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

precisely why I worry.”
    Elfhere chuckled at that, but his laughter faded when they spied Wulfhere duck out of Lady Ermenilda’s tent and stalk off into the shadows.
    Wynflaed cast a glance back at Elfhere, who was gazing at her intently.
    “I must go to her,” she muttered. “Good eve, Elfhere.”
    Not awaiting his response, she hurried across the windswept encampment and ducked into the tent. Inside, she found her mistress seated upon a leather pack near the fire. Nearby, the soup was bubbling furiously. The aroma of salted pork, thyme, and vegetables mixed with the smoky air inside the tent. However, the princess paid the soup no mind.
    Ermenilda was weeping into her hands, her slender shoulders shaking from the force of her despair.

Chapter Ten
Anger and Arrogance
     
     
    Winter had drained the world of any warmth. Under leaden skies and with a chill north wind in their faces, the company pressed on with the dawn.
    The mood was somber this morning, for the attack had soured the previously convivial atmosphere among the Mercians. Until the attack, they had plenty to be happy about—a new king and an imminent handfasting. Now, many of their brothers would not be returning to Tamworth.
    The news that Queen Seaxburh had betrayed them had altered many of their attitudes toward Ermenilda. This morning, she noted their cold glances and scowls. Despite her love for her mother, she felt a bitter stab of reproach toward her. Ermenilda’s life in Mercia would be difficult enough as it was without folk turning against her. If the East Angle warrior had spoken true, her mother had committed a foolish act—something they would all pay for.
    How could she be so reckless?
    Ermenilda pulled up her fur-lined hood, in an effort to shield her face from the biting wind, and inwardly railed at her mother.
    What did you hope to achieve?
    “Good morning, milady.”
    The priest, Seaxwulf, appeared at her right, upon a stocky bay gelding. He had wrapped himself in a thick fur cloak, in an effort to ward off the chill, although his nose was red from cold.
    “Good morning, Brother Seaxwulf,” she responded dully. Usually, she welcomed the monk’s cheerful, reassuring presence, but this morning she preferred to be left alone with her thoughts.
    “Is anything amiss, milady?” Seaxwulf ventured, his quick gaze missing nothing.
    Ermenilda shook her head. “No . . . I am just a little tired.”
    “Yesterday was enough to make me want to return to the life of a monk at Lindisfarena,” Seaxwulf admitted quietly. “I never wish to experience such carnage, such brutality, ever again.”
    “Neither do I,” Ermenilda agreed. “Although, I would rather not think of it at all today, if you don’t mind, Brother.”
    Taking the hint, the priest nodded and reined his gelding back slightly, so that the princess rode alone once more. Grateful for the solitude, Ermenilda’s gaze shifted up to the front of the column.
    Ahead, she spied Wulfhere. He was riding alongside the dark-haired, bearded warrior, Werbode, who appeared to be one of his most trusted followers.
    The men were conversing, although the roar of the wind made it impossible to overhear them. Wulfhere’s fur cloak billowed behind him. As always, Mōna trotted along at his side, silent and watchful.
    Ermenilda clenched her jaw as she observed Wulfhere. She stared daggers at his broad back.
    She had called him a brute the evening before and meant it. He had no right to corner her, to accuse her, and to kiss her. He had humiliated her merely to prove a point. His comment about bedding her still lingered, filling her with terror. Yet, underneath her fear, there was an odd, churning excitement, which both confused and upset Ermenilda.
    As the morning wore on, she ceased worrying about her mother and, instead, ruminated over Wulfhere’s treatment of her. By the time they stopped for their noon meal, anger had twisted her belly in knots.
    Last night, he had set a precedent. What was