The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (7 page)

Managing to regain control of herself, Saewara swiveled round
to watch Annan walk down the row of targets toward the edge of the games area.
His face was livid. He did not look like a man who had just won a competition.

Saewara did not blame him. Winner or not, he was still
humiliated by having to compete against his betrothed in a low-born sport. The
jeering crowd did not help matters. Annan stormed off the archery range, and
Saewara stepped back hurriedly to let him pass. Reaching the edge, he threw
down his bow and quiver with a look of pure disgust and walked away.

The crowd drew back to let him pass. Up close, none were brave
enough to insult the wrathful East Angle.

Saewara watched him go, her belly twisting in dread. Glancing
at her brother’s cruel smile as he watched Annan stalk away from the games,
Saewara realized that Penda had gotten his wish. He had humiliated Annan and
taken revenge on his willful sister in one clever move.

A warrior’s pride was not easily soothed. Far from merely
resenting his betrothed, Saewara realized, with a sense of impending doom, that
he would now hate her.

Chapter
Six

The Lovers’
Dance

The melancholy strains of a lyre drifted through the Great
Tower of Tamworth, mingling with the rumble of voices. Long tables piled high
with food and drink ringed the cavernous space, illuminated by the glow of the
fire pits. It was a great feast of roast duck, boar and venison, tureens of
leek soup, massive wheels of cheese and platters of griddle bread, roast carrots
and mashed turnip. Dogs slunk under the tables, waiting for the morsels that
would soon fall onto the rush-strewn floor, and slaves circled the space with
jugs of mead and ale for the diners.

The mood was jovial and festive. It was the beginning of
summer; the end of a long, warm day filled with entertainment and laughter.
There was a betrothal to celebrate and delicious food to be enjoyed.

Yet, there were some at the feast who did not share in the
merriment.

Saewara sat near the head of the table, flanked by her brother
to the right and her betrothed to her left. She sat on the bench, hands folded
on her lap, staring down at the wooden plate before her, listening to the happy
chatter of her nieces further down the table. Male laughter boomed across the
hall as one of Penda’s ealdormen made a ribald comment about one of the serving
wenches.

Penda laughed along with them. He was in a merry mood this
eve; Saewara had rarely seen him so relaxed. Cyneswide sat to his right,
smiling demurely and content to let the men dominate the conversation.

Saewara did not glance Annan’s way.

She knew he would also be ignoring her; after today’s debacle,
she did not blame him.

The guests fell upon the feast and Saewara woodenly helped
herself to some duck, bread and roasted carrots. Misery had robbed her of an
appetite but she knew she had to make a show of eating or she would anger her
brother. A slave appeared at her elbow and poured her a cup full of strong
mead. Saewara took one gulp, and then another. She usually disliked the taste
of mead, preferring milk or water at meals, but this evening she craved
oblivion; anything to take the edge off her unhappiness.

As she picked at her meal, Saewara chanced a furtive glance to
her left, where her betrothed sat in silence. Annan looked handsome this eve,
dressed in a royal blue tunic that matched his eyes, with his long blond hair
loose about his shoulders. Yet, his face was hard, and Saewara could see a
nerve twitching in his jaw. He ate slowly, but without joy, speaking to no one.
To his right sat Aldfrid, Penda’s most trusted ealdorman. Aldfrid did not
exchange a word with Annan, and the King of the East Angles likewise ignored
him.

Saewara looked back at her meal and forced herself to continue
eating. She wanted this evening to be over.

Annan chewed a piece of duck and nursed the slowly kindling
rage that had been smoldering since he had arrived in Tamworth. The gods were
testing him, it seemed. Ever since he had agreed to Penda’s terms, that fateful
evening on the edge of the battlefield, his life had taken a downward spiral.

Humiliation after humiliation. He was not sure how much more
he could take. If Penda took one more liberty, Annan knew he would not be
responsible for his actions.

Today had been torture.

Annan had been surprised to discover his betrothed was so
skilled in archery, and under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed seeing
a woman handle a bow and arrow with such mastery. Yet, pitting him against his
betrothed in front of a jeering crowd was inexcusable, and although she had
done him no harm directly, Annan now loathed his wife-to-be, almost as much as he
did Penda himself.

He took a deep draught of mead, feeling its warmth burn into
the pit of his belly, and was suddenly aware of Saewara’s gaze upon him. Like
earlier, when he had sensed her gaze flick toward him, Annan ignored her. He
could not look at any of them this evening. They all made him sick to his
stomach.

Eventually, the mead relaxed Annan, especially as he ate
lightly. When servants started to serve honey-seed cakes – signaling the meal
was coming to an end – he lifted his head for the first time and glanced about
him. His gaze drifted to his right and settled for a moment on his betrothed.

He hated to admit, in fact it galled him terribly, but Saewara
was an extremely attractive woman. She wore a becoming white, sleeveless tunic,
cinched at the waist with an amber-studded belt. The only other jewelry she
wore was two bronze arm rings on her left bicep. The arm rings highlighted her
beautifully shaped arms, whereas the dress accentuated her small but curvaceous
figure; a tiny waist and swelling bosom. Her long, dark hair spilled over her
shoulders and down her slender back.

In his inebriated state, Annan allowed himself a brief moment
to appreciate his betrothed; yes, she was lovely, although too exotic for his
tastes. In that tunic, she looked like one of the Roman noble women his
grandfather had described to him as a boy. Her gaze was downcast and her cheeks
flushed from mead; her eye-lashes were long and dark against her milky skin.

Realizing that he was, indeed, staring, Annan tore his gaze
away and resolved not to look in Saewara’s direction again. The mead had
lowered his defenses, and softened his resentment. Yet, the rage was still
lurking beneath his calm façade.

The sound of a woman’s voice, accompanied by the lilting
strains of a lyre, intruded upon Annan’s mulling. He looked up to see Queen
Cyneswide standing near the head of the table. She sung a rousing epic about
love, loss, betrayal and hope. Her voice was hauntingly beautiful, and for a
short while, Annan felt himself pulled into her story. He sipped his mead and
listened broodingly to her words. When she sung about the vengeance of a
wronged man, he felt his anger surge.

Yes, one day, he too would settle some scores. Penda might be
victorious now, but there would come a day when Annan would wipe that smirk off
his face.

Once Cyneswide finished her epic, the feasters burst into
raucous applause. Their voices echoed off the damp stone walls and lifted high
into the roof of the great tower. Then, another musician stepped up next to the
lyrist and began to play a rousing tune.

Men and women rose from their seats at the long tables and
made their way out into a wide rectangle of open floor that had been cleared
for the dancing. The dance began; one that Annan had witnessed many times, where
the men formed one line, and the women another. The two lines then moved in
unison. The men twirled their partners one way, and then the other, as they
moved down the line and brought their hands together to mimic an archway at the
far end. At this point, the couple at the far end would run down the column of
raised arms, hand in hand. It was a dance for lovers. Annan turned his back on
it and refilled his cup of mead from the jug in front of him.

He had no wish to watch lovers dance this eve.

“The betrothed!” Penda rose to his feet, his eyes gleaming. He
then raised his cup and stared straight at Annan. “This dance is for my lovely
sister and her husband-to-be. Applaud them, as they lead this dance together!”

Annan slammed his cup down on the table and glowered at Penda.
He should have known this would happen. The Mercian King would not let him be
till he left Tamworth – and since the East Angles were due to leave at first
light tomorrow, that left him little time for sport.

“Dog,” Annan muttered under his breath. “Let me be!”

“A dance!” Penda bellowed. “I shall have a dance from King
Annan of the East Angles and his betrothed!”

“A dance!” those at the table chorused, their faces bright
with mead and vindictive joy. “A dance!”

Annan glanced at Saewara. She had gone pink and was sitting
with her hands cupped in her lap, her face tense. She looked as miserable as he
felt. Yet, they were both backed into a corner. With a snarl, Annan rose to his
feet and bent toward Saewara.

“Come on,” he growled. “Let’s give them what they want.”

He took hold of her hand and pulled her, not ungently, to her
feet. Despite her flushed cheeks, Saewara’s hand was ice-cold.

It struck Annan, as he led her toward the cheering dancers,
that those brusque words were the first he had spoken directly to his
betrothed.

Saewara blinked back tears and forced herself to raise her
chin and walk with what little dignity she still possessed onto the dance
floor. Fortunately, Annan did not look her way. His hand was warm and strong in
hers. She did not want to admit it, but his warmth suffused her hand and
forearm, and gave her strength. Her fingers tingled from contact with him; a
sensation she had never felt when taking her late husband’s hand.

He had spoken to her harshly but there had been no roughness
in the way he had pulled her to her feet. Despite all that had happened,
Saewara felt a strange kinship with her betrothed. They were both humiliated by
her brother’s continuing delight in making sport of them in front of his
ealdormen and thegns.

There would be no respite until they left the Great Tower of
Tamworth.

Saewara took her place, opposite Annan at the end of the row
of dancers and fixed her gaze upon the center of his chest – easier than
raising her chin to look him in the eye as he towered above her.

The bone whistle and lyre, which had halted while Penda
pressured them to dance, resumed their tune with renewed vigor. The watching
feasters cheered and whistled. Ribald comments rose above the cheering and
Saewara’s cheeks burned even hotter at some of the filth her brother’s men
shouted out at them.

How I loathe this place
, she thought,
grinding her teeth in fury. She might have been going to a new home, one where
she would be reviled, but the knowledge that she would only have to spend one
more night under her brother’s roof gave her a grim satisfaction.

The dancers exploded into movement, and Saewara had no more
time to think on her humiliation, for suddenly, Annan had taken both her hands
and was pulling her toward him.

Saewara’s stomach dipped; an odd, dizzying sensation.

I should not have drunk so much mead.

It had been years since she had danced.
Egfrid had hated dancing, and once the obligatory courtship
rituals had been taken care of, he had never taken part in dancing on feast
days, or even at Beltaine or Yule. It had been just as well, since he had been
a poor dancer, and his brutality that started soon after they were wed, made
her loath to touch him.

A strange thrill went through Saewara when Annan’s
hand rested on her waist for an instant. Then, he twirled her away from him.
Saewara’s heart pounded against her ribs. The heat of his hand had reached her
skin, even through the thick fabric of her tunic.

Remembering the steps she had been taught as a
girl, she dipped and curtsied before her partner, before circling coquettishly
around him.

The hall roared around her, but Saewara ignored
them all, concentrating on the dance. She stepped back toward Annan, and he
took hold of both her hands. Together, they ran down the archway of raised arms
to the end, before raising their own arms together, while the next couple began
their dance.

Breathing heavily, Saewara finally raised her gaze
to her betrothed’s face. His gaze snared hers and for a few moments, under the
privacy of their raised arms, they stared at each other.

Saewara stood, transfixed. A wave of need consumed
her; a hunger that took her breath away. She had never experienced a sensation
like it before in her twenty-five winters – the intensity of it frightened her.

Moments later, Annan ripped his gaze from hers,
breaking the connection.

Saewara dropped her own gaze down to her feet and
struggled to compose herself. What was that? Was that what lust felt like?

She wasn’t sure she liked the sensation; it felt
like stepping off a precipice, and losing control. The way he had looked at her
had made her body melt like candle-wax.

They remained there a while, until the column of
dancers broke apart and each couple twirled in a circle around the floor.
Saewara kept her gaze planted on Annan’s chest, and on the open neck of his
tunic, where she could see the blond curls of his chest hair peeking up through
the laced collar that had loosened with the dancing. The hunger returned but
this time, Saewara shoved it aside. The mead had lowered both their defenses.
Once the dancing finished, they would both return to their senses. She would
not make the mistake of looking at his face again.

The dancing lasted an eternity for Saewara. When
it finally ended, she broke free from Annan, without glancing in his direction,
and fled back to the table. Returning to her seat, she poured herself a large
cup of water and resolved never to touch mead again.

Annan took his seat next to his blushing
bride-to-be and refused the offer of more mead from a passing serving wench.
After what had just occurred on the dance-floor, it was best to keep a clear
head.  He stole a glance at Saewara and felt a shadow of the naked lust he had
experienced during the dance, return.