The Whispering Wind (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 1) Page 14

  “Not giving up yet, are you?”

  The man’s voice made Aelfwyn catch her breath. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and gazed up to see Leofric astride Windræs just a few yards away. His gaze met hers.

  Joy flooded through her, unexpected in its intensity.

  “You’re still here,” she gasped, feeling like a fool the moment the words had left her mouth. “I thought you left yesterday.”

  Thunder rumbled directly overhead. The gelding threw up his head, snorting, and danced sideways. Leofric leaned forward and stroked the horse’s neck. Yet he did not look away from Aelfwyn. “I thought I’d give you one more day … just in case you needed more time.”

  Aelfwyn climbed to her feet and brushed moss and dirt off her skirts. Relief had made her feel weak and shaky.

  “I had planned to stay, despite the danger I was putting the abbess in,” she admitted quietly, “but one of the nuns has betrayed me. Ecgfrith knows I’m here.”

  Leofric glanced back in the direction of the abbey, his gaze narrowing. He then urged Windræs forward so he drew level with her. He reached down for her hand. “If the king’s on his way then we must make haste,” he said, his fingers curling around hers. “Come on.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Crossing

  The storm raged for an entire night and for most of the following day. Icy needles of rain lashed against the travelers, and even Windræs lost some of his zest for the journey. The gelding held his head low, his ears flattened back against the elements.

  Leofric and Aelfwyn spoke little.

  Aelfwyn huddled against Leofric’s chest. He could feel her shivering but could not risk stopping, could not risk lighting a fire to warm them both. He knew the king would have arrived in Streonshalh by now and his men would soon be tracking them south.

  He remembered the last time they had ridden together; how she had sat perched stiffly in front of him, barely suffering his company. He had to remind himself that she did not travel with him now out of choice either. If the king’s sister had not betrayed her at the abbey, she would be there still.

  That she had not willingly chosen to leave Streonshalh should not have bothered Leofric, but it did.

  Beyond the copse of oak that had sheltered Leofric for a few days while he waited for Aelfwyn, the land around Streonshalh was bare and windswept, offering no protection from the biting wind and the stinging rain that drove in from the north.

  The farther south they rode, the more nervous Leofric became. The bad weather eventually cleared and the sun warmed their wet clothing—but Leofric knew they were riding into danger, not just away from it. They neared Eoforwic now and his home village of Driffield, a short distance from the town.

  Godwine of Eoforwic’s lands.

  Although it would have been quicker to cut across country, Leofric turned Windræs along the coast, giving Eoforwic a wide berth as they approached the mighty Humbre.

  They reached the estuary on a bright, windy morning, three days after leaving Streonshalh. Dark waters sparkling in the sun, the Humbre estuary formed a natural border between Northumbria and the kingdoms of southern Britannia—Mercia to the south and west, and the smaller kingdom of Lindesege to the east. Once they crossed the Humbre, they would no longer be under the sway of King Ecgfrith, and hopefully out of reach of the likes of Godwine of Eoforwic.

  Of course Leofric reminded himself that neither of them were safe while they remained in Britannia. Still, outside Northumbria they would be harder to find—and catch.

  The Humbre was a dark, wide expanse that was impossible to cross on foot, even at low tide, for you risked becoming stuck in the mud halfway. As such, they rode west along its banks. Further inland the waterway narrowed, eventually becoming the River Ouse—the river that flowed west to Eoforwic.

  Leofric knew this land well. Many folk lived upon the banks of the Ouse, the villages growing more numerous as they neared Eoforwic. The ealdorman’s men patrolled this area; they would have to take care.

  It was the early afternoon when he reined in Windræs on the banks of the Ouse. The river had narrowed here, although it was still at least twenty yards across. Aelfwyn dozed against his chest. Sensing something amiss she stirred, blinking sleepily.

  “Why have we stopped?”

  Leofric grinned down at her. “Time for a swim.”

  She stiffened. Leofric knew he should not tease her. She had not enjoyed their last river journey and could not swim.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Windræs will do all the work this time.”

  Aelfwyn sat up properly, her gaze traveling across the gently flowing Ouse. “But it’s so wide …”

  “Aye, but he’ll manage it.”

  She looked unconvinced, but Leofric did not give her time to fret further. Instead he urged Windræs forward, down the gently sloping bank and into the river.

  “Lean forward and take hold of his mane,” Leofric instructed her. “We’re both likely to get a bit wet so ready yourself. Sit tight.”

  He felt her tension, her fear, but he was pleased when she did as bid without complaint, keeping her worries to herself.

  Windræs hesitated on the water’s edge and Leofric urged him forward. “Come on lad, take the plunge.”

  A moment later, the gelding did just that. With a snort, Windræs leaped forward into the water and struck out toward the far bank. Leofric leaned forward as well, loosening the reins so that the horse could find his own way across the river.

  Chill water soaked through Leofric’s breeches, splashing up as far as his waist. Beneath him, he felt Windræs’s powerful body flex and expand as the horse swam. The gelding kept his head just above the water, his nostrils flaring.

  “Good lad,” Leofric soothed him. “Just a bit farther.”

  Windræs reached the far bank and lurched out of the water, nearly unseating both his riders in the process. He bounded up the steep back and stopped at the top, his sides heaving from the effort. Leofric and Aelfwyn slid off him and stood back while the horse shook himself dry like a dog. Then Leofric removed his saddle so that Windræs could roll on the grass.

  “See,” Leofric said, glancing over at Aelfwyn, who stood a few feet away. “I told you not to worry.”

  She gave him a weak smile in response but said nothing. Leofric frowned, concern shadowing his mood. “You’ve been so quiet since Streonshalh,” he noted quietly. “What’s wrong?”

  Her cool, blue-grey gaze met his. Her eyes were the color of the North Sea.

  “Nothing really,” she replied. “I just wonder about the future. Wherever we go they will hunt us.”

  “They’ll give up eventually,” Leofric said, with more confidence than he actually felt. “The bitter months are coming—once we get away from the north we should be safe for the winter. Once spring arrives we will see about traveling farther afield.”

  He saw alarm flare in her eyes. “But where will we go?”

  Leofric shrugged. He had not thought that far ahead, not when their immediate survival was at stake. “I don’t know,” he admitted, before he grinned. “Let’s cross one river at a time.”

  Aelfwyn pulled her woolen cloak around her and stared out at the softly undulating landscape below her. It unfolded like a rumpled mantle, the trees nestling between soft green hills.

  It was a cold morning, and her breath clouded the crisp air. She was glad of the cloak, which Leofric had bought for her at a village two days earlier. He had paid for it with a bronze arm-ring, one of Thunred’s. They now had only a couple of thrymsas left—after that they would be penniless.

  At least they would not starve; she had seen that her companion was a skillful hunter. Leofric had managed to provide fresh meat most evenings now that they were far enough south to risk a fire. He took care of them both—and she was grateful—only it did not ease her worries about the future.

  “Beautiful land, is it not?”

  Leofric had padded up behind her so quietly she had not
heard him; a hunter’s gait. Aelfwyn started slightly before smiling at him. He looked well. His pale skin had tanned a light gold, and his hair was starting to grow. When they had met it had been a dark red fuzz against his scalp, but now it was thickening and showing strands of gold and dark brown against the red. Now that she had gotten used to seeing him dressed as a warrior she had to admit that leather suited him far more than a homespun monk’s habit ever had.

  “It is,” she agreed. “Where are we now?”

  “In the Kingdom of the Lindesege, we crossed the border yesterday.”

  Aelfwyn’s gaze widened. “I thought we were remaining in Mercia?”

  Leofric grinned back. “I changed my mind. I decided Lincylene might be a good place to spend the winter.”

  Aelfwyn had heard little of Lincylene, the capital of this tiny kingdom. The Kingdom of Lindesege lay between the mighty Humbre to the north and a stretch of water bordering East Anglia named The Wash to the south. Its capital had once been a Roman stronghold, but Aelfwyn knew nothing else about the town. Perhaps that was why Leofric had chosen it—a quiet place for them to lay low for a while.

  “How far away from Lincylene are we?” she asked.

  “Less than a day’s ride.”

  Aelfwyn turned away from the view. They stood atop a low hill surrounded by woodland of ash and beech. Nearby Windræs cropped at grass. Aelfwyn watched him fondly. The horse had saved their lives—they would never have been able to outrun the king’s men without him.

  She sensed Leofric’s gaze upon her then and glanced up, to find him watching her, a slight smile on his lips.

  Not for the first time, Aelfwyn noted how handsome he was—when he smiled the effect was devastating. There was a melting intensity to his hazel-green eyes; he looked at her in a way that made her feel hot and cold at the same time. She had caught him watching her the day before. Like then, she was both flustered and flattered by the attention. However, it warned her that the time for them to talk about the nature of their relationship had arrived.

  “Leo,” she began huskily, calling him by the shortened form of his name she had taken to using. “You know I’m grateful to you, don’t you?”

  His smiled widened. “Of course I do.”

  “I never properly thanked you … for waiting for me at Streonshalh. I’m still not sure why you did it.”

  He stepped closer, his smile fading. “Don’t you?”

  Heat flowered in Aelfwyn’s breast, and she forced down a blush. How many women had he wilted with that gaze? “No,” she murmured, feigning ignorance, “I don’t.”

  He reached out, his hand gently stroking her cheek. Aelfwyn’s breathing grew shallow; her body swayed toward him, betraying her. She clamped down on the melting sensation coursing through her veins and focused on his face.

  “Leo … we need to talk about us, about what we tell people.”

  He cocked his head. “What do you want to tell folk about us?”

  “Do you think they’d believe we’re brother and sister?”

  He chuckled. “No. One look and you can see we don’t come from the same family—they’d know that was a lie.”

  “So you think we should pretend to be man and wife?”

  Again that slow smile that caused her lower belly to tighten and catch fire. “Is that want you want?”

  Aelfwyn straightened her spine, raising her chin to look him squarely in the eye. “It would be in name only. I can’t give you anything else … you know that.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, disappointment flitting briefly across his features—so quickly that she almost missed it—before he nodded. “If that is what you want?”

  She nodded.

  He smiled once more, although this time his gaze was hooded. Then he turned toward Windræs. “Come, wife—we have a long day’s journey ahead of us, if we want to reach Lincylene by nightfall.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Lincylene

  Aelfwyn’s first glimpse of Lincylene was of a stone wall and a cluster of thatch and turf roofs rising into the pale sky. The town perched atop a hill and commanded a view of the surrounding fields and woodland for many furlongs distant. A crumbling dun-colored stone wall encircled it, built centuries earlier.

  “My grandfather told me the Romans called it Lindum colonia,” Leofric told Aelfwyn as they rode by a small lake and up to the town gates. “They built a legionary fortress at the crown of the hill.”

  Aelfwyn craned her neck to the top of the town. She could see a high thatched roof, possibly that of a great church, but no sign of the conquerors who had occupied Britannia for many centuries before returning to their homeland.

  It was a golden evening, that rare quality of autumn light when every detail stood out in sharp relief. The setting sun stained the town walls the color of rich honey, and the scent of wood smoke laced the cool air.

  They rode into Lincylene through a magnificent stone archway and into a roughly cobbled street that led up to the top of the hill. Folk thronged the streets at this time of day. An old man roasted chestnuts on a brazier and sold them to passersby. Children chased each other through the crowd, their cries echoing above the chatter of women who gossiped together on their way home after working in the fields outside the town.

  Aelfwyn breathed in the life, the vitality of this place and instantly loved it. She was glad Leofric had brought them here.

  They turned off the main thoroughfare and onto a narrower, unpaved street, dominated by a long, windowless building. Leofric brought the horse to a halt in front of it.

  Leofric swung down from Windræs, leaving Aelfwyn still seated upon his back. He met her eye. “If anyone asks our names are now Lenred and Aeaba.”

  Aelfwyn nodded, appreciating caution.

  Leofric winked at her. “I’ll ask about lodgings at the meadhall—won’t be long.”

  Aelfwyn watched him disappear inside the meadhall. The ripe smell of fermented honey drifted out onto the street from the open doorway, as did the sound of drunken male voices and singing. It was the domain of men; Aelfwyn had never set foot in one. She remembered her father returning from Rendlaesham’s meadhall many an evening, his breath reeking of ale as he sang songs of brotherhood, valor, and reckoning—warriors’ songs.

  Aelfwyn glanced about her, at the men who came and went from the hall. Some of them cast curious or appraising glances in her direction but none approached her. Before entering the town, she had brushed her hair out of its two braids, a look that marked her as a maid. Instead she had twisted it up and pinned it high on her crown: a married woman’s hairstyle.

  Leofric did not linger inside long. “They have stables out the back where we can house Windræs,” he announced with a grin. “There’s an annex at the rear of the hall where we can spend the night.”

  He led Windræs through to a yard behind the meadhall. A row of stalls faced the yard, and after Aelfwyn had dismounted, Leofric stabled the gelding there. Their lodgings for the night were little better than Windræs’s—a flimsy lean-to with a dirt floor that had been hastily attached to the back of the meadhall. However, after sleeping rough for so long, Aelfwyn nearly wept at the sight of a dusty straw pallet up against one wall.

  “Cynn who runs the hall says we can stay here for free tonight,” Leofric told her. “He seemed like a man who might be able to help us. I’m going to go back in, get us some food and drink, and bend his ear.”

  Aelfwyn turned away, rolling her eyes and hiding a rueful smile. That was the poorest excuse she had ever heard. It was obvious Leofric was angling for a cup of mead. “Off you go then,” she said lightly. “I think I’ll lie down for a bit.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, but he had already disappeared outside. Aelfwyn’s smile widened. With a jolt she realized it was the first time she had smiled properly in a while … since before Ecgfrith.

  Her smile faded, and she sank down onto the straw pallet with a sigh.

  She tried to think of the king as little as
possible these days, and the thought of him did not make her heart pound with terror as it had initially. Time and distance were gentle healers.

  Aelfwyn lay on her back and gazed up at the roof. It had been shoddily thatched; she could see large gaps of sky through it. Dusk was settling over Lincylene. Smudges of pink and gold shaded the darkening sky.

  Yawning, Aelfwyn closed her eyes. She was bone-weary after the day’s long ride. There was time for a nap, before Leofric returned with supper.

  Aelfwyn’s rumbling stomach awoke her. She opened her eyes to find herself shrouded in darkness, and looked up to see the star-sprinkled night sky twinkling back at her through the gaps in the roof.

  She sat up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Where was Leofric?

  A moment later, she heard footfalls outside the lean-to. Her first instinct was fear. After everything she had suffered recently, she trusted no one. Drunken men filled the hall next door; all it would take was one of them to stumble in here in the darkness. Since taking Thunred’s weapons for himself, Leofric had gifted her his boning knife. Heart hammering, Aelfwyn reached down and slid the blade free of its sheath at her waist.

  The wattle door crashed open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure, his shape illuminated by starlight, lurched inside.

  Aelfwyn shrieked and scrambled backwards. She crouched on the straw pallet, brandishing her knife, teeth bared. “Get out!”

  “Aelfwyn—it’s me, Leo.” Leofric answered, his voice sheepish.

  “You nearly frightened me half to death.”

  “Sorry, I should have knocked first.” There was a pause as he set something down on the floor. “I’ve brought us some supper, only I forgot we don’t have a cresset burning in here—wait while I fetch one.”

  Aelfwyn resheathed the knife and sat down shakily on the edge of the pallet. Her nerves were still a mess.

  Leofric reappeared a few moments later bearing a small clay cresset filled with oil that burned brightly. He cast her a contrite grin and sat down, cross-legged on the floor next to the wooden platter he had brought earlier. “Dig in.”