The Whispering Wind (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  “Come, let’s get home.” Gently Leofric set her down on the ground. Aelfwyn felt a pang of loss as he slid out of her. She let her skirts fall over her naked legs and drew her cloak back around her, while Leofric laced up his breeches.

  He then placed an arm around her shoulders and steered her back to the path. Aelfwyn leaned against Leofric, breathing in the scent of him, and they walked back to the hut in companionable silence.

  Aelfwyn stirred in the furs, stretching languorously as she slowly awoke.

  Faint shafts of pale light filtered into the hut through the cracks in the doorway and shutters, alerting her that it was well after dawn. They had slept in much later than usual.

  A smile spread across Aelfwyn’s face. She had slept little but had never felt better in her life. She glanced over at the slumbering man beside her, and the smile widened. She and Leofric had spent Mother Night pleasuring each other. Her body felt weak in the aftermath with a pleasant ache between her thighs. No longer would she spend each night alone in the furs, yearning for the man who lay sleeping just a few feet away.

  Leofric slept deeply, as if he had just spent days felling trees without rest.

  Loath to wake him, Aelfwyn propped herself up on one elbow and let her gaze travel over his naked body. He was delicious to look upon: tall and broad shouldered but with a long-legged grace that many men lacked. Long auburn eyelashes lay against the pale skin of his cheeks. He had a proud face with high cheekbones and a slightly aquiline nose. Aelfwyn’s lower belly tightened. She would never tire of looking at him.

  As if sensing her stare, Leofric stirred. His eyelids fluttered, and he gave a soft moan before stretching his long body like a cat. He then opened his eyes and looked up into her face.

  A cocky smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Morning, princess.”

  “Morning? I think we’ve slept it away—I’d say it’s coming up to noon.”

  “See what you’ve done,” he grinned. “You’ve worn me out.”

  “Oaf.” She went to give his chest a playful slap but he caught her wrist and pulled her down on top of him. Aelfwyn squealed and pushed against his chest, but he held her tight. “Have I really worn you out?” she asked, raising a taunting eyebrow. “I’d hoped to spend the day naked in the furs.”

  “Had you?” He raised an eyebrow. “And there was me thinking you the shy, blushing type.”

  Aelfwyn stilled, her playfulness fading. “Would you prefer I was?”

  Leofric reached up and stroked her cheek before his finger traced her bottom lip, bee-stung from all his kisses. “I want you as you are,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

  Aelfwyn smiled down at him, her throat constricting. She had never thought it was possible to feel as if your heart might stop from joy—but this moment, this man, and those words made her believe in happy endings.

  Two months later …

  Chapter Thirty

  Changes

  Aelfwyn walked down Steep Hill, a basket under her arm. She was on her way back from market. Over the long, bitter months she had ventured rarely into town—almost never without Leofric at her side—but today she had made an exception.

  The last of the winter snows had melted away. For the first time in months there was a little warmth in the sun. Aelfwyn also felt in need of company. As much as she loved her life with Leofric, she sometimes felt isolated. Now that the weather had started to improve, he spent his days out felling trees and preparing the logs for market while she ran their home.

  Occasionally Gytha visited, and would bring loaves of bread or other baking with her—but it was not enough to stave off the loneliness.

  Aelfwyn had just been to the miller, and carried a cloth bag of coarse flour in her basket. She would make a wheel of griddle bread this afternoon to accompany the rabbit stew they would have for supper.

  Halfway down Steep Hill, Aelfwyn passed three women who stood gossiping. They were all a few years older than she was—the wives of the baker, the tanner, and the smith—women she had seen at the front of the crowd on the morning of Leofric’s flogging. Upon spying her, the women ceased their chatter, and Aelfwyn felt their hard stares fix upon her. A moment later, their spiteful voices reached her.

  “Thinks she’s too good for the likes of us,” the baker’s wife said.

  “Aye, although I can’t imagine why,” the smith’s wife sniped. “She who dresses in rags and lives in a hovel fit for pigs.”

  Their laughter followed her down the street.

  Aelfwyn glanced down at the homespun tunic that she had girded around the waist with a length of rope. It was plain but not shabby. Around her shoulders she wore a new woolen shawl that she had just finished knitting. It was pale blue, and she was proud of it.

  This town had seemed so friendly when they arrived here, but ever since Leofric had fallen foul of the king, folk treated them differently. Gytha had assured Aelfwyn that people would soon forget, but it seemed her friend was wrong.

  Aelfwyn squared her shoulders and ignored the taunting laughter that still echoed after her. She had endured worse and would not stoop to their level by responding. Even so, she found herself clenching her jaw and lengthening her stride.

  A little farther down the hill she stopped off to see Gytha. Her friend was up to her elbows in flour as she kneaded bread dough. Her daughters worked industriously around her, chopping vegetables for pottage and rolling out pastry for the pies Cynn served in the meadhall in the afternoons.

  Gytha glanced up as Aelfwyn entered, her expression clouding when she saw her face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just supped on sour milk.”

  “You would too if you’d just been attacked by a spiteful gaggle of geese,” Aelfwyn replied.

  “Clothild, Bruina, and Aethelflaed?”

  “Aye.”

  Gytha snorted and returned to pummeling her dough. “Don’t mind them.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Gytha—they leave you alone.”

  Gytha smiled. “I have little time for any of them and they know it.”

  Aelfwyn sighed and took a seat at the end of the table. She always enjoyed visiting Gytha, but her encounter with the fishwives had put her out of sorts. It was a reminder of their impermanence here. She considered Gytha a good friend, but the woman did not even know her real name.

  Gytha started to flatten the dough into a large disc. Behind her, a large iron griddle hung over the hearth, where she would bake the dough.

  “Things aren’t going to improve,” Aelfwyn murmured. “We’re both treated like outcasts now.”

  Gytha cast her a look of sympathy. “I’ve heard the king still bears Lenred ill-will. It appears the flogging wasn’t enough to appease him. His men have poisoned many against you.”

  Aelfwyn sighed and leaned her elbows on the scarred oaken work surface. It had been a mistake to come into town this morning. However, that was not the only reason for her ill-temper.

  Since Yuletide—ever since she and Leofric had become lovers—life had changed. Her nights were magical; she lived for the moment they crawled into the furs together. However, her days were not as happy as she would have liked. The isolation was slowly wearing her down. She often found herself missing Rendlaesham. Her parents’ home was in the center of town, close to the market; she had grown up surrounded by folk and was not used to spending days alone.

  Her relationship with Leofric also unnerved her. Although they had taken a huge step in becoming lovers, she sometimes felt as if she shared her life with a man she barely knew. During mealtimes he kept their conversations light. He did not speak of his feelings for her or of their future together. The closest he had come to opening his heart to her was on Mother Night—and although he made her feel loved in the furs, he had never actually said the words.

  “Aeaba—you’re not still brooding, are you?” Gytha intruded upon her introspection.

  Aelfwyn glanced up and shook her head. “Sorry—I’m not good com
pany today.”

  Gytha bustled over to her and enfolded Aelfwyn in a motherly hug. “Be patient—things will improve in time.”

  Aelfwyn blinked back unexpected tears. Gytha’s warmth made her feel emotional. “I hope so.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t walk around with a smug smile on your face,” Gytha added with a wink. “Few women have a man as handsome as yours.”

  Her daughters all started tittering, but Gytha ignored them.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I thank the gods for giving me Cynn, but if I had a man like yours I’d never get any work done. I’d be forever lifting my skirts and dragging him into the furs.”

  “Gytha!” Aelfwyn’s cheeks flamed at the older woman’s directness.

  Gytha merely laughed and went back to her bread. “Don’t pretend to be coy. I’ve seen the way you look at him. Now off you go—some of us have work to do.”

  Aelfwyn found herself smiling as she walked home. Gytha never failed to remind her of what was important. However, an undercurrent of uneasiness still tugged at her, for she knew that the time was approaching for her and Leofric to leave Lincylene—she would sorely miss Gytha.

  Back home Aelfwyn got to work on making the griddle bread for supper and by the time Leofric walked in the door the aroma of baking bread wafted out to greet him.

  “Evening.” He leaned down to kiss her and Aelfwyn raised her face to him. The kiss was soft and lingering, promising more. “Did you have a good afternoon?”

  “Aye, I went into town for supplies and visited Gytha.”

  Aelfwyn did not mention her run in with the women; Leofric would only worry over her.

  “How are she and the girls?” Leofric dipped his head further and trailed kisses down the column of her neck.

  “They’re all well—busy as usual,” Aelfwyn replied distractedly. It was difficult to concentrate when Leofric did that. Her knees went weak, and she sagged against him, supper forgotten.

  “I’ve yet to see a harder working family.” Leofric gently bit her earlobe before sucking it gently.

  Aelfwyn gasped, whatever response she had planned flying out of her mind. She turned to him and linked her arms about his neck, kissing him. When they finally broke apart Leofric gave a soft laugh. “Missed me today, have you?”

  Aelfwyn smiled. “Clearly.”

  Leofric glanced behind her at the simmering pot of rabbit stew. “Will supper keep for a bit?”

  Aelfwyn nodded.

  “Good.” With that Leofric scooped her up into his arms. He carried her away from the hearth to the waiting pile of soft furs in the corner.

  Aelfwyn rested against Leofric’s bare chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. She felt weak and boneless after their coupling, and so relaxed she could have easily fallen asleep.

  Leofric stroked her unbound hair. They lay in companionable silence, listening to the gentle popping of embers in the hearth.

  Aelfwyn sighed, running her hands over the smooth, muscular planes of his chest. She would never tire of this; she wanted to stay in Leofric’s arms forever. As usual their lovemaking had been heated, edged in wildness. In the aftermath the air was charged with much that was unsaid.

  Propping herself up on one elbow, Aelfwyn gazed down into Leofric’s eyes. His gaze had turned from its usual hazel to a moss green—a shade she would always associate with passion. He gave her a sleepy smile, reaching up to stroke her cheek. Although Leofric chatted easily most of the time, after they lay together he would often lapse into silence.

  “You’re lost in your own thoughts again,” she chided with an answering smile.

  “Aye.” He smiled. “You wear me out.”

  Aelfwyn gave a soft laugh. “I think not.” She reached down and traced his lower lip with her fingertip. He bit it gently, his gaze deepening to emerald in the firelight.

  “I’m so happy you came into my life,” she said, her chest constricting as she said the words. “I had no idea it could be like this between a man and a woman. I can’t imagine a world without you.”

  He inclined his head slightly, another smile tugging at his mouth. “You don’t have to—I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she continued, determined to have an honest conversation with him, one where he would know what was in her heart. “So full of contradiction—yet you’re a better man than most.”

  He shook his head. “Then you have met few men, sweet Aelfwyn.”

  She stiffened. “I’ve met enough to know who I can and cannot trust.”

  “You know I’m far from perfect,” he admonished her, his gaze turning serious. “There isn’t much in my life I’m proud of …”

  Aelfwyn pushed herself off him and reached for her tunic. “Why do you always do that?”

  He frowned. “Do what?”

  “Negate every good thing I say about you.”

  “I don’t … it’s just that as flattering as your good opinion is, I’m not the saint you think I am.”

  Anger flared within Aelfwyn. She was tired of being made to feel like a fool every time she tried to tell Leofric how she felt. She wanted to tell him that she loved him—but he ruined things every time.

  Despite the days and nights they spent in each other’s company, she knew little of Leofric’s inner thoughts and worries. Sometimes in the midst of passion, she caught glimpses of the man beneath the shield, but the rest of the time Leofric kept the world at bay with brash self-confidence and a wicked sense of humor. She enjoyed his company but wondered at the things he hid from her, at the worries and hurts that he shared with no one.

  “I don’t think you’re a saint,” she replied. “Far from it.

  He laughed and sat up. “That’s better. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “Why?” she turned on him, incensed now. “Because I dare talk seriously to you—because I dare show you what’s in my heart.”

  She jumped off the furs and yanked her tunic down over her head. Glancing back, she saw he was no longer smiling. In fact he almost looked annoyed.

  “Aelfwyn,” he began, “I don’t—”

  “Stop it,” she snapped, trying to ignore her constricting throat. She would not cry in front of him. In his current mood he would likely mock her for it. “Let’s eat supper before it’s ruined.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Troubled

  “The snowdrops are coming up!”

  Aelfwyn rushed indoors, her cheeks flushed with cold, her gaze shining. “Spring is here!”

  Leofric straightened up from stacking an armload of wood against the wall, and brushed bark off his leather jerkin. “Isn’t it a bit early to be celebrating? Eōstre is a while away.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Aelfwyn placed the basket of kale she had just picked from their vegetable patch. “Once the snowdrops and bluebells arrive, the bitter season departs.”

  Leofric smiled at her, and the expression made Aelfwyn’s breathing still. Despite their argument two days earlier, she could not find it within herself to keep angry at him for long.

  Their gazes held for a moment before Leofric’s smile faded. “If winter is behind us then we need to think about moving on.”

  Aelfwyn nodded. She did not want to leave this home they had made for each other—but after King Eatta’s treatment of Leofric, she no longer felt as comfortable in Lincylene. She would miss Cynn and Gytha—they both would—but Leofric spoke true: it was time to think about the future.

  “Where shall we go?” she asked.

  “I was thinking we could go to the south coast of Britannia,” he replied, coming close and reaching for her. “The Kingdom of the Kentish is reputed to be a green and peaceful land. We should be safe from King Ecgfrith there.”

  “What about the price on your head?” Aelfwyn wrapped her arms around his waist and stared up at his face. “Aren’t you worried the Ealdorman of Eoforwic is still searching for you?”

  Leofric’s mouth quirked into a grin. “
He probably gave up with the onset of winter. Godwine’s got better things to do than hunt me down.”

  Aelfwyn held his gaze. “Are you sure?”

  “No,” Leofric replied with a shrug, “but if we travel south, he’ll cease to be a concern.”

  “You once told me you’d have to leave Britannia to escape him.”

  “Aye, but time changes a man’s perspective. Britannia is probably big enough to lose myself in.”

  Aelfwyn frowned. “But you’ll never get to see your family again.”

  Leofric’s grin twisted. “I’m dead to them, Aelfwyn. When Godwine banished me to Lindisfarena, my father called me a ‘nithing’—a man forfeit of name and honor.”

  Aelfwyn stared at him, wondering that Leofric had not told her of this before.

  “I’m so sorry he said that to you,” she said quietly. Elflaeda had called her that back in Streonshalh and the name had stung—but to call a member of your family a ‘nithing’ was the ultimate insult. Leofric’s father had disowned him.

  Leofric shook his head and released her. “It matters not—the old man and I never saw eye to eye anyway. I’m sure he was relieved to see the back of me.”

  “Of course it matters,” Aelfwyn replied. “Even if he wanted you punished, there was no need to do that.”

  “It’s over with now.” Leofric turned away, his tone dismissive. “I don’t worry about it, so nor should you.”

  She watched him retrieve his fur cloak from a hook behind the door, and saw from the tense set of his shoulders that she would continue on the present subject at her peril. Aelfwyn let the matter drop, although it was an effort to do so.

  Once again Leofric rebuffed her the moment she tried to get closer to him. Did he not trust her?

  “I’m going into town to see if the smith has finished my new axe-blade,” Leofric announced, slinging the cloak about his shoulders. “Do you want anything from the market while I’m there?”