Married to Her Enemy

Hugh heaved a sigh. ‘Truly, I wouldn’t be as cynical as you for the world! My heart is open to all. Whoever broke yours has a lot to answer for.’

Svend looked up sharply and Hugh practically whooped with delight. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Somebody did break your heart! I knew it! What was her name? Beatrice, Mathilde, Alice—?’

‘Maren.’ Svend cut him off sharply. ‘And if you ever mention her again I’ll personally cut your tongue out.’

‘Maren...’ Hugh blew air from between his teeth. ‘And I thought your defences were unassailable. I’d like to meet the woman who could get past them. Wait!’ He gave a low whistle. ‘Is that de Quincey’s bride?’

Svend turned his head, feeling his chest tighten at the sight of a small figure on the shoreline, the long coils of her damp hair swinging around her hips as she seemed to float rather than walk towards them.

It was no easy thing to march through a garrison of enemy soldiers but she did it, as brave as any warrior he’d ever known. Amidst the soldiers she looked even more tiny, even more beautiful—a Saxon wildcat with sheathed claws. How could he ever bear to let her go?

‘“Pretty enough”?’ Hugh’s tone was sceptical. ‘Are you blind?’

* * *

Aediva followed the curve of the lake, doing her best to look like the virtuous, albeit slightly bedraggled widow of an ealdorman.

Heads swivelled as she passed by. The new Norman soldiers were regarding her with undisguised curiosity. She ignored them, searching for Svend in the sea of new faces, half eager, half afraid to find him. After what had just happened at the waterfall she needed to see him again, needed to judge his reaction. What did he think of her? What did she think of herself?

Everything had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that already it seemed unreal—like a dream. Had she really bared herself to him? Had he made a movement towards her or had she simply imagined it? She tried to remember, but the sudden jolt of reality had scattered her thoughts. The Norman patrol had arrived and the moment had gone, leaving her more breathless and confused than ever.

She found his face at last and raised her

eyes nervously, her step faltering as she saw the raw desire in his. He was watching her hungrily, as if he wanted to carry her back to the waterfall right there and then. It made her stomach flip and her breathing quicken all over again.

Quickly she turned her attention to his companion. His gaze was openly appraising, though his curiosity was quickly concealed behind a courtly flourish. If he felt any surprise at her dishevelled appearance he gave no sign of it, bowing low as she finally stopped in front of them.

‘You must be Lady Cille. It’s an honour to meet you at last. I am Sir Hugh Rolande.’

He spoke slowly, as if he didn’t expect her to speak French, and she dipped into an elaborate curtsy, responding fluently. ‘The honour is all mine, Sir Hugh.’

His eyebrows shot up, though his answering smile appeared genuine. ‘I’m truly delighted to meet you. And I can see why it’s taken my friend here so long to share you with the rest of us. For the pleasure of your company, I’m sure.’

Aediva kept her face calm with an effort. What was that supposed to mean?

She forced a smile, emulating his tone. ‘On the contrary, Sir Svend has been nothing but honourable. Unfortunately I fell ill on the journey.’

Hugh feigned alarm. ‘I’m sorry to hear it. Fortunately you couldn’t have been in better hands.’

‘No, indeed. He has been consideration itself.’

‘And you are recovered now, I trust?’

‘Quite recovered, thank you.’

‘Are we at court already?’ Svend folded his arms over his chest with a look of exasperation. ‘Or can we speak plainly?’

Hugh laughed and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. ‘Forgive my friend—he doesn’t care for court manners. But might I add that Saxon women never cease to amaze me?’

Aediva’s brows snapped together. Sir Hugh was as charming as Svend was most definitely not, but something about his manner grated. She didn’t want charm—not from a Norman. She wanted a man who would speak plainly. Unconsciously her gaze slid towards Svend.

‘Then you must be easily surprised. Did you think we were a nation of savages?’

Hugh’s mouth fell open. ‘Forgive me...’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I meant no offence. Perhaps we might start again? My name is Hugh.’

Aediva gave a conciliatory smile, hoping it would suffice. She couldn’t call herself Cille any more—not with Svend standing so close—couldn’t lie so brazenly in front of him.

‘But what are you doing here?’ He turned back towards Svend.