Married to Her Enemy

‘Offley. I’m sure the Thane will be pleased to welcome you.’

Offley! A surge of panic coursed through her. It was an outlying village of Redbourn. The Thane would have sworn allegiance to Leofric. Which meant...surely he’d have met Cille!

‘Why not go on to Redbourn tonight?’ She tried to keep the nervous tremor out of her voice.

‘Tonight? It’s still half a day’s ride. Even at a gallop, I doubt we’d reach it by nightfall.’

‘No, I suppose not...’ She chewed her lip anxiously. If she insisted he’d only grow suspicious.

‘You don’t want to stop?’ He sounded perplexed. ‘Thane Harald was very concerned to hear that you’d left Redbourn.’

‘How do you know?’ She heard the shrill note in her voice and adjusted her tone quickly. ‘I mean...have you been there already?’

‘We stopped on the way. They were very hospitable.’

‘They’re helping Normans?’

‘They have more sense than others.’

She clenched her jaw at the insult. Now she really didn’t want to visit Offley. On the other hand, if it had to be done it might prove a good test of her performance. If she could convince the Thane that she was Cille then she’d be less anxious about her reception at Redbourn. She only hoped that he didn’t know her sister too well.

They continued in silence until the village appeared in the distance, faint tendrils of smoke coiling up from its rooftops like misty ribbons into the sky. Her heart stalled as they passed through the wooden gates, as if prison doors were already closing behind her. After all, if anyone recognised her they might as well be.

There were no signs of panic at their arrival. On the contrary, the villagers seemed completely unperturbed by the arrival of a group of armed enemy soldiers. Aediva looked around in confusion, surprised to find that Svend’s men weren’t the only Normans in the village. There were at least two dozen others, lounging in doorways or outside houses as if they’d already taken up residence. The only flurry of commotion came as they approached the Thane’s hall, where a tall, gaunt figure accompanied by two women bustled out through the doorway, adopting expressions of dutiful acquiescence.

‘Sir Svend!’ The man bent almost double as Svend swung out of the saddle before him. ‘I’m glad to see you again.’

‘Thane Harald.’ Svend bowed respectfully, before gesturing towards her. ‘As you can see, we’ve been successful in our search. Your guess was correct. Lady Cille had returned to her home village of Etton. I’ll be sure to tell the King of your help in finding her.’

The Thane’s face lit up avariciously, though his tone remained humble. ‘It was an honour to serve our new King. You remember my wife Merewyn and my daughter Joannka?’

Svend nodded politely, a faint look of surprise crossing his features before he turned to present her again—more emphatically this time. ‘And this is Lady Cille, of course.’

‘My lady.’ The Thane turned towards her at last, his voice coldly polite. ‘I’m glad to see you safe and well.’

Aediva bent her head in acknowledgement, hiding her eyes as well as her expression, seized by a feeling of instant dislike. Svend had never explained how he’d discovered Cille’s whereabouts, but apparently Thane Harald was the man to blame. She wondered how close a friend he’d been to Leofric and how quickly he’d betrayed him.

Surreptitiously, she glanced at the two women. They were both strikingly attractive—two versions of the same flaxen-haired, doe-eyed model—and they both appeared to share the Thane’s interest in Svend, gazing at him as if he were the King himself. It was an impression that he was doing nothing to dispel, bowing gallantly to kiss each of their hands in turn. She fought an unexpected pang of jealousy. He hadn’t kissed her hand when they’d met—though under the circumstances she supposed that would have been difficult. Still, there was no need for him to be quite so charming now. Did he think to seduce every Saxon woman he came across?

‘Danemark!’

She looked around as another man emerged from the hall, bellowing a greeting as if he intended the whole village to hear. From his appearance he was Norman, almost as tall as Svend but twice as wide, with dark, close-cropped hair and a sneering expression that made her immediately distrustful.

‘You’re back, then?’ He gave Svend a look that implied he was less than thrilled by the fact.

‘Armand.’ Svend’s face was equally unenthusiastic. ‘I see you’ve made yourself at home. I thought you were ordered to Wales?’

‘So I was.’ The other man smirked and slid an arm around Joannka’s waist. ‘But the Thane and his family have been so welcoming. I thought I’d stay a while and enjoy the scenery.’

‘Scenery?’

‘Whatever you call it.’ He leered unpleasantly. ‘You needn’t look so outraged, Danemark. There’s plenty to go round. I see you’ve found your own trophy.’

Aediva bristled angrily. How dared he talk about Saxon women like that? If she were Joannka she’d have slapped him at least. Not that the Thane’s daughter seemed to mind. On the contrary, she appeared to be enjoying the attention, sliding herself up against Armand even as she made eyes at Svend.

This new man was a brute—a vulgar, ill-bred swine, and the very epitome of everything she’d imagined about Normans. If he’d come to Etton... She frowned, dreading to think what might have happened. What would he have done if she’d held a knife to his throat? Would he have forgiven her? Somehow she doubted it. Perhaps she’d been lucky that Svend had come after all.

‘This is the Lady Cille.’ Svend sounded terse.