Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia) by Jayne Castel Read Free Book Online

path.”
    Glancing right to where her betrothed was rubbing down his stallion, Ermenilda doubted it. Everything about Wulfhere of Mercia screamed pagan. He may as well have been wearing Thunor’s hammer about his neck rather than a crucifix.
     
    Ermenilda had retired to her tent and had just finished her supper of bread and cheese when Wulfhere visited her.
    Wynflaed was busy laying out furs for her lady to sleep on, and Ermenilda was sitting next to the gently crackling fire. Wood smoke lay heavily in the air even though it filtered up, through a slit in the roof. Ermenilda was used to living in such an environment, for the fire pits in her father’s hall burned day and night. Still, the fire took the chill off the cold evening air.
    The moment that Wulfhere ducked low through the opening, the tent felt too small. He straightened up, his head nearly reaching the roof, and looked down at her. As always, his expression was cool, slightly aloof, although his gaze was searing in its intensity.
    “Good eve, Lady Ermenilda,” he greeted her. “I trust you are comfortable?”
    Ermenilda nodded.
    “My tent is next to yours, so if you require anything, please send your maid, and my men will see to it.”
    Ermenilda nodded once more, silently wishing he would go away and leave her in peace.
    Silence stretched between them, and Wynflaed shifted uncomfortably. Ermenilda could feel her maid’s gaze flicking from the king to his betrothed. The tension in the air was so heavy that Ermenilda struggled to breathe.
    When it was clear that Ermenilda was not going to speak to him, Wulfhere hunkered down before her, so their gazes were level.
    “It is rude not to respond when addressed,” he said, his tone deceptively soft. “I was merely enquiring after your well-being.”
    Ermenilda felt her cheeks flame, suddenly feeling as if she were a child being chastised by her father.
    “Thank you, Lord Wulfhere,” she eventually murmured, her tone clipped. “I am well, as you can see.”
    He held her gaze for a moment longer. They were so close that she could see the flecks of darker blue in the silver blue of his irises. He smelled better than she wanted to admit—a virile smell of leather and horse, with the musky scent of maleness beneath.
    “Good,” he finally replied, rising to his feet. “Sleep well, milady. Tomorrow will be another long day. I want you well rested.”
    Ermenilda watched him leave, her heart hammering against her ribs. His presence unsettled her, filling her with confusion. She did not like the way he had demanded a response from her. If she did not feel inclined to speak this evening, after the trauma of leaving her kin behind, he should have understood.
    Tears pricked her eyelids, and she glared down at the crackling fire.
    “Milady,” Wynflaed spoke up, her voice gentle and laced with concern. “Is something amiss?”
    Ermenilda glanced up and met Wynflaed’s gaze. Wordlessly she nodded and inhaled deeply to prevent the tears from escaping her burning eyes. When she replied, her voice was barely above a whisper.
    “Everything.”
    Wynflaed’s brow furrowed. “You do not wish to wed Lord Wulfhere, milady?”
    Ermenilda shook her head vehemently. “I would rather wed an adder.”
    When Wynflaed looked shocked at that, Ermenilda continued.
    “Do you know of his family, Wynflaed?”
    “Only that his father was a great warlord,” the girl replied cautiously.
    “He was a ruthless pagan who killed my grandfather and uncle. Penda of Mercia’s coldness and cruelty are legendary.”
    Wynflaed’s frown deepened. “Wulfhere might be different from his father,” she ventured.
    Ermenilda gave her maid a scornful look. “Take one look at his son and tell me he is not cut from the same cloth!”
    “He does appear quite cold,” Wynflaed admitted, although she did not wilt under her lady’s glare, “and his wolf scares me.”
    Ermenilda glanced down at the dancing flames in the fire pit before her.
    “I