Married to Her Enemy

‘That’s one less horse, then.’ He glared as the back of the palfrey vanished into the trees. ‘Are you intending to walk the rest of the way?’

She ignored him, shaking out her sodden dress in disgust. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the meadow felt like a swamp. Scowling, she pulled herself up and stalked back the way they’d come, the long grass clinging to her skirts as if trying to drag her back.

‘Stop!’

He called after her but she kept moving, rubbing her neck and arms in irritation. They were covered in bumps and scratches like painful bites, where the branches had torn through her sleeves. As if losing her dignity in front of Svend weren’t bad enough, she probably looked a fright too.

‘I said stop! That’s an order, Lady Cille!’

‘An order?’ She whirled around angrily, unable to stop herself from taking the bait. ‘Who are you to give me orders?’

He leapt down from his destrier and stalked towards her. ‘You’re my prisoner.’

‘You’re my escort!’

‘I warned you not to try to escape.’

‘Escape?’ She blinked in surprise. ‘I wasn’t...’

‘Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Besides the fact that you endangered my men. I told you to get down!’

‘I wasn’t trying to escape!’ she shouted over him impatiently. Somehow that fact felt important, as if she needed him to know.

‘You weren’t?’ He frowned, some of his anger evaporating.

‘No, I...’ She stopped. What could she say? How could she explain what she hardly understood herself?

‘Then what were you thinking?’

He sounded exasperated and she laughed, a bitter sound even to her own ears, throwing her arms wide as if to embrace the elements.

‘Nothing! I wasn’t thinking. But I had to do something. I couldn’t just watch you get killed!’

She spun away from him, clamping a hand to her mouth as she realised what she’d said. She’d meant the rebels. She hadn’t wanted to watch the rebels get killed. They were her people. They were all she cared about—all she should care about.

But it wasn’t true.

She heard him come

to stand close behind her...so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. Her skin tingled beneath it.

‘You were trying to protect me?’ he murmured huskily in her ear.

She bit down hard on her lip. She couldn’t care about him. It wasn’t possible. He was her enemy. And even if he wasn’t he was still a man. If she told him how she felt he might touch her, and she didn’t want any man to touch her...did she?

The memory of their first meeting flashed through her mind. Of when she’d hurled herself against him in the hall, when his strong body had lain over hers, when she’d straddled his thighs... She’d resisted him then and had resisted him ever since—as she ought to resist him now. But this time she couldn’t. This time she wanted him close. Closer. She felt a strange compulsion to lean back against him, to feel the curve of her body against his, to feel his strong arms around her waist.

She shook her head, her mind still protesting against her treacherous body. It was comfort that she wanted, that was all. She was still in shock after her ordeal with the palfrey. Saxon or Norman or whoever he was, she only wanted to be comforted. He could be anyone.

‘Cille?’

His hand touched her shoulder but she didn’t push it away. Instead she half turned her head, shivering with anticipation as his fingers slid downwards, past her elbow and along her forearm, until they circled her wrist like a manacle. As if she were his captive. Which she was.

With only the lightest of touches he tugged at her hand and she found herself turning to face him, her body just a hair’s breadth from his, so close that if she swayed even slightly...

Strong fingers traced the line of her jaw, tilting her chin up and forcing her gaze to meet his. She gasped, the smouldering intensity in his eyes making her stomach quiver. They looked bigger, darker, and even more tempting—as if the ice in them had melted, leaving twin pools of irresistible cobalt blue water. Eyes she could dive into, could drown in if she weren’t careful.

She swallowed nervously, seeing the reflection of her own desire. He wanted her. And she wanted him. But how could she? He was her captor, her enemy. He thought she was someone else...he thought she was a grieving widow...he thought she was...