‘De Quincey’s bride?’ Armand regarded her with fresh interest. ‘Not what I expected, but not bad either.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Pity for you, though. De Quincey doesn’t like sharing. You’ll be lonely tonight.’
She saw Svend’s fists tighten and she slid off the saddle abruptly, hardly knowing what she intended, but needing to break the tension somehow. Clearly there was no love lost between Svend and Armand, but his men outnumbered them two to one. Besides, this was a Saxon village. If there was going to be bloodshed she didn’t want innocent bystanders to get hurt.
‘Ow!’ She yelped as her strained back and legs jarred painfully on the hard ground. She’d forgotten exactly how long she’d been sitting, but now she felt as though she’d aged ten years in one afternoon.
‘Lady Cille?’ Svend was beside her at once, taking hold of her elbow to steady her.
She licked her lips, tasting blood. ‘I’m all right...’
‘Perhaps you’d like to rest?’ Thane Harald looked at her sourly. ‘If you’ll honour us by accepting our hospitality tonight, Sir Svend?’
‘If it pleases Lady Cille, we’d be only too glad to accept.’
Aediva blinked in surprise. Beneath his courtier’s tone, Svend’s words were a clear reproof. The Thane and his family were looking at her now with varying expressions of outrage.
‘I’d be delighted.’ She gave her brightest, most insincere smile and saw Svend’s lips twitch upwards. ‘Normans have such excellent manners—don’t you agree, Thane Harald?’
She didn’t wait for a response, sweeping into the hall with her shoulders back and her head held high.
Revenge left a bittersweet aftertaste. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eight
Aediva drained her third cup of mead and stared moodily into the hearth, watching as tendrils of smoke twisted up to the rafters and out through the chimney.
She needn’t have worried about being recognised. The Thane and his family had eyes only for Svend. She might have been invisible for all the notice they were taking of her. If she hadn’t felt so relieved, she might have been offended for Cille. Clearly the Thane had no problem with Normans. On the contrary, from the way his gaze was sliding speculatively back and forth between the two knights and Joannka it seemed he was already planning his own Saxon-Norman alliance.
Against her will, she found her gaze drifting back towards them. Thane Harald was leaning so close to Svend it was a wonder he didn’t simply climb into his lap, while Joannka seemed to have abandoned Armand and was batting her eyelashes at Svend so furiously she seemed in danger of blinding herself. Not that Svend was doing anything to repel her. Whatever she was simpering about was clearly engrossing. He was even smiling!
She stood up, unable to watch any longer as Joannka tossed her head provocatively, draping a blonde tendril over Svend’s arm.
‘Forgive me, Thane Harald, but I have a headache.’ Somehow she doubted he cared. ‘I’d like some air.’
‘Of course.’ The Thane threw her a cursory glance.
‘I won’t be long.’
She stepped outside with relief, tipping her head back to inhale the fresh evening air. The sky was darkening fast, revealing a spattering of stars on a backdrop of blue-grey. She stared up at them thoughtfully. They were the same stars she could see from Etton, and yet everything else in her world seemed to have been turned upside down. She hardly knew who she was any more. She felt...lost. Protecting Cille was the only thing left to hold on to—the one thing that still made sense.
‘May I join you?’
She didn’t need to look to know it was Svend. No one else could have approached her so soundlessly. No one else could have made her skin tingle just by standing beside her.
She started to turn and then stiffened, remembering the way he’d smiled at Joannka.
‘There’s no need to accompany me.’
‘FitzOsbern might think otherwise.’
He offered an arm and she glanced at it dubiously. She’d spent all day trying to avoid physical contact with him, and had the aching limbs to prove it. She didn’t want to fail now.
‘I won’t try to escape.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of taking a walk by myself.’
‘Even after three cups of mead?’