The last thing I saw before I fainted was Halfdan’s face, ashen white, with eyes bulging in their sockets as the roof caught on fire.
* * *
I lay on my stomach on a nest of soft rushes. I smelt comfrey and something strong and astringent. My wounds had been treated.
“Up, wench,” a gruff voice called in Norse.
A boot crashed into my side. I wheezed and whimpered.
“Up!” the voice repeated.
I was hauled to my feet, dragged, and thrown onto the ground outside. A brisk wind whipped around me and set my body shaking in violent tremors. A rope was secured to my wrists, and I was pulled, crawling and sliding, through the dirt to the back of a wagon. Taunts and insults hurtled at me, along with fistfuls of mud and refuse.
A figure knelt on one knee at my side. His hand reached out and yanked my hair, pulling my face to him. My head swam in pain and confusion. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the brilliant sunlight, and I blinked, making out a dark hood trimmed in white ermine, dark laughing eyes, and a small smirking mouth.
“We are late for our wedding,” he said cheerily. “Do try to keep up.” Demas stood, brushing the dust from his trousers, and tied the rope to a post on the back of the wagon before disappearing around the front.
My senses, jumbled and disoriented, gradually came back to me, the courtyard rendering itself in stark relief. I was dressed in the tunic and trousers I’d had on the day I was captured. My hair had been braided and tied back with a leather thong. I didn’t know who had administered to my wounds or took pains to tie my hair away from the sticky, gaping slashes on my back, but I was grateful. My gaze followed Halfdan as he approached the front of the wagon, giving me a wide berth. Demas reached out his hand and the two men clasped arms.
A raven flew overhead and perched on top of a sack of wool in the wagon, its large dark eyes regarding me silently. One of the horses snorted and stomped its feet. The bird took flight, disappearing into a thicket nearby.
I wondered if it had been sent by the Goddess to give me strength—to let me know she was still with me. But I didn’t feel strong. I felt weak and horribly alone. Everything I had done, every step I had taken, led me back to the man about to cart me away. Fate was implacable. I was destined to live my life as Demas’s captive. Had I just accepted the betrothal, none of this would have happened. Instead, I fought, I kicked, I screamed. I taunted fate. I goaded the Norns and their twisted game. I never had a choice. Warm tears rolled down the coolness of my cheeks, and I gave in to the inevitable. I surrendered my soul into fate’s cruel hands.
“Time to leave, sweeting,” Demas yelled back to me. “Best hold on.”
The wagon jerked forward, pitching me face-first to the ground. I thrashed around, trying to gain footing. Where was I to find the energy to stand, let alone walk? I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since breakfast in the cottage when Ingvar came in. I had no idea how long ago that was, but several days must have passed since Halfdan’s change of heart. The burn on the bottom of my foot was blistered over, and my back was tight and itchy with fresh scabs, though the recent movement had reopened a few tears. I could feel the blood oozing through the thick medicinal paste plastered to my back. Every part of my body hurt. My legs quaked, and my arms were weak and feeble in their attempts to set me right. I was sweating profusely, but my teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached. I suspected the chill had more to do with an emerging fever than with the temperature of the day.
“Avelynn!” A thundering growl erupted from somewhere behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Alrik charged toward me, his sword swinging wild, his tunic covered in blood. My heart leapt at seeing him, but then plummeted as all of Reading swarmed him.
“Another suitor, perhaps?” The amusement in Demas’s voice cleaved my heart. “A shame he’s too late.” He laughed, the wagon set off, and I staggered onward. Merciless, insufferable fate pulled me farther away from the desperate sounds of battle behind.
* * *
We had come to an agreement, Demas and I, during the long journey to Wareham. After a short spurt of dragging my limp body along the old Roman road, he decided that my death was not advantageous and tossed me into the back of the wagon, the sacks of wool there a boon to my aching body. For my part, I decided that I would no longer fight my fate and became a complacent captive. On the second day, he provided me with a tent and a bed to sleep in, clean clothes and food.
Prior to my apparent rescue, Demas had approached Aethelred and offered to pay my ransom. The king, unwilling to pay such an exorbitant fee for my freedom, happily conceded the inconvenience onto someone else and granted his blessings to the exchange—and Demas’s petition for marriage. The ceremony was to take place on the ides of March.
Having selflessly bought my freedom, despite my cruel treatment of his character at the Witan, Demas cemented the affection and respect of those around him. All the affluent people from Somerset and Dorset would be present for our wedding feast. Aethelred, injured and recovering from the wound he suffered in the battle at Basing, would stay in Windsor, but Alfred and Ealhswith would attend in his stead.
I scoffed. All his planning would be for naught. The future state of my conjugal affairs seemed irrelevant. By the time we reached Wareham, fever ravaged my body, and I was certain there wouldn’t be a wedding. I was delirious. I wanted to die. I couldn’t imagine a life without Alrik, but a thousand warriors against one ensured I would never again feel the soft wool of his tunic against my cheek or the strength of his solid arms around me. Instead, I would have Demas’s foul hands touching my flesh. The thought repulsed me, and I welcomed the languid darkness pulling my soul to the underworld.
But when we passed through Wimborne, Demas retained the services of Father Anlaf, a prominent leech, who expertly tended the growing infection festering through the rancid poultices on my back. Despite my heavy heart and yearning desire to give up, Anlaf roused my body’s traitorous instinct for survival. Fate, it seemed, was not finished baiting me.
I closed my eyes. I could feel the weight of Demas’s body as he sat beside me on the down-filled mattress. I had been given a luxurious chamber in Wareham. The ornate poster bed was crowded with furs and finely woven linens. At the front of the room, closest to the door, stood a large table and several chairs, the legs intricately carved. Thick wall-clothing hung on the walls, each exquisite image painstakingly embroidered into the fabric and embellished with silver and gold thread. I had a fine bone comb to untangle my hair and sparkling glass horns for my wine. But it was only temporary—until the guests left after the wedding feast. I shuddered to think where he would dispose of me once the witnesses were gone.
“I see the good Father Anlaf has brought you back from death’s door,” Demas said.
“Not without a fight.” I rolled over, my back to him.
“Now that I see you are back to your recalcitrant self, you have a host of guests wishing to speak with you. Foremost amongst them is the Archbishop of Canterbury. He wishes to ascertain for himself your consent to this marriage after what happened at the Witan in Winchester. He wants to know what has changed your mind.”
“What do I tell him?”
“You tell him you were lying, and you pray that God will forgive your transgressions.”
I heard the door to the chamber open and then close.
“Ah, wonderful! Come, come,” Demas called jovially to whoever had just entered the room. “In keeping with tradition, my bride, I have a wedding gift for you.”
“Avelynn?” a timid voice called out.
My eyes sprang open. I lifted my head. Edward shrugged off Gil’s possessive hold and rushed in. Demas moved off the bed, and Edward crashed into my side, wrapping his arms around me. I sucked in a sharp breath and winced as pain shot through my back. It was the most glorious thing I had ever felt. I held him tight.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I’m well,” I said, half choking on the words. “And you?” I pulled awa
y long enough to look into his dark blue eyes. I scanned his face, his full smiling mouth, the healthy, ruddy glow to his skin. Dear gods, he’s alive! He’s real!
“I’m well, sister.”
I embraced him again, sobbing quietly into his soft wheaten hair.
We stayed clinging to each other until Adiva, my new chambermaid, interrupted our reunion. “The archbishop is waiting.”
“Gil, see that Edward returns without incident to his room,” Demas said.
Gil nudged Edward’s shoulder, and Edward disentangled himself from my embrace, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.
“I promised she would be treated well,” Demas said.
Edward stiffened. “You kept your word.”
“I remind you to keep yours.” Demas nodded, and Gil led Edward from the room. Adiva followed, shutting the door behind her.
“I see your mind working,” he said.
“What game are you playing at, Demas?”
“I am merely reminding the lad of our previous arrangement.”
“And what arrangement is that?” I could feel the blood boil through my veins.
“That is between Edward and me.”
“If you so much as harm him—”
“You’ll what?” He laughed. “You are in no position to threaten me.” He removed the knife from his belt and sat beside me. He admired the steel in the candlelight and then began to pick the dirt from beneath his fingernails with the deadly point. “No one knows Edward is alive, except a few of my closest friends. He is my collateral for your compliance. As long as you are willing and agreeable, he will remain alive.”
It didn’t make any sense. His whole purpose in marrying me was to gain control of my father’s legacy. With Edward healthy and well, Demas would assume control over only half of Somerset. “What can you possibly gain from keeping him alive?”
“Well, let me put it this way.” He leaned down, the knife’s edge resting on my cheek, and whispered in my ear. “You will determine the manner of his death. If you are a well-behaved little girl, he will die quickly, without pain. If you so much as say one thing to thwart my plans, he will suffer interminably, and you, dear lady, will watch.”
Rage coiled and burned, threatening to consume me. Demas’s treachery and madness knew no bounds. He had kept Edward alive only to kill him when it suited his purposes.
I imagined grabbing Demas’s knife and plunging it into his stomach, twisting and turning the blade until his intestines spilled onto the floor where I could step on them and grind them into the dirt.
He stood and straightened his tunic. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“Excellent!” He clapped his hands together in satisfaction. “Then let’s put your loyalty to the test, shall we.” He pulled a scroll of parchment from beneath his tunic. “We will start by amending your will.”
TWENTY-TWO
The procession began, each guest eager to view the spectacle—the girl who was tortured by Vikings and lived to tell the tale. I was never left alone with my visitors. Demas, or his spy Adiva, my faithful new lady-in-waiting, was always present.
Archbishop Aldulf was duly convinced of my contrition, Alfred relayed the king’s sympathy and expressed his personal lament for my ordeal, ladies tittered as Demas wove a tale of depravity and torture, and men nodded when he pointed out that a shield wall was no place for a woman to begin with. I was a caged bear, poked and prodded, forced to do tricks for my audience.
Ealhswith hung back and waited until the others had been satisfactorily sated in my performance.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Much better than I was.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“This.” She waved her hand, encompassing the room. “After all that has happened, how can you just lie there and accept this?” She locked her arms across her chest and glared at me.
I nodded my chin toward Adiva. “I’ve changed my mind.” I shrugged. “Nothing left to fight about.”
Ealhswith narrowed her eyes at Adiva, who sat on one of the chairs in the corner, embroidering a strip of silk. I followed her gaze. Long, auburn curls obscured her pale face as she bent forward. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. I wondered what Demas was threatening her with. Since she’d had the misfortune of seeing Edward alive, I suspected she wouldn’t live to see the day after the wedding.
Father Anlaf bustled into the room and opened the shutters on the small window. The steady fire in the hearth snatched greedily at the fresh air. “Foul vapors carry disease,” he admonished Adiva. “This window must be opened twice daily.” Small, round, and dismal, he shooed her out. “Go fetch more cloths for your mistress’s back.”
She hesitated, looking from me to Ealhswith.
He frowned at her. “Go on.”
She curtsied and left the room.
He turned his pointed glare to Ealhswith.
“I’ll be staying,” she said firmly.
Unable to tell the king’s sister-in-law to leave, he nonetheless brusquely removed her from the bedside.
“How is my patient this afternoon?”
“Healing, unfortunately.”
He ignored the bitterness in my voice and rolled me over. As if uncovering one of his precious relics, he gently removed layers of bandage. When he got down to the skin, I could hear Ealhswith inhale sharply.
“’Tis not a place for a lady.”
“I will stay with my friend.”
He mumbled under his breath but continued about his work, poking and prodding the scarred and healing flesh.
“Dear God, Avelynn, it’s a wonder you’re still alive,” she said quietly.
“Father Anlaf is to be credited for my current state of well-being.”
“I will personally see to it that the monastery at Wimborne receives a generous gift from the king,” she said in a low whisper.
This perked him up immeasurably. “A most gracious offer, my lady. May Christ reward you.”
Adiva shuffled in with a basket full of cloth strips.
“I meant to tell you of a dream I had a fortnight ago,” Ealhswith said, moving to the other side of the bed. She sat beside me. “A magnificent eagle landed upon my windowsill. He whispered in my ear where to find unfathomable treasure. He told me I was to rescue a beautiful maiden held ransom by a terrible dragon.”
I turned my head and stared at her. Alrik?
“He flew away, perching high atop the mast of a merchant ship. It had the most striking red sail with a raven emblazed on the fabric.”
Raven’s Blood! My lower lip trembled. Gods, she had seen him, talked to him.
“Did you rescue the maiden?” Father Anlaf asked.
“No.” She wrapped her hands around mine. “By the time I got there, some dark and sinister creature had gotten to her first.”
“A dream to pray on, for sure,” he said, looking up at her. “The Devil may be tempting you with material wealth, my lady. Perhaps you should add a personal donation to the Church yourself, to cleanse your soul.”
“A considerate suggestion, Father. Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand. “I fear the dragon has killed the eagle.” Pain clenched my stomach, and tears sprang from a well, dark and deep.
“Nonsense,” Anlaf said gruffly. “You are upsetting my patient, lady, with your fanciful talk. I ask you to leave.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” she said, and stood up. “I’ll wait at the table until you’re finished.”
“Thank you, Ealhswith … for trying,” I said.
Her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, and she nodded.
Anlaf glared. Ealhswith frowned, but dutifully sat beside Adiva at the large table, her hands resting in mock contrition.
He clicked his tongue and went about his ministrations undisturbed. Scooping out some paste, he plastered my wounds with the thick salve. The herbs he used wer
e pungently aromatic. I wondered what he was using and sighed. Muirgen would have known.
When he finished, he had me stand. I raised my arms, and he walked around me, winding me tight with the cloth strips. I felt like I was being encased in my death shroud, readied for burial, which I decided was only fitting. Life as I knew it would end tonight with the priest’s “amen.” Everything to this point—the loss of my parents, the loss of Alrik, the torture—all of it had been a fairy tale compared to what would come after I was married. I felt dead inside. After the “amen,” my hell would begin.
Satisfied with his care, Anlaf straightened his rough woolen robe. “You will be able to stand at your wedding tonight.”
Unbeknownst to him, I had been standing and walking a bit each day in an attempt to regain my strength. Going into my nuptials weak and immobile didn’t appeal to me in the least.
He smiled broadly. Bushy brown eyebrows crested squinting little eyes. “Lord Demas will be pleased with your recovery.”
“What’s this? I believe I’ve heard my name,” Demas called, entering the room.
“My lord.” Father Anlaf bowed his head. “I was just mentioning to the lady that I believe her strong enough to stand for the ceremony.” Anlaf lent me his hand and helped me back to the bed.
“Wonderful,” Demas said, resting his hand on the monk’s shoulder. “I cannot begin to thank you for your kind treatment of the mistress Avelynn.”
“No trouble at all. I am happy to do God’s will.” He inclined his head and scampered out.
Demas bowed in a courtly flourish. “Lady Ealhswith, how lovely to see you again. I trust you have assured yourself of your friend’s good treatment.”
Ealhswith stood and placed herself bodily between the bed and Demas’s smiling eyes. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Demas, but if anything should happen to Avelynn, I will personally ensure the king takes a vested interest in you. I doubt very much you will appreciate his scrutiny.”
“What do I have to fear? You can see for yourself that she is being treated with the very best care. She is certainly not wanting.”
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