‘I thought so at first, but the woman I loved wasn’t real. I thought I could trust her, but she was only pretending to be someone she wasn’t.’
‘And I remind you of her?’
There was a long silence, broken only by the frantic pounding of her heartbeat. She was only pretending to be someone she wasn’t. The words struck like a blow to her heart. He’d lost everything because a woman had deceived him. And she reminded him of her! Was he trying to tell her something? That he knew she was deceiving him too, pretending to be someone else? Could he see the guilt in her face? No, it was worse—far worse. He was confiding in her, taking her into his trust. A trust that she didn’t deserve.
Suddenly she wished there were a pit she could jump into.
‘Cille.’ He spoke at last, his expression softening. ‘You remind me of her...but not like that.’
‘How, then?’ Her voice was the faintest hint of a whisper.
‘Some women are...dangerous.’
‘I’m dangerous?’ She stared at him, uncomprehending, as he took a step closer towards her.
‘To me.’
Aediva caught her breath, elation vying with despair. She was dangerous to him. Dangerous because he wanted her. His stern features were glowing with emotion in the moonlight, with desire, tenderness, with something like love. Something
that surely couldn’t be love but that made her heart soar.
But she was as bad as Maren. She’d been deceiving him from the start, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And if he ever found out he’d never look at her in the same way again.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ She averted her face quickly. ‘You should go back to your friends.’
‘Friends?’ He sounded bemused. ‘How bad must my enemies be?’
‘You seemed to be enjoying their company.’
‘It doesn’t pay to alienate anyone.’ His lips curled upwards. ‘Interesting that they’re Saxon, though—Armand excepted.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just interesting that they’re Saxon and you don’t like them. I thought that all Saxons were on your side?’
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Was that why he’d been so gallant and attentive? To prove a point?
He smiled. ‘Sadly, they overestimate my influence at court. I suspect their friendship might cool when they find out.’
‘Surely a knight has some influence?’
‘A small shred, maybe, but no lands and no money—not yet.’
‘Poor Joannka.’
‘Joannka?’ He looked at her askance. ‘That kind of woman can’t be happy unless every man in the room is looking at her. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I just thought Saxon women had better taste.’
‘Then perhaps she’s ill too.’
Aediva felt her heart skip a beat. Since she’d woken up from her fever neither of them had made any mention of their kiss. She’d almost come to think it had been part of her illness, that she’d simply imagined it. But what else could his words mean?
‘Now, shall we walk more than five paces from the door?’ Svend leaned towards her, his voice deepening huskily. ‘Before my friends decide to follow us? Or is my company really so onerous?’
She hesitated, looking around as if searching for an excuse in the darkness, guilt and excitement blending together in a heady combination. If their kiss had happened, really happened, then the last thing she should do was take a moonlit stroll with him. After everything he’d just told her she ought to turn and run. But suddenly she felt as though nothing on earth could make her.
Instead she placed a hand on his forearm, trying and failing to feel only the cloth and not the muscles beneath as they meandered slowly towards the edge of the village.