Chapter 14 Hanna
HANNA
Three days later
The church was cold.
Hanna stood in the small vestry, staring at her reflection in the tarnished mirror.
She wore her finest church dress, saved from her time working at the manor, a soft grey wool with delicate embroidery stitches at the cuffs and collar.
Maria had pinned up her hair and placed a crown of autumn leaves and late-blooming heather on her head.
"You look beautiful," Maria said softly, adjusting the drape of Hanna's shawl. The one Alaric had left for her as a gift.
It had felt fitting to wear it today for the first time.
"I look terrified," replied Hanna, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly together. She turned to look at the dear woman, who was the only one who stood by her side today.
"Maria, what if I'm making a terrible mistake?"
"Are you really, though?" The old woman met her eyes and smiled reassuringly. "Do you think he'll hurt you?"
"No," whispered Hanna.
That much, at least, she was certain of. Whatever else Alaric might be, he wasn't cruel.
"Do you think he'll abandon you and James?"
"No." The man had been unshakable in his determination, unwavering in his promises.
"Then you are not making a mistake." Maria squeezed her arm. "You are choosing to survive. To give your son a future. There's no shame in that."
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"It's time," called Reverend Michaels, his tone perfunctory. He'd made his disapproval of this hasty wedding clear, but Alaric's coin had bought his cooperation.
Hanna's heart hammered as she followed Maria into the main chapel. It was empty save for Alaric, who stood at the altar with the reverend.
He'd dressed formally, a dark coat and breeches, a crisp white shirt, his hair tied back neatly. But his eyes... his eyes burned with an intensity that made her breath catch.
As she walked down the short aisle, his gaze never left her face. She saw hunger there, yes, but also something softer. Something almost like wonder.
When she reached him, he held out his hand. She placed hers in it, and his fingers closed around hers without hesitation, warm, strong, certain.
"You came," Alaric murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
"You doubted?"
"Just a little," his lips curved in an almost smile. "Until this moment."
Reverend Michaels cleared his throat pointedly, looking down his nose at the couple below him. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony passed in a blur. Hanna heard herself repeating vows, promising to love and honour and obey. Heard Alaric's deep voice echoing the same promises, his words steady and sure.
Maria sat at the back of the chapel with James on her knee, hushing the child now and then as the priest droned on.
Then came the ring.
Alaric produced a simple gold band from his pocket. "It was my mother's," he said quietly as he slipped it onto Hanna's finger. It was slightly too large, but he folded her hand closed, holding it in both of his.
"I'll have it sized properly. But I wanted you to wear it today."
Hanna's eyes stung with unexpected tears.
His mother's ring. Not some cheap band purchased for convenience, but a family heirloom. It felt like a sign that this marriage, hasty as it was, mattered to him.
The reverend's voice broke through her thoughts. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Alaric's hands came up to frame her face, his touch gentle. For a moment, he just looked at her, and Hanna saw something intense in his expression.
Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
It was nothing like the seductive kiss in the shelter. This was tender, reverent, a covenant sealed between them. His lips pressed softly against hers, asking rather than demanding, and Hanna found herself rising on her toes, kissing him back.
When they finally parted, Alaric rested his forehead against hers.
"Mine now," he whispered, just for her.
And Hanna, for the first time in what felt like forever, felt something unfurl in her chest. Not quite hope, not yet. But the possibility of it.
"Yours," she agreed softly.
Alaric’s eyes blazed, and he kissed her again, harder this time, with more of that leashed hunger she'd glimpsed before. Then he pulled back, composing himself, and turned to offer her his arm.
"Come, wife. Let's go home."
Home. The word echoed in Hanna's mind as they walked out of the church into the pale autumn sunlight. Maria followed behind with James in her arms.
She was Hanna Wolff now.