‘You can do this,’ Ædwen muttered under her breath, as she forced herself to walk slowly up the aisle. ‘The worst has already happened.’
It was her wedding day. She should have been feeling joy, yet instead she felt an overwhelming sense of dread, the church bells chiming dully along with the heavy thud of her heart. For this was what her father, Lord Manvil of Eastbury, had forced her to sacrifice everything for—an arranged, loveless marriage. An alliance deemed so crucial to him that her happiness and all she held dear had been surrendered.
She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to block out the sea of Saxon faces in the congregation, their appraising gazes following her as she made her way to the altar. This church inside the monastery, the familiar wooden beams, the pews she had sat in so many times...they had been her refuge these past years. Yet today, it was as if she was being incarcerated for her past mistakes.
Beneath her fixed smile and blue silk tunic, she felt utter despair, distraught to be finally bowing to duty and marrying Lord Werian, so her father could gain more power—more soldiers to protect his lands and build up a bigger force against Canute, the new Danish King of England.
She couldn’t even bring herself to look at her intended as she drew closer to him. He was double her age and almost twice her size. And as if sensing she might have a last-moment change of heart and rebel against him in a final act of defiance, her father gripped her arm tighter, thrusting her forward, faster, to a future she didn’t want. There was no chance of escape.
But she knew she wouldn’t run. She needed this union to go ahead, because if it didn’t, her father had threatened she would never see her child again.
‘We are gathered here together in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony...’
Ædwen tried to focus on the priest’s words, but it was all so absurd, as if this was happening to someone else. But then, she’d been living half a life for some time. Since her daughter had been cruelly taken from her as she slept and handed over to another family to raise, without her consent. Her heart ached.
Suddenly, a ferocious galloping of horses coming from beyond the walls drowned out the holy man’s voice and the ground shook beneath her feet. The congregation stirred, looking around at each other, questioning the disturbance. The hammering of hooves stopped, replaced by the sound of men barking orders and then heavy footsteps running.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was wrong.
‘I charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement, when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed, that if you or anyone in this congregation knows of any impediment, why they may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, you should now confess it...’
There were the rumblings of a skirmish at the chapel door and the priest halted his words, looking up, past Ædwen, over her shoulder. Turning around, her breath halted as she saw a contingent of royal guards piling into the back of the church.
Strange. Why would the King’s men descend on her wedding?
And then she saw him.
A tall, dark warrior who had to stoop to enter. Once inside, he raised his shoulders and head to his full, imposing height and his blistering blue gaze came to settle on her.
‘I do,’ he announced, his heavy brow forming a dark line.
Her body baulked, reeling in recognition and the most disturbing shock, and she let out an involuntary gasp of surprise. She raked her eyes over his stark features, drinking him in, for she knew those intense eyes and that hard, handsome face... She hadn’t seen it this past winter, but it was one she would never forget.
Stefan.
Her first love.
The father of her child.
For a fleeting moment, her spine straightened in awareness as she felt the traitorous surge of elation soar through her.
He was here.
He had come back.
Her heart leapt with unexpected delight.
She had thought she’d never see him again.
And then, like the crashing of a wave on a rocky shore, she remembered...and her joy shattered.
Hurt and rage exploded inside her chest, taking over, crushing any spark of pleasure she had fleetingly felt upon seeing him. The faces in the church began to blur and she faltered, reaching out her hand to support herself on the wooden pew.
Memories floored her of the last time they had seen each other—the morning after he’d taken her virtue. It had been the best evening of her life and she had often wondered, in the months since, how they had gone from that—unable to wait, incapable of keeping their hands off each other—to him backing away from her in disgust and anger. A huge chasm had opened between them and the words he had hurled at her had been ugly and unforgivable. He had removed himself from her life so fast, but what had been a brief fling had a long-lasting impact.
Seeing him here now shocked her to the core. Her stomach roiled, her heart pounded in alarm and the walls of the church began to spin.
Where had he been these past fifteen months? And what could he mean by coming here today, bursting in on them like this? Her thoughts scrambled to understand, unable to make sense of it. It couldn’t mean anything good, for he despised her. His presence here was dangerous—it threatened to ruin everything.
Fear stalked her veins, making her hands tremble, as Stefan began to stride purposely towards her, his men tussling with her father’s guards behind him and the congregation whispering in a mixture of concern and excitement. There was nothing Ædwen could do but hold her breath and watch his dominating approach, his huge, fierce frame bearing down on her.
‘Under the command of the King’s guard, this marriage cannot go ahead,’ he said, his deep, authoritative voice resounding around the church.
Ædwen’s heart momentarily stopped beating. The people in the church fell into an awed hush. Lord Werian and her father lurched forward.
‘Why ever not?’ the priest asked, lowering his Bible.
‘Because it would be unlawful, Father,’ Stefan said, reaching Ædwen’s side, stepping into the shaft of sunlight streaming through the window. He looked like a dark angel—or the devil—sent to torment her. His eyes were smouldering like embers, hinting at the anger beneath, and his scathing stare looked down into her face. ‘For the lady is already married. To me.’
Appalled gasps rippled around the church and Lord Werian visibly recoiled. Ædwen felt herself sway, Stefan’s announcement rushing in her ears.
Why was he doing this? They’d all be ruined!
‘It is a lie!’ her father roared, his face turning puce as his grip tightened around her elbow. She was almost glad of his hold, for without it, she might have fallen.
She had dreamed of a moment like this, often. For a long while, she had yearned for Stefan to return, of him coming back to claim her. Of him telling her he hadn’t meant the things he’d said.
But not any more.
Too much had happened. Things that could never be forgiven. Things that would never have come to pass if he had remained by her side, as he’d vowed he would. He had said they would be together for ever, but instead, it had been just one final day. He had forsaken her when she’d needed him most and the bitterness of blame burned her throat.
He couldn’t be here in Eastbury. Not now. Not today. If he broke up this union, she would never see her child again.
Their child.
A daughter he knew nothing about.
‘It was a clandestine marriage, Father. We said our vows in private,’ Stefan said, his distinctive, velvety voice stirring her blood, and images of that morning rose up before she could crush them...of her lying naked in Stefan’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder, as he gently wound a thin silk thread around her finger. He told her it signified their lives were bound to one another.
Her face flamed.
‘This is a serious accusation indeed, my lord,’ the priest said, moving his gaze to look at her. ‘Lady Ædwen, can this be true?’
All the eyes of the congregation were on her and the mortification was great.
‘Do you know this man?’
As she glanced up at Stefan, her response to him was instinctive, as it had always been. Just looking at him still made her pulse beat so hard she thought everyone could hear it. And he was standing so near to her, she could feel the heat radiating from his magnificent body, warming her blood. She was so close she could breathe in his intoxicating, familiar scent of leather and spice, making her feel heady, luring her in.
She did know him, although he looked different to the man she had once known. He was even more attractive, if that was possible. The last time she’d seen him he’d been muscular but lean, still boyish, and dressed in the plain clothes they had found for him in the monastery. Now his frame was broader, much taller, and he was wearing the formidable mail coat of the King’s guard. He was carrying a sword. Had he become one of Canute’s men? That would make sense—after all, like their new King, Stefan was a Dane...
That day the Northmen’s foreboding fleet had been spotted off the coast of Eastbury, the air had felt unnaturally calm, the waters still. She had been standing on the steps of the monastery where she spent her days, watching the intimidating dragon ships advance over the sea towards them. The ox horn and church bells were pealing out, warning the people of her father’s settlement that they were under attack, and as the men had prepared to fight, lining up on the beach, the women had rushed around in terror, trying to find places to hide, sheltering their children and livestock.
But Ædwen hadn’t felt fear—not for herself anyway, as she had known the wrath her father’s men would unleash on their foe. Her father had called the men from the north heathens. Ungodly. He had been preparing for their arrival for some time.
Despite not knowing if the Danes were coming to their shores to plunder their lands, or in peace, Ædwen had wanted to warn them not to come, knowing what brutality lay in store for them here. She had pleaded with her father to be merciful. But in the end, he hadn’t given them a chance. And by the look of the desolate scene afterwards, it hadn’t been a battle, but a massacre.
When the slaughter was over, farmsteads had been left burning, lifeless bodies strewn about, the shallow surf stained red, and the Saxons had retired to her father’s Great Hall to toast their glory, uncaring of the devastation they had left in their wake. But she, along with the monks and nuns from the monastery, had tentatively made their way out to the beach to help the Saxon wounded. Instead, she had found Stefan...
Looking at him now, his hair was still dark, but slightly longer—a bit dishevelled, as if he’d recently raked his hands through it, as she had once done. She knew the feel of that strong jaw under the palm of her hand, but now it was covered in a neat, thick beard. She remembered how it felt to be held in his sturdy arms and to bask in the warm glow of his affection...but those translucent eyes that changed colour with his mood were now dark with ire.
Did she know him? She thought she had once. But there had been times when she’d wished she had never found him that day on the beach. Wished she had never called out to her fellow novices and begged for their help. But he had been just a young man of a similar age to her and he was wounded, but still breathing. They couldn’t have left him...
Now, he looked more Dane than ever. Fierce. The prominent silver scar on his forehead was a stark reminder of all that had passed between them. There was a controlled wildness about him. He was fascinating. Intimidating. And she wondered if her father had been right all along: that all Danes were cruel. For Stefan had broken her heart and shattered her dreams, destroying her life.
No, she didn’t know this man any more,
‘Lady Ædwen?’ the priest pressed.
Her throat felt dry, her face hot with the indignity of the situation. And then she realised... That was why he was here, now, after all this while. Stefan hadn’t come to claim her because he cared for her, because he wanted her back. He had come for revenge, as he’d said he would. And what better vengeance could there be than to accuse her of adultery, even bigamy, disgracing her and her father in front of everyone they knew?
But she would lose her child for ever... She could not let that happen.
Fuelled by her resentment and determination, she raised herself taller, tipping up her face in defiance. She forced herself to speak, trying to block out the stares of the wide-eyed Saxon nobles lining the pews. ‘I did know him, a long while ago. But it is irrelevant. It should have no bearing on this ceremony here today.’
‘But can it be true, Lady Ædwen...what this man is saying? Are you already married?’ the priest asked.
‘Of course it isn’t true!’ her father bellowed, trying to take back control of the situation, a vein throbbing in his forehead. ‘This heathen should be thrown out of here at once.’
Stefan’s eyes narrowed on them. He put his hands on his hips and took an imposing step towards her, seeming immovable, making a mockery of her father’s words. ‘She gave her consent willingly. All that is required are the words of the two people involved, is it not, Father?’
Ædwen shook her head in disbelief. Nothing had changed. Stefan was still as hateful as the day he had left her.
‘Did you give this consent, Lady Ædwen, without the approval of the church and your father?’ the priest said. ‘Did you marry this man? I need to know.’
Ædwen felt the four walls closing in on her, her father’s fingers digging into her skin as a warning not to say anything. Panic clawed up her throat.
Was Stefan really going to make her admit to it, in front of all these people, shaming her and her family?
There was a great hushed reaction in the room, as if each person was holding their breath, not wanting to miss her answer, and they seemed to lean in closer in the small, cloying space.
‘Surely you would not lie in your house of God?’ Stefan urged.
And her heart sank with resignation, for he was right. He knew her belief was strong and she couldn’t lie. Not in here.
The secrets of all hearts shall be revealed...
Yes, she had once said her vows to this man—and in secret, because she had known her father would never allow them to be together. She was a Saxon and Stefan was a Dane—but she had been so in love, so sure of him, she had been prepared to go against her father’s wishes and incur his wrath, feeling brave enough to do so with Stefan at her side.
That morning after they’d made love, Stefan had traced his finger from her makeshift wedding band over her body to her heart and asked her to be his wife. But she had sat up and told him she must tell him something before they wed... If only he had let her. Instead, he had said there was nothing she could tell him that would make him love her any less, planting little kisses along her bottom lip, her jaw. He had said the words ‘I take you as my wife’ and she had repeated them, taking him as her husband.
She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she whispered now, her voice strained. ‘But it was just words. Not a real marriage...’
Because when he’d found out what she had been keeping from him, less than a day later, he’d turned on her. It had been the shortest marriage in history.
The congregation were now up out of their seats, shocked, talking between themselves, the noise in the church deafening.
‘Due to the absence of witnesses, this will be difficult to prove,’ her father intervened. She could feel the anger vibrating off him. ‘And you are a pagan,’ he shot back at Stefan. ‘I believe that invalidates any union.’
Ædwen looked up at the elderly man beside her, who would use her for his benefit, who held the key to her future happiness. He had convinced her of the same—that the vows she had taken before were discreditable, that they didn’t mean anything. She would not be here otherwise.
‘It was illicit, not illegal,’ Stefan said, his eyes flashing in fury, and he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Besides, if it is my religion you take offence to, I believe taking her to my bed created a legally binding marriage.’
Tremors of shock rippled around the room and Ædwen felt the gut-punch of humiliation. How could he? He was destroying her father’s name—and disgracing her beyond redemption.
His searing gaze burned into hers, forcing her to remember. But how could she ever forget? She felt her face heat with the recollection of their bodies entwined...his hot, open mouth pressed against her skin. The intimacy and the pleasure he had given her had been like nothing else she had ever experienced. And then he’d taken it all away.
She shook her head, as if to rid herself of her thoughts. She didn’t want to think about him like that. Of what happened that night and how it changed her life. Her arms wrapped around her stomach as she tried to hold herself together.
But he didn’t know about the consequences. He had long been gone. He wasn’t aware he had left her with a constant reminder of him, growing in her belly. But what had it all been for—those nine months of confinement, the secrecy to protect her father’s reputation, if Stefan was determined to ruin it all today? Ruin her, once more.
‘Tell me, did she sleep with you the night before your wedding, too?’ Stefan said to Lord Werian, but the reproach in his eyes was directed at her and she shivered. How could he be so cruel?
Lord Werian’s lips curled. ‘Did you know about this?’ he asked in indignation, turning to her father, against the backdrop of the people moving, piling out of the pews, in outrage at the scandal unfolding before them.
Blind panic rose inside as Ædwen realised Lord Werian was also retreating, taking a step back in revulsion. The wedding was over. The union wasn’t going to take place today.
Her daughter would be lost to her...
‘I’m sure this can be settled quickly. Quietly,’ she whispered to Lord Werian in desperation.
‘I don’t think so. I don’t want you now...’ he said, shaking his head in disgust. ‘You’ve been tarnished by the touch of a Dane.’
She felt ill. If the wedding didn’t go ahead, would her father be merciful? She had given birth to the most beautiful baby girl and at first, she had nursed her, looked after her, in the seclusion and solitude of the monastery walls. But one morning, she had awoken to find her daughter gone, taken, and she had been forced to return to her father’s fortress to prepare to be married. She had been distraught, inconsolable, as if she had lost a piece of herself.
Her father had promised her the child had been placed with a noble family and would have a good life. But Ædwen hadn’t wanted to live without her...she had gone without food in protest; she had threatened to expose him. So he had made her a deal. If she went through with this union, securing his alliance with Lord Werian, he would arrange for her to see her daughter again, in secret.
It had been an agonising month of waiting for this day to come. She needed to see her child again, to know that Ellan was safe, to hold her in her arms once more. But now... Her chin began to tremble as the last of her hope began to slip away.
‘I could kill you for all you have said. Instead, I shall be merciful and give you coin to leave, so as not to destroy my daughter’s happy day any further...’ her father bit, turning to Stefan, seemingly as frantic as she was, not wanting to lose all he’d negotiated for.
But Stefan stepped closer, staking his claim on her. He gave a sharp shake of his head, determined. ‘I don’t want your coin,’ he said, his voiced laced with scorn. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. ‘I want my family back, whom you took from me. So instead, I shall take yours. Your daughter. My wife.’
Ædwen swung to look at him, her heart thumping in shock. Did he actually intend to claim her once more for himself? She was horrified. She had thought he had come here to shame her, to break up her wedding, not to take her with him. Alarm tore through her. Why? He loathed her and she him. The time had long passed to make amends, there was too much hostility between them—and a secret much too great.
‘This is me being merciful,’ Stefan continued. ‘This church, your soldiers, are surrounded by the King’s men. Are you prepared to go up against your monarch today?’
Hot tears burned behind Ædwen’s eyes. She did not want there to be any bloodshed over her.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and pushed out a slow, deep breath to calm herself. ‘My lord... Stefan...please...’ she said, speaking to him directly for the first time, trying to appeal to the man she once knew and cared for. ‘Why are you doing this?’ She lowered her voice and spoke slowly, her hands spread. ‘You don’t even want me...’
‘No. I don’t,’ he retorted, his voice like ice. ‘But nevertheless, we are joined in marriage under the eyes of your God—and mine. And as my wife you’ll respect me. You’ll do your duty. You owe me that.’
Stefan unsheathed his sword, at the same time as his men at the back of the church raised their own weapons, and the congregation shrieked in unison, huddling together, afraid. He looked like his father, Ædwen realised—the man she’d seen fighting on the beach that day. A cold, ruthless Danish warrior. Had his need for vengeance changed him beyond recognition?
‘By order of the King, this ceremony is dissolved,’ he said. ‘We will now take our leave and Lady Ædwen, too. Anyone who dares stand in our way will be cut down.’
Ædwen felt her father’s fingers drop from her elbow, relinquishing his hold on her, knowing he had lost. So he wasn’t prepared to go against Canute’s word, or fight the King’s men—not today. He would need to rally support to go up against the royal army...
His touch was replaced by Stefan’s large hand, which wrapped around her waist, taking control, holding her body upright. The heat of his touch through the silk tunic seared her skin as he led her to the door, past all the gaping people, her father’s barks of fury reverberating around the church, and she willed for the agony to be over.