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the walls.
    “We
brought your belongings,” Caelin said, dumping four sodden leather bags next to
the pile of furs, “so you can change out of your wet clothes.”
    Raedwyn
pushed back her hood and wiped the rain out of her eyes. She looked at Caelin
properly then. He met her gaze boldly. Raedwyn scowled at him.
    “Leave
me,” she said coldly.
    “When you
have made yourself presentable, my father wants you to join us,” he replied,
his tone equally cold.
    Raedwyn
watched him turn and duck around the fur partition. In the hall beyond she
could hear Ceolwulf laughing and his men congratulating each other. Raedwyn’s
fists balled in fury. It had been a planned, well-executed attack. They had
known King Raedwald’s daughter was to wed Cynric the Bold and they had known
Cynric had docked his long ship below the Great Barrows of Kings. They had lain
in wait and finally the prey had come to them.
    Shaking
with cold and rage, Raedwyn peeled off her wet clothes and put on a plain
woolen tunic. She wrung the water out of her hair and shook her curls out like
a dog. Then, she coiled her hair severely at the nape of her neck. Finally, she
hung her wet clothes to dry on the wall of her bower before unfastening
Cynric’s morning gifts from her sodden cloak. She held the amber brooches in
the palm of her hand. The amber glowed gold in the torch light. Poor Cynric,
she thought. Yet, she could not feel true grief for him. Her only emotion
towards him was a vague relief that she would never have to suffer his
attentions again.
    However,
with a shudder Raedwyn realized her husband’s unwelcome attentions were
preferable to what awaited her.
    When
Raedwyn finally emerged from behind the curtain, Ceolwulf and his men sat
around the fire pit downing jugs of mead. They ogled her as she stood before
them, stone-faced. A rabbit stew simmered over the fire pit and the aroma made
Raedwyn’s stomach rumble, reminding her she had not eaten since the morning.
    “Ah,
Raedwyn the Fair.” Ceolwulf took a swig of mead and wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand. “Such a luscious wench you are as well. Cynric must have
enjoyed his wedding night.”
    “One fine
memory before death m’lord,” one of his men chortled, causing the entire
assembly to break into raucous laughter.
    Raedwyn
stood there with her head down, loathing them. Her father would make them pay
for their insolence.
    “Come
girl, sit next to me.” Ceolwulf patted the ground next to him. Raedwyn walked
stiffly over and sat down between Ceolwulf and his son. Caelin was the only
warrior not laughing and smiling. He drank his mead quietly, listening to the
chatter around him with still indifference. He glanced across at Raedwyn,
watching her under veiled lids.
    Raedwyn
sat, feigning submission, hands folded meekly in her lap while the men poured
mead down their throats and waited for the stew to cook. Eventually, a trencher
bread bowl was passed to her and she ate hungrily. Ignoring the lecherous looks
from some of Ceolwulf’s warriors, including the vile Hengist, who sat directly
opposite her, Raedwyn kept her gaze downcast.
    “You don’t
fool anyone milady.” Caelin’s voice, low and teasing, intruded on her reverie.
“The role of meek maid does not sit well with you.”
    Raedwyn
looked up sharply and found Caelin watching her.
    “I have
little choice but to sit here quietly,” Raedwyn replied frostily, “since I am
not here by my own will.”
    “Then you
can drop the act,” Caelin replied. “My father despises simpering women.”
    “I care
not whether I please him,” Raedwyn shot back, her spine straightening with indignation,
“or you!”
    A slow
smile crept across Caelin’s face, before he spoke again.
    “That’s
better.”
    Raedwyn
glared at him upon realizing he had goaded her deliberately.
    To
Raedwyn’s right, Ceolwulf let out a loud belch and wiped his meaty forearm
across his mouth. He turned to Raedwyn, his face flushed with mead.
    “It was