Chapter Thirteen
The Warrior in the Woods
AELFWYN STARED UP at the star-sprinkled night sky and the silver disc of the moon. She tried to ignore the chill of the water, to relax against Leofric’s body as he had ordered, but it was nearly impossible.
Her heart still thrummed in her chest, terror constricted her throat. Her lungs burned from exertion, and she felt weak with shock at how close they had come to capture—how close they still were to being caught.
The angry shouts of their pursuers and the excited caterwauling of the hounds were fading into the distance.
The river had narrowed slightly since they had thrown themselves at its mercy, and was now flowing even swifter than before.
Its current tossed them around like logs.
Aelfwyn prayed there were not any rocks hidden beneath the water, which would slice them to ribbons.
Terrified, she clung to Leofric—the only thing between her and drowning. She would sink like a sack of peat if he let go of her.
“Relax,” he called to her over the roar of the river. “You’ll float easier if you don’t fight the water.”
Aelfwyn made a choking sound and tried to obey him. He made it sound simple, but it was near to impossible to relax her body when terror pumped through her. Instead, she concentrated on her breathing which was coming in short, panicked puffs. She tried to slow and deepen it.
She kept her gaze fixed upon the dark curtain of night stretching above her, at the moon’s friendly face. Leofric appeared to have handed his fate over to the river; she tried to do the same.
For a while, the current carried them southeast, toward the coast. Eventually, the river flowed into a wider, tidal watercourse—one that appeared to flow out into an estuary.
The moon was sinking low in the sky when Leofric carried them to shore.
He swam on his back, propelling himself toward the muddy, reed-covered bank on the southern shore with lazy strokes of his right arm, while with his left he kept Aelfwyn pinned against his chest.
Aelfwyn crawled up onto the bank, collapsing at the top. Her limbs felt boneless and weak, and she was shivering. She heard an odd rattling noise and realized that it was her teeth chattering.
Leofric helped Aelfwyn to her feet, his eyes glowing in the moonlight. “Come on,” he panted. “We’ve got a lead on them for now, we don’t want to waste it.”
Aelfwyn nodded, trying to wring water out of her sodden robes.
She had not thought it was possible to feel so miserable, so uncomfortable—so utterly exhausted.
There was no point in complaining though.
She knew what had to be done, even if she was starting to doubt she would last the rest of the night.
Leofric took hold of her hand and led the way south, away from the river. She stumbled after him. Her body felt as if it no longer belonged to her; she kept going out of sheer force of will alone.
Her companion spoke little during their flight south. Like her, Leofric fought exhaustion; his breathing gradually grew more ragged, his expression ever grimmer.
By the time the first glow of dawn spilled across the sky to the east, both of them were stumbling as if drunk.
They reached a copse of trees—ash and oaks—carpeting a shallow valley, where Leofric finally stopped.
Under the sheltering boughs of an old oak, he let go of Aelfwyn’s hand and sank to the ground.
The moment he let go of her, Aelfwyn’s remaining strength left her; it was as if he had been keeping her going, and now he had severed the physical connection exhaustion barreled into her like a charging boar.
Aelfwyn’s legs gave way under her, and she crumpled. Lying on her back, she watched dawn stretch its rosy fingers across the sky, which was turning from a deep indigo to a rich blue. Her pulse thudded in her chest, her blood roared in her ears, and she felt sick from exhaustion.
Eventually, she was able to glance right at where Leofric lay, spread-eagled like her, staring up at the lightening sky. His chest was heaving, his habit clinging to his lean, muscular frame. She could feel the heat emanating off him.
Feeling Aelfwyn’s gaze upon him, Leofric glanced across at her. He gave her an exhausted smile. “You did well,” he panted.
“I’m not sure how I managed it,” she admitted, her own voice coming in short gasps, “although I’m not certain I can get up again.”
“You will,” Leofric replied before pushing himself upright with a groan. “We have to keep moving.”
Aelfwyn rolled onto her belly, breathing in the scent of damp earth and crushed grass as she did so. “I’m sorry, Leofric,” she murmured. “You’re a hunted man because of me.”
Her companion gave a soft laugh, although the edge of bitterness to it made Aelfwyn glance up in surprise. Leofric was looking away from her; she saw the tension in his shoulders.
Aelfwyn struggled upright, feeling wretched. “Are you angry with me?”
He glanced her way, his gaze widening. “No—of course not.” He paused then, breaking eye contact with her once more. “Don’t blame yourself for this. I knew what I was doing when I chose to help you escape. The price on my head now has nothing to do with you.”
Aelfwyn frowned, confused. “I don’t understand.”
Leofric shook his head. “It’s a tale for another time.” He got to his feet and dusted himself off. “I’ll tell it to you when we don’t have the king’s men breathing down our necks; when we’re dry, warm and safe.”
He reached down and pulled her up, smiling at her. Despite Aelfwyn’s exhaustion, despite the trauma of the past few days, his nearness affected her. He had a melting smile. The glint in his eyes—a blend of boyish mischief and purely masculine confidence—made the base of her belly flutter.
Discomfort swiftly followed. Aelfwyn gently extracted her hand from his and averted her gaze.
Her reaction to him reminded her of how it was between men and women.
The world was full of men like Ecgfrith who took what they wanted without asking, without caring about the consequences.
If Leofric thought she was encouraging him, he might become such a man.
Aelfwyn stepped back from him and pulled her damp robes tightly around her. “You’re right,” she replied, her voice subdued. “We must press on.”
They walked south through the woodland, following what appeared to be a goat track through the clusters of trees. Aelfwyn had no idea where they were, or how far they had traveled. She cast her mind back to her journey north with Aethelhild, to the towns they had passed.
“Where are we?” she eventually asked Leofric, who now walked at her side.
He glanced her way, blinking as he emerged from the fog of his own thoughts. “I’d guess that the tidal river we emerged from was the Tinanmuee. If we continue due south, we’ll soon cross the Wear. After that, it’s a straight run down to Streonshalh.”
Aelfwyn nodded. She recalled crossing the Tinanmuee on the way north, and the magnificent stone bridge that the Romans had left behind spanning the glittering water. They were farther south than she had realized.
“Do you think they know we’re traveling to Streonshalh?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s possible—but it’s still your safest choice.”
“And what about you?”
Leofric’s gaze held hers, the corner of his mouth quirking. “I’ll make sure I disappear.”
Something about the way he said that made Aelfwyn uneasy. “Where will you go?”
He shook his head and broke eye contact. “It’s safer for you not to know.”
Aelfwyn was mulling over his response, and wondering why he was being so secretive, when the snap of twigs up ahead caused her to halt mid-stride. Beside her, Leofric had done the same, his body tensing.
A moment later, a man riding a stocky bay horse emerged from the trees.
He was young—of a similar age to her and Leofric—dressed in a sleeveless leather vest and breeches, his feet clad in fur boots.
Owing to the balmy weather he wore no cloak, and his brown hair was loose, curling over broad shoulders.
Over one shoulder, the man carried a quiver of fletched arrows and a longbow.
Aelfwyn stopped breathing. At first, she had thought he was one of the king’s men, but he was coming from the wrong direction and was alone. Then she realized that he was probably the son of a local ealdorman or thegn out hunting.
Upon seeing the two of them on the path ahead, the man drew his horse to a halt. He had a heavy-featured face and a square jaw.
“Wes hāl!” Leofric called out, although Aelfwyn could hear the forced friendliness of his tone. Like her, this warrior’s presence alarmed him.
“Wes hāl,” the man responded in kind, his gaze sweeping over them. “What is this … a monk and a maid on the road together?” He urged his horse forward a few steps and drew up alongside them. “I’ve yet to see a stranger sight.”
Up close Aelfwyn saw that the man carried a seax—a long-bladed knife—at his waist. Muscle corded his bare arms. He studied Aelfwyn first, and she grew rigid under his hot stare. Then his gaze shifted to Leofric, and he frowned.
“I know you …”
Leofric raised an auburn eyebrow. “Do you? I don’t recall your face.”
The warrior continued to stare at him. “Aye, I do. You’re one of Wibert of Driffield’s sons.”
Leofric inclined his head. “Well met, although I still cannot say I know you.”
“Thunred,” the young man replied. “My father serves the ealdorman of Eoforwic. I remember seeing you drinking in the mead hall.”
Leofric did not reply right away, and watching him, Aelfwyn noted his face grew pale. “You’re a long way from home,” Leofric replied eventually.
“As are you,” Thunred answered. “I heard the Wibert’s youngest whelp got himself sent to Lindisfarena after he insulted the ealdorman.
” Leofric did not reply to this jibe, and Thunred sneered.
“You’re some way from the isle. And who’s this pretty thing?
Monks are supposed to shun the company of women are they not? ”
“I’ve not yet taken my vows,” Leofric replied through gritted teeth, “and I’m not forbidden to accompany women on journeys. I’m escorting this maid to Streonshalh Abbey, upon the orders of Prior Cuthbert.”
Thunred gave a rude snort, his gaze raking Aelfwyn from head to toe. “Too winsome for a nun. I bet you’ll give her a good plowing before you hand her over to the abbess—if you haven’t already.”
Aelfwyn started to feel ill at these words. Leofric gave Thunred a hard look. “I’m charged with Brunhild’s protection.”
“Brunhild?” Thunred’s gaze remained upon Aelfwyn, and he licked his lips. “How about you share her with me too before you go on your way?”
“Are your ears filled with mashed turnip?” Leofric snapped. “I told you—she’s under my protection.”
Thunred’s mouth curled. “Don’t be selfish. A monk won’t know how to service a woman properly. She needs a real man between her thighs.” Thunred unsheathed his seax and kicked his feet from the stirrups. “Stand back and learn, monk. This shouldn’t take long.”
Aelfwyn backed off, terror rising within her. “Get away from me,” she hissed.
Thunred laughed and swung down from the saddle. “Feisty, isn’t she?”
Leofric stepped in front of Aelfwyn, between her and Thunred. “The maid doesn’t sound keen,” he said, his voice quiet and cold. “I think you should leave her be.”
Aelfwyn continued to back away, noting as she did so that Leofric had drawn a knife from the sheath he wore at his waist. It was a thin-bladed knife, one used for boning fish or whittling wood. It looked pitiful next to the gleaming seax-blade the warrior before him wielded.
“Out of the way.” Thunred made to shoulder Leofric aside.
Leofric slashed out with his knife, catching the warrior on the forearm, just above the leather bracer he wore. Thunred jumped aside, cursing foully. Blood flowed down his arm, but the warrior paid it no mind. Instead, he turned on Leofric, Aelfwyn forgotten.
“Maggot-spawn,” he growled. “I’ll gut you for that.”
Aelfwyn screamed as Thunred lunged at Leofric. The seax-blade flashed and Leofric ducked just in time to avoid being stabbed in the neck. Aelfwyn watched in horror as Leofric dodged another swipe.
Her companion was quick and strong but surely no match for the leather-clad warrior attacking him. She backed off farther, torn between wanting to flee for her life and not wanting to abandon the man who had been her savior until now.
Despair crushed her ribs, making it difficult to breathe. They had come so far only to meet their doom now.