This couldn’t be happening. Not after how far they’d come. But instinct had him tucking Ædwen behind him, sheltering her, as he faced up to the men.
‘Lord Werian. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.’
The large, sweaty man removed his helmet and sneered. ‘I could not let a heathen get away with humiliating me at my own wedding. After I had a chance to think about it, I realised Lord Manvil was right. That you pagans have no rights over these lands, or our women. And I thought as I’ve already paid for her, I might as well have her, even if just for one night.’ He cracked his knuckles. ‘So here I am. Come to claim my bride on our wedding night.’
Stefan felt Ædwen tense against him and anger and disgust churned in his stomach. His fingers flexed over the handle of his blade.
‘So how would you like to do this?’ Lord Werian continued. ‘Will you hand her over, willingly, in the hope that I will spare your life? Or will you go down fighting? Although I can’t promise I won’t make you watch as I take her, before running you through.’
Stefan’s eyes narrowed on him and he struggled to contain his fury at the man’s words. He wasn’t one to shy away from a fight. He wanted to take them all on. He knew he was skilled and his rage would count for four of Werian’s men, but he also had Ædwen to think about. How would he keep her safe, stop her from being taken, while he was busy fighting?
Ædwen stepped forward, curling her hand around his arm. ‘Lord Werian,’ she said, bravely, ‘we do not want any trouble.’
‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before spreading your legs for a Dane before marrying me.’
Stefan heard her sharp inhale of breath.
‘If you believe I have already claimed her, then you know she belongs to me,’ Stefan said, stepping in.
‘Not if you are dead...’ The man smirked.
‘All right,’ Stefan said. ‘I see where this is leading. And I am prepared to fight you for her, in fair combat. Just you and me, a sword each. The winner takes the woman.’
He was aware Ædwen had swung to look at him, disgust in her eyes.
‘And why would I do that, when I can have my men run you through right now?’ Lord Werian countered.
‘Do you not want to claim back some of that honour I took from you today?’ Stefan said, goading him. And he knew he’d succeeded. The man’s lips pressed together. ‘Do you not want to go home and tell people you beat me, fairly, and retrieved your bride?’
The brute nodded slowly. ‘Very well. We will fight. To the death.’
He swung down off his horse and spun his sword in his hand. ‘Let us begin,’ he said. ‘My men could dig your grave while they wait for me to run you through, if you like.’
And his warriors cheered, their horses cantering forward, marking out the battleground.
‘No need for that just yet,’ he said, before turning to Ædwen. ‘Stay well back,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘If something should happen, you need to get inside. Stay with Maccus and my men.’
‘Stefan...’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘Why are you doing this? You could just forget all of this. Hand me over...’
‘Is that what you want?’ he asked, incredulous. A possessiveness he didn’t understand lashed through him. ‘You want to go home with him? You want to be his wife, his lover?’
She shook her head. ‘No... But I don’t want anyone to die. There’s been enough death already.’
Stefan had known by going to Eastbury today and taking her from this man, and her father, he was putting her, and himself, at risk. By bringing her to the city, he was leaving the people of Wintancaester vulnerable to attack. Lord Manvil wouldn’t rest until he’d reclaimed his daughter. He knew the man couldn’t stomach her being in the hands of a pagan. But he hadn’t counted on Lord Werian wanting her back, too.
Looking at Ædwen, he couldn’t blame the man. She was achingly beautiful. He’d already made his decision. He had got them into this and he would fight for her. He knew losing was not an option.
Stefan could hear the sound of the men roaring with laugher inside, unaware of what was unfolding out here. And he cursed himself, for not being more vigilant, for not predicting this might happen. For he should have known Ædwen was too great a prize for any man to give up. Wasn’t that why he’d come back for her? One of the reasons, anyway.
Moving his shoulders, loosening up his muscles, he prepared to fight.
Lord Werian struck the first blow, but Stefan raised his sword, holding him off with his own blade. And then Stefan sliced his sword through the air, towards his opponent, but the man barely flinched. He was large, solid, and Stefan was weighing him up. How best to tackle him. Fortunately, he had speed on his side, he was agile...and he had a feeling he’d had a great deal more practice on the battlefield lately.
Lord Werian’s sword caught his shoulder on his next swing and it smarted. But it was just a scratch. He retaliated, drawing blood from the man’s arm, and suddenly the blows came thick and fast, from every which way. The clashing of metal reverberated around the courtyard and the thudding of their footsteps became more ferocious on the muddy ground, their breathing coming harder, faster.
He could hear Ædwen gasp and wince with each blow of the blades and he wondered...was she on his side, willing him to win? He could still taste her on his tongue...still feel her soft curves pressed up against him. There was no way he could let this man lay a finger on her. She was his to touch and his alone.
The fight wore on and Stefan was tiring, but so was his opponent. He took a quick glance at Ædwen, her eyes wide, her face pale in the moonlight, and he drew strength from his wrath that any man would dare to take her from him. With one final, brutal blow, he knocked the weapon out of Lord Werian’s hand and the brute fell, heavy, on to his back in the dirt.
Stefan stood over him, the tip of his blade coming up under the man’s chin.
The horses around him seemed to snicker, as the Saxon soldiers looked between themselves, horrified, watching on, unable to believe their Lord had fallen and waiting for Stefan to make the kill.
‘Stefan...’ Ædwen said, rushing forward.
He glanced up, through his fog of rage, his emotions soaring, to see her coming towards him.
‘What? You want me to spare him?’ he said.
‘Perhaps...perhaps if Lord Werian agrees to let us be. To admit defeat and agree you have won... There is no need for more bloodshed.’ She was a lot more lenient than he.
He pressed the tip of his sword in further to the man’s skin and the brute winced. ‘What do you say?’ he asked the man.
The man swallowed, raising his chin to try to get away from the blade. ‘I think I could return to my settlement and look for another bride.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
Satisfied, Stefan removed his sword and stepped backwards, and Ædwen, as well as all the men, seemed to release a collective breath.
‘Leave this place. Leave us,’ Stefan said. ‘And tell Lord Manvil more of this will happen if he sends any other men after us.’
Lord Werian stumbled over to his horse, his shoulders slumped, and heaved himself on to it, before the men turned their animals around and began their retreat.
Stefan wiped off his sword and tucked it back into his scabbard, before turning to look at Ædwen, his gaze finding hers.
‘I didn’t know you could fight like that,’ she said. ‘So well... Without fear...’
He shrugged. ‘There’s a lot of things we don’t know about each other.’
‘Did your father teach you?’
He scowled. ‘My family were farmers, not warriors.’
‘But he fought just like that. Like you...’ And then her voice wavered, as if she’d realised she had said the wrong thing.
His eyes narrowed on her. ‘So you saw him? You saw what happened to him?’
She swallowed. ‘Yes. He fought well.’
‘He tried to defend himself. I told you my family didn’t come here to cause trouble—’
‘Maybe my father didn’t know that.’
He took a step towards her. ‘Are you defending him?’ he asked, his voice lethal.
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m just trying to give you some context, of the raids we had suffered before you came. The ransacking of villages, plundering of our monasteries and buildings and the raping of our women. Why there is so much animosity. Why my father and Lord Werian might feel threatened...’
He glanced away. ‘You told me already. But that wasn’t us. There wasn’t enough land in Denmark. It was leave or starve. My father said he had heard England was a place where we would be welcomed. Where we could start anew. Find land to farm. Instead, we found an army, waiting to kill us. My first memories of this place were bodies stacked up everywhere, buildings burning, people screaming.’
And her. Always her.
‘I know...but that’s no justification for acting in a similar way. At some point, it has to stop. Our people have to get along.’
‘I thought we were getting along rather well, until he arrived,’ he said, feeling the tension from the fight finally leave his body.
She rolled her eyes.
‘Come on, let’s get you back inside.’