the bed."
"If I choose to have you in my bed, what do you think should stop me?"
The chills started again, chasing in waves across her skin. Not from cold.
"Only honour," she said into the lightless dark.
"Only
what
?"
"Honour." She swallowed. "Not mine. Yours."
"What a cutting way with words you have. I had forgotten. But this time, it is you who have missed your aim. Any honour I had was the first thing to die when Hun brought the king's army down on my home."
And his brother had been the second.
"I did not intend what happened to Athelwulf."
The words blurted out without thought. Wildly inappropriate. Lethally dangerous. She heard the hiss of his breath and this time she did feel its touch when he breamed out, like ice vapour on the burning heat across her cheekbone.
"Did you not? Then there are two things we have in common—lack of honour and bootless intentions. My brother Athelwulf, of course, says it was his choice, but then his honour remains—"
"Athelwulf
what
?"
She sat up through the frightening darkness, every muscle in her body rigid with the shock.
"Surprised I should say that? Or would you disagree with me because your lover had my brother flogged and enslaved?"
The danger in that perfectly cultured voice was unmistakable to her. Her mouth worked. But she was so shocked that no sound came out, which was what saved her.
Because all that beat through her brain were the words
Hun did not kill Athelwulf and
then the burning thanks to Saint Dwyn that it was true. Even while the sane part of her brain, the one that had made the ruthless decision to part her from the man she had loved and damaged, screamed silent warnings that the words could not be said aloud.
She was supposed to be the despicable creature Hun's whore. She was supposed to know already what had truly happened to Brand's brother.
She heard the faint sound of Brand moving. She tried not to imagine the
seax
blade or what he must feel in his heart.
"Of course, the only thing you can not know is that I had found Wulf again, because that happened the day I killed Hun. You cannot know what happened after he had been flogged and sold in slavery to that Frisian Goadel found."
The bedclothes shifted across her body as his weight moved, intimate as a lover's caress, unfeeling as a stranger's touch.
"My brother made his way back to England. To Wessex. It must have been a shock to Hun when he found out. Your betrothed must have thought Athelwulf was safely away, over the sea. That is, if Hun had not injured him sufficiently for him to die anyway, slowly and in pain."
Some small sound did escape her then. She could not help it.
"Do you not care to face what we two have done? Did you push all that from your mind in the greater knowledge that you were back with what was then one of the most powerful men in Northumbria? That in spite of your little lapse with me, you had secured a triumph for yourself? And, of course, for Pictland? Or do you want to know the rest? How Wulf came to live and Hun to die?"
She forced her head to move on the stiffness of her neck. She could not speak.
"Yet I cannot tell you truly what effort it took for Athelwulf to survive because he would not tell me. No one but him will ever know. But it is not too difficult to guess the times he must have wished that he had died as I believed he had, rather than endure what he did."
The softly breathing darkness seemed so heavy around her, inside and out.
"When did you know he was still alive?" Her voice stretched thin. "How did you find him?"
The silence and the dark remained unbroken for so long that she thought he would not answer. Then she heard the faint rustle of movement as he turned, towards her or away, she did not know.
"He saw me and I—"
He had turned away from her. She could tell by the sound of his voice. The short, cut-off sentence shimmered in the darkness, out of her reach, like him, holding the key to so much that she wished to know about him, about what
"If I choose to have you in my bed, what do you think should stop me?"
The chills started again, chasing in waves across her skin. Not from cold.
"Only honour," she said into the lightless dark.
"Only
what
?"
"Honour." She swallowed. "Not mine. Yours."
"What a cutting way with words you have. I had forgotten. But this time, it is you who have missed your aim. Any honour I had was the first thing to die when Hun brought the king's army down on my home."
And his brother had been the second.
"I did not intend what happened to Athelwulf."
The words blurted out without thought. Wildly inappropriate. Lethally dangerous. She heard the hiss of his breath and this time she did feel its touch when he breamed out, like ice vapour on the burning heat across her cheekbone.
"Did you not? Then there are two things we have in common—lack of honour and bootless intentions. My brother Athelwulf, of course, says it was his choice, but then his honour remains—"
"Athelwulf
what
?"
She sat up through the frightening darkness, every muscle in her body rigid with the shock.
"Surprised I should say that? Or would you disagree with me because your lover had my brother flogged and enslaved?"
The danger in that perfectly cultured voice was unmistakable to her. Her mouth worked. But she was so shocked that no sound came out, which was what saved her.
Because all that beat through her brain were the words
Hun did not kill Athelwulf and
then the burning thanks to Saint Dwyn that it was true. Even while the sane part of her brain, the one that had made the ruthless decision to part her from the man she had loved and damaged, screamed silent warnings that the words could not be said aloud.
She was supposed to be the despicable creature Hun's whore. She was supposed to know already what had truly happened to Brand's brother.
She heard the faint sound of Brand moving. She tried not to imagine the
seax
blade or what he must feel in his heart.
"Of course, the only thing you can not know is that I had found Wulf again, because that happened the day I killed Hun. You cannot know what happened after he had been flogged and sold in slavery to that Frisian Goadel found."
The bedclothes shifted across her body as his weight moved, intimate as a lover's caress, unfeeling as a stranger's touch.
"My brother made his way back to England. To Wessex. It must have been a shock to Hun when he found out. Your betrothed must have thought Athelwulf was safely away, over the sea. That is, if Hun had not injured him sufficiently for him to die anyway, slowly and in pain."
Some small sound did escape her then. She could not help it.
"Do you not care to face what we two have done? Did you push all that from your mind in the greater knowledge that you were back with what was then one of the most powerful men in Northumbria? That in spite of your little lapse with me, you had secured a triumph for yourself? And, of course, for Pictland? Or do you want to know the rest? How Wulf came to live and Hun to die?"
She forced her head to move on the stiffness of her neck. She could not speak.
"Yet I cannot tell you truly what effort it took for Athelwulf to survive because he would not tell me. No one but him will ever know. But it is not too difficult to guess the times he must have wished that he had died as I believed he had, rather than endure what he did."
The softly breathing darkness seemed so heavy around her, inside and out.
"When did you know he was still alive?" Her voice stretched thin. "How did you find him?"
The silence and the dark remained unbroken for so long that she thought he would not answer. Then she heard the faint rustle of movement as he turned, towards her or away, she did not know.
"He saw me and I—"
He had turned away from her. She could tell by the sound of his voice. The short, cut-off sentence shimmered in the darkness, out of her reach, like him, holding the key to so much that she wished to know about him, about what
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