Married to Her Enemy

‘I did. Is that what you want?’

She turned her face to one side. ‘It’s not about what I want. I only know that I can’t stay here. If you don’t trust me then I might as well be one of those prisoners. I know you married me against your will, but if we don’t try...’

‘I’ll try.’

She shook her head. ‘No. You cared for me when you thought I was Cille, but now you’ll always compare me to her—to Maren.’ She swung back towards him, her face clouding with anger. ‘It’s not fair! I lied when I said I was Cille, but that’s all. Everything else was real. Everything I felt...’

He realised that he was holding his breath. ‘Everything you felt for me?’

‘Yes!’ She glared at him fiercely. ‘You’re just too pig-headed to see it!’

He felt a lightening sensation in his chest, as if the last bitter knot were untwisting and he could think clearly again. She was right—she was nothing like Maren. She was the same woman he’d fallen in love with—the same woman he wanted more powerfully than ever. All along he’d been too stubborn to see the truth, trying to shield himself from the mistakes of his past, from anyone who might hurt him again. He’d built so many walls around his heart he hadn’t even known they were there—not until she’d broken through them.

‘It wasn’t against my will.’

‘What?’ Her scowl turned to a look of confusion.

‘I didn’t marry you against my will, Aediva. I wanted Redbourn, but I wanted you more.’

‘But...you don’t trust me.’

‘I do. Deep down I always have. I know you’re not Maren.’ He climbed out of the bath, standing streaming wet in front of her. ‘Don’t go, Aediva. I want you here, with me.’

She made a movement towards him and he met her halfway, hauling her into his arms as they stumbled towards the bed.

‘Wait.’ He pulled back reluctantly, every part of him aching, needing, yearning to touch her. ‘Are you certain this is what you want?’

‘I want you.’ She nodded eagerly. ‘I want to be your wife.’

He didn’t hesitate any longer, claiming her mouth and thrusting his tongue inside. How could he want a woman so badly? He wanted to touch and feel every part of her, to bury himself in her.

‘What are these?’ He tore at the lacings on her gown in frustration.

‘I don’t know.’ She squirmed against him, trying to help. ‘Judith fastened it. They’re all down the back. You have to—Svend!’

She gasped as he grabbed the fabric in both hands, tearing it down the middle.

‘Aediva.’ He tossed the pieces aside. ‘After everything else, I’m not letting a dress come between us.’

He tumbled with her onto the bed, restraining himself with an effort as his fingers trailed over the soft skin of her legs and between her thighs. He wanted to take her quickly, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He had to go slowly—had to hold himself back and be gentle. Not that she was helping. She was meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, her tongue twining hungrily with his as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, her desire clearly equal to his own.

He let out a groan, unable to wait any longer, and entered her in one swift movement.

She tensed at once, gasping aloud as he plunged deep inside her.

‘Aediva...?’ He waited, using every ounce of control he possessed not to move. ‘If you want me to stop...’ Somehow he forced the words past his lips.

‘No.’ She shifted her hips, started to move beneath him, slowly at first, then faster as her body started to relax.

‘More...’ she murmured against his mouth.

He gave up all pretence of restraint then, pushing himself ever deeper inside her, harder and faster, revelling in the wetness of her body as she panted and writhed beneath him. He could hardly contain himself any longer, could feel himself building to his peak, crying out as their bodies finally shuddered together.

Then he held her tight, clasping her in his arms, unable to let go even as the last ripples of feeling faded away. He’d never felt so helpless in the grip of overpowering emotion. It was more than desire—though the urgency of his need had taken even him by surprise.

He loved her. Whatever else he might have told himself, he’d always loved her—had married her for that reason alone. He wondered that he could ever have doubted it.

And now she was truly his wife he vowed never to doubt her again.