Entering the old Roman walls of Wintancaester, the city was an assault on Ædwen’s senses. She had never seen any place like it. Riding through the gates, the beautiful monastery dominating the skyline, she saw the narrow, bustling streets were overflowing with people, full of vivacious traders selling their vibrant wares, the smell of spicy foods wafting under her nose. It was captivating, colourful and so diverse, the grand opulent palace in the centre surrounded by people from all walks of life, speaking in various languages.
There was so much to see and take in. For a moment, she was in awe. And then she realised how difficult it would be to find someone here...where would she start? Could she question the soldiers on the gate, or the stallholders, who must see hundreds of people every day, or perhaps she could go and ask in the monastery?
She couldn’t wait to reach their destination and extricate herself from Stefan’s arms. Since that scorching kiss last night, she couldn’t seem to catch a breath without drawing in his spicy scent, or coming into contact with some part of his muscular body. He reminded her of the city walls. He was imposing, impenetrable, like the stone. And she wondered at the defences he’d built up around his heart, as she had hers.
She couldn’t believe he’d kissed her! And she couldn’t believe she’d kissed him back. The moment his firm lips had touched hers, she had reacted with force, helpless to stop it, needing something from him, perhaps a clue as to what he wanted. A hint as to how much he still hated her...and desired her. And if he hadn’t pulled away, she didn’t know what she would have let him do. It was as if she lost all restraint when he came near her and the most mortifying thing was, now he knew it.
And then he’d fought for her. When he’d released her from his embrace and she’d seen Lord Werian and his men surrounding them, her heart had been in her mouth. Her fear had roared in her ears and she’d realised, she did not want to go back. But she hadn’t wanted Stefan to fight. She had been terrified he might get hurt and it troubled her that she cared. And she couldn’t understand—if he despised her so much, why had he fought for her, why hadn’t he just given her up?
When they had returned inside the tavern and they’d told the men what had happened, the soldiers had put down their tankards. They’d stopped drinking, sobering instantly. They’d each felt bad they hadn’t been there to help their leader and wanted to make amends, each of them heading out into the night air to keep a lookout and stand guard.
She had slumped back down on to the bench and felt her exhaustion from the day creep over her. She’d tried to fight it, knowing she should stay alert, and she had willed her eyes to stay open, but at some point she had given in and rested her head on her arms on the table, closing her eyes, just for a moment...
But this morning she had awoken to find she was nestled into something solid, but warm. Something rising and falling steadily. And as she’d lifted her head to get her bearings, she’d seen with dawning horror that she’d been asleep in the curve of Stefan’s shoulder.
How had she got there?
She’d jolted upright, her sleepy eyes suddenly wide, only to look up into Stefan’s bright blue mocking depths and she felt her cheeks burn.
‘You looked uncomfortable sleeping on the table,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘I thought I’d get you used to what you can expect when we arrive in the city.’ He gave her that devilish side-smirk and her heart had clamoured.
She had been reluctant to ride in his arms again after that, but he’d given her no choice. It had been a very long morning and she was so desperate to get some space from him. He was all-consuming.
Ædwen almost wilted with relief when the men finally drew the horses to a stop in a large courtyard. Modest timber-framed huts with straw-thatched roofs were dotted all around the edge of the square and children were squealing, playing games in the middle of the wide, open space. Her heart twisted at the sight.
‘These are the housecarls’ lodgings,’ Stefan said. ‘The King keeps his men close to the palace, so we can be at his side when he needs us.’
She nodded, looking around, suddenly nervous, wondering which one belonged to him.
Once the horses were safely secured in the stables, Stefan thanked his men, and one by one they departed, leaving them alone. Maccus told her again he was looking forward to introducing her to his wife and she decided she liked him. He had been kind to her.
‘Come on,’ Stefan said, taking her elbow in his hand and leading her across the square.
Women were throwing open their doors, welcoming home their husbands, and Ædwen glanced all about them, taking in the happy scenes.
‘The church is just through that archway over there, next to the monastery, should you wish to pray at any time,’ Stefan said, continuing to stride out at a pace. ‘But I’ll show you around the place properly later.’
Later? Why not now? What were they going to do now? She panicked. And just how long was he planning on her staying?
She looked up at the huts. They weren’t grand, or formidable, like her father’s fortress, but she was strangely curious to take a look inside. Perhaps it would give her some clue as to how Stefan had been living this past winter. The man he’d grown to be... And perhaps it would give her an idea of whether he was expecting her to stay here with him, as if they were just meant to pick up where they left off, as husband and wife. Lovers... A knot tightened in her stomach. This was madness!
But Stefan continued out of the courtyard, leaving the men and women behind, and into the elegant cloisters of the palace.
He nodded his dark head in acknowledgement to a group of men walking in the opposite direction, who all bowed their heads back in respect. They carried on into the beautiful building until they came to a few steps leading down into a corridor. Right at the end, they came to a large wooden door and he unlocked it. He pushed it open and gestured for her to step inside. As she did, she raked her eyes over the room, taking it all in.
‘What is this place?’ she said.
‘My rooms,’ he said, throwing his satchel down on to the floor. ‘I hope you’ll find them to your liking.’
She swallowed. ‘You don’t live out in the courtyard with the other men?’
‘No, the King brought me inside the palace a while back.’
She nodded. He really had done well for himself. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. That he had succeeded without her support. That now he had far more power and influence than even her father. It certainly didn’t help to put her at ease.
The ground floor was a huge, open space, yet it was sparsely furnished. There was a large animal skin covering the floor, a bench strewn with fleeces and a long, central wooden table, but the rest was fairly empty, making it feel quite stark. There was a hearth in the middle of the room, which would make it cosier, she imagined, but the walls were bare. It needed a woman’s touch. Perhaps some tapestries or animal skins on the wall.
‘I don’t need much.’ He shrugged, as if he could tell what she was thinking.
Yet last night he had said he’d needed her—if only to release himself of his desire.
She nodded, her mouth dry.
She still couldn’t believe he’d kissed her. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting him to say or do when they’d gone outside, but she hadn’t expected that.
He closed the door behind him, making her jump, and she swung to look at him. He rested his back against the wood and a shiver of awareness edged along her skin. They were alone.
‘Take a look around,’ he said, his dark gaze watching her.
And she wondered—did it feel strange for him to have her here, in his home? Was he on edge, too, unsure of what she’d make of it? Did he want her to like it?
It gave her the confidence she needed to step further into the room. She had never been a guest at someone else’s home before. Stefan’s home. Let alone the King’s palace. She wasn’t sure how she should behave. Or what he was going to demand of her.
‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ she said, running her hands over some wooden figurines on a shelf. ‘What are these?’
He shrugged, pushing himself off the door and coming towards her. ‘Some carvings I made. They’re of my Norse gods.’ He picked one up and turned it over in his hand. ‘This one’s Odin, the All-Father...and this one is Thor,’ he said, pointing to the markings on the sculptures. ‘This one is Frigg, Odin’s wife,’ he said, moving the carving around in her hand, showing her the features, her skin tingling at their touch. ‘A great Queen of Asgard. She reminds me of you.’
She looked up at him. He was so close. She could feel the faint tickle of his breath against her skin. ‘Why?’
He seemed to lean in closer. ‘Surrounded by an air of secrecy, she is thought to be a paragon of beauty...love...fertility,’ he said, studying her face.
Ædwen realised she was holding a breath and she only released it when he removed the figure from her hands and placed it back down.
Next, she picked up a wooden cross and gave him a questioning look.
‘It was a pagan symbol long before a Christian one...’ He shrugged.
She glanced around, taking in a kite-shaped shield with a metal boss in the middle. Perhaps she could use that against him if she must, she thought wryly.
‘Where do you sleep?’ she asked.
He nodded in the direction of a small staircase leading up to another living area above. A sort of raised platform.
‘Up there.’
Now she’d walked further into the room, she could see there was a bed, covered in furs. She looked back at him. Surely he didn’t expect her to stay here with him, to share his home? They would have to eat together...sleep together...there was nowhere else to be but together. Yes, it was spacious, but it still wasn’t ideal, especially when he kept looking at her like that, like he was imagining undressing her. And why was her traitorous body responding, a coil of heat unfurling in her belly and lower?
‘You want us to stay here, together?’ she asked. ‘To share this room? Your bed?’
He stepped towards her, barely containing his wicked smirk. ‘What’s the matter? It’s not like we haven’t done it before.’
‘A long time ago. And thanks, but no thanks. Once was enough.’
His eyes narrowed on her.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door behind him, breaking the connection, and Ædwen released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
Stefan hesitated before slowly walking over to open it. A young boy stood in the entryway.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Lord Stefan. The King is very eager. He requests your presence at his feast tonight. He is impatient to hear of your trip and to meet your wife, Lady Ædwen.’
Stefan nodded. ‘Thank you, Ethelred. Tell him we’ll both be there and we’re very much looking forward to it.’
‘I am glad to hear it. I shall go and relay your message, Lord.’ The boy nodded and left. But as soon as Stefan shut the door again, Ædwen snapped. This was absurd! She couldn’t believe she was here, in Wintancaester. In the palace. In Stefan’s home. With him. And now she was being invited to the King’s feast?
She shook her head. ‘You can’t expect me to go to that,’ she spluttered.
He captured her in his navy gaze. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m sure the King doesn’t want me there.’
‘Did you not hear you were just invited?’
‘More like summoned.’ She sighed. ‘I’m tired. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I have nothing to wear. I can’t go in this tunic, splattered with mud. I would be seen as a disgrace. More of a disgrace than I already am, thanks to you,’ she bit.
He frowned at her, his eyes raking over her.
‘You’re right. You can’t.’
She couldn’t believe he was agreeing with her and, for a moment, her heart lifted in hope. Would he let her go?
Then he moved towards the door. ‘Stay here. Make yourself at home,’ he said, gesturing with his hand to his lodgings. ‘I’ll go and see if Maccus’s wife has anything suitable you could borrow, just for this evening. You can’t get out of it that easily, Ædwen.’ He retreated out of the door. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
The door closed with a thud and she stared at it, unsure what to make of any of this.
She looked around her, soaking up the silence. It was the first time she’d been alone in days, and she suddenly felt a bit lost. But also...free.
She was on her own, at last. She looked around again, taking it all in. His scent surrounded her and all his belongings... It was a glimpse into a life she could have had with him. Her and Ellan...and instantly, she knew she couldn’t stay.
She glanced at the door, which he’d pulled to close behind him. Was she really going to sit here and wait for Stefan to come back? After the things he’d said last night and what he wanted them to do together? So he could bed her and then leave her again? No...she knew she was helpless against his touch, yet she could not let him seduce her again. Not knowing that deep down he despised her. It might just destroy her.
And if he got too close, he would see how her body had changed...he would know what it meant, and what she’d kept from him, and she knew his anger would be great. She couldn’t be sure what he would do.
This was her chance to get away. She had to think of her daughter, who was out there, somewhere. The days were slipping by so fast. She needed to feel as if she’d at least done something towards getting her back.
She had been forced to do the one thing she’d vowed never to do—abandon her child—and beyond her own pain of being separated from her baby, what was even worse was the thought of Ellan growing up despising her, feeling lost and alone, just as she had felt when her own mother had left her. She had to do whatever she could to find her.
She wrenched open the heavy door and with a furtive look up the empty corridor, she quickly made her way out of the palace, back along the path Stefan had brought her and out through the courtyard. Fortunately, there was no sign of Stefan or Maccus and the rest of the men. Stefan would not be happy if he saw her out here, not after he’d told her to stay. How would she explain it?
She headed out into the frantic thrum of people in the streets. She allowed herself to get swept along with the jostling crowd until she came to a few stalls selling spices and trinkets. She took a deep breath and began to ask the various vendors questions.
Did they speak English? Did they know any families who had just arrived in the city with a child? Any baptisms they were aware of? Any orphanages nearby? She was looking for a child around six months old...
But the stalls were heaving and she got pushed around, the delicious, spicy smells creeping up her nose, and she quickly began to lose hope. This was futile. What had she been thinking? No one had seen a baby. Or they’d seen hundreds. Everyone kept shaking their heads. No one had any answers. And she started to feel a bit desperate, panic clawing inside her chest.
She had just managed to duck out of the way as a horse and cart came rumbling past, when a large hand clamped around her mouth and she froze. Her body was hauled against a man’s chest and he drew her backwards into the recess of a dark passageway.
Terror gripped her. She had heard of the gruesome crimes that took place in the city, but she didn’t think they happened in broad daylight. Suddenly she regretted leaving the safety of Stefan’s lodgings, the protection of his strong arms and watchful gaze. Because for all his faults, for everything that had happened between them, she knew he would never put her in danger. Not like she’d done herself. She was a fool!
‘Give me your coin. All that you have. Now,’ the man roared, the vile stench of stale ale on his breath.
She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, unable to speak, fear cloaking her throat as his thick, clammy fingers covered her mouth.
He removed them momentarily, wrapping them round her throat instead, as he thrust her up against the wall, grazing her cheek against the stone, patting her body down with his other hand.
‘I don’t have any,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I don’t have any coin.’
She had nothing, she thought with stark realisation now. Stefan had arrived back in her life again so suddenly, taking her away from her home and all her possessions. She had nothing but the items she was wearing. She was totally and utterly reliant on him.
A shiver shuddered down her spine as she heard the man unsheathe a dagger and felt the tip pressing into her back.
‘Then I’ll have to take the only thing you do have,’ he sneered.
With brute force, he ripped off her gold necklace with his other hand, shocking her. It had a cross on it and had been given to her by her mother when she was small. It was dear to her—not because of its value, but because it was the only thing she had to remind her of her.
She squeezed her eyes shut as he pressed his body against her, his knife coming up to her throat. She didn’t dare move, feeling the blade cutting into the skin of her neck.
Next, he removed her armband, prising it from her skin.
She lifted her chin up, trying to hold her neck away from the blade.
She imagined Stefan, Maccus and his wife kindly searching for a fresh tunic for her to wear, then Stefan returning to his lodgings and finding her gone. He would be livid with her. She was livid with herself. Now she would do anything to be back in that room, waiting for him.
‘Ring,’ he demanded and she lifted her hand so he could wrench it from her finger. It was the band Lord Werian had gifted her. But she wasn’t sorry to see it go. She had never cared for it, or him. She imagined it was worth a great deal, but the piece of thread Stefan had once wound around her finger had been much more precious.
‘Get your hands off her!’ she heard a familiar voice roar.
And she whispered his name in relief. ‘Stefan.’
How had he found her?
The man sneered and pulled away from her, dropping the blade from her throat.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Stefan said, and she turned to see his sword raised, pointed towards the man, a look of blinding rage on his face.
‘I’ve got a family to feed. Four children. A wife. We’re all starving,’ the brute said in explanation, suddenly releasing Ædwen. But without warning, fear bulging in his eyes, he lunged, plunging his knife into Stefan’s side, before trying to make a run for it.
Ædwen heard herself scream, but Stefan’s reactions were quick. He didn’t even seem to flinch at his injury, but instead grabbed the man’s arm as he went to tear past him and swung him backwards into the passageway, ferociously slamming him into the wall, knocking his dagger out of his hand.
‘You’ll face the hangman’s noose for this,’ he bit out.
Her attacker slumped, winded by the force of the impact of his back hitting the stone, and Stefan pinned the man in place with the tip of his own blade.
His father’s blade, she realised, noticing the familiar, knotted patterns on the hilt. She hadn’t noticed it last night in the dark.
He grabbed the man’s wrists and twisted his hands behind his back, turning him round, roughly pushing him up to the wall where she had been pressed against the stone just moments before. He bound him with the length of rope from his belt. And then he turned to her and he ran his hands over her bruised cheek, her arms, checking her over, his eyes wild, his breathing shallow.
‘I’m all right,’ she said, trying to calm him.
He gripped her jaw and tilted her face upwards, assessing the cut to her neck.
‘Did he hurt you?’
She turned her face away, out of his grip. ‘No.’
He drew in a sharp breath, but it was as if he wasn’t really seeing her. He was thrumming with rage and raked his hand through his hair, pushing out his breaths as if he was trying to control his temper.
‘Stefan, I’m fine,’ she said again, trying to reassure him.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man stuttered, turning round, looking between them both. ‘You can take back the trinkets. Just let me go. Please. My family. They’re depending on me.’
‘You should have thought about that before you attacked my wife,’ Stefan said, his blade unwavering.
But looking at the scrawny man, looking as if he hadn’t eaten in days, dressed in tattered, dirty clothes, Ædwen took pity on him.
She placed her hand on Stefan’s arm. She was suddenly aware they had an audience—that a crowd had gathered at the end of the passageway, watching with interest.
‘Stefan, it’s fine. I’m fine,’ she whispered again. ‘Perhaps this man just needs to be shown there are other ways to feed his family other than through stealing. Perhaps if he vowed never to do it again...perhaps if he was given a second chance...’
Stefan looked at her, shaking his head, clearly not liking what she was saying. ‘I’m starting to think you’d give anyone a reprieve, no matter what they did to you,’ he growled. ‘You’re much too soft, Ædwen. I don’t believe in second chances,’ he said.
No, she believed that.
More of the King’s men piled into the passageway, trying to break up the crowd, and Stefan handed the brute over to them, directing the men to take him to the cages.
‘Stefan, he has my necklace. From my mother,’ Ædwen said.
And Stefan ransacked the man’s tunic until he found them.
‘Thank you. So you see,’ Ædwen said, ‘no harm has been done here. More damage will be done if this man doesn’t get back to his family, I’m sure.’
Stefan grimaced, still reluctant to do as she was asking, but Ædwen was steadfast. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Let him go.’
And then he sighed. ‘Let this man sleep off the ale in a cell. Give him a warm meal before releasing him in the morning,’ he said to one of the soldiers. And then he turned to the thief. ‘I don’t ever want to see you stealing again,’ he said.
And the man nodded gratefully, before turning to Ædwen. ‘I’m sorry, Lady. I meant you no harm.’
Ædwen stepped towards him. ‘I forgive you,’ she said and turned to Stefan and took the ring from his hand. She unfurled one of the man’s bound hands and pressed the tiny gold band into it. ‘Make sure your family is provided for.’
And then Stefan gripped her by the elbow and launched her forward, moving her out of the alleyway, pushing through the crowds of onlookers and down the narrow street. He was walking so fast she could barely keep up with him. He looked angrier than she’d ever seen him, the harsh lines of his face making him look forbidding. But as they reached the corner, the palace in sight, he stopped abruptly, releasing her, and leaned—no, sagged—against the wall.
‘Stefan?’ she asked.
He tugged up his mail coat and tunic to reveal a bloody wound just above his hip and winced.
She gasped. It looked deep. There was a lot of blood. Another scar to add to his many others...another scar caused by her.
He glanced up at her, his stare lethal. ‘This is your chance to run if you still want to, Ædwen. I won’t be able to chase after you now,’ he spat out.
She bit her lip. He was mad. And rightfully so. She deserved it. This was all her fault. This had only happened because she’d been foolish enough to leave his room. In her desperate attempt to find Ellan, she had put herself in danger. She had made another terrible decision and now Stefan had been hurt because of her.
Hot tears burned her eyes and she shook her head. ‘I wasn’t running,’ she said.
‘No? Then what the hell were you doing?’ he roared. ‘I told you to stay put.’
‘I was just taking a look around.’
‘Without telling me? Without my permission?’
‘I didn’t know I needed it,’ she bit.
‘I didn’t know where you were. Where you’d gone. How can I protect you when you go off without telling me?’ he said, his dark face furious. ‘It’s not safe. You want to go somewhere? I’ll take you. You want to do something? You ask.’
‘I thought I was your wife, not a prisoner!’ It was the first time she’d used the term, acknowledged being his...and the word felt strange on her tongue.
‘You are. And you’d better start acting like it. Start obeying me, as you promised you would when you married me.’
She reeled and he cursed.
‘Why have you brought me to such a place? Where such things happen,’ she accused, although she knew her argument was weak.
‘I did not know you’d go off wandering the streets by yourself, did I? What were you even doing out here, Ædwen? Haven’t you had enough adventure this past day?’
She bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t tell him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, relenting, suddenly wanting him to drop his line of questioning. ‘You’re right. It was reckless of me. I won’t do it again.’
He stared down at her in disbelief. ‘I’m right?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Now I know you’re hiding something.’
He drew her closer, wrapping his arm around her so suddenly it took her by surprise. The feel of his hard body against hers. His spicy scent engulfing her. ‘Don’t ever do that again,’ he said. ‘You had me worried.’
She felt a lump grow in her throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
The way he looked at her with concern was unnerving. One moment he was reprimanding her, the next he was worried about her, holding her. She thought perhaps she preferred his disapproval. That was far safer than this kindness. Stefan seeming to care was a danger to her.
He leaned back and brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb smoothing over the blossoming bruise she knew was there. ‘Back in Denmark, I could have killed that man for what he did.’
She shook her head. ‘You can’t kill everyone who tries to hurt me. Besides, I think you gave him enough of a fright,’ she said.
Stefan had shown immense courage. In the past day she’d been back in his company, he’d demonstrated he was a capable leader of his men and an extraordinary fighter.
‘And yet I still think he got off lighter than me.’ He grimaced. And she realised he’d also shown compassion to his opponents, twice, as he had to her.
‘How deep is it?’ she asked, carefully stepping away from him, looking down at the patch of blood spreading over his tunic. ‘Can you make it back to the palace?’
He gave a curt nod. ‘I can make it.’