Married to Her Enemy

‘But I’ve no wish to marry again! The King has no right to force me!’

Svend held his temper with an effort. Was she determined to fight him on everything? This wasn’t the way he’d intended their interview to go. He hadn’t even got to the part that was bound to provoke her more.

‘That’s no longer your choice. You’re a vassal of the King now, not a freewoman. Your people need you.’

‘They’re not my people any more—they’re his.’

‘You don’t think they’ll take comfort in having a Saxon mistress?’

‘False comfort!’

‘Perhaps, but this marriage will permit you to keep your lands. I’d have thought you’d be grateful.’

‘My lands?’ She gave a hollow, derisive laugh. ‘Is that all you Normans think about? Land?’

Svend’s patience snapped, and his voice was coolly insulting. ‘Aye. Land, money and tupping Saxon women!’

This time he didn’t even try to stop her hand. He didn’t flinch as she slapped him hard across the face, her outstretched fingers connecting violently with the side of his jaw.

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of wood in the fire and the sound of their combined breathing. Svend rubbed a hand over his chin. He supposed he’d deserved that. Normally he prided himself on his self-control, on not showing what he was thinking or feeling, but this woman pushed the very limits of his self-restraint. Something about her unsteadied him. She was dangerous, somehow. He’d known her for mere hours and already she was under his skin.

He looked down at her glowering face, at her slender chest heaving beneath it, and felt the sudden urge to grab her around the waist, pull her towards him and...what? His lips curved slowly. Do something that would wipe the defiant look off her face for certain.

What would she do if he kissed her? he wondered. Stab him in his sleep, most likely. Well, he could keep a guard outside his door. It might be worth it.

‘Sir?’ There was a discreet cough from the doorway.

‘Come!’

Svend beckoned to Henri, his second-in-command, relieved at the interruption. One more second and he might have done something he’d regret.

‘Are the men settled?’

‘Aye, sir. I’ve set shifts for guard duty—not including the men riding tomorrow.’

‘What happens tomorrow?’ Lady Cille eyed the new soldier suspiciously.

‘We leave for Redbourn in the morning.’ Svend met her horrified gaze squarely.

‘But Aediva cannot travel tomorrow!’

‘No... She cannot.’

‘You’re leaving her behind? After you promised she’d be safe! What kind of a man lies to a vulnerable woman?’

‘Enough!’ His temper flared again. ‘Before you offend me! We’re not abandoning her. Henri will stay with half of my men until she’s recovered. I gave my word that she and the babe would be safe, and they will be.’

He folded his arms across his chest, deliberately intimidating.

‘Now, are you satisfied? Or have you any more insults to hurl at me?’

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if trying to think of an argument or excuse—anything to cause a delay. ‘I... I’m satisfied.’

‘Good. I see that Saxon manners are overrated. You’re welcome.’

He turned away from her, suddenly eager to put some distance between them. She was maddening. Stubborn, insulting and ungrateful to boot! Not to mention determined to turn every conversation into an argument. She was the most infuriating woman he’d ever met!

Except one.