‘Just like that?’
She nodded. ‘Turn around and I’ll run. Then it won’t be a lie.’
Svend raised his eyebrows incredulously. ‘You want me to abandon you at night, in the middle of nowhere, with wolves and rebels and outlaws for company?’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
He studied her face intently. She meant it. She actually wanted him to let her run off alone. Was she brave or just reckless? Or so afraid of de Quincey that she’d actually risk her life to avoid him? His hands curled into fists at the thought.
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘I’m not afraid.’
‘I can’t let you go.’
‘Please, Svend.’
He stiffened. He was used to her arguing with him, to berating him and insulting him, but pleading...? The imploring tone of her voice made his heart clench unexpectedly. The way she said his name almost finished him. For one wild moment he was tempted to do whatever she wanted—to let her go, to let her run from a marriage she didn’t want.
To go with her.
He shook his head, dispelling the thought. He hadn’t forgotten the last time a woman had asked him for a favour. He’d given in to Maren and look where it had got him. He’d spent the last ten years paying for it, rebuilding his life one hard step at a time. He’d learnt his lesson the hard way and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake now, when his reward was almost within touching distance. Lady Cille could plead all she wanted. He wasn’t going to fall for a woman’s tricks again.
‘We don’t have time for this.’ He turned his back on her stiffly. ‘My men are waiting.’
‘So you won’t help me?’
He hardened his heart against the appeal in her voice. ‘On the contrary, I’m going to keep you safe. Whether you want me to or not.’
Chapter Six
Aediva hunched down in the saddle and stared at a point between the palfrey’s ears, trying not to think about the cold air biting her cheeks and numbing her fingers. Strands of hair curled out from the sides of her headdress, billowing around her face like a dark cloud, suiting her mood.
They’d ridden in silence through the night, glad of the bright moon and clear sky lighting their way. The atmosphere had been tense and defensive, lightening only as the first yellow fingers of dawn had started to splay out over the horizon.
She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. They were travelling at a slower pace than yesterday, though after only half a night’s sleep her head was still throbbing and dizzy. Not to mention her body. She was bone-weary, so leaden and saddle-sore that every mile was a slow torture. Her thighs felt as though they were covered in bruises.
It was all Svend’s fault. If he hadn’t set such a punishing pace yesterday then she wouldn’t be feeling so wretched today. And if he hadn’t gone off alone in the night, chasing down some mysterious unknown enemy, she wouldn’t be feeling so confused.
If only he’d let her go—let her run away into the night. She could have gone back to Cille, fled with her into the Fens. For a moment she’d thought she’d persuaded him, but then his expression had closed down again, like a gate swinging shut in her face. Why couldn’t he understand?
Understand what?
She frowned at her own question. That she needed to get away—not just from Redbourn and the Earl, but from him too. She’d thought that she hated him, but when she’d awoken in the night and found he’d gone off alone she’d felt physically sick. And when he’d come back it had taken all her willpower not to run into his arms.
No. She shook her head. That couldn’t be true. She didn’t want to run into any man’s arms. Men were rough, violent, demanding. Edmund had taught her that. She’d been relieved, that was all, as relieved as she would have been for anyone who’d charged off alone into the night. She hadn’t been worried about Svend himself. He was nothing to her—worse than nothing. The man who wanted to steal her home. Her enemy.
And yet standing in that circle of Norman soldiers she hadn’t been certain whose side she was on.
‘How are you feeling, my lady?’
Renard appeared at her shoulder, proffering a wineskin, and she accepted gratefully, glad of the distraction.
‘There’s a storm building,’ he commented good-naturedly, gesturing towards the build-up of clouds overhead, massing together to form a towering grey ceiling. ‘Truly, I’ve never known such a place for rain.’
Aediva rolled her eyes. ‘What is it about Normans and rain? Are you so frightened of a little water?’
Renard laughed, and she found herself joining in. A few days ago she would never have imagined sharing a joke with a Norman, but the squire was so easy to tease. He was just a couple of years younger than she was, and so disarmingly friendly that she found it impossible to hold a grudge against him.