Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia) Read Online Free PDF Page A

incline toward the wooden ramparts that ringed the Great Hall of Cantwareburh.
    Eventually, the pair passed through the high gate and crossed a wide stable yard flanked by low buildings. The King’s Hall rose up before Ermenilda—and for the first time ever, she was scared to set foot inside it.
    Ermenilda crossed the floor toward the high seat, ahead of Bercthun, aware that all eyes within the hall appeared to be upon her.
    One gaze in particular scorched her, as if she stood too close to the Yuletide fire.
    King Wulfhere of Mercia stood upon the high seat, next to her father, and she tried her best not to look at him. However, the force of his stare was so strong that it drew her toward him, as if she were a pike dangling on the end of his hook. Unable to resist him any longer, she looked up and her gaze met his.
    He was as she remembered—tall and powerfully built with a mane of white-blond hair—only he was dressed more elegantly this time. He wore a fine blue tunic, edged with golden silk. A plush ermine cloak hung from his shoulders, fastened by amber brooches. He was, frankly, the most handsome man she had ever seen.
    His silver-blue eyes glittered as she approached, and Ermenilda’s belly clenched. Her last, frail hope dissolved. His look made the situation clear. He had not changed his mind about wedding her.
    “Lady Ermenilda,” he murmured when she stepped upon the high seat next to him. “You are as lovely as I remember.”
    Ermenilda dipped her head, politely acknowledging the compliment.
    “Thank you, Lord Wulfhere.”
    “Wulfhere is now King of Mercia, Ermenilda,” her father spoke up. He stood to their left, with the queen beside him. Seaxburh was silent and pale, her gaze riveted upon the floor.
    “Congratulations, milord,” Ermenilda added, keeping her own gaze downcast.
    “And he has foresworn the old ways and accepted the one true god,” Eorcenberht continued, his voice booming with pleasure.
    Ermenilda looked up and saw the small wooden crucifix that hung from around Wulfhere’s neck. No reply came to her, so she remained silent. Her gaze shifted to where her sister stood a few feet behind their parents. Eorcengota’s brown eyes were huge on her heart-shaped face. Like Ermenilda, she had not thought ever to see Wulfhere of Mercia again.
    Ermenilda inhaled deeply and raised her gaze to meet Wulfhere’s once more.
    “So you have met my father’s conditions, milord?”
    “Aye, milady,” Wulfhere rumbled, his pale gaze ensnaring her, “and now I come to claim my prize.”
    Ermenilda gritted her teeth. He made her sound like a trophy—like an enemy’s sword he had claimed after victory to hang upon the wall of his hall. Wulfhere knew nothing about her, save what was visible to the eye. Judging from the look on his face, he did not care to know anything else. He was attracted to her, and he wanted her—that was all that mattered to him.
    Her gaze left his and shifted to her father. The king was grinning like a fool, delighted with the match he had helped create.
    Betrayal cut her deep, like a seax blade under the ribs. She had thought he had listened to her when she told him of her desire to become a nun at Eastry, but now she realized the truth. He had merely humored her.
    “I shall arrange for the handfasting tomorrow,” the king boomed, oblivious to his eldest daughter’s despair. “The sooner the better, eh?” He winked at Wulfhere, who returned his gaze dispassionately.
    “I’ve waited a year, Lord Eorcenberht,” he replied. “I am a patient man.”
    Eorcenberht’s dark eyebrows raised at this, but Wulfhere continued.
    “I wish to be handfasted to Lady Ermenilda in my own hall. We shall depart from Cantwareburh at dawn tomorrow and return to Mercia.”
    Stunned silence met Wulfhere’s words. Even Ermenilda was surprised by his response. The journey to Tamworth would take at least ten days—Wulfhere was a patient man indeed.
    “My daughter should be handfasted here,