Avelynn: The Edge of Faith Page 11

  Her fine eyebrows creased, and her lichen-green eyes widened and sparkled with wonder. “Avelynn?” She hugged me fiercely. “It is you!”

  I returned the hug with ardor. “It’s been a long time!” I had to mentally add the years. I had last seen her before she returned home. She was twelve, the same age as Ealhswith. I was a year their junior. Was it really only seven years ago?

  She turned to Eadfrith. “Avelynn is dear friends to my foster sister, Ealhswith. The three of us were as thick as thieves, growing up.” She held my arms, her smile ebullient. “This is cause for great celebration. A reunion of friends.” Angharad summoned a page, who brought a cask of wine. “Please.” She motioned to one of the tables where bone horns lay beside bread trenchers. Each place setting waited for the king to call the masses to feast.

  Eadfrith and I both grabbed a horn, and a servant topped them to the brim.

  “To old friends.” Angharad raised her cup.

  “And new beginnings.” Eadfrith inclined his head in my direction.

  I took a large swig. The drink and company infused my body with warmth, until I remembered the reason for being in Wales at Gwgon’s court in the first place. “When was the last time you spoke with Ealhswith?” Trepidation replaced the tepid effects of the reunion.

  “I haven’t seen Ealhswith in a few years—not since her wedding—but we correspond frequently. It has been several months since her last missive.”

  I watched Angharad for any signs of shock or disdain. When nothing out of the ordinary passed over her features, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Come, let me introduce you to everyone at court.”

  My heart raced. “Perhaps we can save the pleasantries until later. I’d like a chance to rest before the feast.” I couldn’t have her introduce me as Avelynn from Wedmore. I needed to hold onto my anonymity a little while longer.

  I could feel the weight of her assessment. “Of course.” She wrapped one arm in mine, the other in Eadfrith’s, and led us to a room at the far end of the hall. “As my most honored guest, I will arrange a cottage for your personal use. In the meantime, you are welcome to use my private rooms. I will have Nest collect your things.”

  “Thank you.”

  She summoned a page. “Find the lady Avelynn’s possessions and have Nest prepare a cottage for her.”

  He bowed and ran off.

  Angharad smiled, her dimples winking. “It will take them some time to fetch your belongings. Until then, Eadfrith and I are going to steal you for ourselves. We are starved of news here. You must tell us the latest word from England.”

  Angharad’s chamber was beautifully appointed. Exquisite wall clothing covered the walls. A bed, hidden by a wattle screen, lay tucked in the back corner. Cushioned chairs circled tiled and painted tables, and oil lamps and candle trees filled the room with warm light.

  “Do you still play tafl? The game tables have been set up for after the feast,” Angharad asked.

  I smiled. “I do.”

  Eadfrith reclined on one of the chairs. “Dreadfully dull game.”

  Angharad chuckled. “Not nearly as exciting as some of the other games Avelynn and I used to play. If I recall correctly, your exploits always involved someone crying and getting hurt.”

  I locked my arms across my chest. “I never cried.”

  She smirked. “Well, you were always getting hurt. What was that game we played? The one where Ealhswith and I ran away screaming like murder, caterwauling to the boys that the heathens were coming.”

  I couldn’t hide my grin. “Those were the ones where I chased after you with my sword.” Just a stick, it served its purpose well. Sometimes Ealhswith and Angharad would join me, and we would fight Vikings, dragons, or elves together. More often than not, they would start out fighting against me, but just as quick, they’d turn into damsels in distress, fleeing to one of Ealhswith’s many brothers for protection.

  I sat on a chair beside Eadfrith. He nudged my shoulder. “Your exploits sound delightful, like the lady herself.”

  I blushed.

  “Fierce, beautiful, and battle ready, Avelynn is, but also accident prone.” Angharad winked.

  Eadfrith laughed. “How so?”

  “How about the time she fell from a tree?” Angharad eyed me over the rim of her cup, shaking her head. “We told her not to climb the damned thing, but as usual, if she saw the boys do it, she wanted to prove she could, too.”

  I frowned. “I would have made it.”

  Angharad nearly spit her mead into the rushes. “You leapt off a branch over sixty hands high—at least three times your height. You scared us to death.”

  “I only sprained it.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t split your leg asunder, never mind strain your ankle.” She sat off to the side of one of the game tables.

  I stuck out my leg and gave the foot a good wiggle. “No worse the wear.”

  “May I?” Eadfrith held out his hand.

  “Suit yourself.”

  He knelt in the rushes and placed my foot on his thigh. He cocked his head. “It looks healed well enough.”

  I shrugged, smug. “No lasting damage.”

  He lifted my leg, drawing the hem of my kirtle up a few inches. The room became stifling. I caught the slight rise to one side of his mouth, and he lifted his eyes to mine, holding my gaze steady. He braced my calf in one hand while the other tested the dexterity of my foot, circling it around gently. “It appears the ankle is fine; what of the leg?” He sat poised at the raised hem of my kirtle, his hand still, my breath forgotten.

  “Who is your friend?” Alrik appeared in the doorway as if by magic.

  I jumped. Eadfrith set my foot down and stood. Angharad, who had been watching our riveting exchange with an amused lift to her eyebrow, extended a hand to Alrik.

  “You must be Jarl Alrik. I’ve heard a great deal about you from my brother, Gwgon.”

  Etiquette demanded a formal and cordial response, and Alrik bowed. “Lady.”

  I felt as if I’d been caught stealing eggs from the chickens. “This is Eadfrith.”

  Alrik stepped between us. “You know the lady, how?”

  Eadfrith assessed the Viking in front of him. Of almost the same height and build, they could have presented each other with a worthy opponent. “A fellow Englishman, I met her in Dyfed. And you are, sir?”

  Alrik scowled. “You’re the priest.”

  Eadfrith raised both eyebrows. “She has mentioned me, then?” He smiled.

  “No.”

  Eadfrith smirked. He drained his horn and turned to Angharad. “Thank you for the refreshment and delightful company, cousin, but I must get back to my brethren. Avelynn.” He nodded to us both and slipped out the door.

  Alrik scowled at me and then shadowed Eadfrith out.

  Angharad called over her shoulder. “You boys have fun. Play nice.” She shut the door behind her.

  I didn’t know what had come over me. “I should go speak with him.”

  “Nonsense. A little jealousy never hurt anyone. Good for the blood.”

  “I’m not sure Alrik will see it that way.”

  “Eadfrith is no stranger to a brawl, or swords for that matter, but he’s no fool. Stepping on the toes of a jealous Viking leader is a dance he’ll not likely entertain. I suspect he’ll lay low with the other priests and wait for matters to blow over.”

  I hoped she was right. In any event, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face Alrik’s displeasure at the moment, either. I slumped into the chair and placed my head in my hands, groaning.

  Angharad laughed. “Your Viking is … impressive and rather fetching.”

  I smiled, despite myself. “You are very much like your foster sister.”

  “I miss her.”

  “You saw her last at her wedding?”

  “Yes, and before that, we spent several months together at Leicester, but it’s been too long.”

  As a form of punishment, Ealhswith had been sent away t
o live with the nuns in an attempt to help reform and refine her behavior. Instead, it had provided an opportunity for her to get into a great deal of mischief away from the eyes and ears of her parents. “I’ve heard a lot of Leicester.”

  Angharad raised her eyebrow. “Have you?”

  I smirked.

  Angharad giggled and answered a knock at the door. “Of course, show them in.” She addressed me over her shoulder. “The ladies are being shooed from the hall until the feast is ready, and we are to entertain them.”

  I stood. “When you introduce me, please give only my name.”

  Angharad’s eyebrow lifted almost to the top of her forehead, but she didn’t have time to answer or question my urgency before women started streaming into the room. Servants and maids followed.

  She honored my wishes and told her guests I was a close childhood friend. She left out all reference to England or Wedmore, but her gaze bore through me, her meaning clear: I was not escaping without an explanation.

  When the women were settled and satisfactorily watered with drink, Angharad steered me to an empty table nearest the hearth. “Come. I’m feeling lucky.”

  We sat down, a servant quickly offering us wine and small pastries.

  Each table strewn about the room displayed a wooden game board. On most, the quadrants were simply squares etched into the wood. The figures were a mixture of bone, stone, and clay—even horse’s teeth stood in. Angharad’s board was inlaid with walrus ivory; the game pieces were of ivory and jet.

  Tafl was a game of strategy. The center piece, the king, tried to make it to a corner, while his men tried to protect him and clear the path. The opponent’s job was to try to stop the advance and capture the king.

  Seeing the pieces set on the table reminded me of the hall in Reading and an enraged Halfdan losing at such a game. Rather than abide the defeat, he had lifted the game table, which was a thick and heavy slab of rock, and brought it down squarely on his opponent’s head. The man crumpled and fell, his head crushed, the contents of which splattered on those standing closest.

  Halfdan, one of Alrik’s half-brothers, was vicious and cruel. I hoped to meet him again under more favorable circumstances, at least for me—I wanted him dead at the end of my sword.

  I took a large swig of wine and pushed the rotting scum from my mind.

  Angharad raised her horn in a toast, clinking it against mine. “Now, tell me: What has brought you to Wales?”

  Angharad knew my real identity, and her penetrating stare broke no illusions that I’d be able to hide the truth. I downed the contents of my cup, motioned for more, and set my shoulders. “Alrik ran into some trouble in England, and we had to leave.”

  “So you just left everything—your home, your family?”

  The truth twisted like a knife in my side. “I had little left to stay for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “Alrik wasn’t the only one who encountered trouble. My father was murdered, my brother lost and unaccounted for during the battle against the Vikings, and my grandmother was found tortured and hung.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I’ve learned to accept what I’ve lost, but I will never forgive how it was taken.”

  She opened her mouth as if to say more, but Marared and Sigy whirled into the room, ushered by one of Angharad’s chambermaids. Angharad pointed her finger at me. “We’re not finished.”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  She nodded and floated across the room to greet her latest guests. Being able to avoid Marared on the journey had been fortuitous, but it would seem my peace was short lived. Fortunately, Angharad found them empty seats at separate tables, each one situated on the opposite side of the room from where I sat.

  “What is it between you two?” Angharad asked the moment she sat down. “That woman has been throwing daggers at you since she stepped foot through the door.”

  “She has a certain affinity for Alrik, and since learning we are promised, she has had a rather difficult time accepting the news.”

  “You’re promised?”

  I showed her the ring. While Christian, both Ealhswith and Angharad knew of my pagan roots. As a young child, I hadn’t been as discrete as I should have been.

  “It’s beautiful and so unique.”

  “The figure is a woman—most likely Freya, the Viking goddess of fertility and desire.” The ring wasn’t Norse in origin, but no one had to know that.

  She giggled at that. “Fitting. While I’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting your Viking, he looked like a dog guarding a meaty bone. I bet if we hadn’t been there, he’d have taken you over to the nearest bench and speared you thoroughly. Right in front of Eadfrith, just to prove he could.”

  I almost spat the wine across the fine jet and ivory playing pieces. “Whatever do you mean?”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Do not even begin to deny you’ve had the man in your bed. You may look the angel, but you are no saint.”

  The look on my face must have been amusing, for she buckled over in hysterics, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “No, I guess I’m not.”

  She raised her cup again, and I tapped my rim against hers. She took a demure sip. “Me neither.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Which gentleman here has your devotion?”

  “No one amongst this lot. It’s been some time since I’ve had a worthy companion.”

  “You’re not betrothed?”

  She shook her head. “Not that my brother hasn’t tried, but most of the men who have sought my hand have done it only as a means of buoying up their own households. I told Gwgon that I will not marry until it benefits Seisyllwg and strengthens his position on the throne. So far, no one has stepped forward who matches the criteria.”

  “It’s nice your brother gives you the choice.”

  She shrugged. “It would go poorly for him if he didn’t. I can be very difficult if I don’t get my way.”

  I smirked. I could well imagine.

  “You roll first.” She pointed to the game table.

  I picked up the small die and rolled it on the table. Four.

  She shook the die in her hand and rolled. Three.

  “I’ll be white,” I said, taking the position of king and his men.

  “So tell me what happened in England.” She rolled the die and moved a black rook the required three places.

  “I was betrothed to a man—”

  “Yes, Ealhswith mentioned him. Turned out to be a brute.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Only that he told you he would marry you whether you liked it or not. Ealhswith mentioned a certain disagreement at Christmastide.”

  “Well, turns out that was his good side.” I moved another one of my men to capture hers, sandwiching it between two of mine. I removed it from the board. She frowned—due to my statement or the defeat of one of her pieces, I didn’t know.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask.” She studied the board, obviously rethinking her strategy.

  “I have no proof, other than his confession given in private, of course, but he murdered my father and grandmother and had a hand in Edward’s disappearance. I led Somerset’s army into battle, where I was captured by the Viking king, Halfdan; tortured; and ransomed back to Demas. He came out looking the hero, when in fact he had arranged it all.”

  She was staring at me, game forgotten. “Arranged how?”

  “Demas and my uncle, Osric, offered Halfdan gold in exchange for his help in their efforts to assume control over Somerset. I was part of that deal and their deception. I have no way to prove any of this. It’s my word against theirs.” I thought about my will and testament. I had written one bequeathing my land, title, and possessions to Ealhswith’s daughter, to be held in trust by her mother until she came of age. Aethelred, the king of Wessex, knew this, as did Alfred, Aethelred’s brother and Ealhswith’s husband, but I had been
forced to alter my will. I wondered if the sudden change of heart to naming Demas as my beneficiary would raise any suspicions, or at least offer some proof as to his powers of manipulation and the use of extortion to get me to change my mind. A copy of both documents was stored at Wedmore, but one was also sent to Winchester, since the change involved Alfred’s daughter.

  “Dare I ask where the trouble comes in that caused you to leave England?”

  A young woman bowed and whispered in Angharad’s ear.

  Angharad nodded and shooed her away, drawing her attention back to me. “I would love for you to join me after the feast so that we might continue our conversation.”

  “Of course.”

  She stood and addressed the gaggle of women. “The feast is ready to begin. Let us leave these simple pleasures and rejoin the menfolk and their illustrious banter.”

  The women giggled, leaving the room arm in arm, in a flurry of skirts and heated cheeks—the last, in part due to Angharad’s rather strong wine.

  Gwgon’s hall was twice the size of my father’s, back in Wedmore. I paused, realization dawning. My father lay dead. The hall belonged to me, but Osric, Demas, and their conniving little weasel, Sigberht, had usurped it from me. How long had Sigberht been in my uncle’s pockets, undermining my father’s position and authority?

  I studied the room—impressive, but not as lofty or grand as King Aethelred’s hall in Wessex. Large central beams flanked by two oak sentinels on either side joined wide arches, each part integral to the support of a towering turf roof. In front of the raised dais, at the northernmost aspect of the hall, woven rugs and pelts covered the freshly laid rushes. Iron candle trees stood rooted near each of the oak beams. Oil lamps hung from the rafters by finely worked copper chains.

  I wasn’t given a choice as to seating. Angharad accosted me for the evening and ushered me to the head table. Alrik sat, flanked between Hyffaid and Gwgon.

  Tollak, Cormac, and the entire crew from Raven’s Blood reclined on benches close to the dais, a sign of great privilege. Gwgon meant to make sure everyone knew that the Norsemen were his guests and allies—and honored ones, at that.

  Music and drink flowed as the feast got underway. Gwgon indulged on the meal. Nine courses ran the gamut, from breads, cheeses, and sweet cakes to racks and roasts of venison, lamb, and pork. Sky and sea were also well represented, with trout, eel, and pheasant rounding out the grouping. Servants and pages catered to every whim, refilling every horn and replenishing every trencher.