Chapter Fifteen Uneasy Companions
Chapter Fifteen
Uneasy Companions
GOOD.
AELFWYN’S LAST word to him before retiring for the night was a hard slap across the face. He had just poured out his guts to her—told her the bald truth without fancy words or lies—and she had turned her back on him.
It should not have bothered him, but it did.
He stared at her back, willing her to turn and face him—to look at him with softness in her eyes as she had until this morning. Instead, she ignored him, her breathing deepening as she fell asleep against the rock.
What did you expect?
Leofric looked away from Aelfwyn, his gaze shifting to the wall of darkness beyond their shelter, to where the rain hammered down. She was a sensitive, gentle soul who clearly shunned violence. He had not wanted her to see him kill the warrior, but the fight had spiraled out of control.
Thunred had been a bully, and Leofric had wounded his pride. Leofric found himself fighting for survival. In the end, he had taken Thunred’s life to save his own.
Aelfwyn had not understood, and he had sensed her tension for the rest of the day. It was as if a chill wind had blown in between them, when before they had traveled in easy camaraderie, her trust in him absolute.
Leofric had not realized how much he liked being Aelfwyn’s protector until she looked at him with horror in her eyes.
But her reaction earlier paled to the scorn in that one word before she turned her back on him.
Good.
She was right of course. It just hurt coming from her.
Fatigue settled over him in a heavy mantle, weighing down his limbs.
He wanted to stay awake, to keep watch in case anyone crept up on them during the night.
However, the drumming of the rain—accompanied by the deep, rich scent of wet earth—was too difficult to resist. Now that he was no longer running for his life, he felt his tension slowly release.
Leofric slid into sleep’s waiting arms.
He awoke to find himself on his back, water dripping on his face.
Blinking, he pushed himself up, out of the way of the steady trickle of water that ran off the edge of the overhang. He glanced behind him, at where he had left Aelfwyn the night before and found only the leather pack and saddlery sitting there.
Leofric tensed.
Where is she?
He crawled out from under the lip of the rock and stretched. Jesu, he felt like an old man after sleeping on the hard, damp earth. The horse stood nearby, watching him with a docile gaze. It gave a low whicker in greeting.
“Morning,” Leofric replied. “Have you seen our mistress?”
The horse merely gazed at him. Leofric stepped close and ran a hand over the bay’s noble face. “I don’t know what Thunred called you, but if we’re going to become traveling companions, you need a name.”
The gelding nudged him gently and rubbed his head against him.
“How about Windraes?” Leofric murmured. “You are certainly fast enough.”
“Storm of Wind … it’s a fine name for him.”
Aelfwyn’s voice made Leofric turn. She stood a few feet away.
Her expression was friendly enough although her gaze was guarded.
Her fine blonde hair had long come free of its braids and framed her face, as pale and soft as thistledown.
With the light behind her, she looked like one of the angels Cuthbert had droned on about.
Leofric’s breathing tightened, and he suddenly felt lightheaded. “There you are,” he drawled, in an attempt to cover up his lack of composure. “I thought you’d run off.”
Her full lips pursed. “Run where? You know I’ll never reach Streonshalh Abbey without your help.”
There it was—another slap to the face—the only reason she would suffer his company.
“Aye.” Leofric turned back to Windraes and ruffled the horse’s forelock. “You’ve got some sense at least.”
“There’s a stream at the bottom of the hill,” she continued, her voice clipped now. “I’ve filled our water bladders.”
“Good.” Leofric kept his gaze from her and ducked under the ledge to retrieve Windraes’s saddle and bridle. “Let’s get going then.”
They rode south in silence.
The woodland grew deeper—ancient groves of oaks seemed to spread out forever around them. Numerous paths, hunting tracks mostly, wove their wave through the forest, although they met no one that morning.
After a night’s rest, Windraes was full of energy and eager for a run.
He tossed his head, fighting the bit slightly as Leofric forced him to set a slow canter through the trees.
There were tree roots and potholes on the path—making it dangerous to let the horse have his head—and a long ride ahead.
Streonshalh lay another two days’ ride to the south, and Leofric did not want to tire Windraes out.
Aelfwyn sat in front of him, as stiff as a plank of wood. Eventually, exhaustion would force her to lean into him, as it had the day before, but for now, she fought to keep herself upright. Leofric could feel the tension emanating from her.
They reached a village just before noon. The hamlet was tiny, hardly more than a scattering of wattle and daub huts with sod roofs around a central clearing. The folk here had cut the woodland back, giving themselves enough space to plant out fields of vegetables and create pens for fowl and goats.
Children played in the dirt as Aelfwyn and Leofric rode in. The youngsters’ faces came alive with curiosity when they spotted the strangers.
Leofric leaned forward so that his mouth was near Aelfwyn’s ear. Her hair tickled his face, and he found himself inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “We’re man and wife,” Leofric whispered, “if anyone asks.”
He felt her body go rigid. “Is that necessary?”
“It’s the only excuse they’ll likely believe. Let me do the talking.”
She said nothing to that although he sensed her outrage. Leofric swallowed a smile—he preferred anger to revulsion.
They did not linger long in the village.
Leofric used one of Thunred’s thrymsas to buy food from a local woman: a loaf of freshly baked bread, butter, some boiled eggs still in their shells, and half a dozen crisp apples.
Then they continued on their way for a short distance, until the village lay behind them, before stopping to eat.
They sat on the banks of a meandering stream with the sun on their faces, with Windraes grazing behind them.
After last night’s storm, the air was heavy with moisture, making it feel even hotter.
Leofric’s skin was starting to itch under his dirty leather vest and breeches.
He didn’t like wearing another man’s clothing, and worse still Thunred’s dried blood still covered him.
As soon as he had eaten, he would wash the grime off himself.
For the moment, he had his empty belly to contend with.
Leofric’s mouth watered as he opened the bag of food.
He was starving. He tore off a hunk of bread and passed it to Aelfwyn with a pat of butter, and one of the eggs.
She gave him a nod of thanks and balanced the food on her knees.
He noted her hands shook from hunger as she peeled her egg.
Neither of them had eaten properly since fleeing Lindisfarena, and it was starting to wear on them.
The fare was simple and fresh—food had never tasted so good. Leofric sighed with pleasure as he swallowed his last mouthful. Aelfwyn bit into an apple, her gaze focused on the gentle babbling waters of the stream.
Leofric stood up and started unbuckling the leather armor that covered his chest.
Aelfwyn glanced up, her grey-blue eyes widening in alarm. “What are you doing?”
“I smell worse than a rutting goat,” he muttered. “I need to wash.”
“What, right here?”
Leofric could not help himself. Her shocked face goaded him into teasing her. “You don’t have to look,” he said with a grin. “Unless you want to …”
Aelfwyn’s mouth thinned and her shoulders stiffened. Not dignifying his comment with a response, she swiveled around so that her back faced the river and took another bite of her apple.
Leofric’s grin faded. His pleasure in tormenting her was always short-lived. He just felt like a cur afterward.
He cast aside his leather vest and pulled the woolen tunic underneath over his head.
As he did so, he noted the angry red slash on his left shoulder, where Thunred had cut him.
It looked like it needed cleansing, but a bath in the stream was the best he could do for now.
He stripped off the rest of his clothing and brought his undershirt with him into the water to clean.
Wearing a damp tunic would mean he would smell like wet sheep for the rest of the day—but that was preferable to the reek of stale sweat and worse.
Aelfwyn finished her apple, even devouring the core, before throwing away the stalk.
She was hungry for another but prevented herself from reaching for one.
There were two reasons why she did not: the first was that she knew they should ration their food, and the second was that the bag of food sat behind her.
She would have to turn around to retrieve it—and risk glancing at the naked man in the stream.
Behind her, she heard the splash of Leofric washing.
He seemed to be taking his time, whistling cheerfully as he bathed.
Aelfwyn gritted her teeth. She did not mind him bathing—for he definitely needed to wash—it was the arrogance, the unspoken challenge in his gaze she did not like.
His lazy sensuality when he teased her made her feel flustered, hot and cold all at once.
Aelfwyn sighed. He was taking his time. At this rate, the king’s men would catch up with them.
Then the splashing halted and Aelfwyn tensed. A few moments passed, and she heard no further sound from the river.
Has he finished?
Bristling with impatience, Aelfwyn cast a glance over her shoulder—and froze.
Leofric was swimming in the water hole about ten yards away.
He glided through the water like an otter. Sunlight dappled his skin through the clear water. Entranced, Aelfwyn watched him surface. He had his back to her; water streaming down his broad shoulders, the lean column of his back, and over his tight buttocks.
Aelfwyn’s mouth went dry. His body was beautiful: lean and muscular.
What are you doing?
Heart pounding, she turned away.
A moment later, she heard the splash of Leofric wading to the riverbank. She stared down at her lap, face burning, and tried to regain control of herself. If he saw her face, he would know she had been watching him.
“It’s safe now,” he said from close behind her. “I’m clothed.”
Clenching her jaw at the amusement in his voice, she turned to face him. She only hoped her face had stopped flaming. However, she found him only partially clad. Naked to the waist, he sat on the grassy bank and pulled on his boots.
“It’s a relief to get that stinking armor off me,” he admitted. “I really don’t want to put it on again.” He motioned to his left, where he had wrung out his woolen tunic and laid it out on a flat rock.
“We really shouldn’t linger,” she said stiffly.
“We’ll move on in a short while,” he promised her. “I just need my tunic to dry a little.”
Aelfwyn nodded before her gaze fixed upon the wound on his left shoulder. She frowned. “Did Thunred do that?”
He nodded, glancing down at the cut. “Luckily, I got him worse.”
Aelfwyn snorted and came closer to inspect the cut. Up close, it was swollen and an angry red. “A lot of comfort that will give you when it poisons your blood.”
She looked up, her gaze meeting his. His hazel-green eyes held her fast, and she felt the blush returning to her cheeks.
She wished he would not look at her like that—it made her insides melt like tallow.
“If the wound sours,” she said sharply, to mask her discomfort at his closeness, “Thunred will get his wish.”