Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (10 page)

Sigeberht walked towards the newcomer; yet his gaze was fixed
upon Freya.

“I thank you, Ecgric of Exning. Your allegiance is most welcome.
However, I see you have something that belongs to me.”

“Yes sire,” Ecgric pushed Freya towards the king. “We found
your slave at the Great Barrows of Kings this morning. I have brought her back
to you.”

Aidan watched Freya lift her tear-streaked face to Sigeberht.
He could see the fear in her eyes. Not for the first time, Aidan cursed the
girl for her rashness.

“The Great Barrows of Kings?” Sigeberht’s gaze snared Freya’s.
“I would like to think you were visiting the tomb of Raedwald in a show of loyalty
to the Wuffingas – but of course we both know you were running home to your
mother.”

Freya did not reply. Aidan saw that her face had gone the
color of milk.

“Milord.” The newcomer, Ecgric spoke up with an obsequious
bow. “Such behavior in a
theow
is unacceptable. If you wish it, I will
have her flogged in front of the townsfolk.”

Sigeberht’s gaze narrowed as he shifted his attention to
Ecgric. This stranger’s presumption made Aidan’s hackles rise. Yet, Sigeberht
merely shrugged the suggestion off.

“I think not,” he replied before turning back to Freya. “I
will punish her myself. Aidan, take the girl to my bower. I will deal with her
later.”

Aidan stepped forward, took Freya by the arm and led her away
from the king. They did not speak during their journey up the steps and through
the Great Hall. Aidan kept a firm grip on her arm.

“Freya!” Hilda gasped when they passed by. The girl was
kneading a bowl of dough and was dusted up to her elbows in flour. Beside her,
the boy Hereric stared at Freya, his eyes huge on his fox-like face. Like
Hilda, he had thought he had seen the last of Sigeberht’s flame-haired slave.

Aidan saw Freya cast her friend a beseeching look that stopped
Hilda from saying anything more. He steered Freya up on to the dais and across
to the heavy tapestry that screened the king’s bower from the rest of the hall.

Once inside, he let go of her arm and watched Freya turn away
from him.

Aidan stood in silence for a moment, observing the girl bow
her head forward and struggle to control herself, before he finally spoke.

“Pretending I am not here will not make me go away,” he said
gently.

“Leave me be,” she whispered.

“Freya,” Aidan placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled
her round to face him. “I am not your enemy, so stop treating me as such.” His
gaze met hers, and Aidan saw tears glittering on her eyelashes. “I will not ask
you why you did it – that question will be for the king – but could you have
not planned it better? You must have realized what would befall you if you were
caught?”

Freya shook her head and dipped it so that her hair fell in a
rippling red curtain over her face.

“I did not have time,” she whispered. “I knew the king would
only be away for a couple of days. I thought if I ran far enough away, he would
not bother to come after me…”

“It was too great a risk,” Aidan chided her gently.

Silence stretched between them and the muffled sounds of
Sigeberht and his men entering the hall could be heard beyond. Aidan glanced
towards the noise before focusing once more on Freya. She still refused to look
at him. Despite that few civil words had passed between them since their first
meeting, and that she had consistently shunned him, Aidan felt a surge of
protectiveness. He owed her nothing but was still sorry she would be punished for
her foolishness.

Pushing the sensation aside, Aidan stepped back from Freya and
attempted to distance himself emotionally from her plight.

“I cannot protect you from what is to come Freya.” He turned
towards the curtain and pulled it aside. “But I will ask Sigeberht to be
merciful.”

With that, Aidan stepped outside and let the tapestry fall
behind him.

Damn her
. He was already unpopular
with the king at present, and had no wish to anger Sigeberht further. He was
beginning to rue the day Freya, winsome and captivating as she was, had
appeared in his life.

Chapter Ten

Freya perched on the edge of the furs and listened to the
sounds of Sigeberht’s warriors dining in the Great Hall. Their voices caused a
great din, momentarily distracting Freya’s thoughts from her fate.

In truth, she was terrified. Aidan’s unexpectedly kind words
had just made her more frightened. For the king’s
thegn
to lose his
bumptious manner with her had to mean she was in for a flogging.

Aidan had been right, of course; she had not thought her plan
through. Once she made the decision to run away there was no turning back. She
would now have to take her punishment.

The smell of roast goat and baking bread wafted into the bower
but, despite that Ecgric had not fed her much during the journey back to
Rendlaesham, Freya’s stomach knotted itself into a tight ball. In her current
state, she could not have forced down a mouthful.

Freya sat, listening to the jovial sounds of men eating and
drinking, and waited for the king to come for her.

Aidan chewed on a piece of roast goat meat, his gaze fixed
upon Sigeberht. The king helped himself to a ladle of boiled cabbage. Then he
glanced up at his
thegn
.

“What is it Aidan? You have been staring at me since we sat
down.”

Aidan raised his cup to his lips and took a mouthful of mead.
When he lowered it, his gaze met Sigeberht’s.

“The girl is very sorry sire…”

Sigeberht frowned.

“I’m sure she is,” he replied, scooping up a pile of cabbage
on a piece of bread, “but a slave should not cause me such trouble.”

“I agree milord.” Across the table Ecgric leaned forward
eagerly. “The wench does not show proper subservience. She is a
nithing
and should behave as such.”

Once again, Aidan felt a surge of annoyance at this newcomer’s
freedom with his opinions.

“I trust you and your men did not touch her on the journey
here,” Aidan addressed Ecgric directly.

 Ecgric’s cheeks flushed and he drew himself up, indignant.

“We did not. Although I find it hard to believe no man here
has had her,” he sneered insinuatingly back at Aidan.

“She is untouched,” Sigeberht replied coolly. He leaned back
in his chair and watched Ecgric over the rim of his cup, “and will remain so
while she is my
theow
.”

Ecgric’s expression soured, but he wisely remained silent.

The king, Aidan and Ecgric focused on their meals then,
listening to the drunken voices and rough laughter of the other men dining at
the long tables framing the fire pit.

When he had finished eating, Sigeberht turned to Aidan.

“Fetch me a stick – a willow wand will do.”

“But sire, the girl…”

“Aidan – I tire of you crossing me,” Sigeberht snapped. “Do as
I bid!”

Aidan drained the last of his mead, slammed his cup down on
the table and got up from the bench. When he turned to leave, he could not help
but notice Ecgric’s gloating expression.

That man’s face makes me want to smash my fist
into it.

Aidan stalked outside and made his way away across the stable
yard. Outside the wooden gates and fence which encircled the hall, he turned
right and left Rendlaesham by the town’s rear entrance. Dusk was settling, and
the guards advised Aidan that he would not have long before they closed the
gates. He promised them that he would return shortly, and set off at a jog down
the hill. At the bottom of the shallow valley outside Rendlaesham, where the
apple trees ended, a small brook babbled over a stony bed. Weeping willows,
their foliage creating a vivid green curtain, bowed their heads over the water.
Breaking off a long wand of a coppicing willow, Aidan made his way back up the
hill, through the rows of apple trees to the gates; slipping inside just as the
guards began to heave them shut.

Keep a hold of your temper
, Aiden
counseled himself as he made his way back into the hall.
‘Twill not help the
wench if you enrage the king.

Wordlessly, he handed the willow wand to Sigeberht. The king’s
long face was stern as he took the wand and stood up. Aidan sat back down and
poured himself a large cup of mead. His gaze tracked Sigeberht’s journey across
the hall, towards his bower. He ground his teeth before tearing his gaze away
from the king.

A short while later, a high-pitched cry echoed from the bower.

The interior of the Great Hall fell into a sudden hush.
Warriors and servants turned their faces towards the sound.

The crack of the wand hitting flesh cut through the silence,
followed by another wail of agony.

Aidan stared down at his cup of mead. He was filled with the
sudden, dangerous urge to storm into the king’s bower and break that willow
wand over Sigeberht’s head.

What’s come over me?
Aidan took a deep,
steadying breath and listened to the crack of the wand and the screams that
followed – again and again.

You’ve killed men in battle, and witnessed far
more brutality than this beating
, Aiden chided himself.
Has this wench
unmanned you? She would not care if you were flogged to death in front of her.

It was only this sobering thought that prevented Aidan from
leaping from the table and doing something he would sorely regret.

Mercifully, the sounds stopped a short while later. They were
followed by the muffled sounds of Sigeberht’s voice and a woman’s quiet
sobbing.

Aidan let out a slow breath and uncurled his fingers from
around his cup. He had been gripping it so hard that his fingers ached. Then,
he took a deep draught of mead, in an attempt to drown the conflict that warred
within him.

When he lowered the cup, Aidan’s gaze met Ecgric’s. The
newcomer was watching him. Aidan did not care for the sly look on his face.

Aidan may have had to control his temper with Sigeberht, but
he owed Ecgric of Exning nothing. He put his cup down and leaned across the
table, until his face was just a hand’s span from Ecgric’s.

“Mind yourself Ecgric the Eager,” he hissed. “You may have
fooled the king, but I see right through you. Keep out of my way.”

***

Freya gingerly made her way down the steps to the stable yard,
pressing against the wind that buffeted her. She had plaited her hair into two
long braids but the wind caught wayward strands and whipped them across her
face.

 It was a bright, crisp spring day; billowy clouds scudded
across a cerulean sky. Freya was carrying the last of the wicker baskets down
the steps to the cart. Bent like a crone, the task had taken her far longer
than usual.

Remember to keep bent
, she reminded herself.
You
must remember to look as if you’re in pain.

She placed the baskets in the cart and carefully picked up the
handles at the front of the cart, feigning a wince as she did so. Ecgric was
standing near the steps, talking in a low voice with his toady, Oeric; the
callow youth appeared to shadow Ecgric everywhere.

Aware that their lecherous gazes were upon her, Freya ignored
them both and towed the cart through the stable yard, towards the gates.

Halfway across, she looked up to see Aidan, and his companion,
the blond Frank, watching her. Their faces were serious.

As always, the sight of Aidan set butterflies dancing in her
stomach. He was even more beautiful to gaze upon when solemn. Aidan was dressed
in light breeches, cross-gartered to the knee and a loose, sleeveless tunic.
Around his waist, he wore a heavy, studded belt. Even standing there, casually
talking to the Frank, Aidan exuded confidence – a subtle arrogance that drew a
woman’s gaze. Most of the women in the Great Hall, high and low born alike,
noticed the aura of sensuality he radiated; Hilda had whispered to Freya a
number of times that Aidan of Connacht was a common subject amongst the
gossiping wives of the ealdormen.

Like everyone within the Great Hall, Aidan and Lothar had
observed Freya this morning as she crept from the king’s bower. Hilda had been
on the edge of tears, fussing over Freya and watching her with worried eyes.
She had wanted to take a look at Freya’s back and rub some salve into the
wounds. Freya had refused, with the excuse that doing so would only enrage the
king further.

This morning, it was Freya’s task to collect provisions for
the Great Hall from the miller and the peasants who were bringing in cartloads
of freshly picked produce from the fields this morning.

Relieved to be leaving prying eyes behind for a short while,
Freya pulled the cart out through the gate and down the wide street leading
into the center of Rendlaesham. She had only gone a few yards when a man’s
voice hailed her.

“Freya, wait. Let me help you with that.”

Aidan appeared at her side and took one of the handles.

“I thank you,” Freya murmured, embarrassed, “but there’s no
need.”

“Are you in pain?” Aidan asked, frowning.

His concern only caused Freya further embarrassment. Despite
that she had sworn to Sigeberht that she would tell no one, Freya realized that
the truth was likely to remain safe with Aidan.

“No, I’m not in pain,” she replied softly, avoiding his gaze
as they continued their way towards Rendlaesham’s market square. “The king did
not beat me – but you mustn’t tell anyone.”

“
Hwæt
!” Aidan stopped in his tracks, causing the small
cart to buck and slew sideways. “What?”

Freya met Aidan’s dark blue gaze and saw his confusion.

“He used the cane on the furs instead of on my back, and told
me to scream, to feign agony. When he’d finished, he made me swear to tell no
one – indeed, I don’t know why I’ve just told you. Please keep this a secret.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. Then, Aidan turned his
gaze from her and they continued on their way.

“You mean it was all mummery?” he murmured, incredulous.
“Sigeberht had us all fooled.”

“He told me that although he abhors violence, he would have to
play the part. His
thegns
and ealdormen expect such behavior from a
king. To not punish me would have been seen as weakness.”

Aidan nodded, his face gradually relaxing. Their gazes met
once more and Freya was surprised to see relief there.

“Don’t worry, the king’s secret is safe with me,” he assured
her.

They had almost reached the market square. Aidan brought the
cart to a halt and stepped aside so that Freya could take hold of both handles.

“Since you have not had the skin flayed from your back, you
have no need of my assistance sweet Freya,” he said, winking at her. “I shall
leave you to your errand.”

Freya watched, bemused, as Aidan turned and strolled back up
the street towards the Great Hall. Watching him go, her gaze traced the breadth
of his shoulders and the length of his back, down to his narrow waist and hips.
He walked with the stalking, loose-limbed gait of a cat. Her eyes lingered on
Aidan until he disappeared at the top of the hill, and when Freya turned back
towards the market square, she was irritated to find her heart beating quickly
and her cheeks warm.

***

Dusk was settling over Rendlaesham when a cloaked man on
horseback rode up the hill towards the Great Hall. The cloaked figure rode a
shaggy bag pony; both beast and rider were travel worn and weary. The pony
carried its head low and the man sagged in the saddle.

Clip-clopping up the last incline, they reached the guard
house outside the Great Hall. Here, two warriors barred the stranger’s path
with their spears.

“Who goes there!” one of the men demanded.

The cloaked man pushed back his cowl and fixed the guard with
an imperious stare.

“I am here to see your king,” he replied, his words heavily
accented. “Tell him that the missionary he sent for has come.”

“What name shall we give him?”

“I am Felix of Burgundy,” the newcomer snapped. “I have not
travelled days to bandy words with the likes of you. Take word of my arrival to
the king!”

“Felix!”

Sigeberht leaped up from his chair and rushed to greet the
travel-stained figure who had just stepped through the threshold.

Aidan watched the reunion, mystified. In all the long years he
had known Sigeberht, he had never witnessed him greet anyone with such warmth.
He had heard of this monk, Felix, for Sigeberht had often mentioned him in
Gaul. Yet, this was the first time he had seen the monk.

The king clasped Felix in a hug and smiled warmly. The
newcomer was a slight man no older than thirty winters.

“Felix of Burgundy, I am pleased that it was you they sent to
aid me!”

Felix smiled back at Sigeberht. He had a finely sculpted,
almost womanish face with large, deep-set eyes, a slightly upturned nose and a neatly
pursed mouth. His sandy hair was cut short against his scalp. Around his neck,
in contrast to his dusty and stained robes, a golden cross gleamed on his
chest.