by Jayne Castel
“Things did not go as I’d planned,” he admitted. “The foxglove should have drugged Alchflaed till mid-morning, but when I spoke to the monk, I realized that Glaedwine had not added enough poison to the wine. Seaxwulf drank two cups, as Alchflaed did, but still managed to awake at dawn.”
Osulf stared down at the blade, his heavy-featured face twisted in a scowl. Elfhere realized that he was not remotely sorry for what he had done; or that Maric was likely to die because of his treachery.
“The bitch must have woken early and escaped while the rest of us were sleeping,” he concluded.
Elfhere stared at him, at a loss for words. He thought then of how Osulf had rescued him from numerous scraps when they were children, and the times when they had fought shoulder to shoulder in a shield wall. Elfhere’s father had died in battle when his son was just three winters old, and a fever carried his mother off the following winter. Elfhere’s friends, the men he risked his life for, were his family but today he had just lost one. Osulf had taken a path he would never follow.
Without speaking another word, Elfhere rose to his feet and left Osulf to sharpen his sword in peace.
Chapter Thirty-three
The Hunt
“We will not be able to rest here for long. They will be tracking us now,” Maric announced, his voice rough with exhaustion.
Alchflaed sat up, still struggling to recover her breath. She looked up at the darkening sky, where the last streaks of gold had faded and the heavens were turning the color of a bruise. Her throat was raw, her lungs ached and her legs felt like jelly. She looked across at where Maric sat opposite, his back propped up against a tree, and saw fatigue etched upon his face.
“Surely, we must be well ahead of them now?” she asked, despair rising in her breast.
“They will have horses… and dogs,” Maric reminded her. “We won’t outrun them.”
Alchflaed stared at him, despair turning to panic. “What will we do then?”
“We need to find somewhere to hide, somewhere they can’t track us. Farther east, there is a town called Laegrecastrescir. It has a river, and if we can get a boat there, we could escape the hounds.”
Alchflaed nodded, her panic ebbing. “How far is it?”
“If we push hard, we can make it by noon tomorrow.”
Alchflaed climbed to her feet, stifling a groan as her legs protested, and brushed off her skirts.
“Will we make it before they catch up with us?”
Maric rose to his feet and stepped close to her. Their gazes met and Alchflaed felt the familiar pull toward him. The sensation only intensified when he smiled.
“It depends,” he said, “on how fast you can run.”
They struck out east through a gently rolling landscape interspersed with beech wood and coppicing oak, ash and hazel. Night fell in a long shadow over the world, before a full moon lit their way through the trees. The ragged sound of their breathing, and the crunch and snap of twigs underfoot, echoed through the stillness.
Alchflaed followed Maric, around four paces behind. He jogged slowly, pacing himself, and Alchflaed did her best to keep up. However, he was far fitter than she was and they had to make frequent stops so that she could catch her breath.
They passed a few streams on their journey east, and slaked their thirst before splashing cold water over their heated faces. Maric warned her from drinking too deeply though.
“It is difficult to run with a bellyful of water,” he told her.
By the time the first rays of dawn lightened the sky behind them, Alchflaed was stumbling with exhaustion. Eventually, she tripped and fell, landing face down on the leaf-strewn earth.
“I cannot go any farther,” she panted. “I just cannot…”
Maric approached Alchflaed and sat down next to her, before flopping onto his back.
“Very well,” he gasped. “We will rest awhile.”
When her breathing no longer came in painful gasps, and when the world had stopped whirling about her, Alchflaed propped herself upon her elbows and looked at him. Maric was still breathing heavily, his arm flung across his eyes, his clothing plastered to his body with sweat.
“I haven’t thanked you,” she said finally. “You’ve risked your life for me.”
Maric lifted his arm from his eyes, his silver-blue gaze meeting hers. Then he gave her a rueful smile.
“I owed you a debt, remember?”
Alchflaed sat up and removed her cloak to sit on. Maric sat up and faced her, his face serious.
“Every man has his faults,” he began quietly, “but mine is that I suffer from blind loyalty. Once I swear allegiance, I will not go back on my word, not for anything.”
Alchflaed blinked. “Some would say that is not a fault.”
Maric’s face twisted. “It is when I choose to follow a man with no scruples. I knew who Paeda was. I knew whom I was delivering you to, but I took you to him anyway. Alchflaed, I am so sorry I did not take you away, as you asked.”
Alchflaed saw the naked pain in his eyes. Without thinking, she reached out and stroked his cheek. It was rough with stubble, and warm.
“I too know all about blind loyalty,” she murmured, “and the damage it can cause. I should have had the strength to defy my father. If you had not intervened, I would have done his bidding.”
Silence fell between them, and Alchflaed watched Maric close his eyes. He had long, dark lashes.
“We are alike, you and I,” she continued softly. “I knew it the first time I locked eyes with you in Bebbanburg. I knew then, I’d found the only man who would ever understand me.”
Maric’s eyes opened, his gaze seizing hers. Alchflaed leaned toward him, drawn like a moth to a naked flame.
The baying of hounds echoed through the woods.
The moment shattered and Alchflaed pulled back, heart pounding. The sound was far off, but in the stillness of the dawn, it sent terror racing through her veins.
Maric leaped to his feet and reached down to help her up. Alchflaed swung her cloak around her shoulders and saw the determination in Maric’s face. He did not intend to let their pursuers catch them up.
Wordlessly, he took Alchflaed’s hand. Then, they turned and fled east through the trees.
***
The sun rose into a clear sky, bringing with it another day of brilliant sunshine. Yet, Alchflaed did not notice the weather, only the heat of the sun on her face as she ran.
The rest had revived her, although she knew she would not be able to sprint much farther. After a day, with barely any rest, her body was spent. As it was, it was only pure determination that forced her onward. Maric had risked his life for her; she would not disappoint him by collapsing and wailing like a coward. She would make it as hard as possible for her pursuers to catch her.
The dogs’ howling gradually drew closer, as their hunters narrowed the gap. She and Maric were running across a clearing now, shadowed by ancient oaks. A vixen darted in front of them, her furry russet tail flying out behind her.
Hope rose within Alchflaed. Perhaps the fox would throw the hounds off the scent just long enough for them to get away. The dogs were less than a furlong behind them now, and Alchflaed could hear the thundering of hooves.
She and Maric dove into the trees and scrambled up a low bank. The undergrowth was thick here, matted bramble and ferns. Maric grabbed Alchflaed by the hand and dragged her into the heart of it. The brambles clutched and grabbed at her skirt and cloak, and snagged painfully in her hair, but she pressed on.
Behind them, Alchflaed heard the snapping of tree branches and the squeal of a horse, as their pursuers tried forcing their way into the dense undergrowth.
Maric pulled Alchflaed into the center of the densest growth of bramble he could find and yanked her to the ground. The thorns raked at her face and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Flattened on their bellies, and trying to quiet their breathing, the two fugitives listened to the men continue their search.
Alchflaed lay there, feeling the dampness of the earth seep through her clothing, and waited for someone to find them. She could hear men crashing about the undergrowth, although the barking and yelping of the dogs was now moving away. The warriors who had entered the trees were on foot, forced to dismount in order to wade through the dense undergrowth.
Alchflaed and Maric waited, not speaking and hardly daring to breathe until silence returned once more to the forest. Then, they waited a little longer, just to be sure.
Eventually, Maric took hold of Alchflaed’s hand and, giving it a reassuring squeeze, rose to his feet, drawing her with him. Unspeaking, Alchflaed followed his lead – although when she stood up, she realized that Maric had suddenly gone very still.
He was staring behind them.
Slowly, Alchflaed turned to follow his gaze, the fragile hope that they could escape shattering.
A warrior stood a few feet away, staring at them. Dressed in a leather vest, his arm rings glinting in the morning sun, he was tall, blond and handsome, with sea-blue eyes. Alchflaed recognized him; she had seen the warrior drinking in the king’s hall with Maric a few times. He had seemed a good-natured man then, although his face now was grim.
“Elfhere,” Maric broke the silence between them. “You have found us.”
“Aye,” Elfhere replied, his gaze narrowing, “I was sure you had hidden yourselves in here. I knew all I had to do was wait.”
Maric smiled, although there was no humor in the expression.
“I didn’t kill the king.”
“I know – Osulf did.”
Maric’s gaze narrowed. “But you’re hunting me anyway?”
“I had no choice. The northerners rule Tamworth now.”
Maric cocked his head to one side. “So, what will you do?”
Elfhere held his gaze for a moment before a slow smile spread over his face.
“Do you even have to ask?”
He moved toward them, leading his horse through the brambles.
“The hounds have picked up another scent that’s led them north. However, they will retrace their steps soon enough. You don’t have much time.”
Elfhere turned to Alchflaed. “Milady, please give me your cloak.”
When she did not move to obey him, Elfhere gave a sigh of exasperation. “I will use it to draw the hounds south.”
Beside Alchflaed, Maric spoke. “They will kill you, if they discover you’ve tricked them.”
Elfhere gave him a grin in response. “Then they won’t discover it.” His face turned serious. “Please, Milady. Time grows short.”
Alchflaed nodded, unfastening her cloak from around her neck and handing it to Elfhere.
“Thank you,” she said quietly and received a smile in response. Elfhere then turned to Maric.
“Continue east and you’ll reach Laegrecastrescir soon enough. I will make sure they track me south for at least two days before I drop the cloak. That should give you a good head-start.”
Maric stepped forward and clasped his friend in a bear hug.
“I will never forget this, Elfhere.”
The blond warrior released Maric and stepped backward, and Alchflaed saw there were tears in his eyes.
“Run,” he said, smiling, “and keep the Lady Alchflaed safe.”
Chapter Thirty-four
On the Other Side of the Curtain
They reached Laegrecastrescir shortly after noon. A stoutly made town, perched upon the banks of the River Legro, and ringed by a high wooden palisade, Laegrecastrescir was a welcome sight after nothing but woodland for the last day and a half. Alchflaed nearly wept for joy at the sight of its walls. She was hungry, thirsty and felt as if horses had trampled her. She longed to sleep for a week.
Well-tended fields of kale, turnips and onions lined the road into town, where folk were hard at work, weeding and sowing. The sun that danced in and out of scudding clouds, glittered off the gently rippling river. To the south, Alchflaed saw that the sky had turned an ominous iron grey. A storm was rolling in.
Alchflaed and Maric joined the throng of townsfolk who were coming and going from Laegrecastrescir and entered the town through a wide gate. A dirt street ran through the center of the town, leading up to the ealdorman’s hall at the northern end.
“We shall avoid making ourselves known to the ealdorman,” Maric told her. “I’ve met the man and know he’d be only too happy to hand us over to the rulers of Tamworth – for a price of course.”
Alchflaed shuddered at the thought. To come so far, and risk so much, only to be captured now, terrified her. Maric must have seen her fear, for he placed a reassuring arm about her shoulders.
“I will look after you,” he promised.
Believing him, Alchflaed relaxed in the circle of Maric’s arm.
They asked at the mead hall and found lodging with an old woman. The widow had a small hovel behind her home that she rented to travelers. The woman was nearly blind and had a thin, whispery voice, but she welcomed them warmly, and asked no questions – not even when Alchflaed handed over one of her bronze bracelets as payment.
“This will do nicely,” the widow gave a toothless grin. “I will bring you some food and drink as well.”
“Could we also have some hot water and lye to bathe with?” Maric asked.
“There’s a cauldron over the fire pit inside,” the widow answered. “I will bring you water to heat, and some lye.”
Alchflaed and Maric retired inside their lodgings, and although it was very basic accommodation, Alchflaed’s heart lifted the moment she stepped inside. The hovel had a dirt floor, a single fire pit and a small pallet in one corner, covered with a single fur.
Seeing Alchflaed’s gaze rest apprehensively upon the narrow bed, Maric smiled.
“I shall sleep on the floor, next to the fire,” he told her.
Alchflaed turned to him, flushing, and was about to excuse herself, when the old woman appeared at the open doorway with two pails of water.
“My sight is failing me,” she lamented, eyeing Maric up and down, “but you look like a well-built man. “Can I get you to refill these from the well while I fetch the soap and some linens?”
Maric nodded before relieving the widow of her burden. He emptied the water into the cauldron and disappeared outside to fetch some more. Meanwhile, Alchflaed busied herself by lighting the fire under the cauldron.
By the time Maric had finished filling the cauldron, and the old woman had brought the items they needed to bathe with, it was starting to spit with rain. Alchflaed stood at the door to the hovel and looked at where the heavy raindrops splattered upon the dry earth.
“Finally,” the widow appeared at her side and squinted up at the gathering storm clouds. “We need some rain.”
Alchflaed smiled. If it washed away her scent so that the hounds could not track her, she also welcomed this storm.
The rain hammered against the thatch roof and rattled the shutters, but inside the hovel, it was warm and dry.
Alchflaed sat on a low stool next to the fire, a platter of food balanced upon her knee and a large cup of ale at her side. Like the accommodation, the fare was simple but good: boiled eggs, fresh bread and butter, and honey. Never had food tasted so delicious. Opposite her, Maric attacked his meal with vigor, only looking up when his platter was empty.
“After two months of gruel and stale bread that was a meal fit for a king,” he said before raising his cup of ale to his lips.
Alchflaed licked the honey off her fingers and sighed in contentment. Then, she saw he was watching her, and she looked away, embarrassed.
“The water has heated,” he said finally, breaking the tension between them. “Do you want to bathe first?”
Alchflaed felt her body go hot, although she covered her awkwardness by frowning. “Here… in front of you?”
Maric laughed at that. “There’s a curtain next to the bed. I will draw it back and wait in there while you bathe.”
Alchflaed nodded, a
lthough her pulse had now quickened. The thought that he would be just behind the curtain, while she stood naked on the other side, was doing strange things to her breathing.
As promised, once he had finished his ale, Maric retreated behind the curtain and left Alchflaed to bathe.
Standing next to the hearth, Alchflaed undressed, pulling her woolen tunic and linen under-dress over her head so that she stood naked. The air was warm inside the hovel so she did not shiver. If anything, the warmth of the fire felt pleasant against her skin.
Listening to the drumming of the rain on the thatch above her head, she took ladles of water from the cauldron and soaped herself with lye.
On the other side of the curtain, Maric took a deep breath and struggled with his impulses.
He ached for Alchflaed, so strongly that it was starting to torment him. It had been easy enough to ignore it during their flight east, but now that they were temporarily safe from danger, his need for her was torture.
He sat upon the bed and tried to steady his breathing, to think of anything except the naked woman on the other side of the curtain. However, he could no longer bear it. Gently, he parted the curtains, just a crack, and what he saw beyond made his breath catch.
There she was, naked and glistening as she soaped her tall, curvaceous body with lye. Long-limbed with proud pink-tipped breasts, and a thatch of hair between her legs the same color as the tumbling auburn curls on her head, Alchflaed entranced him. Her pale skin glistened wetly as she washed herself. Maric bit down on his tongue and let the curtain drop before he disgraced himself.
His shaft now pulsed, straining against his breeches. Sweating, Maric inhaled deeply and cursed himself for looking. How was he ever going to be able to spend the night alone in the same room as this woman?
Alchflaed wrung the last of the water from her hair and dried herself off with a linen cloth the old woman had brought. Then, she pulled on the linen under-dress. It was warm inside, so she did not put on her woolen tunic over it.