Last Tales of Mercia 3: Elwyna the Exile Page 2

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  During the night, she regretted telling the Normans that Dumbun was her brother. She wanted nothing more than for Dumbun to press his body against hers, wrap his arm around her waist, and breathe softly against her neck. Instead she lay alone, shivering against the floorboards without even a blanket to shield her from the cold. Within the comfort of his cloak, Sir Fulbert sent a rumbling snore through the timbers of the cabin. The knight had taken the cot for himself, and even though he had brought a blanket, he used it to cover the horses outside. Elwyna’s only relief was to move closer and closer to the remaining hearth fire, its dim red glow slightly thawing her skin.

  When a warm hand brushed her arm, relief washed over her. She thought Dumbun had come to embrace her, and for a moment she didn’t care whether such an action put them at risk. Then an unfamiliar smell burned her nose, like horses and leather, and the hand’s grip on her tightened. She turned to see the smiling face of Drogo, who released her only to put his warning finger against his lips. She lay petrified as he continued to advance, his hand pushing under her arm so he could wrap his fingers round her waist, his body pressing against her so that his torso enveloped her back.

  Her shock paralyzed her. What could she do? These Normans already seemed to think they were entitled to her home and belongings, even if they mistook her as a legal tenant. Meanwhile Elwyna was unwed, far beyond marrying age, impoverished, and living with a man they perceived as her idiot brother. Clearly, Drogo took this to mean he was entitled to her, too.

  She wondered about Drogo’s companion, Fulbert, who seemed to be his superior. Would he condone Drogo’s behavior? She remembered how he had decided not to drink her ale after seeing the look on her face. Perhaps he would stop Drogo from going too far. But then she thought of the way Fulbert and Drogo had laughed together, often while leering at her unabashedly. She feared the worst. If she tried to wake everyone up, Dumbun would intervene. And then he might getting himself hurt.

  Gritting her teeth with fury, Elwyna felt the squire’s lips brush against her neck in the guise of a caress. He planted kisses across her throat. Then he nibbled on her ear. He whispered something in his own language, tickling her skin. Then his hand slid down her stomach and he pressed her towards him.

  Elwyna’s stomach turned with a mixture of revulsion and excitement. This man wasn’t just trying to take advantage of her. He was trying to seduce her. She couldn’t help but wonder if in different circumstances, he might have succeeded. But all she could think about was how he had eaten their precious venison as if it belonged to him, and how his chin had gleamed with its juices. Now he had the audacity to try and take her while two other men slept nearby.

  For a while she tried to simply endure it, blocking his touch from her mind to the best of her ability. But this only made him more determined to get her attention. He grabbed her breast and kneaded it in his fingers. And when that still wasn’t enough, his hand slid back down her stomach.

  Finally, Elwyna responded. She grabbed his hand and wrenched it away from her.

  She could practically feel his smile against her neck. He pressed harder against her, and then tried again.

  “Stop!” she cried.

  She couldn’t help herself. Her panic had begun to set in.

  Sir Fulbert’s snoring ceased. Dumbun jerked up and looked at them, startled.

  For a moment, Drogo didn’t move, only glared at Dumbun through the ashes of the fire. Then Sir Fulbert sighed heavily.

  “Demain, Drogo,” said the knight. “Demain.”

  Elwyna did not know their language, but she had a sickening feeling she knew what the older man implied as Drogo withdrew, still smiling.