Read Online The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) by Jayne Castel - Free Book Online
Authors: Jayne Castel
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looked more closely, Merwenna caught the
flicker of sadness in her eyes.
Glancing back at Prince Wulfhere’s stricken face, Merwenna
counted herself lucky that she had not been born into such a family.
Farther up the table, Dylan also watched the
exchange between father and son.
He remembered that at the same age as Wulfhere, he
too had pestered his father for a dog. Unlike Penda of Mercia, Cyndrwyn of
Powys had eventually relented. That pup – a tiny creature that had once fitted
in the palm of his hand – had grown into a huge, shaggy beast. They had grown
up together. Taranau – ‘thunder’ in his tongue – had become his shadow, his
friend.
Dylan’s father, who had died the winter before, had
been a stern, inflexible man in many ways. Yet, seeing Penda’s treatment of his
son, made Dylan see his own father in a new light.
He will make his sons the image of him ,
Dylan thought wryly.
Dylan turned his attention back to his pie. Like
the rest of the fare that Penda’s cooks prepared, it was delicious. Yet, now
that the weariness of the journey back from Maes Cogwy had abated, Dylan was
too restless to enjoy it.
He pushed aside the remnants of his meal, took a
deep draught of mead, and cast another glance in Penda’s direction.
Enough. The battle was done. The Northumbrians had
been defeated, and yet Penda continued to deflect any talk of compensating his
allies for their losses. He had been a guest under Penda’s roof for over two
days – long enough, in his opinion – and was eager to begin the march back to
Powys.
He had a kingdom to rule, and would be crowned upon
his return to Pengwern, the capital of Powys. Dylan and his men were guests in
Tamworth, but Penda’s hospitality was a thin veneer. Last night, there had been
a brawl outside the mead hall, between Dylan’s men and Mercian warriors. If
they stayed much longer, the truce between Powys and Mercia would be at an end.
Penda, it’s time for us to talk.
Chapter Nine
Cyneswide’s
Word
Merwenna approached the group of high born women.
They were working industriously at their distaffs and looms. The queen was
among them, seated at her loom, and flanked either side by her daughters. She
looked up as Merwenna approached, as did Cyneburh and Cyneswith.
Merwenna ignored the girls’ haughty stares.
Instead, she focused upon the queen, who at least was smiling at her.
“Good afternoon, Merwenna. I have not seen you all
day. Are you well?”
“Yes, Milady,” Merwenna returned the smile and
dipped into a low curtsey. Then, she took a deep breath and pushed on, before
she lost her nerve. “I am well, but anxious to return to my kin. Now that I
know Beorn’s fate, I cannot remain here.”
Cyneswide nodded her blue eyes clouding slightly.
“You are grieving. I am sorry your betrothed did not survive the battle – I had
so hoped he would.”
“Thank you,” Merwenna dropped her gaze to the
floor, feeling her throat tighten at Beorn’s name. “You are most kind.”
She paused then, struggling to compose herself,
while aware that the other women all watched her. Some of them enjoyed seeing
her grief, especially after the dishonor that Seward had brought upon her.
Taking a deep breath, Merwenna looked up and met
Cyneswide’s gaze.
“Milady, you promised me an escort home, when I was
ready. I would like to depart tomorrow. Can you provide me with one?”
Even as she spoke these words, Merwenna was
painfully aware of her boldness. She knew that the queen had made a promise.
Yet, to actually stand before her and demand she make good on it, was another
thing entirely.
The queen held her gaze for a moment before her
smile faded. Her expression changed to one of regret.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I have tried to
speak to the king about you, but he will not hear of sparing one of his men to
escort you home.”
But you promised!
Merwenna choked back the words, panic flaring in
her breast, her palms breaking
flicker of sadness in her eyes.
Glancing back at Prince Wulfhere’s stricken face, Merwenna
counted herself lucky that she had not been born into such a family.
Farther up the table, Dylan also watched the
exchange between father and son.
He remembered that at the same age as Wulfhere, he
too had pestered his father for a dog. Unlike Penda of Mercia, Cyndrwyn of
Powys had eventually relented. That pup – a tiny creature that had once fitted
in the palm of his hand – had grown into a huge, shaggy beast. They had grown
up together. Taranau – ‘thunder’ in his tongue – had become his shadow, his
friend.
Dylan’s father, who had died the winter before, had
been a stern, inflexible man in many ways. Yet, seeing Penda’s treatment of his
son, made Dylan see his own father in a new light.
He will make his sons the image of him ,
Dylan thought wryly.
Dylan turned his attention back to his pie. Like
the rest of the fare that Penda’s cooks prepared, it was delicious. Yet, now
that the weariness of the journey back from Maes Cogwy had abated, Dylan was
too restless to enjoy it.
He pushed aside the remnants of his meal, took a
deep draught of mead, and cast another glance in Penda’s direction.
Enough. The battle was done. The Northumbrians had
been defeated, and yet Penda continued to deflect any talk of compensating his
allies for their losses. He had been a guest under Penda’s roof for over two
days – long enough, in his opinion – and was eager to begin the march back to
Powys.
He had a kingdom to rule, and would be crowned upon
his return to Pengwern, the capital of Powys. Dylan and his men were guests in
Tamworth, but Penda’s hospitality was a thin veneer. Last night, there had been
a brawl outside the mead hall, between Dylan’s men and Mercian warriors. If
they stayed much longer, the truce between Powys and Mercia would be at an end.
Penda, it’s time for us to talk.
Chapter Nine
Cyneswide’s
Word
Merwenna approached the group of high born women.
They were working industriously at their distaffs and looms. The queen was
among them, seated at her loom, and flanked either side by her daughters. She
looked up as Merwenna approached, as did Cyneburh and Cyneswith.
Merwenna ignored the girls’ haughty stares.
Instead, she focused upon the queen, who at least was smiling at her.
“Good afternoon, Merwenna. I have not seen you all
day. Are you well?”
“Yes, Milady,” Merwenna returned the smile and
dipped into a low curtsey. Then, she took a deep breath and pushed on, before
she lost her nerve. “I am well, but anxious to return to my kin. Now that I
know Beorn’s fate, I cannot remain here.”
Cyneswide nodded her blue eyes clouding slightly.
“You are grieving. I am sorry your betrothed did not survive the battle – I had
so hoped he would.”
“Thank you,” Merwenna dropped her gaze to the
floor, feeling her throat tighten at Beorn’s name. “You are most kind.”
She paused then, struggling to compose herself,
while aware that the other women all watched her. Some of them enjoyed seeing
her grief, especially after the dishonor that Seward had brought upon her.
Taking a deep breath, Merwenna looked up and met
Cyneswide’s gaze.
“Milady, you promised me an escort home, when I was
ready. I would like to depart tomorrow. Can you provide me with one?”
Even as she spoke these words, Merwenna was
painfully aware of her boldness. She knew that the queen had made a promise.
Yet, to actually stand before her and demand she make good on it, was another
thing entirely.
The queen held her gaze for a moment before her
smile faded. Her expression changed to one of regret.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I have tried to
speak to the king about you, but he will not hear of sparing one of his men to
escort you home.”
But you promised!
Merwenna choked back the words, panic flaring in
her breast, her palms breaking
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