The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) by Jayne Castel Read Free Book Online Page A

yard.
    “Your brother wept like a maid while I whipped
him,” he murmured. “I’d wager you would have whimpered less.”
    Merwenna felt the sweat that coated her skin turn
cold. Her stomach balled in sudden anger. Not for the first time in her twenty
winters, she wished she had been born a man. She would have punched that leer
off his face.
    She was saved having to respond, when one of the
guards at the gate turned and waved to Rodor.
    “The King returns!” he shouted. “His fyrd approaches!”
    Rodor strode forward, Merwenna forgotten. “Open the
gates,” he ordered. “Let them in!”
    The ground started to tremble, and Merwenna heard
the thunder of the approaching army. Her heart leaped.
    Beorn!
    Moments later, a stream of lathered horses and
sweat-soaked, armored men poured into the yard. Merwenna stayed put, her back
against the sun-warmed stone, as to run out to greet them would be to risk
being trampled. Her gaze frantically searched the faces of the men that surged
into the yard, filling the wide space.
    Where is he?
    The din was incredible. The horses kicked up clouds
of dust and the stillness of the sultry afternoon shattered. Merwenna imagined
that this was only a fraction of the king’s army – the rest of his fyrd would stretch down the street outside, and beyond to the market square.
    Merwenna’s chest ached with longing as she
continued to search the crowd for Beorn’s handsome face. Next to her, the dogs
had risen from their slumber and were standing, eager-eyed, their tails
wagging.
    How will I find him in this crowd?
    Eventually, Merwenna realized that it was unlikely
that Beorn would be here. She would not find him at the head of the fyrd ,
amongst the king’s ealdormen and thegns.
    She was just about to dive into the crowd of
milling men and horses, in search of her betrothed, when her gaze was drawn to
an imposing figure that could only be the King of Mercia himself.
    She had heard many tales of Penda of Mercia.
Throughout the kingdom he was a god amongst men: tall, blond and merciless.
    The tales did not exaggerate.
    A man that towered above all around him swung down
from a grey stallion. He was finely dressed in leather, mail and a thick blue
cloak. His face was shielded by an iron helm and when he removed it, the face
underneath was no softer.
    A cruelly handsome face, and eyes the color of a
winter’s sky, surveyed the yard. Long ice-blond hair, streaked with grey,
streamed over his broad shoulders. Penda of Mercia was indeed striking, as
would be his sons when grown. Merwenna instinctively feared him.
    The king threw his reins to a slave and cast a cool
glance about him.
    Merwenna looked away from the king and squared her
shoulders. The thought of combing Tamworth in search for Beorn frightened her,
but she would do it nonetheless. This was why she had come here; this was why
she had not left with her brother. Merwenna crossed the yard, ducking out of
the way of a horse that kicked out as she passed behind it.
    That was close .
Merwenna’s heart started to hammer against her ribs but she pressed on.
    She would search the king’s army, from one end to
the other, until she found her betrothed.
     
    ***
     
    The Prince of Powys watched the slave pour his cup
full of mead. She was a dark-haired wench that he would wager was of Cymry
blood. Her pretty face was pinched and drawn, and she avoided his gaze as she
went about her task.
    Dylan watched her go, before his gaze shifted to
the huge platters of food that slaves and servants were laying out on the long
tables lining either side of the Great Hall’s fire pits.
    After days of travel and a frugal diet of stale
seed cakes and hard cheese, his belly growled at the sight of the feast before
him. Spit-roasted wild boar dominated the table, surrounded by apples roasted
with walnuts and honey. There were platters of braised leeks and buttered
carrots, and tureens of rich mutton stew – all accompanied by mountains of
griddle bread.
    Beside