Tears of the Wolf (Wrath and Weeping #1)

Chapter 16 Cenric

Cenric

It was Edric who spotted the small shape of the girl racing down the road as if the hounds of the Dread Marches were snapping at her heels.

“Aye, what now?” Edric grumbled, wiping his brow.

They’d been cutting barley all day, the fruits of their labors in sheaves around them. Everything would be gathered up in wagons and taken back to the longhouse for threshing.

Friend? Snapper rose from where he had been lounging in the shade of a wagon.

Cenric turned his attention back to the stalks in front of him.

“Lord Cenric! Lord!” The girl was out of breath and bright red from the effort, but she kept shrieking for him.

Friend afraid? Snapper barked, rushing over to meet the girl.

Cenric looked back up, recognizing the girl as she drew closer. That was his wife’s servant. A pit of dread opened in his chest. “What’s happened?”

“Lady Brynn said…” The girl’s voice broke off as she gasped for breath.

At his wife’s name, Cenric dropped his scythe. He heard Edric swear as he sprinted over to where the girl leaned panting with her hands on her knees. “What is it, girl?”

“Lady Brynn said to tell you…” Another gasp of air. “Twenty men.”

“What?” Cenric paused, wondering if he had heard wrong. “Esa, was it? What did you say?”

Esa shook her head. “Twenty armed men on horses. From Olfirth. Lady Brynn…said to tell you.”

Cenric leaned down. “Olfirth attacked?”

“I don’t know,” Esa whimpered. “Lady Brynn sent me as soon as she saw them.”

“Cenric!” Edric came running after him, but Cenric was already sprinting back up the road.

Snapper raced after him, barking in confusion.

By the time the longhouse came into view, Cenric had already exhausted every curse and insult he knew. He would rip out Olfirth’s guts and stuff them down the old man’s throat. If that whoreson had laid a hand on Brynn…

Smoke rose from the longhouse, but only from the roof opening meant for that purpose. The village appeared intact, nothing unusual.

Everything was peaceful, as far as Cenric could tell. He slowed, his breath coming in sharp heaves. What was this? Had the girl lied?

No, she had seemed sincere. Had she been mistaken somehow?

Or was this some manner of trap?

Cenric slowed to a walk, trying to hear the sounds of the longhouse over the thundering of his own heart. He always carried his sword in the fields, and it thumped reassuringly against his back.

“Everything looks fine,” Edric muttered, coming up behind him.

Cenric held a finger to his lips, motioning the other men to be quiet. Half of them had come with him, also carrying their scythes, swords, and spears. They’d taken their weapons into the field. It was best to be prepared.

As they came closer, several of the dogs came out to greet them, led by Ash. Their tails wagged as they met their master, licking his hands and pawing at his legs. He shushed them carefully.

Brynn? he asked the dogs.

House, answered several of them at once.

He looked around at their smiling canine faces, missing one. Where is Thorn?

With Brynn, Ash answered.

Thorn? Cenric tried reaching out for the old patriarch.

Strangers, came Thorn’s distant reply. Strangers in the house. His thoughts were edged with aggression.

Cenric’s heart jolted at that. Brynn?

Brynn, came Thorn’s affirmative answer . Thorn was with Brynn. Dare Cenric hope that meant she was safe?

Cenric considered calling out for her, but that would warn any intruders who were lying in wait for them. “Edric, take the other men and circle around. I’m going to check the house.”

“Alone?” Edric’s scoff said just what he thought of that.

Cenric should probably send someone else. He could see the wisdom of it.

But Brynn…

“Just go. If I send Snapper to you, attack.”

Edric exhaled sharply. “Sounds like a plan.” The redheaded man motioned for the others to follow him, taking them through the treeline around the longhouse.

Cenric climbed the garden fence, keeping to the shadows. The sun was setting and the shadows lengthening. He could hear the usual sounds of work, women’s voices, knives hitting wood, pots clattering.

A male voice drifted through the open door, words indistinct.

Cenric drew his sword. It might be nothing. It might be the old goat had taken his wife hostage. He considered sending Snapper ahead to scout, but if this went wrong, he would need to send Snapper to warn Edric. Signaling for Snapper to hang back, Cenric went first.

Drawing close to the door to the kitchens, Cenric hovered at the edge. He could see the flash of skirts bustling to and fro as the household girls worked. Surely if they were under attack, the girls would have fled?

One of the girls spotted him and yelped, then gasped. “Lord?” She was a thin creature with freckles, clutching a bowl filled with shelled peas.

“Where is Lady Brynn?” Cenric demanded.

The other girls took notice of him, glancing between themselves.

“She’s in the hall.” The voice that answered was Gaitha. The tall woman stood with hands on her hips, a faint look of amusement. “She’s been speaking with our guests.”

Cenric’s eyes narrowed. “Guests?”

“Olfirth dropped by for a surprise visit.”

Cenric had to fight down panic at that. “He has Brynn?”

Gaitha smirked, but only briefly. “I rather think she has him.” She gestured for Cenric to follow. “I’ll show you. Though you might want to put away the sword.”

Cenric hesitated a moment, but he trusted Gaitha. He slipped his sword back into its sheath, but not before he adjusted it to hang at his hip for easier access.

He followed Gaitha into the longhouse. Two girls carrying a spent cask of mead passed them. Cenric bit back his questions as male voices rose from ahead.

Gaitha stepped aside to give Cenric a view of the hall.

Cenric spotted Brynn seated beside the empty space at the head of the table. She was smiling and appeared unhurt.

Brynn handed an overflowing mug of mead to the man across from her—Olfirth.

Thorn crouched by Brynn’s feet, his single eye watching the strangers.

Olfirth sat on his side of the table, his shield and spear leaning against the wall at his back. Cenric counted eighteen other men seated along his side of the table, their shields and spears likewise placed.

Cenric’s relief at seeing Brynn unhurt was almost instantly drowned out by rage. “What is this?” he demanded.

Brynn’s eyes snapped to him along with Olfirth and the rest of his warriors.

The men tensed, ready to lash out. The ones nearest Olfirth looked for direction and those on Cenric’s end of the table eyed him distrustfully.

Brynn rose, easily, airily. “Husband,” she said, her voice too bright, too gentle for this situation. “We have guests.”

“They look like intruders to me.” Cenric glared at Olfirth.

If the old man was offended by it, he gave no sign. “Your wife’s hospitality is remarkable, young wolf.”

“Lord?” Brynn rose. She came toward Cenric, her face maddeningly serene.

There were nearly twenty armed men at his table who had come here uninvited and unannounced. They could not have made their intentions clearer if they had pissed in his bed.

Yet here was Brynn, acting like this was a social call.

Brynn met him at the doorway. She took his arm, carefully, but her fingers dug into his skin, a warning, if he hadn’t known better. “Olfirth will be joining us for supper this evening.”

“Will he?” Cenric glared past his wife to the white-haired goat.

The old man sipped his mead, watching Cenric and Brynn curiously.

“Gaitha, please stay with our guests. I will be back in a moment.”

Gaitha inclined her head. “Of course, lady.”

Cenric hated leaving these men in his house, but he let Brynn take him back out the small door of the garden. They were barely outside before he was pulling her around to face him. “Explain.”

The serenity she had projected in the hall fractured. “Olfirth appeared over an hour ago with his men. I invited him to eat with us tonight.”

“And he accepted?” Cenric demanded.

“Yes.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else.” Brynn looked back to the open door to the longhouse, probably checking for prying eyes. “I was able to make him see reason.”

“What reason?” Cenric gestured back to the hall. “That is a threat, Brynn. He came here with armed men on a day he knew I would be gone to harry my wife and frighten my servants. He’s trying to intimidate me.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Brynn exhaled a sharp breath. “You are his new neighbor. He knew your father and your brothers, but he never knew you.”

“He is testing me,” Cenric growled.

“Cenric!” Brynn grabbed his arm, stopping him from storming back into the longhouse. “What are you doing?”

“I will show this man what happens when he tries to cross me.”

Brynn raised her chin. “You’ll kill him?”

“He threatened you!”

Brynn shook her head. “Think, Cenric. Just think!”

Cenric yanked his arm free of her grip.

Hurt flashed across Brynn’s face, but she stepped toward him. “So, you kill him.” Her voice went cold. “He has two sons. What will you do when they come to avenge him?”

“I’ll kill them too,” Cenric growled.

“And their sons?” Brynn didn’t back down. “Their nephews, cousins, brothers-in-law, and thanes?”

“That is the way of it.” Cenric had a nagging feeling she was trying to make a point, but he was too angry to see it.

“And your other neighbors? There are four other aldermen within three days’ ride of here. After you slaughter every last man in Olfirth’s bloodline, and they decide you are too great a threat to be left alone?”

“Get to the point, woman.” Cenric’s hand ached to seize his sword. He wanted to ram the blade through Olfirth’s gut.

“You cannot kill everyone,” Brynn snapped, her voice low, but with an edge of desperation. “It does not matter how strong you are, it does not matter how dangerous you are. Sooner or later, you must learn to live in peace with the people around you.”

“I have wanted to be left alone. That is all I have ever wanted.”

“Does Olfirth know that?”

“What?”

Brynn smeared back several loose strands of hair. “According to Olfirth, he has only met you a handful of times. He doesn’t know what to make of you.”

Cenric flung an arm back toward the hall. “That is not my fault.”

Brynn made a brief grimace, as if perhaps she thought it was his fault, but had decided against saying as much. “You wanted a sorceress to bring peace between you and your neighbors. This is me, making peace between you and your neighbors.”

“He does not respect me.” Cenric gripped his sword again. Snapper? He sent a thought toward the dyrehund, ready to signal to Edric and the others and make Olfirth pay.

“No.” Brynn cut him off before he could give the mental command. “Olfirth fears you.”

“That is the same thing!”

“It is not.” Brynn clenched her hands into her skirt and then let them go, seeming to do it with effort. Her hands shook, but she inhaled a long breath, looking up to him. “All he knows is that you were raised by Valdari. He fears your allegiance lies with them and that you will attack him. Or perhaps that you will strike bargains with Valdari raiders to use your lands as a harbor.”

“The old man told you that?”

“Not in so many words.” Her voice trembled along with her whole body. She appeared more upset arguing with him than when she had been facing down a host of armed men by herself.

That hardly seemed fair. Cenric was the one whose home had been violated.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Cenric had not been this angry in years, but he managed to lower his voice. “Olfirth insults us, and we let him eat our stores and drink our mead?”

“Yes,” Brynn hissed. “Then, if he wants peace, he will invite us to eat his stores and drink his mead.”

“You’re assuming he’s like the men of Aelgar’s circle. You don’t know these northmen.”

“Men are the same everywhere,” Brynn retorted. “Always looking for a way to save your pride.” She shook her head again. “Don’t you understand? Olfirth is conceding. He realized he made a mistake and he’s taking the risk of eating with us because it’s the only way he can save his life and pride.”

Cenric could see what she was saying, even if it was hard to see anything past his own blinding rage.

Brynn glanced back toward the hall. “Olfirth has seen sorceresses in battle, it seems.”

Cenric muttered a string of curses in Valdari. They were the only ones that seemed adequate.

“Please, Cenric.” Brynn’s voice went soft, pleading. “I am trying to do my duty to you.” She looked down. “I want to do my duty to you.”

From the way she didn’t make eye contact, Cenric wondered if she meant something more by that.

She looked back up, meeting his eyes again. Her lips parted slightly, and she took in a shaky breath. “Let me do my duty.”

Cenric folded his arms across his chest. He took several long and slow breaths. “Did he hurt you?” Cenric glared back toward the hall. “Any of his men?”

“No.” Brynn looked startled by the question. “They haven’t touched me. Or any of the other women.”

Cenric forced himself to inhale until he felt his lungs might burst, then exhale slowly until he thought he might suffocate. He looked back at his wife. “Fine.”

Brynn’s voice sounded fearful. “Cenric?”

He paused at the doorway back into the house. “We’ll try it your way.” He marched back into the house, past the hearth, past the wide eyes of the women. No doubt they’d been eavesdropping.

Cenric heard Brynn following but didn’t look back as he marched into his hall— his hall—currently occupied by Gaitha and his unwelcome guests. He smiled, though it probably looked more like a baring of teeth.

Cenric was aware of every eye in that room on him as he took his place at the head of the table, right beside Olfirth. Cenric made himself comfortable as Brynn watched him with a stony expression from the door.

Several of the women paused beside her, holding another cask of mead. Cenric bit his tongue when he recognized it as one of the ones he’d been saving for Blydmoth.

“Don’t just stand there, girls,” Cenric said. “More mead for our guests and get me a cup while you’re at it.” He turned to Olfirth at his side, leaning on the armrest of his chair. “Welcome to my hall, Olfirth. I do hope our hospitality is to your measure.”

Olfirth belched, setting down his half-finished mead. “I am sure it will be, Alderman.”

The girls brought the mead casks to the center of the table and the feast began.