beorn were going to
make their future. She had wanted a little home, timbered rather than wattle
and daub, with a thatched roof. She had planned to grow a garden and raise
animals. She had wanted to bear his children.

Weyham was a reminder of her dreams, which now lay
in ashes at her feet.

Now, it felt strangely empty. With Beorn gone, and
her father angry, what did her future hold?

The sight of a figure approaching drew Merwenna
from her contemplation. Immediately, she knew it was Seward. She recognized the
set of his shoulders, his long-limbed stride. He had his head down, and was
deep in thought – and so he did not see his sister till he was nearly on top of
her.

“Good eve, Seward.”

Seward came to an abrupt halt, his head snapping
up. In the silvery moonlight, his expression was hostile.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you,” Merwenna smiled timidly, nerves
getting the better of her. “Only I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“The hall was full of your Cymry friends – drinking
and making merry like it belongs to them. Let’s say, I suddenly lost my taste
for mead.”

Merwenna noted the sarcasm in his voice, but
ignored it. Instead, she swallowed her nervousness and focused on the reason
she had waited for him.

“Seward, I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say.” Seward moved to step
around her, but Merwenna jumped to her feet and blocked his path.

“Please, Seward.”

“Get out of my way, Merwenna.”

“No,” Merwenna stared him down, her heart hammering
against her ribs. She had rarely seen Seward this angry. “You’re my brother,
and there are things that need to be said.
Mōder
and
fæder
don’t
know what really happened in Tamworth, do they?”

Seward grew still. “Are you planning to tell them?”

Merwenna flinched at the harshness of his tone.
“No, not unless you want me to.”

Silence stretched between brother and sister.
Merwenna stared up into Seward’s face, trying to gauge his expression in the
moonlight.

“You think
fæder
was angry today,” he said
finally, “but you didn’t see him when I arrived back a couple of days ago. He
was livid. He nearly cast me out; if it had not been for
mōder
, he
would have. He said that once the harvest was over, we were traveling back to
Tamworth to find you. He told me that if any harm had befallen you – I would no
longer be his son.”

Harsh words, and yet they would have not been
spoken lightly.

“I’m sorry, Seward,” Merwenna breathed. “This was
all my doing.”

Seward gave a deep sigh, and Merwenna sensed his
turmoil. “No,” he replied quietly. “It was not.”

“How is your back?” she asked.

“Healing,” he replied. “Although I haven’t been
able to take my shirt off since I returned.”

“Will it scar?”

“I expect so.”

Merwenna lapsed into awkward silence. There was so
much she wanted to say, but she did not know where to begin.

“Don’t worry,” she told her brother, “I will say
nothing about what happened. I only have one question.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“Why did you do it?”

Seward’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. Then, he
shook his head and gave a humorless laugh.

“I wanted her,” he said finally, “and I took her. I
can honestly say that I gave no thought to the consequences.”

Merwenna stared back at him, unsettled by the
baldness of his answer. A few days earlier, she may not have understood his
meaning, yet now she did. She had recently learned just how powerful lust could
be; had Cynddylan not ended the kiss, she would have been his. The realization
that she could be grieving for one man and display passion for another
disturbed and upset her.

“But, it’s so dangerous,” she murmured. “To give in
to something that takes you over so completely.”

“It is,” Seward replied with another wry laugh,
“and I have the scars to prove it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Alone
in the Woods

“This is a good brew.”

Gwyn raised his cup, filled to the brim with frothy
honeyed mead. He then toasted the Prince of Powys, for the tenth time since they
had taken a seat at one of the long tables inside the mead hall, and took a
deep draught.

Dylan suppressed a grin before sipping from his own
cup. Gwyn was, indeed, in high spirits this eve. His captain was always his
happiest in a mead hall.

They had visited the ealdorman at dusk, and had
shared some of the ealdorman’s supper, only to find themselves invited to
Weyham’s mead hall afterwards. After a long day in the saddle, Dylan had wanted
to return to camp and stretch out in his tent. He felt weary this evening.
Still, it would have been rude not to accept the ealdorman’s invitation.

The ealdorman’s name was Godwine. Seated opposite
Dylan at the table, Godwine of Weyham was starting on what must have been his
eighth cup of mead. He was a huge man, with shaggy, grey-streaked blond hair
and beard. Dylan had recognized him from Penda’s campaign against the
Northumbrians; the ealdorman had fought alongside Dylan, and had been
formidable on the battlefield. Off it, he was amiable and hospitable.

Unlike, many of the other men seated around the
room, who watched the Prince of Powys and his companions with veiled hostility,
there was no such undercurrent in Godwine.

“You and your men fought well at Maes Cogwy,”
Godwine bellowed across the table.

“I thank you, Godwine,” Dylan raised his cup to the
ealdorman. “It’s good to be appreciated.”

“All of us do, it’s just that no Mercian likes to
admit he can’t take on all of Britannia’s armies without a little help.”

Dylan laughed, his fatigue lifting slightly. Still,
the mead tasted cloying in his mouth, and he had been nursing one cup – in
contrast to Gwyn’s four – since their arrival.

‘Drink up, Lord Cynddylan,” Godwine motioned to a
lad, who was circling the table with a jug of mead, to refill Dylan’s cup.
“You’re sipping that like a wench!”

This comment drew a roar of laughter from the
table, Gwyn included.

Dylan gave a lazy smile, and waved the lad away.
“We’ve got an early start tomorrow,” he replied. “And if Gwyn keeps trying to
keep up with you, he’ll be hanging over his horse in the morning, not riding
it.”

Gwyn swore at him in Cymraeg. The tone of his voice
needed no translation, and another boom of laughter rippled down the table.
Dylan felt the tension inside the mead hall lessen somewhat.

“Come, Gwyn,” Dylan stretched, rose from the table
and nodded to the ealdorman. “I thank you for your fine hospitality Godwine,
but my men and I had best retire for the night.”

“What?” Gwyn glowered at him, flushed in the face.
“But I’m not finished.”

“Drink up,” Dylan slapped his captain on the
shoulder before turning his attention back to the ealdorman. “May we meet
again, Godwine of Weyham.”

“Aye,” the ealdorman raised his cup to Dylan. “And
may it be, once again, shoulder to shoulder, not on the opposite sides of a shield
wall.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dylan replied, before raising
his cup and draining the last of his mead.

***

Merwenna walked slowly through the woods, along the
moonlit path, deep in thought.

She knew she should retire for the night, for her
eyes burned with fatigue and her limbs felt leaden. Yet, after her conversation
with Seward, she had needed to walk a while.

Her mind was churning, and she knew that sleep
would not come easily this night.

Without even realizing it, she found herself
walking into the woods behind Weyham and toward the clearing where Beorn had
proposed to her.

Moonlight filtered through the tall trees,
caressing Merwenna’s face as she walked. It was quiet in the woods and the
peace soothed Merwenna’s anxiety. She arrived in the clearing and sat down in
the center of it, upon the stump of an old oak.

The woods had always been her refuge, a magical
place where she could be alone with her thoughts. She had often walked here
with Beorn; the clearing brought back memories of stolen moments together.

Seated upon the stump, Merwenna thought back to the
morning of the proposal; of the joy she had felt when he had asked her to be
his wife, and of the anguish that swiftly followed when he announced he would
be marching off to war.

I tried to tell him
,
she thought sadly.
If a woman knows that battle is not like the songs, why
doesn’t a man?

She had no idea what had become of his corpse; she
imagined it had been burned upon a pyre, with the rest of the Mercian dead.
This clearing was the only remnant of Beorn she had left. She had expected to
feel his presence here, but she was only aware of the empty quiet. Beorn’s
spirit had left this world and closed the door behind him.

Merwenna was so immersed in her own thoughts, lost
in the fog of past words and deeds that could never been changed, that the glow
of torchlight up ahead did not intrude at first. Then, the sound of men’s
voices reached her.

Merwenna froze upon the tree stump, momentarily
stunned by the light.

She was not alone in the woods.

It was late – she had not thought anyone would be
about at this hour. By the time, she had gathered her wits enough to think
about diving for cover, the men were just a few yards from her.

“
Helo!”
one of them called out in Cymraeg.

Merwenna went cold. It was Cynddylan and his men.
She cursed her stupidity, suddenly remembering that Seward had mentioned that
Cynddylan and his men had gone to Weyham’s mead hall. It was too late to run,
and moments later, she was surrounded.

“Merwenna?” the Prince of Powys stepped forward
beside Gwyn, who held a torch aloft. “What are you doing out here?”

Cynddylan was plainly surprised to see her.

Merwenna rose to her feet, gathering her cloak
tightly about her. “I was taking a walk,” she said hurriedly. “I must have lost
track of the time.”

“A walk?” the incredulity in the prince’s voice was
mirrored in the faces of his men. “At this hour?”

“Yes,” Merwenna took a step back from them, her
pulse starting to quicken. Cynddylan and his men had kept her safe on the
journey back to Weyham, but suddenly they appeared threatening, their gazes
wolfish in the torchlight.

“I think she was waiting for you, Cynddylan,” Gwyn
grinned. “Hoping to catch one last glimpse of the great battle lord.”

His comment drew laughter from some of the men. The
prince, however, did not join them.

“No, I wasn’t!” Merwenna choked, anger at Gwyn’s
lewd expression curling like a serpent in her belly. “These woods are my home.
I have more right than you to be here.”

That wiped the smirk of Gwyn’s face. He glowered at
her but did not reply. She watched the prince exchange a glance with his
captain.

“Go on ahead,” Cynddylan commanded him. “I want to
speak to Merwenna alone.”

Gwyn grunted, and with a speculative glance in
Merwenna’s direction moved off. The others followed him along the woodland
path, bringing their torches with them.

Merwenna and Cynddylan were left, facing each
other, illuminated only by the moonlight that filtered through the trees.

“You should go with them,” Merwenna told him, her
voice flat with simmering anger. “Gwyn is wrong. I have no wish to see you.”

“I will go soon enough,” he replied with a
half-smile. “After we have spoken.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

The prince gave a soft laugh, and Merwenna was
aware of how close he stood to her. She could feel the heat of his body. His
nearness was making her light-headed and she struggled to focus.

“So you make a habit of waiting on woodland paths
at night, do you?”

“No,” Merwenna glared at him, “but tonight is
different. I’ve just returned home – and I’ve realized what awaits me.”

“And what’s that?”

Emptiness. Loneliness. Sadness.

“A life without Beorn.”

The humor faded from Cynddylan’s face at the
mention of her betrothed. His eyes gleamed as he gazed down at her.

“Ah, him again,” there was a hardness to his voice
that had not been there earlier. If she had not known better, she would have
thought him jealous.

“Yes, him,” Merwenna straightened her spine and
returned his stare. “I loved him.”

“I’m sure you did,” the prince drawled, “but pining
here, alone in the woods won’t bring him back. Contrary to what you believe,
love doesn’t rule the world. The lust for power and dominance over others is
what drives men – always has, always will.”

“Are all high born men so callous and cruel?”
Merwenna countered, anger making her reckless. “You’re no better than Penda,
incapable of caring for anything beyond your boundaries. You love nothing but
your throne.”

With that, Merwenna stepped back from him and
turned on her heel. Enough. Her nerves were frayed raw; she had no wish to
tarry here a moment longer.

Cynddylan’s hand on her arm stopped her, and he
pulled her round, none to gently, to face him.

“I didn’t give you leave to go,” he ground out.
Merwenna saw that she had succeeded in angering him. The air suddenly crackled
with danger, but her own rage made her disregard it.

“I’m not your subject,” Merwenna snarled back,
struggling to free her arm. However, his grip was like iron. “You don’t command
me!”

Cynddylan gave a muffled curse and pulled her into
his arms, his mouth slanting over hers. His kiss was rough, possessive.

Merwenna pushed against his chest to no avail; he
was as immovable as one of the oaks surrounding them. She opened her mouth to
protest, which was a mistake, for his tongue plunged between her lips and
tangled with hers.

Despite her anger, Merwenna’s body betrayed her, as
it had the evening she had been collecting firewood. Suddenly, her skin felt
bathed in fire. The feel of his hard body, and of his mouth devouring hers,
turned her body molten.

“No,” she gasped, as his mouth left her lips and
grazed the column of her neck. He ignored her protest, and continued his
sensual torture. The sensation of his tongue on her skin turned Merwenna’s
limbs boneless. A deep ache pulsed between her thighs, melting her lower belly.

The prince’s mouth claimed hers once more, and this
time his kiss was deeper and more yielding. He tangled his hands in her hair,
his fingers gently massaging her scalp. The roaring in her ears made Merwenna
feel as if she were standing beneath a waterfall.

The hunger he unlocked inside her made Merwenna
shudder with need. When Cynddylan kissed her, she no longer knew her own name.

Yet, now that she had told him ‘no’, the spell had
been broken. Like a swimmer kicking toward the surface of a deep pool, she tore
her mouth from his and took a deep breath.

“Stop,” she sobbed, pushing at Cynddylan’s chest
with all her might. Anguish bubbled up inside her, and she began to cry.
“Please, just stop!”