Jenni Fletcher - Married To Her Enemy

From captive to bride...

Lady Aediva of Etton will do anything to protect her sister, Cille. So when enemies storm her family’s keep, Aediva assumes Cille’s identity...taking her place as prisoner of Sir Svend du Danemark.

Svend’s sole aim is to fulfill his service to William the Conqueror and rebuild the life a woman’s betrayal once lost him. So when he receives his new orders to quash the Saxon rebellion, he is stunned. To do his duty, he must vow to take the beautiful yet provoking Aediva as his wife!

‘Why?’ She looked panicked. ‘What does he want with me?’

He wishes for you to marry again.

The answer sprang to his lips, but the obvious fear in her voice made him hesitate. With his hand gripping her arm he felt suddenly irrationally protective. It wasn’t his place to tell her the Earl’s plans, but she was watching him, no longer defiant but frightened, asking him a question. He felt a stirring in his chest—something he hadn’t felt in a long time—as if something were shifting inside him. Damn it all, how could such a small woman have such a powerful effect on his senses?

‘He intends for you to marry again,’ he said softly, surprising himself.

‘Marry a Norman ?’

Author Note

The early years of William the Conqueror’s reign in England were marked by instability and rebellion. Some of those Saxon nobles who had survived the Battle of Hastings had their lands confiscated, but others were offered a chance to keep their homes in exchange for their allegiance. Most, however, such as the infamous Hereward the Wake in East Anglia, chose to rebel against the oppressive new Norman regime—though this generally took the form of stubborn resistance rather than outright warfare.

The description of William’s treatment of the rebels in this story is based on real-life events, most notably those that occurred during the brutal Harrying of the North in 1069. By this point the king had abandoned any attempt at compromise, to the extent that, according to the Domesday Book, by 1086 only five per cent of English land still remained in Saxon control.

This story, however, is set in Mercia in 1067—less than a year after the Conquest—when it might still have been possible to gain favour with the new king. William did reward his supporters with English land, and encouraged intermarriage between Norman and Saxon as a means to secure property and lend legitimacy to his kingship. In order to control a large, rebellious Saxon population he also started a campaign of castle-building almost immediately upon arriving in England, so although the stone castle described in this story is slightly ahead of its time, its presence is still plausible during a time of tumultuous political unrest and upheaval.

Married to Her Enemy

Jenni Fletcher

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNI FLETCHER was born on the north coast of Scotland and now lives in Yorkshire, with her husband and two children. She wanted to be a writer as a child, but got distracted by reading instead, finally writing down her first paragraph thirty years later. She’s had more jobs than she can remember, but has finally found one she loves. She can be contacted via Twitter @jenniauthor.

Married to Her Enemy is Jenni Fletcher’s gripping debut for Mills & Boon Historical Romance!

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

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To my wonderful family, because you always said I could do it. And to Andy, my best friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Etton, near Peterborough, Mercia,

August 1067

Aediva shoved the full weight of her body against the heavy wooden gate, skidding in the mud as she finally dropped the iron locking bar.

Then she turned and ran. Back up the hill, back past the abandoned houses and scattered belongings dropped in the desperate rush to escape, back towards the Thane’s hall that stood, circular-shaped and slightly raised on a mound in the centre.

At the entrance she stopped, windswept hair tumbling over her face like a hazel and honey-flecked veil, glancing fearfully over her shoulder as if expecting to find an arrow aimed at her throat.

How long did they have? How long before the Conquest reached their door?

An hour if they were lucky.

Not long enough.

Then she blinked and the fear was gone, replaced by a steely determination. The Normans might be coming, but she had another, more urgent crisis to deal with first.

Breathless, she charged into the hall, skirting around the still-smoking central fireplace before bursting headlong into the birthing chamber.

‘How is she?’ She dropped, panting, into the straw by the bed. ‘Is the babe any further along?’

Eadgyth, the midwife, shook her grey head sadly. ‘Not yet. She needs to push.’

‘But she’s been pushing for hours!’

Aediva chewed her lip anxiously, still weighing their chances of escape. How could it be taking so long? How much more could Cille’s small body take? Every moment of delay brought the Normans closer towards them. Every moment increased the risk of capture, or worse. But Cille’s baby seemed in no hurry to be born.

‘What can I do?’

‘Nothing. All we can do is wait.’

Wait! Aediva caught her breath, trying to stave off the rising tide of panic, the feeling that her whole world—the Saxon world that she knew—was collapsing around her head. First Leofric, then her father and now Cille. Not to mention Edmund. The last year had brought so much heartache and suffering, surely she couldn’t lose her sister as well?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of that morning: the dull thud of Cille’s swooning body, the terrible slow spread of blood through the rushes. News of the Norman soldiers’ approach had finally shocked her into labour, albeit not before time. The babe was already dangerously late, but Aediva had thought her older sister still asleep, not listening as she’d ordered their people to pack up and flee east, towards the Fens, one of the last strongholds of Saxon resistance. If it hadn’t been for that shock, they might all have escaped.

‘They’ve gone, then?’ Eadgyth handed her a cup of mead.

‘Aye.’

She took a long draught, listening to the heavy rumble of carts in the distance, wondering if she’d done the right thing. She’d made the decision on Cille’s behalf, just as she’d made every decision since their father’s death that last winter, taking over the day-to-day running of the village while her sister prepared for her confinement. Not that Cille had shown even the slightest interest in her inheritance. Since her unexpected arrival in the spring she’d seemed a mere ghost of her former self, barely talking let alone taking charge.