Chapter Thirty-eight Meetings #2
Aethelhild had smiled then, an expression that lit up the world. “Will you walk with me a while, Cynhild? There is something I must talk to you about.”
A short time later—Cynhild knew what she must do.
The rain started in earnest as she entered a narrow lane.
Folk hurried by, dashing indoors to escape the downpour.
Cynhild blinked droplets out of her eyes and hurried on.
The home she sought lay three from the end—although she had never visited it, she had always known where it was …
just in case things got so bad with Wibert that she needed to seek refuge.
There had been moments when she had almost fled here, but she had lacked the courage.
This was different—with her son’s life at stake she was finally brave.
She stopped in front of a well-made timber dwelling with a neatly thatched straw roof. Wiping her sweating hands on her skirts and attempting to calm her breathing, Cynhild thought back to Aethelhild’s words.
“I will not have Aelfwyn and Leofric’s deaths on my conscience. Will you help me free them?”
Cynhild’s first reaction had been fear; what the queen was asking would condemn them both to death. However, she had listened to Aethelhild all the same, hope burgeoning in her breast when the queen finally turned to her, fixing her with that penetrating gaze of hers.
They had been walking down the wide thoroughfare that led toward the town’s low gate—a good choice for it was a busy, noisy street, and made it difficult for others to overhear them.
Goats bleated as they trotted past, the bells around their necks jingling, and a gaggle of geese honked raucously from a nearby pen.
“I have some warriors that came with me from Rendlaesham,” Aethelhild told her quietly. “They are loyal to me and will help to free your son and Aelfwyn. Yet our success depends on having help from inside. Do you know any of the ealdorman’s warriors? Would any aid us?”
Cynhild’s breathing had stopped then.
Indeed, she knew the warrior the ealdorman had left in charge of the prisoners: Halwend.
Here she was standing in front of his door.
Sick with nerves, Cynhild knocked on the sturdy oaken frame.
Moments later the door opened and Halwend filled the doorway.
He was a big man, broader and taller than her husband, but the years had been kinder to him than to Wibert.
Only a few strands of grey laced his thick brown hair, and his blue eyes were as sharp as they had always been.
He wore light breeches and a sleeveless linen tunic, revealing the muscular brawn of his shoulders and arms.
“Cynhild.” He breathed her name, his eyes widening. “God’s bones, what are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to you,” she replied shakily. “Can I come in?”
He nodded and stepped aside so that she could enter.
Pushing her wet hair from her face, Cynhild walked into a clean, sparsely furnished space, lit only by a glowing fire pit.
Something deep within her chest twisted as she stood there.
This could have been her home—if only she had been brave enough to follow her heart.
She turned to him, heart hammering, disconcerted to find Halwend standing right behind her.
“I’m sorry about Leo,” he rumbled. “He doesn’t deserve this end.”
His words brought hope to her heart. She looked up at his strong face, a face that bore the scars of a warrior’s life.
His nose had been broken more than once and had set with a bump in it, and he bore a thin silver scar on his right cheek, visible through his short beard.
It was a fearsome face, but she saw only softness in his eyes as he stared down at her.
“I always wondered what your home was like,” she said quietly.
He smiled. “And is it how you imagined?”
She nodded before looking away. He had never married, and she knew why. The weight of her guilt made it hard to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Halwend reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, gently raising her face so that their eyes met once more. “What for?”
“For not being braver—stronger. I’ve spent years regretting the past.”
The warrior stared down at her, his expression inscrutable. “There’s little point in such regrets,” he said gently. “Why would you worry over what you cannot change?”
Tears stung Cynhild’s eyes, but she smiled.
“You always were more practical than me.” She paused a moment, gathering her courage.
Then she reached out and placed her hand on his chest. To her surprise, she found his pulse was racing.
“I know I shouldn’t be here, but you are my only hope,” she whispered.
He placed a large hand over hers, trapping her palm against his chest.
“I can’t save Leo now,” he replied, regret in his voice. “Surely you realize that.”
Cynhild inhaled deeply, steeling herself. “Alone you can’t—but what if you had the queen’s help and the aid of her men?”
Halwend inclined his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Go on …”
Cynhild told him everything Aethelhild had confided in her—the entire plan the queen had laid out for them. It was a huge risk—Halwend could kill her for treachery—but this time she would not let her fears hold her back.
When she finished, Halwend did not reply immediately.
He watched her under slightly lowered lids, considering her words, and Cynhild grew nervous.
What if she had miscalculated? What if she had imagined the depth of his feelings for her?
It was also possible he secretly resented her for choosing Wibert over him all those years ago—a decision she had bitterly regretted ever since.
“Halwend …” she said finally, dread rising within her. “What say you?”
He stared down at her for a moment, his gaze deadly serious, before he reached out and gently stroked her cheek.
“I will do it,” he murmured, “but on one condition.”
Suddenly the dwelling felt hot and airless. He was standing so close that Cynhild could hardly breathe. “What’s that?” she eventually whispered.
His mouth quirked into a half-smile. “That when we leave here—you come with us.”