Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia) (14 page)

Ermenilda shook her head, smiling at her maid’s ever-practical approach to life.

They entered the hall, which was busy this afternoon, as everyone had escaped indoors to avoid the rain. Ermenilda could hear the hiss of the rain lashing against the tower. She spied two leaks coming in from the roof, under which slaves had placed wooden pails to collect the water. The air smelled of smoke, wet wool, and dogs.

Upon the high seat, next to his brother and Werbode, Ermenilda saw her husband.

As always, the sight of Wulfhere made her feel as if there was not enough air inside the hall. Even after two months, she felt a dizzying excitement whenever he was near.

Wulfhere saw Ermenilda and waved her over.

She went to him, forcing her expression to remain neutral, even though her stomach fluttered with anticipation. From the beginning, she had fought her reaction to him, for she had been determined to hate Wulfhere of Mercia. After their explosive wedding night, she had tried to keep him at arm’s length, but once the first day of their union had passed, she realized it was impossible. Wulfhere had cast a spell upon her, one that grew stronger with the passing of time.

“You are wet through, wife.” Wulfhere greeted her with a smile. “Don’t tell me you were gardening in the rain?”

Ermenilda shook her head and took a seat next to him. “The storm caught us by surprise,” she admitted, taking the cup of warmed mead he passed her.

“How is your garden coming along, Lady Ermenilda?” Aethelred spoke. His voice was polite enough, although she could see the faint mockery in his eyes. Next to him, Werbode was smirking. She knew they all thought Wulfhere indulged her, that gardening was the work of the cottars who tilled the fields outside Tamworth—not the task of a highborn lady.

“Very well, thank you, Aethelred,” she replied, glancing down at her hands. To her dismay, she saw they were filthy, with dirt encrusted under the nails. Embarrassed, she put down her cup of mead and hid her hands discreetly under the rim of the table. “The beds are almost ready for the summer vegetables, and the first of the spring greens are coming up.”

“Will it soon rival your garden in Cantwareburh?” Werbode asked, still sneering. As usual, his gaze upon her was disturbingly intense, and Ermenilda wondered if Wulfhere ever noticed the way his thegn looked at her. Nonetheless, his mockery vexed her.

“I did not know that gardening interested you, Werbode,” she replied, her tone sharpening. “You are more than welcome to join Wynflaed and me in our afternoon work. I’m sure I can find plenty of tasks worthy of you.”

Laughter erupted at the table. Aethelred let out a loud guffaw, and even Wulfhere grinned. Werbode pursed his lips as their mirth bubbled around him, his eyes narrowing to angry slits.

Ermenilda held the thegn’s gaze unflinchingly. She was tired of his lecherous, derisive looks. She would likely pay for that comment, but it was worth it to put Werbode in his place this once.

Wulfhere watched his wife dress.

Her slender body glowed palely in the light from the flickering cressets and the faint dawn that filtered in from a narrow window high above. Not looking his way, even though she knew he watched her, Ermenilda retrieved a long, sleeveless tunic and pulled it on over her head. The movement thrust out her chest and gave him an unobstructed view of her milky, pert breasts, before the linen rippled down over her lithe form.

It was their morning ritual, one that he would never tire of. Once they awoke, she would rise first while he waited in the furs. Initially, his keen observance of her embarrassed Ermenilda—but these days she pretended not to notice.

On top of her undertunic, she pulled on a form-fitting woolen overdress, which she girded around her narrow waist with a leather belt. She braided her long blonde hair and pinned it in a bun at the nape of her neck. Since their handfasting, she no longer wore her hair loose, as only unwed maids did so. It made the sight of her flowing hair even more attractive to Wulfhere, for he was the only one who now saw it.

Ermenilda turned to him, which was a deviation from her morning routine. Usually, she would leave the platform after dressing without uttering a word. Their gazes met, and Wulfhere saw that her dark-brown eyes were serious.

“It is Ēostre,” she began quietly. “Will you come with me to church this morning?”

Wulfhere hesitated. He was tempted to refuse her, for he had no interest in wasting his morning in church, listening to Seaxwulf drone on about the resurrection of Christ. But, the look upon her face was so earnest that he checked himself. In truth, Christianity and its dull god bored him witless. He had only agreed to be baptized in order to win Ermenilda’s hand, and since then it had been difficult not to reveal his underlying contempt for her religion.

He was in a good mood this morning, relaxed after a particularly passionate night in the furs with his wife. Although Ermenilda never took the initiative with him, there was nothing passive about her responses. The depth of her hunger for him often surprised Wulfhere, as it had last night.

Eventually, she would learn that his faith was in name only, but it would not be today.

“Aye,” he answered his wife with a lazy smile. “I will.”

Despite that winter now lay behind them, the air still held a distinct bite this morning. Ermenilda was glad of the fur cloak about her shoulders as she descended the steps before the Great Tower and followed her husband across the stable yard. An entourage followed them—Aethelred and a group of the king’s most favored retainers, Werbode and Elfhere among them.

Ermenilda glanced up at the high clouds streaking across the sky. It was a typical spring day, reminding her that Cantwareburh, farther south than Tamworth, would have fully embraced the new season by now. A riot of spring flowers would cover the meadows outside the town.

The thought made her long for her mother and sister. She wondered how Eorcengota was faring on her own. Had their father found a husband for her, or would he give her to the church? Perhaps Ermenilda could visit them next year, once she and Wulfhere had settled properly into life together.

Next to her, Wulfhere glanced toward Ermenilda and smiled. This morning, he wore a black leather tunic and doeskin breeches, which contrasted against the ermine cloak rippling from his shoulders. As always, his smile made heat radiate out from the pit of Ermenilda’s belly.

Images from the night before returned to her, and heat rose up her neck. Wulfhere had pulled her astride him on his lap and guided her so that she slid down the hard length of his shaft. Then, he had showed her how to ride him, while he stroked her body.

Breathing hard, Ermenilda looked away.

Stop it,
she chastised herself.
That’s the last thing you should be thinking about this morning.

Ignorant of her heated thoughts, Wulfhere reached out and drew her arm through his, so that that they walked together through the high gate into the town beyond. It was a tender gesture, and Ermenilda did not resist him.

They had not walked far when Ermenilda spied the remains of a bonfire. The embers were still smoking. Frowning, she glanced up at her husband, but Wulfhere was looking straight-ahead.

Lighting bonfires at Ēostre was a pagan ritual. Wulfhere had promised her father that all the old traditions would cease at Tamworth, but evidently, that had not happened.

They rounded the corner, taking the street that led up to the church, and passed a group of girls clad in flowing white. Resembling a flock of white doves, the young women ran past, barefoot despite the chill morning. Some of the men behind the king and queen called out to the maids, asking for their blessing. Light, feminine laughter echoed across the street behind them as the girls answered.

Ermenilda clenched her jaw. The girls had dressed to resemble the pagan goddess of spring and rebirth, Ēostre herself. Once again, Ermenilda glanced toward her husband, but Wulfhere ignored her.

He knows that he has ignored his promise,
she thought angrily,
but he does not care.

Wulfhere listened to Seaxwulf’s hypnotic voice and stifled a yawn.

When is that priest going to finish?

It was cold inside the church, for the space had a stone floor and a lofty ceiling, and Wulfhere was glad he had not removed his cloak. Seaxwulf’s voice reverberated, and he lifted his arms high. It was the only movement in the stillness, save the guttering tallow candles on the altar behind the priest.

Wulfhere shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and glanced at his wife. He had sensed Ermenilda’s disapproval upon seeing the bonfire and the white-clad maids on the way up here but had deliberately chosen to ignore it. Surely, the fact he had agreed to come here and endure Seaxwulf’s unending preaching would be enough. If the folk of Tamworth still chose to worship Ēostre according to the old traditions, he did not see the harm of it.

Ermenilda did not notice him glance her way, for she was watching Seaxwulf, her gaze luminous.

A blade of jealousy knifed Wulfhere through the chest.

She never looks at me like that.

It was not entirely true. She did when they were in the furs together—but that was a physical rather than emotional response. If Seaxwulf had been a virile young man rather than a scrawny monk of middling years, Wulfhere would have suspected his wife of being in love with him. Such was the look of rapture on her face.

As it was, Wulfhere still did not like it, for it was a stinging reminder that while he may have possessed his wife physically, he did not hold her heart. She was still aloof with him, an enigma that he could not solve.

Finally, Seaxwulf’s interminable droning ended. Wulfhere let out a long sigh in relief and turned to usher Ermenilda toward the door.

“Wait,” she breathed, her gaze still gleaming. “I wish to speak to Brother Seaxwulf a moment.”

Without even asking her husband’s permission, she stepped around him and crossed to the altar. Stifling irritation, Wulfhere followed her.

“I just wanted to thank you, Seaxwulf.” Ermenilda took the priest’s hand and squeezed it gently. “That was a wonderful sermon.”

Seaxwulf beamed at her before his gaze shifted to where Wulfhere had stopped a couple of paces behind her.

“I am glad you enjoyed it, milady,” he replied. “We all need reminding of the sacrifice Jesus Christ made for us and the miracle of his resurrection.”

Wulfhere ground his teeth. There was no mistaking that the priest’s words were meant for him.

“My Lord Wulfhere.” Seaxwulf addressed him direct now. “I am glad to see you here. You have set a good example for your retainers.”

Wulfhere nodded, barely masking his irritation.

“It has come to my attention that many in Tamworth have reverted to their old traditions this Ēostre,” the priest continued, his voice rising. “They have put up shrines to the heathen goddess throughout the town and have placed offerings of food for her.”

Wulfhere shrugged, feigning indifference, although his ire was rising at the priest’s meddling.

“There will be many in Britannia who still worship the old gods,” he replied. “You cannot change centuries of tradition overnight, priest.”

Seaxwulf drew himself up, although he was not a physically imposing man and was nearly half a foot shorter than his king.

“They must be punished,” the priest insisted, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his nervousness. “It is the only way folk learn. Bread and water only for forty days, for those who have transgressed.”

Wulfhere heard sniggering behind him and realized that some of his men had gathered to hear what Seaxwulf had to say. Wulfhere folded his arms across his chest.

“And how do you suggest I enforce such a punishment?”

“Have your men scour Tamworth. Find all those who still worship the heathen goddess and punish them.”

“And if folk still transgress?”

Seaxwulf’s mouth thinned. He was a gentleman and clearly did not like to speak of such things, but he had gone too far down this road to turn back now.

“Another forty days of bread and water.”

Wulfhere laughed. A moment later, his men joined him, their mirth booming through the church.

“You would make the folk of Tamworth cheap to feed.”

“But you cannot let this go unpunished,” Seaxwulf insisted. He had now gone red in the face. “They must learn that—”

“Enough.” Wulfhere raised a hand, making it clear that Seaxwulf would continue at his own peril. “There will be no punishment. If you want the folk of Tamworth to worship at your altar, you will have to find other ways of convincing them.”

They were outside, making their way back down the incline away from the church, when Ermenilda finally dredged up the courage to speak to her husband.

“You were very rude to Seaxwulf,” she said quietly. “He did not deserve it.”

Wulfhere gave her a quick look, an eyebrow rising. “He overstepped the mark.”

“But he was right,” Ermenilda persevered. Outrage had emboldened her. “How will people change their ways if their king does nothing?”

Wulfhere frowned, his face hardening, and Ermenilda realized that she too had overstepped the mark. Like the priest, she had gone too far to turn back now.

“You made a promise to my father. Does that mean nothing to you?”

A chill silence hung between them for a few moments before Wulfhere finally replied.

“I did what I needed to, in order to get what I wanted.”

Finally, he admits it.

Wulfhere had just confirmed the suspicions that she’d had about him, right from the beginning—only it brought Ermenilda little pleasure in being proved right.

“So you lied,” she choked out the words. “You still worship the old gods.”

Wulfhere stopped in his tracks and swung round to face her. His gaze had narrowed. Ermenilda tried to step back from him, but he reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, pinning her to the spot.

“I did what was necessary. I was baptized. A priest sanctified our marriage. That is enough.”