The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

Heledd

“Betrayer!” Morfael’s face twisted. “We will have
reckoning for this!”

Angry shouts, and oaths of vengeance rang out
across the hall.

“Indeed we will,” Dylan agreed, once the noise had
died down. “Penda’s treachery will not go unanswered. Once the victory feasting
is done, and after I have been crowned, I will gather another army. As soon as
we have enough men, we shall march on Tamworth.”

The prince’s announcement brought bellows of
support from around the hall.

Looking on, Merwenna had no need of translation. It
was plain to see that Dylan had told his brother of Penda’s plot to kill him.

The bloodlust in the eyes of those surrounding
Merwenna, frightened her.

March on Tamworth? Was she the only one here who
realized the folly of such an act? Dylan was letting his own anger, and that of
those surrounding him, cloud his judgement; he could not see past his need for
vengeance.

“Dylan!”

The commotion had just started to die down when a
female’s voice echoed across the hall.

Merwenna turned toward the voice, just in time to
see a young woman, around her own age, fly across the rush-matting toward the
prince. She was breathtakingly beautiful; tall and slender with a mane of
straight dark hair, chiseled cheekbones and piercing emerald eyes.

Ignoring everyone else present, the girl flung
herself into Dylan’s arms.

His reckoning momentarily forgotten, the prince
laughed and swung her around, causing the fine blue linen of her skirts to
billow.

Looking on, Merwenna felt jealousy slice into her
like a blade, twisting cruelly just below the ribs.

Who was this beauty? Suddenly, she felt sick to her
stomach.

He told me there was no betrothed
waiting for him here.

Then, she cursed herself. It should not matter to
her anyway. And yet it did – it mattered very much.

Dylan hugged the young woman tight before gently
releasing her and setting her back down upon the rush-matting. Smiling, he took
hold of the woman’s hands and gazed down at her.

“It’s good to see you, Heledd.”

Heledd – his sister
.

Of course, now that the green-hued veil of jealousy
had been lifted she could see it; the family resemblance was obvious. She had
the same chiseled features as her two brothers, although hers were far more
delicate, and the same moss-green eyes.

“You were gone far too long, Dylan,” Heledd chided
him, pouting. “And now you talk of leaving again, when you’ve just returned.”

“I’m afraid, I must,” her brother replied with an
apologetic shake of his head. “However, I bring you a gift from Mercia.”

“Really?” the girl’s face lit up. “For me?”

Dylan nodded. “I might be dead now, if a kind young
woman had not warned me of Penda’s plan to murder me while I slept. In thanks,
her father has gifted her to me, and I give her to you as your new hand-maid.
Merwenna, come forward.”

Merwenna hung back, flushing hot with
embarrassment, and pretended she had not heard the prince. The moment she had
been dreading had arrived.

“Merwenna,” Dylan’s voice hardened slightly. “Step
forward.”

Reluctantly, she did as bid, gaze downcast. Deathly
silence followed.

Eventually, as the hush drew out, Merwenna raised
her chin and dared a glance at her surroundings. Hundreds of pairs of eyes had
fixed upon her. Merwenna’s skin prickled and she fought the urge to stare down
at her feet. She had promised herself she would not cower here, but the reality
of matters overwhelmed her. The air suddenly crackled with hostility.

“This is a strange gift, brother,” Heledd was
staring at Merwenna, a scowl marring her pretty face. She spoke Englisc now,
with a pleasant, lilting accent. “I do not want a Mercian woman to attend me.”

“Ah, but this Mercian woman saved your brother’s
life,” Dylan too changed to Merwenna’s tongue, so that she could follow their
conversation. “We owe her our thanks. She is sweet and biddable, and will make
an excellent maid.”

Merwenna ground her teeth. He made her sound
spineless, mocking her for all to see.

“Have you lost your wits, brother?” Morfael interrupted,
scowling. “I think…”

 “Is she your whore?” demanded one of the older
warriors, cutting Morfael off. He was a powerfully built man of around fifty
winters. He spoke Englisc crudely, yet his meaning was painfully clear.

“No, she’s not, uncle,” Dylan answered, not
appearing offended in the least by the man’s rudeness. “Merwenna is still a
maid, and will make an ideal servant for my sister.”

The Prince of Powys stretched his back then,
stifling a yawn as he did so. It had been a long day – and the gesture signaled
the matter was closed.

“Enough of this talk. Heledd – take Merwenna to
your bower and show her where she shall sleep.”

Dylan stepped away from the women, brushing past
his frowning brother, and climbed up onto the high seat. Then, he settled
himself onto his carved wooden throne and stretched his long legs out before
him. He glanced over at his uncle, who had not moved, and was regarding him, a
scowl creasing his heavy features.

“It’s good to be home, Elfan. Now, how about
breaking open that mead?”

***

“You are not sharing my bower,” Heledd’s first
words to Merwenna were hissed with ill-concealed venom. “I shall not sleep next
to a Mercian.”

They had just stepped behind the heavy tapestry
that shielded them from view from the rest of the hall. Beyond, Merwenna could
hear the rumble of men’s voices. The princess’ words stung but Merwenna did not
answer. She had not expected a warm welcome here.

Instead, she cast her gaze around Heledd’s tiny
bower, taking in her surroundings. A pile of furs dominated the space; while a
collection of tunics, wealcas and over-dresses, hung like brightly colored
butterflies from the wall, either side of a tiny window. There was a small oak
table in one corner, upon which were clay pots of creams and potions. The scent
of rose, lavender and rosemary reached Merwenna and she inhaled deeply. It may
have been small, but she could only dream of having a space like this all to
herself.

“You will sleep outside,” Heledd scooped up one of
her furs and shoved it into Merwenna’s arms. You can guard the way into my
bower, like a dog.”

Merwenna’s lips compressed, but she continued to
hold her tongue.

Frankly, it would be a relief to sleep apart from
this nasty female. There were girls in her village like this; vain and spoiled
with sharp tongues. She pushed her way out from behind the tapestry and spread
out the fur on the narrow ledge outside. When she was done, she turned to find
Heledd standing behind her. The princess watched her with a narrowed gaze.

“How may I assist you, Milady?” Merwenna asked. She
hoped her respectful tone would sweeten that sour face. Although most of those
inside the Great Hall were clustered around the high seat, passing around cups
of frothy mead – she was aware that a few of the women were looking her way.
Their gazes were not friendly.

“I don’t want your help,” Heledd sniffed. “This is
not a gift, but an insult. I will make sure my brother understands that by
morning.”

Merwenna cast her gaze down at the rushes.
Suddenly, cleaning privies and shoveling muck seemed a far more pleasant chore
than waiting upon this princess.

“The evening meal is almost upon us,” Heledd
continued. “You will help the servants and not rest for the night until the
last one of them has finished their duties.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Go on then. Don’t just stand there. Are you
dull-witted?”

Merwenna did not reply. Instead, she went, gladly,
and joined the hive of bustling servants who were preparing the evening meal of
baked pike, leek soup and fresh bread, at the far end of the hall.

Unfortunately, the servants were no more welcoming
than their mistress. To make matters even more difficult, none of them spoke a
word of her tongue and she was forced to communicate in broken Cymraeg. Her
attempts caused an explosion of mirth. One of the serving girls rolled her eyes
and muttered something to the woman kneading bread beside her. Whatever she had
said must have been clever, for the pair of them doubled over, cackling.

Merwenna let out a long sigh and imagined she was
far from here. She envisaged herself walking in the woods behind Weyham,
listening to the evening chorus of birdsong. She imagined she was shelling peas
with her little sister outside her home, watching the sun slip behind the
trees.

Instead, a huge pile of leeks was roughly shoved
into her arms by one of the servants – thrusting her back into reality. The
woman barked an order at her. Merwenna did not understand a word of it, but
knew nonetheless what was expected of her. She was to chop leeks for soup.

Glad to have a task that would take her mind off
her unpleasant situation, Merwenna carried the leeks over to a bench and
reached for a knife. Then, she began to slice the vegetables.

As she worked, Merwenna cast a glance back toward
the high seat. Dylan sat upon his throne, a cup of mead in one hand, while the
warriors around him clamored for his attention. Although he sat at the center
of the milling crowd, the prince seemed apart somehow. He listened to the
raucous conversation of his uncles, brother, cousins and retainers, and nursed
his own cup while the mead flowed around him.

This was what he wanted
,
Merwenna reminded herself,
to sit once more on his throne and focus on the
glory of Powys.

Yet, if that was the case, surely he should have
looked happier.

As if feeling her gaze upon him, the prince looked
up, and their gazes met across the crowded hall. It was unexpected, for
Merwenna had not realized he knew where she was. Yet, his emerald gaze held her
fast; the intensity of it causing butterflies in her stomach.

Suddenly, it was as if only the two of them
existed. Merwenna’s breathing quickened. She should have looked away, but could
not summon the energy do so. His gaze drew her in and stripped her naked before
him.

Merwenna shivered and wrenched her gaze from his.
Breathing fast, she looked down at the pile of leeks before her. If one of his
kin spied him gazing at her like that, it would start no end of trouble. He
should be more careful, for they were no longer traveling together, with only
the likes of Gwyn and Owain to witness their lingering glances.

Things would be very different here. Her new life
in Pengwern had begun – and it would take all she had to survive it.

Chapter Thirty-three

Servitude

The noise inside the Great Hall of Pengwern was
deafening. The roar of drunken voices, interspersed with bursts of laughter
echoed through the cavernous space. The din even drowned out the knot of
musicians upon the high seat, who were playing a merry tune on their bone
whistles.

Merwenna gritted her teeth under the weight of the
cast iron pot she clutched, and struggled to make her way between the long
tables. Steaming leek soup filled the pot. She gripped the handle with one
hand, and a large wooden ladle with the other, spooning the thick soup into
bread trenchers as she went.

The muscles in Merwenna’s arms screamed in protest
and sweat slid down her back under her tunic. Usually, a pair of servants would
undertake this task, with one holding the pot while the other served. Tonight,
the chore had been entrusted to her alone – perhaps in the hope she would spill
the soup and be punished for it.

Yet, Merwenna resisted; a stubbornness she had
never known she had possessed coming to the fore.

They’ll have to do better than this
,
she thought as she filled Gwyn’s trencher.
I’m not a spoiled high born lady,
afraid of getting callouses on her palms. I’ve worked hard my whole life.

“Thanks, lass,” Gwyn favored her with a smile. The
warmth was unexpected, but welcome, after her frosty welcome here, and she
smiled back.

Beside him, Owain also flashed her a grin. Warmth
spread through her – she was grateful to them both. Suddenly, the Great Hall of
Pengwern did not seem such a lonely place. She served Owain and moved on,
inching her way down the table to where the lowest ranking members of the hall
dined.

She had not been allowed to serve Cynddylan and his
kin; for that was an honor given to one of the other servants. Dylan sat at the
head of the longest table, flanked by his brother on one side, and his uncle
Elfan on the other.

Heledd sat next to Morfael, delicately supping her
leek soup with a wooden spoon. The girl’s behavior reminded Merwenna of Penda’s
daughters. She had the same demure manner, downcast eyes and coy smile as the
Mercian princesses. Heledd did not join the conversation of her menfolk, and
only spoke when addressed directly.

Heledd may have a forked tongue, but
before her menfolk she’s nothing more than a pretty decoration,
Merwenna thought, not without a trace of scorn.

She thought then, with a pang of homesickness, of
her parents. Wilfrid and Cynewyn were equals. Her mother was beautiful and
strong; not the kind of woman to sit in any man’s shadow and simper like a
fool.

Will I ever see her again?

Merwenna’s gaze blurred with tears and she was
grateful that she had finally finished serving the last of the leek soup. She
returned the pot to the serving tables and managed to compose herself.

The older female servant who had instructed her to
prepare the leeks, now barked out another order. Merwenna stood there a moment,
not understanding a word of the command. The woman shouted again, louder this
time, as if Merwenna was deaf, not merely unable to speak her tongue. Then, she
pointed to a row of large trays of roasted pike.

Merwenna realized that she was to help carry the
trays to the table. Muttering an apology in her stuttering Cymraeg, she moved
to comply. Like the cauldron of soup, the tray was so heavy that the muscles in
her arms screamed in protest when she picked it up. Merwenna clenched her jaw,
fastened her fingers around the edge of the tray and marched across the
rush-strewn floor toward the tables.

Dylan sprinkled a little salt on the roasted
carrots and onions that had been served with the pike. Then, he broke off a
piece of bread from his trencher. He chewed slowly, savoring the fine food.

He had forgotten just how good the cooks were in
his hall. Yet, the food before him was peasant fare compared to the victory
feast the cooks would prepare for three days’ time; it would be a great spread
in celebration of their win against Northumbria, his coronation and the
reckoning against Mercia that was to come. Such a feast had not taken place in
Pengwern’s Great Hall for many years, and his servants would be working night
and day to ready themselves.

Dylan took a sip of wine from his golden feasting
cup and leaned back in his chair. His gaze moved down the table, past the
flushed faces of his kin, to the servants that bustled around the tables.

He spied Merwenna among them. She was not hard to
spot, for he had been surreptitiously watching her all evening. He had noted
that she had been given the task of carrying the heaviest items, with no help
from any of the other servants, and that she had done so without complaint.

Her cheeks were flushed now, as she struggled under
a massive platter of roast pike. She placed the tray on the table, in-between
two of his men, heaving a sigh of relief, before returning to the servant’s
galley to collect another. She was a hard worker, but that did not surprise
him. She had grown up toiling alongside her family.

Still, this could not continue.

He had told himself that he would not interfere,
once they arrived here. He had promised himself that he would let Heledd order
Merwenna around as she saw fit. Yet, now he realized he could not. She deserved
better.

Try as he might to think on other things, Merwenna
now plagued his thoughts night and day. His body ached for her, need raging
through his veins like a fever that increased with each passing day. He had
tried ignoring her, but it only made his craving for her worse.

This evening should have been one of the happiest
of his life, but he felt hollow. His brother and uncles spoke of war against
Mercia, and he joined them – but his heart was not in it. Instead, his gaze
kept roving around the hall, seeking out the winsome face of the young Mercian
woman who had ridden to warn him, and been cast out from her family for doing
so.

Her father had accused her of being in love with
him, which she had hotly denied. She had made it plain to Dylan, on many
occasions, she still grieved from Beorn. But, she must have cared for him a
little to have risked exile from her family.

And how did he repay her? He had consigned her to a
life of servitude in his hall. He had seen his sister’s treatment of Merwenna
earlier, and tomorrow he would put a stop to it.

“Milord,” one of the serving wenches appeared at
his elbow bearing a bronze jug. “More apple wine?”

Dylan shook his head and waved her away. Now that
his thoughts had fastened upon Merwenna, he was not in the mood for drinking.

“You look pensive for a man with much to
celebrate,” his Elfan noted shrewdly, to his right “What ails you this eve?”

Dylan gave his uncle a laconic smile and helped
himself to another piece of bread. “Just weary after a long journey home,” he
replied. “I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again.”

Elfan nodded, appearing unconvinced. “You are
changed.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You appear distracted. When we speak of war
against Penda, you say the right words, but it’s as if your mind is somewhere
else.”

The prince gave a derisive snort, although secretly
it alarmed him that his uncle had seen the truth. “There’s no need to worry
that I have no thirst for vengeance,” he smiled, showing his teeth. “Penda will
taste my blade soon enough.”