Chapter Sixteen Arrival at Streonshalh
Chapter Sixteen
Arrival at Streonshalh
LEOFRIC STIFFENED, HIS shoulder throbbing dully as Aelfwyn pressed a handful of dark green pulp into his wound. “God’s bones, what’s that?”
She glanced up from her work, their gazes meeting. They were so close that he could see the blue flecks in her grey eyes. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.
“It’s Woundwort,” she said quietly. “My mother swears by it.”
“For what?” Leofric’s nose wrinkled at the pungent odor the herb emitted. “To keep evil spirits away from the hearth.”
Aelfwyn gave him an exasperated look. “To keep wounds from souring.”
After inspecting the livid cut on his shoulder, Aelfwyn had gone off into the trees, reappearing a short while later with a handful of herbs.
Intrigued, Leofric had watched her mash them to a pulp on one of the large flat rocks by the river.
She had worked deftly, her pale brow furrowed in concentration.
“I need to bind the wound,” she said, stepping back and inspecting her handiwork. “To keep the Woundwort inside.”
“I don’t think Thunred packed any clean linens,” Leofric replied with a shrug, “but you can tear some material off my tunic if that serves.”
She shook her head. “Wool won’t do.” With that, she leaned down and pulled up the hem of the woolen dress she wore. Underneath, Leofric spied a fawn-colored linen undertunic.
Deftly, she tore a wide strip off the hem. Looking on, Leofric caught a glimpse of the shapely calves and fine ankles underneath. “You’re a resourceful wench,” he admitted, grinning at her.
Aelfwyn approached him once more, and although her face was serious Leofric could have sworn he saw her eyes twinkle. His charm was starting to wear away at her; slowly eroding the wall of ice she had built between them.
“My mother always stressed the importance of a woman having skills,” she said quietly as she bound his shoulder. “My father provides well for my family, but we are not high-born. Women have to be more than wives and mothers.”
Leofric nodded. “It’s the same in my family. My two older sisters have never been idle a day in their life.”
Aelfwyn’s gaze met his. “Unlike their younger brother?”
He quirked an eyebrow. Was she teasing him, or criticizing him? “It’s a man’s world, Aelfwyn,” he replied quietly. “I’m not to blame for that.”
She huffed and finished tying the bandage. “No, but you take full advantage of it.”
Leofric shrugged, favoring her with a slow smile.
She was challenging him, and it surprised him.
When they had first met, he had thought her a gentle, timid soul, but he was beginning to realize she was far tougher than he realized.
Her ordeal at Bebbanburg had stripped away her illusions about life, but in doing so it had forged her anew.
He noted the iron resolve in her and decided he liked it.
He rose to his feet and reluctantly reached for his damp tunic.
He could have sat here all day, with the sun on his skin, having Aelfwyn fuss over him, but she had spoken true earlier.
They lingered at their peril. Windraes was swift and had carried them far ahead of their pursuers—however, that did not mean they were safe.
A chill settled over Leofric then, like a shadow passing over the sun, when he realized that it did not matter how far he ran, he would always be a hunted man.
Thanks to Godwine of Eoforwic, he would never be safe.
Aelfwyn stretched, slowly awakening to the sound of chirping birds. A cool breeze kissed her face and she opened her eyes. A few feet away, Leofric kicked dirt over the embers of last night’s fire.
It had been the first fire they had dared light since fleeing south. They were now far enough ahead of their pursuers that Leofric had decided to risk it. They had roasted two conies and sat in companionable silence afterward as they consumed their meal.
Aelfwyn yawned and sat up. “Morning.”
Leofric glanced up. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
She nodded, rising to her feet and brushing leaves and twigs out of her hair. “I think I’m finally getting used to sleeping on the ground.”
Leofric smiled. “You won’t have to for much longer. If we ride hard today, we should reach Streonshalh just before dusk.”
Aelfwyn tensed—warring with an odd blend of relief and anxiety. She longed to be safe within the abbey’s walls, but she also knew that a very different life awaited her, one that she would never have chosen willingly.
“I thought you’d look happier at the news,” Leofric said, watching her intently.
Aelfwyn frowned at him. Leofric was far too sharp; he never missed a thing.
Over the past two days, since she had dressed his wound, she had thawed toward him; it was hard to stay angry at a man who wielded charm like a weapon. She was also grateful to him for keeping her safe, and for hunting and providing for her.
“I am happy,” she replied. “I just wonder what the future has in store. What if the abbess doesn’t admit me? What if she gives me back to the king?”
Leofric considered her questions, his face unusually serious. “Aye, those are both valid concerns.” He paused here, his gaze trapping hers. “You don’t have to go to Streonshalh, Aelfwyn. Travel south with me instead and start a new life.”
Aelfwyn stared at him. His suggestion caused her belly to tighten in a blend of excitement and terror—a reaction that shocked her. “Start a new life … with you?”
Leofric’s gaze had turned shuttered. He had seen her reaction. “Is that such a repellant idea?”
“No … yes …” Aelfwyn stuttered. She felt flustered, hot. “I can’t do that, Leofric.”
He shrugged, and she knew he was feigning indifference—that her reaction had hurt him. “Very well,” he said, turning away. “Then you will just have to take your chances with the abbess.”
It was not a good start to the day. They resumed their journey south, riding along the windswept coastline, but they did so in silence.
Windraes flew, his feathery hooves eating up the furlongs.
The wind, coming in from the southeast, churned up the sea.
Gulls and herons swooped low over the surf, their cries mingling with the boom of the crashing waves.
Aelfwyn was glad they were riding along the coast again; the sea calmed her pitching stomach, soothed her jangled nerves.
She had not meant to offend Leofric, to insult him.
But surely he realized she could not go away with him.
At the moment, their journey together had a purpose.
He was her protector—nothing more. If she continued to travel with him though, their relationship would change.
She had already seen the naked interest in his eyes at unguarded moments; noted the way he watched her sometimes.
She did not fear him, but ever since Leofric’s fight with Thunred she did not trust him either.
He was a man, after all. He would try to stake his claim on her sooner or later. She could not bear the thought of being forced again. Her body was her own, and she would keep it that way.
The farther south they traveled, the firmer Aelfwyn’s resolve grew. The arrival at Streonshalh had arrived just in time. The past few days together had forged a bond between her and Leofric; one she did not want.
One she had to sever.
True to Leofric’s prediction, they reached Streonshalh close to dusk. Long shadows blanketed the cliffs, and the sun was close to sliding behind the grassy hills to the east.
Aelfwyn spied the abbey, many furlongs before they reached it: a solid building of wood and stone, surrounded by a high wooden fence. It commanded over the surrounding land.
As they rode along the headland north of Streonshalh, Aelfwyn glanced down to the scheduled harbor below.
Tidy, timbered fishing huts with thatched roofs and squat tanning sheds clustered together, blanketing the bottom of the hillside.
A few rowboats bobbed against a wooden jetty, reminding Aelfwyn that folk here made a living out of the herrings they caught in the cool waters at the mouth of the River Usk.
Smoke rose from the roofs of the houses, and she caught a whiff of roasting mutton on the wind. Her stomach growled; it felt a long while had passed since she had last eaten at noon.
They forded the River Usk and rode up the steep path toward the abbey. Then, instead of approaching Streonshalh, Leofric turned Windraes southwest across the upper pastures and circled around two furlongs south of the abbey’s main gate. There he drew the gelding to a halt.
“I shall leave you here.” Leofric swung down from the saddle before reaching up to help her dismount. “It’s best the nuns don’t see us arrive together.”
Aelfwyn nodded and slid to the ground. He was right; she would have a hard enough task in explaining who she was and why she had come. Seeing her arrive with a leather-clad warrior would not help matters.
Aelfwyn shucked off the voluminous monk’s habit she wore over her long tunic and stuffed it into Leofric’s saddlebag. She did not wish to explain that either. Then she turned to Leofric, raising her chin to meet his eye.
The wind buffeted them, whipping her hair into her eyes. Blinking, she pushed it aside. The solemn look on Leofric’s face, the steadiness of his gaze, made her breathing quicken. He would not make saying goodbye easy.
“Thank you, Leofric,” she began softly, “for everything.”
His mouth twisted. “You don’t have to thank me.”
She reached forward, her fingers closing over his hand. “I do—you saved me. I’ll never forget it.”
He placed a hand over hers, trapping her fingers between both his hands. The warmth and strength of him seeped into her, warming her to the core. “You don’t still revile me then?” he asked softly.
“Revile you? Of course not.”
“I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was.”
So was Aelfwyn. She wished she had never learned of his past, but there was no undoing it. Still, she did not want any bitterness between them now, not when these would be the last words they would ever speak.
“I have no right to judge you,” she replied with a tremulous smile. “Not when I am far from perfect myself.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “You are perfect … and without you, my days will feel sunless.”
Aelfwyn stared up at him, surprised by his admission. She stared into his face, looking for a trace of mockery, but there was none. He had meant those words.
“I do not like leaving you here,” he continued, his gaze never leaving hers, “Not when I don’t know how the Abbess Hilda will receive you.”
Aelfwyn shook her head. “But you must.”
He watched her for a heartbeat longer, his eyes deepening from hazel to green with intensity. “I will wait here,” he told her before he jerked his chin south. “Just beyond the line of those hills—every day at sunset for the next five days.”
Aelfwyn tried to extract her hand from between his, but he held her fast. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I do,” he replied firmly. “I can’t ride away not knowing whether you will be safe here or not.”
“But, it’s not for you to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Leofric drew her to him and covered her mouth with his. It was a gentle, sensual kiss. For an instant, Aelfwyn melted into him, lost in the feel of his lips—smooth, soft, and warm—on hers. Heat flowered in the pit of her belly at his touch.
Then reality doused her like an icy bucket of water. She turned rigid in Leofric’s arms.
Leofric pulled away, his hands releasing her as he did so. His mouth quirked when he met her eye once more. “I know I should apologize for that—but I won’t.” He stepped back, creating a gulf between them. “Five days, Aelfwyn. After that, I’ll ride away and leave you to the life you have chosen.”