Chapter Eight
Alive
AELFWYN AWOKE TO the feel of coarse cloth against her skin and the musty smell of grain and onions filling her nostrils. A heartbeat later, she realized that she ached all over and that her temples pounded cruelly.
She groaned, wondering if she was waking from a fever. For a merciful moment, she did not remember anything—but then it all rushed back.
Ecgfrith on top of her, hurting her, smothering her.
The numbness.
The agony.
Running into the churning sea to escape it.
Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at two young men, roughly her own age. They crouched in front of her, watching her intently. Fear spiraled up from Aelfwyn’s gut. Her recent ordeal made being alone with two men feel as if she had awoken into some living nightmare.
She was just about to let out an unearthly scream when she noticed that the men wore brown home-spun robes. Both men were handsome, with close-cropped hair—not a style that most men favored—one blond, the other red-haired. Aelfwyn realized they must be monks.
Her terror subsided; surely monks would not harm her?
Aelfwyn’s gaze shifted to her surroundings. She lay propped up against a pile of sacking in a dimly lit building that smelled like a storehouse. A small earthen cresset burned on one of the empty wooden shelves lining the cramped space, casting the store in pale, flickering gold.
The redhead, the most striking of the two monks, favored her with a slightly lopsided smile that made a dimple form on his left cheek. “Good to see you’re awake. We were beginning to worry.” He handed her a wooden cup. “Here—it’s just broth, but it will do you good.”
Aelfwyn nodded mutely, taking the cup with trembling hands. Her throat was raw from swallowing salt water, and her tongue felt swollen and dry. She sipped gratefully, nearly whimpering in relief as the hot liquid—tasting of onions, carrots, and mutton bones—slid down her burning throat.
Wordlessly, the blond monk, his blue eyes wide with what appeared to be a blend of fascination and fear, passed her a hunk of coarse bread upon an oilskin cloth.
“It’s not much, I know,” commented the redhead with a trace of irony in his voice, “but meals are simple upon Lindisfarena.”
Lindisfarena.
The sea had not swallowed her, as she had hoped. Instead, it had carried her a short distance and dumped her upon the holy isle just a few leagues north from Bebbanburg.
Fear cramped Aelfwyn’s belly, making it difficult to keep down the broth; she was not safe here. Tears pricked her eyelids, making them burn brutally. Despite her best efforts, she was alive—and if she was still alive, then Ecgfrith could find her and hurt her again.
“Don’t look so worried,” the red-haired monk said, his voice soothing as if he was quietening a panicked horse. “You’ll come to no harm here.”
Aelfwyn nodded and forced back the tears. She glanced down and saw that she wore nothing but a scratchy monk’s habit.
Anguish resurfaced. They had undressed her, had seen her naked body.
“My clothes,” she gasped.
“They’re drying behind you,” the blond monk told her, his own voice quivering with nervousness. “We had to get you into dry clothes.”
She nodded once more although mortification still burned through her. After what she had just endured, knowing that two more men had looked upon her nakedness when she had not been able to give permission, was too much.
Hot tears slid down her face. She looked down at the rapidly cooling cup of broth she clasped, trying to regain control.
She did not want these two men—two strangers—to see her terror, her grief. She had to keep a rein on it until she was alone.
Leofric watched the girl weep. Her glittering blue-grey eyes were filled with so much pain it was difficult not to reach out and comfort her. Yet he knew she would shrink away from his touch.
When he and Deorwine had peeled those wet clothes off her, he had seen the livid bruises on her body—covering her arms, breasts, and upper-thighs. The look of terror on her face when she had first awoken only confirmed his suspicions.
Leofric exchanged a glance with Deorwine. His friend’s mouth had thinned in anger; he too knew. Deorwine was a gentle soul, but his blue eyes glittered with fury at what someone had done to this girl.
Leofric glanced back at her. He was no stranger to women; he had bedded his first at thirteen and was currently enduring his longest stretch ever without female company. Yet he had never—and would never—force himself on a woman.
The young woman hunched before him—desperately trying to stem the tears that flowed down her pale cheeks—bore wounds that were far worse than bruises; wounds no one would ever see.
“We need to go,” Deorwine reminded him quietly. “There will be trouble if we neglect our chores.”
Leofric nodded and reluctantly rose to his feet. Deorwine was right—he had already angered Cuthbert enough for one day.
“You need to stay inside this storeroom,” he told the girl gently. “No one knows you’re here, and it’s safer for all of us if it stays that way. One of us will be back later, with more food and water.”
The young woman looked up, her watery gaze meeting his. “I should go—I don’t want to cause trouble.” Her voice was husky and trembled slightly.
“You’re not,” Leofric replied firmly, “and as soon as you’re strong enough, we’ll find a way to get you off the island and back to the mainland.” He smiled down at her and saw the fear and mistrust in her eyes. “I’m Leofric, by the way—and this is Deorwine. What’s your name?”
The girl stared back at him, hesitating before she answered him. “Aelfwyn.”
“What monster did that to her?”
Leofric glanced across at Deorwine as they made their way to the monastery gardens, a short distance from the store huts. His friend’s vehemence surprised him.
“A man who likes to hurt women,” he replied.
“But how did she end up here—did he try drowning her? Was raping her not enough?”
Leofric shook his head. “Either that or she threw herself into the sea afterward.” The haunted look on the girl’s face told him that this was more likely the case.
Deorwine did not reply to that although Leofric could see he was seething.
Leofric did not blame him. He too would have liked to geld the man responsible—yet rape was more common than perhaps Deorwine realized.
His friend had grown up in a tiny village before coming to live on an island inhabited by peaceful monks.
In Eoforwic, Leofric had seen another side to life.
Many of the men who frequented the town’s mead hall used the whores who plied their trade there badly.
He had seen a number of the girls with blackened eyes and split lips—and worse.
Deorwine wished for a world where innocence was protected, where brutality and cruelty did not exist—sadly no such world existed. Leofric was not sure it ever would.
They reached the gardens—a walled area where the monks grew most of their food—and got to work alongside the other brothers who weeded, harvested, and sowed.
The wind, which had howled for days, had died down and a breathless calm settled over the world.
The smoke, rising from the building where monks prepared supper, drifted straight up into the sky.
Around them, the shadows were lengthening as the long twilight began.
Leofric unsheathed the knife he carried at his belt and began cutting out the cabbages, some of which were on the verge of going to seed.
All this cabbage would mean days of stinking pottage but like the other monks, Leofric knew that even overcooked cabbage stew was better than an empty stomach.
Lindisfarena brought in very little from the mainland as Cuthbert wished for the monastery to be as self-sufficient as possible.
A short time later, the bell rang for supper.
Leofric resheathed his knife and hoisted the basket of cabbages under his arm.
He then followed the stream of hungry monks into the long, low-slung feasting hall attached to the kitchens, where they would eat their final meal of the day.
Only the supper was not likely to be a feast—but a watery gruel, hard cheese, and even harder bread.
This evening though Leofric did not dwell on the unappetizing fare he endured daily. Instead, he was thinking about how to smuggle more food back to Aelfwyn once supper was over.