by Jayne Castel
“Outlaws,” Saba replied grimly. “They’ve killed all three men guarding Saewara’s tent, slain her servant and taken your betrothed.”
Annan leaped to his feet with a curse. Fortunately, he had slept with his breeches and boots on. He hurriedly pulled on a tunic and followed Saba out into the rain. On the other side of the small clearing he found his betrothed’s tent empty, save for the corpse of the slave. They had slit her throat and left her there to drown in her own blood.
Annan cursed once more, viciously, fury turning him cold.
Relations between the East Angles and the Mercians were tenuous enough without his wife-to-be being kidnapped just two days out from Tamworth. Penda would blame him if Saewara perished tonight, before setting his fyrd on the Kingdom of the East Angles without mercy.
As if reading Annan’s thoughts, Penda’s servant, owl-eyed with sleep, stepped into the tent. Wordlessly, his gaze took in the scene before him, before he turned to Annan with a snarl.
“The King will hear of this!”
Annan ignored the young man. Instead, he turned to Saba, who stood at the tent’s entrance awaiting orders.
“They won’t be travelling fast in this weather – we’ll track them. Leave five men behind to guard the camp, the rest of you are coming with me.”
Saewara stared down at the darkness and blinked rain-water out of her eyes. Her captor carried her like a sack of grain, slung over one shoulder. Wet branches clawed at her and the man’s shoulder dug into her ribs with each stride. Yet, despite his ragged breathing, the man did not slow his pace. Instead, he crashed through the woods, intent on his destination.
Terror chilled Saewara to the bone. An overwhelming, paralyzing fear had turned her mind blank.
The man ran on for a long while, into the heart of the woodland, where the trees grew dense and dark, before finally reaching a small campsite. Saewara lifted her head, staring at a collection of tattered, weather-stained tents huddled under the boughs of ancient oaks. Pale firelight seeped from the tents, illuminating them like lanterns in the night.
Moments later, her captor had carried her to the entrance of the largest of the tents and pushed his way inside. With a grunt, he off-loaded his captive onto the dirt floor. Saewara crumpled to the ground, her legs giving out from under her. Hands trembling, she pushed her wet hair out of her eyes, climbed to her feet and gazed around the tent.
The air smelled damp, despite the fire pit that flickered in the center. There was a sour smell of men’s sweat, as if the tent had stood here for a while and never been aired. The stench caused her nose to wrinkle. The interior was sparsely furnished, except for a pile of furs at one end. Apart from her assailant – a huge man with a shaggy brown beard and hair, and hard, dark eyes – there was only one other occupant inside the tent.
Looking upon the man, who was staring at her intently, Saewara gaped in shock.
She recognized the man before her, and knew she was in deep trouble.
“You have done well,” the man spoke to his companion, not taking his eyes off Saewara. “Were you followed?”
The huge man who had brought Saewara shook his head, scattering droplets of water everywhere. “We had to kill of a few of them to get into her tent but we managed to get away before the alarm was raised. They’ll never manage to follow us in this weather.”
The other man frowned. “Are you sure?”
“East Anglian dogs,” the warrior replied before spitting on the ground to make his point. “We had to wait for hours in the rain till the moment was right – till most of the camp were sleeping like babes. The guards never suspected a thing. They never heard us coming; slitting their throats was easy. The king and his rabble don’t know these woods like we do. I left a confusing trail behind us. They’ll never find our camp.”
“I hope you’re right,” his leader nodded. “Set up watch on the camp edge all the same. You can leave us now.”
The huge man grunted, threw Saewara a lingering, lecherous look, and pushed his way back outside.
Saewara and the leader of the outlaws were now alone.
“Coenwal,” Saewara said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “So this is where you have been hiding?”
The man, of average height with a stocky build, stared back at her, unsmiling. Coenwal had changed much since she had last seen him in Tamworth over a year earlier. His lank brown hair was much longer and tied back with a leather thong at his nape. His grey eyes had dark circles under them, and bitterness and resentment had etched deep lines on a face that had once been handsome.
“Saewara,” Coenwal replied, savoring her name in such an intimate manner that the fine hairs on the back of Saewara’s neck prickled in warning. “You are even lovelier than I remember.”
His gaze, hot and hungry, slid from her face, down the length of her body. Horrified, Saewara glanced down to see that the sleeveless linen tunic she had worn to bed, was sodden wet and clung to her body like a second skin. She may as well have been naked.
“Egfrid was wasted on you,” Coenwal continued, not bothering to hide his appreciation. “The man was a weasel. You know I wanted you but your brother didn’t think I was good enough. Now that whoreson is marrying you to an East Angle. I’ve saved you from a fate worse than death – you should thank me.”
Saewara stared back at him, stone-faced. Truthfully, there was little difference between Egfrid and Coenwal – they were both arrogant, cruel men who thought little of women. Egfrid had been an ealdorman, whereas Coenwal was a thegn; too low in status to be considered a suitable match for the king’s sister. Saewara had been relieved when Penda had flatly refused Coenwal’s marriage proposal.
“Penda never realized your worth.” Coenwal took a step toward her, causing Saewara to back away from him. “He would even wed you to the enemy.”
“It’s a political alliance,” Saewara replied warily, hoping that by keeping Coenwal talking he would keep his distance from her. “You know the king plans to extend our borders east.”
Coenwal snarled at that. “Penda’s ambitions blind him to the needs of his own folk. He treads over all, including those who have served him loyally, to further his own glory.”
Saewara frowned. Coenwal had a blinkered view of the past. As she remembered it, Penda had discovered that Coenwal’s brother, Aedbald, had been plotting against him. He had killed Aedbald and banished Coenwal, who he suspected of aiding his brother, from the kingdom. Many believed that Penda, in letting Coenwal live, had shown uncharacteristic mercy.
Yet, Coenwal did not appear to share the sentiment. He had not left Mercia. Instead, he was here, hidden deep in the woods near the East Anglian border, nursing his hatred and biding his time.
“I’ve been waiting for this day.” Coenwal advanced toward her, around the edge of the fire pit. “The luscious Saewara, my captive. I will have you… keep you for my own. Tomorrow, we shall break camp and travel south. Once we leave Mercia, Penda will never be able to retrieve you – and I will have my vengeance.”
“You are mistaken,” Saewara replied, backing further away from him. “My brother cares not of what becomes of me. If you get in the way of his ambitions however, it won’t matter where you flee, he will find you. You’ve seen what he’s capable of.”
Coenwal’s lip curled at that but he nevertheless continued his advance.
“Better to let me go,” Saewara added, her voice quavering slightly in rising panic. “Return me to my betrothed and leave Mercia while Penda has no reason to bring his wrath down upon you.”
“Silence bitch,” Coenwal spat. “I don’t need a woman telling me what to do. Still your tongue.”
A moment later, he had her backed up against the tent wall. Despite that Coenwal was not overly tall, he loomed over Saewara. He stank of stale sweat and onions. Up close his eyes were blood-shot, his skin florid from years of drinking an excess of mead.
“Look at you,” his voice lowered to a lust-filled growl. “All innocent-looking. Yet
, with a body like that you are anything but a blushing virgin.”
His gaze dropped then, to the wooden crucifix that hung against her breast. His eyes hardened and, reaching out, he yanked it from about her neck.
“Christ-worshipping bitch.” He tossed the crucifix on the fire and turned back to her. “At least your brother still worships the true gods, not this imposter that would have you keep your legs closed. A woman has no right to refuse a man.”
Saewara acted without thinking. Rage surged inside her and turned her world blood red. She lashed out at Coenwal, slapping him hard across the face. He reeled back, in shock more than pain. For a moment, he went very still and the interior of the tent grew deathly quiet, save for the gentle crackling of burning wood in the hearth behind them.
“You hit me,” he said, his voice incredulous, raising his hand to the red welt that had formed across one cheek. “Oh how I will enjoy making you pay for that.”
“Get away from me,” Saewara snarled, terror turning her savage.
“I think not.” Coenwal grabbed her by the hair and yanked her against him, his free hand sliding up her body, squeezing and probing. “You’re mine now, and this night you will pleasure me.”
Saewara punched him in the stomach and had a moment’s satisfaction in hearing him gasp for breath, before he roared in rage and flung her across the tent. “Whore!”
Saewara rolled to the ground and was scrambling to her feet when Coenwal reached her. He moved quickly for such a stocky man. This time, he pulled her up by her hair with one hand and slapped her hard across the face with the other.
“Dog!” Saewara screamed, kicking at him with her bare feet. Now that he had turned violent, she became even more enraged. She had endured years of brutality at Egfrid’s hands. Years of torment and cruelty; days of dread between beatings. She would not go back to that life. She would die rather than return to it.
Coenwal, however, appeared to be enjoying himself.
“Fight all you like,” he crowed, grabbing hold of the neck of her tunic. “It will make this all the more a night to remember.”
With that he pulled downwards. Saewara heard the sound of linen ripping and felt her tunic give way. Cold air feathered her naked breast. Coenwal’s mouth gaped in lust. He grabbed her breast and squeezed hard.
Saewara screamed and lashed out at Coenwal with her fist, smashing him hard in the eye. She fought him in a frenzy until he head-butted her, and threw her down on the furs. Dazed, her forehead throbbing, Saewara gazed up at him.
“Bitch,” Coenwal growled, glaring down at her. His right eye was already starting to purple. “I’ll have you now.” With that, he began to unlace his breeches.
Saewara lay there, frozen in terror, watching him undress.
At that moment, the tent flap opened and a man stepped inside.
Saewara gasped.
It was Annan. Soaked through, his blond hair slicked back against his scalp and his sword raised, the East Angle looked dangerous, and enraged. He took one look at the scene before him and charged at Coenwal.
In one sharp movement, he plunged his sword into the base of the outlaw’s neck. Coenwal never had a chance to reach for a weapon, or dodge the blow. Instead, he fell gurgling to the ground, grasping at the blade now lodged in his windpipe. Annan’s face was terrifying as he kicked the outlaw to the ground until he lay still. Then, he pulled the blade free.
Then, and only then, did he turn to look at his betrothed. Saewara had sat up, and was doing her best to cover herself.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough from the fury that still pulsed through him.
She shook her head. “I fought him, but he was too strong.” She paused then, struggling to maintain her composure. “They killed Oswyn.”
“I know – poor lass,” Annan shook his head and looked down at Coenwal’s contorted face, at the eye which had swollen shut, “and I’m sorry it took us this long to find you. He won’t be touching you again.”
With that, Annan removed the sodden cloak from around his shoulders and handed it to Saewara. She noticed he was deliberately avoiding looking at her.
“Cover yourself up,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get you back to camp.”
Chapter Nine
A Gentle Moment
Annan and Saewara emerged from the tent to find Saba waiting for them.
“Did you find them all?” Annan asked.
Saba nodded curtly in response. “We killed all the outlaws we found. If any survived they’ve run off into the woods.”
Saba glanced at Saewara then; even in the misty shadows the concern was evident on his face.
“Are you well, Milady?”
“Yes, thank you,” Saewara replied, her voice subdued, “although a few minutes more and I wouldn’t have been.”
Annan sheathed his sword, Night Bringer, and turned to Saewara. He looked down at her feet, which were bare. In his voluminous cloak she looked small and vulnerable. Her eyes were huge and dark on her pale face. “We have a long walk ahead of us,” he told her. “Climb on my back and I’ll carry you.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?” Her voice was husky from strain. “I can walk.”
“I know you can,” he replied, irritated, “but there’s no need. Climb on my back.”
Annan turned around and knelt so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. When he straightened up, she clamped her legs around his chest. He could feel the warmth of her body against his back, despite that they were both soaked. Annan did his best to clamp off his mind to it; frankly the events of this night had put him in a foul mood.
They set off, following the others through the rain shrouded woods.
“How did you find us so easily?” Saewara asked, her breath feathering his ear as she spoke. “They were sure you wouldn’t.”
“That was their mistake then. Both Saba and I can track anything,” Annan replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “We learnt as soon as we could walk. They tried to mask their trail but they were in too much of a hurry to do a good job of it. It was like tracking a pack of stampeding boar through the woods – easy.”
“The man you killed – he was one of my brother’s thegns, banished just over a year ago.”
Annan stiffened at this news. “Really?”
“He heard of my impending marriage and thought to wreak vengeance on Penda by ruining his sister.”
Annan remained silent at this admission. The no-nonsense manner in which Saewara proclaimed this news shocked him. The lack of emotion in his betrothed’s voice when she spoke of her brother spoke volumes about her rapport with him. She had been ill-treated; it was clear in the way she interacted with men. And after what he had witnessed in that outlaw’s tent, Annan was not surprised.
Yet, the image that had burnt into his memory like a brand, was not that of the outlaw, readying himself to rape his captive, or of the abject terror on Saewara’s face, but of her loveliness. Even now he could visualize the lush globe of her milk-white breast and the dusky nipple.
Annan shook his head to clear it. The woman had been cringing in terror and all he could think about was her naked breast. Frankly, he sickened himself.
Although Saewara was a small woman, and easy to carry, it was a long, tiring journey through the woods back to camp. If anything, the rain had grown heavier, and by the time they spotted the glow of the tents through the trees, Annan felt as if there was not a part of him that was not soaked through.
Ignoring Penda’s servant, who strode out to meet them, Annan carried Saewara to his own tent. He felt the man’s gaze track him across the clearing but left Saba to explain what had happened.
Inside Annan’s tent, a fire still burned. The air was warm and dry.
“Bring us some ale to warm,” Annan instructed one of the warriors, “and some more wood for the fire.”
He sighed in relief when Saewara slid off his shoulders onto the ground before he straightened his aching back.
“I’m sorry if
I was heavy, Milord,” Saewara murmured from behind him, her voice abashed. “You should have let me walk.”
“You weren’t heavy.” Annan shook his head and gave a rueful smile. “I’m just getting old, it seems.”
A warrior brought a jug of ale, which Annan put to warm over the fire. Annan then sent him out to retrieve Saewara’s clothes from her tent. Almost immediately, their wet clothes started to steam. They would both need to change into dry clothes but, for the moment, they needed to warm themselves, from the inside out.
“Here.” Annan passed Saewara a mug of hot ale. “This will warm you.”
Saewara nodded and took the mug wordlessly, wrapping her fingers around it. She sat on a stool in front of the fire pit, still swathed in Annan’s cloak; although it had slipped down on one shoulder, revealing the thin linen tunic beneath. Annan took a deep draught of warm ale, feeling it burn into his belly. A moment later, his gaze returned to Saewara.
“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” he asked.
Saewara gave him a tight smile in return. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Annan took another gulp of ale before stepping up to Saewara. He then hunkered down so that their gazes were eye level.
“You have a huge welt on your forehead. How did you get it? Let me have a look.”
“Coenwal head-butted me,” Saewara replied, wincing as Annan gently probed the inflamed skin with his fingertips.
“Coenwal, is that the bastard’s name?”
Saewara nodded.
“You’re right, no lasting damage,” he finished checking her forehead.
“It all happened so quickly,” Saewara replied, the words rushing out as if a dam had just burst inside her. “I woke up and they were inside the tent. Oswyn tried to raise the alarm but they cut her down.”
Tears filled her eyes then, and she hurriedly brushed them away. “I tried to shout but they were too fast. I was sure they were going to kill me.”
“You’re a brave woman, Saewara,” Annan replied gently. “I saw how you fought that outlaw.”