Aelfwynn's hands trembled as she pinned her thick braid in a crown around her head. Taking another fine, bone pin from between her teeth, she secured the heavy hair to her scalp and smoothed away any loose strands. Two veils chosen by her handmaid were spread out on her dressing table. Bypassing the vanity of the silken headdress that her father had gifted her, the feathery cloth been brought all the way from Byzantium, she choose the linen one. It was clean and efficient, humble.

If she was going to become a bride of Christ, she wanted to look the part. Perhaps God would see her piety and move on her father's heart. She was surely destined for the convent, not mortal marriage.

Eoferwic has been given over once again. Her father's words from that afternoon echoed in her memory. But under special circumstances.

I thought there was peace? She had questioned, eyes dancing from Osferth to her father as they brooded before her in the fading light. I thought the heathens had been driven from our lands?

Yes and no, daughter. 

She asked them what that could possibly have to do with her. Father's smile had been brief, almost sad. But he had embraced her and told her to ready herself for a feast that evening. She nodded obediently and turned to leave.

Daughter. Her father's voice had almost broken. The sound made her heart drop to her stomach. Do you trust me?

Wetting her lips, she smiled gently into his strained expression. As I trust my father in Heaven.

Her shoulders were tense and motions jerky with anxiety as she dressed for the feast. Straightening the dark blue surcoat over her linen shift, she wound a black belt around her waist. She draped the bronze crucifix that had been her mother's around her head. The cross hung between her breasts, shielding her heart. With a shaky breath, Aelfwynn dropped to her knees and clasped her hands.

"Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven," she murmured. "Father in Heaven, You know the desire of my heart to serve You. I believe it is Your will for me to live a life dedicated to Your kingdom on this earth, till You see if fit for me to join You after death. I humbly ask you to intercede on my behalf. Father is keeping something from me... I feel it..." she sighed, her face collapsing into her hands. "I fear the worst. Forgive me for my faithlessness."

The image of the stranger watching her in the courtyard that day returned to her memory. Her heart sped to a gallop. 

"Your holy word says to fear not, for You are with me. Even to the ends of the earth. I accept Your will." Tears threatened to overflow, but she kept her composure. "If You see it fit for me to marry, I ask for a husband that seeks You as I seek You. Someone as penitent as our late and honorable, King Alfred. I wish for a marriage like the King Alfred and Queen Ælswith, a love that would mirror the relationship between the church and Christ. Please... please..."

Her whole body was shaking now. Surely, her father would find her a man that was a true Christian. Surely, she would not be bound to a husband like her brothers. They attended church, but were no better than heathens. Drinking, whoring, killing in battle without mercy... she had heard many tales of her two older brothers. Eorhic had two bastard children already by a peasant woman that he would never marry.

"Please, if not the convent, let my husband be a Godly man," she begged again, terrified at being bound for life to such a belligerent character. "Even if he is old, even if he is ugly or infirm in body. Only let his soul be good. Truly good-"

"My lady?" A sharp rap came at the door.

Aelfwynn jumped, her blue eyes snapping open.

"My lady? Are you ready? The meal is about to be served."

"Coming!" Crossing herself, she whispered amen as she clumsily rose to her feet.   

Osferth met her in the corridor outside the feasting hall. His quiet smile was full of pity as he offered his arm. "You look lovely, a true lady."

"I am seventeen, almost eighteen. More than of age to join the sisters at Bollhill..." she attempted with obvious desperation as she took his elbow.

Osferth's smile faded to a frown. He patted her hand. "All will be well, Wynnie. God is with you."

"Yes..." she said, swallowing a hard knot of tears in her throat. She stopped him hard in the shadows outside the hall doors. Strains of warm music and laughter drifted in the air, the glow of the fires spilling out into the corridor before them. "Osferth. You are like a brother to me. More so than my own brothers, God have mercy on them. This afternoon, my father spoke in riddles. Tell me so that I may prepare myself. Father has plans for me... plans not for the convent."

Osferth clenched his jaw and nodded brusquely. "I told Aethelstan that you were too clever to hide the truth from you. Your father is a good man, but even he must answer to the command of his king. You know this. Even Christ said to give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. Aesthelstan must give to King Edward what belongs to Edward."

"And what belongs to King Edward?" Aelfwynn struggled to keep her composure, panic seizing her heart. "Do I belong to King Edward that he should use me for his will? What about God's will?"

"Isn't the king's will the same thing as God's will, only on this earth? That is what we have been raised to believe," Osferth said, running a hand over his face. He sounded as though he were trying to convince himself of the idea.

"Osferth. Tell me. What happened with Eoferwic? How was peace won yet the land was lost... does that have something to do with me? With... marriage?"

Osferth tenderly swiveled her to face him and kissed her forehead. "As I told your father, you are too wise. It is not my place to tell you, but you must prepare yourself. I fear you will never dwell within the walls of a convent."

As he led her into the feasting hall, Aelfwynn stared ahead in blank shock. She felt as though she had seen a dead body. With that single statement, though she had long feared it all day, her entire world had been turned on it's head.

She approached the table on the dais at the front of the room. Her father sat at the center, dressed in penitent black. He would not hold her gaze. Aelfwynn sank down into her chair next to her brother Aelfweard. He was already drunk, his bawdy laugh echoing through the crowded hall as he clanked cups with Eorhic beside him. 

"Sister, you look ill," he slurred, filling her cup with mead. "Drink up. You must celebrate this night."

Aelfwynn ignored him, grasping the crucifix in her hand till the edges dug into her palm. Aelfweard gripped her shoulder, dropping his bleary eyed gaze into her face. He reeked of the open road. Clearly, he had not bathed since they had arrived that afternoon. His black, wiry beard was greasy with mutton juice. 

"Wynnie, you must smile. All eyes are on you tonight. Father has a great surprise for you. You will bring good fortune to our family. Here. Drink," he picked up her cup and forced it to her lips. "You are stiff as a statue."

Though repulsed by her brother's manner, Aelfwynn obeyed. It wasn't the watered down mead that she was used to, but rather the kind that made men drunk. She felt it like fire in her veins as she took a single gulp.

"I am only tired," she sputtered, coughing on the swallow and brushing him aside. 

Alfweard shrugged with a grunt and turned his attention to the buxom serving wench moving past them. 

"Our Father who art in Heaven..." Aelfwynn muttered, her eyes rolling up towards the smoky ceiling.

The hall went silent, the music dropping off as her father rose from his seat. Aelfwynn stared hard at her plate, the bread and meat untouched. Aesthelstan cleared his throat and lifted his cup.

"I welcome you to our halls this night as we celebrate peace in our lands and on our borders once more. Particularly with our border to Eoferwic," he boomed. The company clapped and roared in response. "This night, our guests are a mix of Saxon and Dane. Pagan and Christian. There are some in this kingdom that would frown upon such a gathering, but I am not one. I believe that we may all find a way to live together in harmony."

Another medley of agreement rose up from the long tables before them. Bile burned in Aelfwynn's throat as she tried not to get sick. Her mind spun. Her fathers words from the afternoon reverberated in her brain as well as the verse about giving to Caesar what was his own. Like pieces of a ragged puzzle, it was beginning to come together.

"Let it not be true, Lord," she breathed in a frantic prayer. "Lord, Thy will be done. Thy will."

Her father would sell her in marriage. She was certain of that now. But surely, to a Godly man. To a Christian. He would never give her to a... pagan husband of the Danes. Would he? She dared a glance towards Aethelstan where he loomed down the table. He still would not look at her.

"I should like to call forth a warrior that I will soon call neighbor. Sigtryggr Ivarrsson, please, come forward." Her father held an arm towards the corner of the room. 

Torchlight flickered off the wavering tapestries on the walls, depicting rich figures of heroes and battles, fantastic animals and slain demons. Out of the shadows, a figure drifted past the faded reds and blues of the embroidery. The stranger could easily have slipped into one of the illustrations. His face was storied with secrets, his full lips giving no hint of pleasure or vexation. A vicious scar cut over one of his knowing eyes. 

Around his neck, over a leather jerkin, he wore a cross as well. Only of a different kind. She had seen the symbol before on other pagans. Against his chest rested the silver hammer of the Dane god. 

"I invite Sigtryggr to my table as a friend, seeking peace for his people as I seek it for mine. King Edward, in his wisdom, has bestowed him with the keeping of Eoferwic." He handed a cup to the pagan.

To Aelfwynn's horror, her father turned to her.

"And tonight, I am proud to announce the betrothal of my only daughter, my treasure, Aelfwynn, to this man. I pray that their union will beckon a new age for this land where Dane and Saxon will live together in harmony."

Father held his hand towards her. Aelfwynn stared up at him in breathless terror. Perhaps this was only a nightmare. It couldn't be real. His eyes widened, pleading with her to stand. Numb as though she stood in a winter's merciless gale, Aelfwynn rose to her feet.

He tugged her forward, her steps reluctant. Taking Sigtryggr's hand, he moved to join their fingers together.

"May their marriage be blessed," he said, the words as final as the stony scrape of a tomb closing shut.

Aelfwynn blinked into the face of her future husband, the pagan with a symbol of a false deity around his neck. His mossy eyes were shrewd. His mouth sensuous. He was a serpent in the garden. 

The blood rushed to her head and her knees locked. The edges of her vision grew fuzzy, then black as she collapsed in a faint. Aelfwynn did not feel the strong arms catch her before she could hit the thrushes strewn over the stone floor.