It was a fresh, sunny day; the first that heralded the coming spring, with a limpid sky overhead. The Wuffinga menfolk were all out hunting so there was no one except her mother who would notice her departure from the hall. Raedwyn left Rendlaesham through the rear gate and set off down the narrow dirt road that bisected the apple orchards. Signs of spring were everywhere; bright green shoots pushing up by the roadside and splashes of white and pink as the first spring blossom appeared.
Usually, Raedwyn adored the spring but today the first signs of it unnerved her. It heralded Eafa’s coming. She followed the road through the shallow valley and up another hill before descending into thickets of ash and beech. Here, scrubby undergrowth framed the road on both sides. Although Raedwyn was enjoying the beautiful day, the fresh air and the sun on her face, her mind returned to the tale she had heard that morning about Eafa the Merciful.
Two female servants had been whispering, not far from where Raedwyn sat at her distaff, about how Eafa’s last wife had died of mysterious injuries. His young wife had once been a sweet, gentle girl, one of the women had explained in a grave voice, but Eafa had enjoyed turning her into a broken, miserable creature. Raedwyn had listened with growing concern, before she had realized that the women had deliberately positioned themselves within earshot of her. They had wanted Raedwyn to hear.
“Take your poison elsewhere!” she had instructed them, enjoying the shock on their faces at being spoken to thus. However, ever since that moment, Raedwyn’s thoughts kept returning to their words.
“Raedwyn!”
Lost in her musings, Raedwyn did not hear someone approach from behind. She turned swiftly to see Caelin standing behind her. He was dressed in leggings and a patched but clean shirt, belted around his waist. His hair was slightly damp, as if he had just bathed.
“Did you follow me?” Raedwyn had not seen Caelin since their encounter on Mother Night. Her surprise at seeing him now made her voice harsher than she intended.
Caelin nodded, unfazed by her coldness.
“I thought you wanted us to keep away from each other?”
Caelin did not respond, instead he stood there before her, his gaze fixed upon her face.
“I hear you are to be married,” he said eventually.
“Have you come to congratulate me?” Raedwyn could not keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I have heard of this Eafa the Merciful.” Caelin’s voice was quiet, measured, as if he was testing each word. “And I do not like the sound of him.”
“His cruelty is legendary,” she replied flatly, “but he is an important ally who must be kept happy. It is my father’s will.”
Silence stretched between them then. The air was heavy with so many things unsaid.
“You father is a proud, conceited fool.” Caelin’s voice was hard and bitter when he eventually spoke. “You deserve so much better than this Raedwyn.”
Raedwyn studied him for a moment and was opening her mouth to reply, when the tattoo of approaching hoof beats intruded. Birds flew up from nearby trees and the tranquility shattered.
Horses were approaching fast from beyond the bend in the road.
“My father!” Panic seized Raedwyn by the throat.
Caelin grasped Raedwyn by the arm and propelled her into the thickets on the roadside. Branches and brambles tore at their clothes. They dove into the undergrowth and rolled to the ground, hidden from sight. Moments later, a group of horses thundered past. Raedwyn risked a peek over the edge of the brambles and caught a glimpse of her father out front, with his long, gray-threaded hair, flying behind him. Eorpwald rode close behind the king, followed by the rest of the Wuffinga men and a small group of warriors. Some had deer slung over their saddles; the Great Hall would dine well on roast venison.
When the riders had disappeared towards Rendlaesham, Raedwyn sank back against the ground, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could feel the cool damp against her back, even through layers of clothing. Looking around her, she realized that the brambles hid her and Caelin from view on all sides – they were alone together in a damp, bramble-enclosed bower. Caelin must have realized this too, for he remained on his side, next to Raedwyn, and in no hurry to move on.
Caelin propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Raedwyn. His face was unreadable, and she longed to know what he was thinking. Suddenly, it was airless and overly warm in their bramble hiding-place, and Raedwyn was aware of the rise and fall of her chest, and of Caelin’s nearness.
Raedwyn felt her face heat up under the scrutiny of his stare and, attempting to distance herself from him, she tried to push herself up into a sitting position. In doing so, she merely launched herself into his arms.
One moment, they were laying side-by-side, and the next, they were in each others arms.
Caelin’s mouth sought hers with a hunger that bordered on violence. He pulled her hard against him so that Raedwyn straddled his lap. Unfastening her hair, he tangled his fingers in it.
All thought, fled Raedwyn’s mind. All sense, all caution, all fear disappeared. Her hands tore at his clothes, seeking the warm skin beneath, and she drank him in like a hot cup of mead at the end of a bitter winter day.
They shed their clothes with fumbling, desperate fingers – their cloaks pooling on the ground next to them. Caelin shrugged off his shirt and pulled Raedwyn’s linen shift over her head with one movement. Naked, her hands trembling, Raedwyn undid the laces of his breeches and pulled them down. His manhood greeted her, hard and proud against his flat belly. She whimpered and, reaching out, stroked the long, silky length of it.
He growled her name and pulled her back onto his lap, kissing her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth and lips. Pleasure pulsed through Raedwyn’s body as his hot mouth moved down her neck, and she bit her lip to stop herself from screaming when he took one of her nipples into his mouth and suckled her.
It all became a wild, ecstasy-filled blur from that moment on. Raedwyn was vaguely aware of her own voice, sobbing, pleading and begging as Caelin kissed, sucked and stroked his way down her body.
Finally, his eyes glazed with desire, Caelin sat back. Raedwyn could feel him trembling as he pulled her on to his lap so that she straddled him.
“Caelin,” Raedwyn whispered, tracing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.
“Sweet goddess!” he gasped. “Raedwyn!”
She laughed, enjoying the feeling of power she had over him.
Caelin’s next act stilled Raedwyn’s laughter and drove all thought from her mind. He lifted her hips and slowly lowered her on to him, impaling her on his hard shaft. Now it was Raedwyn’s turn to gasp. Heat vibrated up the core of her body and she shuddered. Raedwyn cried out and a feeling of throbbing torpor filled her; she clung to Caelin as the pleasure crested once more.
Caelin pushed her back onto his cloak and, spreading her legs wide, took her hard. Then he withdrew and thrust deep into her once again. Raedwyn wrapped her legs about him, pulling him in deeper with each thrust, until she could bear it no longer. Her body arched and shuddered, and pleasure pushed her over the brink. She could hear Caelin crying her name before he too lost control. Then he cried out, spilling his seed deep within her.
They lay there for a while, limbs entangled and hearts pounding. Then, Caelin gently cupped her face with his hands and kissed her deeply, tenderly. When they broke apart, Raedwyn buried her face in his neck. She did not want this moment to end, but already reality was stealing back in, robbing her of these wonderful moments of freedom. For a short while, the world had existed only of her, Caelin and their bramble bower – everything else had ceased to be.
“Raedwyn,” Caelin said, gently cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him, “I will never be sorry for this.”
Raedwyn stared into his dark eyes and felt emotion choke her.
“Neither will I,” she whispered, “but I am sorry that we can never be together again.” Tears suddenly split down her cheeks th
en, despite Raedwyn’s attempt to keep her composure. “Wyrd is so cruel.”
Caelin nodded, his own eyes glittering with tears, before he pulled her into his arms and held her fast.
“You are mine Raedwyn,” he whispered fiercely into her ear, “and I am yours. Whatever happens, never forget that.”
Chapter Fifteen
Heavy spring rain sluiced across the flat landscape as Eafa the Merciful rode east towards Rendlaesham. The rain, though not cold, was a deluge that blinded man and beast alike. It was a five-day ride from Eafa’s Hall at Tamworth in Mercia – home of Ceorl, the ailing Mercian King – to Rendlaesham. However, Eafa did not mind the long journey. It made his anticipation all the sweeter. Rivulets of water ran down his face. He was soaked through. His wet clothes chafed him and he knew by the time he reached Rendlaesham he would be stiff and sore. Nonetheless, Eafa was the closest to happy he had ever been, or was capable of.
Life was good for Eafa the Merciful. The king, his uncle, was getting sicker by the day of an unnamed illness that gnawed at his innards and caused him terrible pain. The old king had no surviving sons while his brother Pybba, who had once been King of the Mercians, had produced two sons – Eafa, the elder, and Penda. Eafa was next in line to the throne, and judging from the king’s rapidly declining health, Eafa would take the crown within a year at most. The other boon was that Aedilhild, his wife of five years and a constant source of irritation to him, had died, leaving him free to marry again.
Aedilhild had been a disappointment of a wife; too eager to please, too easily subdued. In the beginning, she had even seemed to enjoy his attempts to dominate and humiliate her, both within the walls of their bower and without, in front of his family and servants. It had not taken her long to fear his touch. Then, just after the harvest last autumn, after he had beaten her viciously before bedding her, as was his habit, Aedilhild’s health had deteriorated. Her bruises never healed and she started to lose weight and get severe nosebleeds. Within a moon’s cycle, she was dead. Eafa had not mourned her passing.
Through the curtains of rain, Eafa spied the banks of a river ahead. The river was at its narrowest at this spot and spanned by a crudely built wooden bridge. However, the heavy rain had caused the river to swell to a muddy torrent that almost touched the belly of the bridge. Eafa and his men dismounted and led their nervous horses across on foot. The bridge creaked and whined under their weight and the company was relieved to reach the other-side without one of their number toppling into the water. None of them could swim.
Eafa remounted his stallion and spurred it along a muddy track leading southeast. They would reach Rendlaesham before nightfall. Now that the treacherous river was behind them, Eafa’s thoughts shifted to his betrothed and he felt his loins tightening in response. Raedwyn the Fair was a maid he had long coveted. Golden haired and lusciously built with a fiery temperament to match, Raedwyn was the type of girl who would fight him. He imagined her spitting and clawing like a cat, naked and trapped within their bower while he used his fists on her until she was barely conscious. Then he would use her as he pleased. Such a daydream caused his manhood to strain uncomfortably against his wet clothes. Eafa shifted in the saddle to ease his aching groin and reluctantly pushed aside his favorite fantasy.
Soon Raedwyn would become a delightful reality, a dream no more. Eafa cared not that she was a widow, no longer a virgin. By all accounts, Cynric the Bold had only spent a night with his new bride. Then there were the rumors that while Ceolwulf had held her captive, he had handed her around like a plaything to be used by the Exiled and his men. Eafa cared not for the rumors either. Raedwyn would fare far worse in his hands than theirs; he would make sure of it. And if she had given herself to them willingly he would discover the truth – and take pleasure in punishing her for it.
Shifting his thoughts from Raedwyn, Eafa took note of his surroundings as he rode. They had entered the Kingdom of the East Angles, Raedwald’s territory, and already Eafa was beginning to tire of the flat, marshy landscape. He loved the wooded hills of Mercia and the king’s fortress at Tamworth, rising like a stone sentinel above the trees. Raedwald had long been a thorn in his side. He was a formidable leader and a warrior, whom it was unwise to anger. The Northumbrian’s defeat was still fresh in everyone’s minds. The Mercians did not want a dispute with the East Anglians.
Eafa would have preferred to arrive at Rendlaesham, wed Raedwyn and depart the next morning, but Raedwald had insisted that Eafa turn up seven days before the handfast ceremony and enjoy some East Anglian hospitality. They would feast, hunt and down copious quantities of mead in the days leading up to the wedding.
Eafa was no fool; he understood Raedwald wanted information about the state of the Mercian Kingdom, the king’s health and the likelihood of Eafa’s succession. Raedwald wanted to build an alliance between them that would benefit them both. Eafa had a grudging respect for the East Anglian King; he was a shrewd politician who understood leadership was more than being able to lead a fyrd into battle.
Eafa’s company rode on through the day. The pouring rain finally lessened to a drizzle and they rode across a gently undulating, marshy landscape dotted with thickets of coppicing trees. Signs of civilization appeared; small clusters of thatched wattle and daub buildings rose in the distance. These were satellite settlements around Rendlaesham, which grew ever more common as they approached the heart of the East Anglian Kingdom.
Finally, Rendlaesham itself appeared; a carpet of thatched huts encircled by a high wooden wall. On a hill in the center of the town, surrounded by another fortified wall, was the famed Great Hall. Today, rather than gold, it was a dirty yellow. Nevertheless, Eafa had to admit it was an impressive building of considerable workmanship and grace.
Eafa rode through the town gates and up the muddy street towards the Great Hall. Townsfolk came out to gaze at the infamous Eafa the Merciful. He rode like Thor himself through their midst without once looking in their direction. He was a magnificent man to behold; tall with a mane of ice-blonde hair. However, to gaze upon him was to look upon one of the cold, marble statues the Romans had left behind – devoid of mercy, empty of warmth.
Eafa left the people of Rendlaesham chilled and subdued in his wake.
***
The banquet was one of the finest Raedwald had ever held. It was the end of a long, hard winter but the king had recklessly emptied out his store to impress his prospective son-in-law. Pies, stews, spit-roasted meats and sweet apple cakes covered the table in the Great Hall. A servant poured Raedwald’s best mead into the large mug at Eafa’s elbow.
Whereas Eafa drank slowly, the king threw back his mead with abandon. As the meal progressed, his face grew ever more florid. His gestures were increasingly enthusiastic, and his voice roared like a stag’s across the table. He regaled Eafa with every hilarious anecdote he had ever recited and often broke into song. At one stage, he called for his lyre to be brought to the table. Then, he sung a rousing song of victorious battle and of brotherhood among warriors.
At the table, the mood amongst the diners varied. Seaxwyn was pleasant and conversational, although there were lines around her eyes that had not been present before the winter and her face had a strained look. Eni and his sons were loud, encouraging the king to recount tales of his youth.
Eorpwald was an enigma as usual, his cool manner giving nothing away – although his keen gaze missed nothing. He observed Eafa the Merciful, noticing that he ate and drank leisurely, savoring the quality of the meal. An aura of self-contained power surrounded the Mercian. Eafa largely ignored the woman who would be his wife in just six nights. Only occasionally did his pale gaze flick in her direction, but his expression revealed nothing of his emotion towards her. Raedwyn was beautiful. She had spring flowers braided into her hair and wore a blue wool gown that revealed the pale curves of her shoulders.
Eorpwald was secretly impressed by his sister. Despite everything that had befallen her of late, she r
adiated strength and calm. She had matured greatly in the past year; gone was the indulged girl who was the apple of her father’s eye and the center of attention at every meal, and a poised young woman had replaced her. Although he had never resented his sister, Eorpwald had not been close to Raedwyn before now. He had always come a poor second to their dead brother, Raegenhere. Now, the two of them were friends but soon, Eorpwald reminded himself, he would lose his sister to this cold stranger.
Eorpwald looked down at his half-eaten pie. He did not have an appetite for the events of late.
He turned his attention to the king, watching his father down yet another mug of mead and sway drunkenly across the table. Where was the man who had led his people to victory in Northumbria? Where was the king of temperance and mercy? Eorpwald doubted he would ever respect his father again.
***
The feast dragged on late into the night. It was a long while before Raedwyn was able to excuse herself from the table. If the king had not been so drunk, music and dancing would have followed the feast. However, Raedwald was in no state to either sing or dance. He slumped over the table upon the dais and his snores filled the hall, signaling the evening had ended. Eni and Annan, both barely able to stand, dragged Raedwald to his feet and maneuvered him towards his bower. The queen bid the rest of the revelers goodnight and followed in their wake.
Raedwyn tentatively drew back her chair and got to her feet. She threw Eafa a sidelong glance and his gaze snared her. He had the eyes of a lizard, holding her fast.
“Milady.” His voice was as cold as his eyes. He rose from the table, took hold of her hand and made a show of leading her away from the others.
Raedwyn’s skin prickled as if she had just dived into an icy pond. She sensed danger in every pore. She did not want to be alone with this man – ever. His grip on her hand was light but Raedwyn could feel the power he held in check.
“I bid you goodnight milord.” Raedwyn halted and found her voice.
“Goodnight, Raedwyn.” Eafa fixed her with his gimlet stare and, raising her hand to his lips, kissed it. His lips burned her skin like salt and Raedwyn barely resisted the urge to yank her hand away.