Dark Under the Cover of Night

by Jayne Castel

  “You are wrong about me,” she whispered, staring into his eyes for a moment before she turned and fled down the aisle between the stalls.

  Raedwyn had almost reached the door when Caelin caught up with her. Before Raedwyn even had time to react, he had pulled her up short, pushed her against one of wooden supports that held up the stable roof, and covered her mouth with his.

  Outraged, Raedwyn pushed against Caelin’s chest, but instantly lost any will to fight him when his tongue plunged into her mouth. Raedwyn groaned and let her own tongue dart forward to tangle with his. Her hands moved across his chest to his broad shoulders and the finely chiseled muscles of his upper arms. She pressed herself up against him and ran her hands down his back as Caelin slid his thigh between her legs and tangled his hands in her hair.

  Raedwyn’s head swam and she drank him in. She did not care that anyone could walk in on them. He could have taken her right there against the wall and she would have let him. All good sense left her and the world shrank till only the two of them existed.

  It was Caelin who stopped it. He tore his mouth from hers and, gasping for breath, stepped back from her.

  “Caelin…” Raedwyn reached for him but Caelin shook his head and took another step back.

  “Please,” Caelin’s voice was hoarse with longing, “I shouldn’t have done that. This is madness Raedwyn. Just go.”

  Raedwyn took a shuddering breath and the haze of lust that had momentarily consumed her began to ebb. Without another word, she turned and fled from the stables.

  Caelin watched Raedwyn’s retreating back and suppressed the urge to drag her back into his arms.

  Raedwyn intoxicated him, as she had from the first time he had kissed her. Caelin could still feel her hair entangled in his fingers, the heat and taste of her mouth as it opened under his and the feel of her soft body against him. She had nearly unraveled his self-control. On one level Raedwyn had no idea what she did to him, and on another she was only too aware of the power she wielded. For that she was dangerous.

  Caelin leaned up against the beam and stared up at the thatched ceiling. He had been harsh with Raedwyn in an attempt to distance himself from her. Plans for escaping Rendlaesham occupied his thoughts of late. Once the snow thawed, he would start to lay provisions on the edge of the apple orchard near the town.

  Caelin planned to leave his past at his back and travel to a corner of Britannia where Raedwald would never find him. He had never been a free man – first a servant to his father’s quest for revenge and now Raedwald’s slave. His life had never been his own.

  He would not allow his lust for this beautiful woman sabotage his plans.

  Caelin returned to the stall, picked up the brush he had abandoned upon seeing Raedwyn, and resumed grooming the stallion. He had to forget Raedwyn the Fair for she was part of the existence he would soon leave behind.

 

  Chapter Thirteen

 

  “Raedwyn, I have found you a husband.”

  Raedwald’s announcement caused all seated at the long table below the king and queen, to cease eating and stare at the king. Then, collectively, they turned their attention to his daughter. It was nearly a moon’s cycle since Yuletide and winter’s chill still held Rendlaesham within its grip. Raedwyn had dressed warmly this eve; a fur cloak around her shoulders, and her thick hair pulled back from her face. She paled at Raedwald’s words. Then, she swallowed the mouthful of pottage she had been chewing and met her father’s gaze.

  “Who’s the lucky man then?” Eni boomed, pretending not to notice the tension between father and daughter.

  Beside Raedwald, Seaxwyn glanced nervously at her husband. Despite that relations between them had improved, Raedwald had not shared his plans with his queen. Opposite Raedwyn, Eorpwald took a sip of mead and watched his sister over the rim of his cup.

  “Yes, father?” Raedwyn finally spoke up. “Who am I to marry?”

  Raedwald leaned back in his ornately carved wooden throne and took a draught of mead.

  “Come spring you will be married to Eafa the Merciful of Mercia.”

  Raedwyn’s eyes grew huge on her pale face. Seaxwyn’s sharply indrawn breath and Eni’s hiss of shock accompanied the sound of Eorpwald choking on his mead.

  “You cannot marry Raedwyn to Eafa, father!” Eorpwald managed after Annan had belted him across the back a few times, expelling the mead from his windpipe. “He's an animal!”

  Raedwald brought his tankard down on the table with a thump, his eyes flashing at his son. “We need to strengthen our alliances in Mercia. It’s newly conquered territory. Raedwyn will serve her family well by marrying Eafa. I sent word to him before Yuletide and a rider arrived with tidings of his acceptance yesterday. Upon my word they will marry!”

  Raedwyn breathed in deeply to quell the panic rising within her. Folk had named Eafa ‘the Merciful’ in irony, for he was among one of the cruelest, most terrifying men in Britannia. He had fought against Raedwald in his younger days before making peace with the East Anglian King. Of late, relations had been good between the East Angles and the Mercians but, ever an able politician, Raedwald would not miss an opportunity to strengthen his alliances – or to punish Raedwyn.

  Raedwyn looked down at her hands and struggled to keep her composure. She had met Eafa once, three summers ago. Eafa had visited Raedwald, bringing gifts and pledging loyalty to his king. Raedwyn remembered him as a tall, raw-boned man with a cruel face, long thick pale hair and eyes colder than a frozen lake. He had watched her often during that visit and Raedwyn had squirmed under his gaze. She could not bear the thought of marrying Eafa. Raedwald was not a fool. He knew what sort of man he had betrothed his daughter to.

  “How can you be so cruel father?” Raedwyn finally replied. “Eorpwald is right. The man is not human. Why would you consign me to such a life?”

  Raedwald’s eyes narrowed but his face revealed no emotion. “As a daughter of the Wuffinga line you have a duty to your king. You will marry whoever I deem suitable.

  “But father…”

  “Silence!” Raedwald’s temper boiled over. “You are turning into a nagging shrew Raedwyn. My word is law here. You will obey me!”

  Raedwyn fixed her gaze on her trencher, still half filled with food, and remained silent, fighting back tears. Everyone’s gaze was upon her. She could feel the hall charged with unvoiced emotion; some in favor of the king’s decision, some pitying her. She avoided their eyes and got to her feet.

  “Raedwyn.” The king’s voice was rough with anger. “You will stay here and finish your meal.”

  Unspeaking, Raedwyn fled to her bower.

  “Raedwyn!” Raedwald bellowed after her but she ignored his command. She disappeared within her bower, the heavy tapestry swinging shut behind her.

  Within her bower, Raedwyn stood at her small window and looked down at the thatched roof of the barracks below. She heard her father shout her name once more, before soothing words from Seaxwyn and protests from Eorpwald silenced him. Raedwyn almost expected him to come in after her and drag her back out by the hair, but he did not. He had never been a violent, domineering father – before now that was. She did not know him these days; she was afraid of him, but more than that she was furious.

  Tears of rage wet Raedwyn’s face and she curled her hands into painful fists. If only I had been born a man! She was not like other royal women; she could not bear being treated like a fattened pig to be sold at market. She hated that her fate was in the hands of her father.

  I cannot believe he will marry me off to that monster!

  Raedwyn stayed still, facing the window for a long time, her eyes fixed on a horizon that she could not see. Gradually, the serpent of rage within her stopped writhing and coiled itself into an iron core. If her father thought he could turn her into a cowed, fawning drab he was wrong.

  ***

  An icy wind howled through Rendlaesham, rattling and pummeling the wattle and
daub buildings; its cruel fingers probing under doorways and tearing at the clothes of those unfortunate enough to be outside.

  Caelin was one such unlucky individual. He was warmly dressed – slaves were no use if they died from the cold – in thick leather breeches cross-gartered to the knee, two wool tunics and a heavy fur cloak, but still the cold penetrated to the bone. Using a crudely constructed shovel, Caelin scooped muck onto a cart while the wind buffeted him. The manure pile he stood before was nearly shoulder high, as they kept many of the animals confined for weeks due to the bad weather. The snow was slowly melting, turning the stable yard into a stinking sea of mud and dung, but the manure had to be moved. The stench made Caelin’s eyes water.

  Once the cart was full, Caelin then pulled it through the mud, out of the gates and down to the outskirts of Rendlaesham. There, he unloaded the manure around some of the fruit trees. Caelin worked methodically, but without hurrying. He welcomed the hard, physical labor for when he worked he was warm. Work also allowed him respite from his thoughts. He was by nature a patient man but this winter was dragging on interminably and he longed for some sign of approaching spring.

  Spring would herald his escape from this place.

  Unfortunately, the apple trees in the orchard were still bare of leaves. Nature was still in hibernation. He would wait a while longer.

  Returning to the muckheap, Caelin set about reloading the cart before dragging it back down to the orchard once more. A gray dusk was approaching as he pulled the empty cart back up towards the Great Hall. The wind had not lessened. It slapped him around the face and stung his cheeks. Back at the stable yard, Caelin deposited the stinking cart under a lean-to and made his way, not back to his freezing stall, but into the main stable building.

  Inside, three other slaves, Alchfrid, Immin and Sebbi, were standing around a small fire warming their hands. A pot simmered over the embers. Caelin liked these men; they were Northumbrian, taken after Raedwald bested the Northumbrian ruler, Aethelfrith, nine years earlier. Then, they would have been boys on the edge of manhood. Now they were tall, gruff men who, a few summers younger than Caelin, looked to him as their unofficial leader. Caelin’s life here was harder than theirs; his duties the heaviest and most unpleasant, but this only increased his standing with his three new friends. Their common bondage united the four of them. They were at best ignored, or at worst, reviled by Raedwald’s other servants.

  “Whew, you reek of the dung heap.” Sebbi made space for Caelin by the fire.

  Caelin shrugged and placed his hands before the flames, sighing as the fire’s warmth seeped into his numb fingers.

  “Who would have thought a horse could shit so much!” Immin, who was looking pale and pinched, grumbled. He wrinkled his nose as the stench reached him. “Bloody beasts!”

  Caelin grinned, despite his tiredness, at Immin’s outburst. Alchfrid caught his eye and winked. “Someone got kicked in the cods today.”

  Caelin scrunched up his face in sympathy. “Not Raven?”

  “He’s a demon,” Immin exploded. Relations between Immin and Raedwald’s prize young stallion were not friendly. The yearling chaffed at being cooped up indoors and regularly took his vile temper out on Immin who was charged with his care. “A vicious beast only fit for the dogs!”

  Caelin shook his head, suppressing laughter. “You and Raven would tolerate each other better if you stayed clear of his rear end.”

  “Believe me, I try to.” Immin shifted his weight and winced. “But he twists like a snake. The bastard nearly gelded me!”

  “There is a pail of hot water in the stall at the back Caelin,” Alchfrid interrupted Immin’s lament. “We thought you might need it.”

  Caelin nodded, tiredness creeping over him now that he no longer had to fight with the howling wind. He could still hear it, hammering against the walls.

  “I thank you Alchfrid,” Caelin replied. “What’s this foul thing you’ve got boiling here?” Caelin peered into the pot. “Looks like innards. Immin – you didn’t gut Raven did you?”

  “If I didn’t fear having my head parted from my shoulders by Raedwald’s blade I would have,” Immin replied looking glum.

  “It’s a stew I made with pork scraps,” Sebbi interjected with an injured tone. “It will be better than an empty belly.”

  “When will it be ready?” Immin complained. “A man could starve to death waiting to be fed.”

  “Stop bleating,” Sebbi snapped before giving the stew a cautious stir. “It will be ready soon Caelin if you want to wash up.”

  Caelin removed his stinking self from the fireside and left his friends to breathe sweeter air. Reaching the stall where he slept, he found a steaming pail of water, clean clothes and a rag to wash with. Caelin stripped off and hung his filthy clothes over the partition between the stalls. There was no use in washing them, as there was still muck to shovel tomorrow. He hurriedly sluiced himself down with hot water, scrubbing at his skin until it glowed a dull red, before dunking his head into the cooling water and scrubbing at his scalp. It was cold inside the stables now that he was away from the fire. Caelin quickly dressed in the only semi-clean clothes he had: woolen leggings and a long wool tunic. He then pulled on some fur-lined boots before re-joining his friends.

  They were gossiping about the goings on within the King’s Hall when Caelin inserted himself between Immin and Sebbi. He took the stale trencher Alchfrid handed him, while Sebbi filled it with steaming stew. Breaking off their conversation to eat, the four men sat cross-legged on straw around the fire and attacked their food. Despite its vile appearance, Sebbi’s pork stew was tasty. He had somehow managed to purloin a few onions and carrots from the servants to add flavor to the meal. The stale bread trenchers softened with the stew and the hungry men ripped them into bits and ate them too once the stew was finished.

  Once their bellies were full, the men continued their earlier conversation.

  “I overheard the servants today.” Immin, ever eager to spread a good rumor, leaned forward over the fire as he began his tale. “They say the king’s betrothed his daughter to Eafa of Mercia.”

  Alchfrid shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Her husband’s been dead since summer.”

  “Yes, but do any of you know who this Eafa is?” Immin continued.

  Sebbi and Alchfrid shook their heads while Caelin remained still. Pleased he could finish his tale unhindered, Immin belched, before continuing. “The servants spoke of him as a great Mercian ealdorman. He is known as ‘the Merciful’.”

  “Eafa the Merciful,” Sebbi nodded. “Indeed, I have heard of him.”

  “So have I,” Alchfrid added before shaking his head. “I pity Raedwyn.”

  “What do you mean?” Caelin turned to Alchfrid, his voice sharper than he had intended. None of them knew of the connection he had with Raedwyn, and now Caelin cursed himself for showing too much interest. They were intelligent men and it would take little for them to suspect something.

  However, Alchfrid was so involved in the tale, that he did not appear to notice. “You’ve never heard of Eafa the Merciful? Raedwald did well to make him an ally. He is a great warrior but famed for his cruelty.”

  “I thought he was married,” Sebbi added. “His wife must have died.”

  Sebbi’s words hung in the air between them. Caelin sat quietly and tried to keep his face expressionless. In reality, this news hit him like a blow to his gut. Sudden, stomach-knotting jealousy that another man would be able to touch the woman he could not have, consumed him. Then, a chill that had nothing to do with the icy wind outside, crept over Caelin.

  “It is sad.” Alchfrid’s young face creased into a frown. “For Eafa will ruin a lovely wench like Raedwyn.”

  Alchfrid, like many young men in Rendlaesham, had lusted after Raedwyn from afar. Her ill-fate since the death of her husband had been the topic of many a conversation over the long winter months.

  “She’s too headstrong,” Immin replied, sh
aking his head. “A woman like her needs a firm hand. Maybe that’s why the king’s chosen Eafa for her.”

  Caelin sat listening to them discussing Raedwyn’s fate. His dinner sat heavily in his stomach like a lump of clay. Bitterness soured Caelin’s mouth then, and he tasted what his father must have felt. For the first time, he understood Ceolwulf’s rage and hatred. Fate had always ridden against Ceolwulf the Exiled. It had soured his mind and poisoned his soul – Raedwald of the East Angles had been its instrument then, as it was now.

  Chapter Fourteen

 

  Short days and long, cold nights passed before winter relaxed its grip. The days gradually lengthened and the wind lost its raw edge. The snow had long since melted and life at Rendlaesham continued in a steady rhythm, as it had for many a year.

  Raedwyn the Fair tried to forget what the spring held in store for her.

  Eni and Eorpwald had argued with Raedwald about the king’s decision to marry Raedwyn to Eafa, but their protests had done no good. It only made Raedwald even more stubborn. Still, Raedwyn appreciated the efforts her uncle and brother had made on her behalf. It was a far cry from Eni’s earlier insistence that the king find his daughter a husband. These days Eni had become protective of his niece. It seemed that the further Raedwald withdrew from Raedwyn, the closer she became to her uncle.

  Embracing the warmer weather, Raedwyn took to walking. After the incident with Caelin, the king had forbidden Raedwyn to go riding. Instead, she enjoyed walks through Rendlaesham and into the fields beyond. Some days she did not stray far, visiting the weekly produce market near the main gates, or Eanfled, who was now heavily pregnant; while on others she would walk all afternoon through the gentle folds of land around Rendlaesham.

  One afternoon, Raedwyn decided to take one of her longer walks. She had spent the day winding wool onto her distaff, which would later be used for spinning clothes. It was mundane work and Raedwyn longed to stretch her legs. She wrapped herself in a thick blue wool cloak and slipped out of the Great Hall.