Married to Her Enemy

‘So am I.’ And if de Quincey harmed so much as a hair on her head he’d find out exactly how dangerous...

‘True, but he’s been like a bear with a sore head for the past week.’

‘He’s back from Normandy?’

‘A week ago, and so impatient he almost went after you.’

Svend took the cup and drained the contents in one draught, relieved that he’d chosen not to escort her inside the tower after all. The last thing he wanted was to watch her reunion with de Quincey. Hugh was right—he was no actor. If he saw them together he’d want to smash the other man’s head into a wall. He might still do it, too, given half the chance...

‘I suppose the rumours weren’t true, then?’ said Hugh.

He ran a hand over his face wearily. ‘What rumours?’

‘That she was p—’

Hugh stopped mid-sentence as the door burst open suddenly and Renard dived headlong into the room.

Svend leapt up at once, grabbing his squire’s arm before he fell. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’ve been looking...everywhere...’ Renard was bent over, gasping for breath. ‘I went...to the kitchens...’

‘And they refused to feed you?’ Hugh guffawed loudly. ‘Or have they poisoned you with Saxon food, lad?’

Renard shook his head, straightening himself up with an effort. ‘I spoke to Hawisa—one of the maids. I didn’t see her last time, but she said something about Lady Cille...’

‘What?’ Svend tried to suppress a feeling of dread.

‘She said the reason Lady Cille left was...she was with child.’

‘What?’

For a few seconds he couldn’t move. She’d been pregnant? He felt a visceral blow as shock coursed through his veins like poison. Of course she’d been pregnant! Every nagging suspicion, every question he’d been asking himself for the past week, all the pieces of the puzzle fitted together suddenly like stones in a wall. Lady Cille had been pregnant. Which meant...

‘It’s not her husband’s child either!’ Renard’s voice followed him outside. ‘It’s de Quincey’s!’

Svend charged through the bailey, blood roaring in his ears as he shoved and fought his way through the throng of soldiers. The wrong sister! He’d brought the wrong sister! How could he have been so blind?

His mind raced back to that first day in Etton. The two women had been almost identical. Almost. Damn it all, he’d had his suspicions. Why hadn’t he followed them through?

Because he’d been distracted—that was why. Distracted by a pair of bewitching golden eyes in an impostor’s face, just as she’d intended he would be.

He felt a surge of white-hot anger. He’d been tricked by a woman again—another duplicitous, treacherous woman! Every moment he’d spent with her, every time he’d kissed her, she’d been lying to him. She was no better than Maren—letting him believe that she cared, using him for her own selfish purpose.

But for what purpose? What did she hope to achieve by taking her sister’s place? Was she simply stalling for time or did she think she could lie to the Earl with impunity? Surely she knew she wouldn’t

get away with it? She’d be exposed as a liar the moment de Quincey laid eyes on her.

Unless...

Was it possible that she didn’t know?

He searched his memory for a word, a hint—for any indication that she knew about de Quincey and her sister. He’d assumed that she’d been avoiding the subject, but now the reason seemed far less complicated. And if she really didn’t know, if for some reason her sister hadn’t told her, did she think that the babe was Leofric’s? Quickly he counted the months since Hastings. It was just about possible...especially if she wanted to believe it.

He dodged around a cluster of carts, every footstep a furlong too far. What about de Quincey? Did he know about the baby? By all accounts Lady Cille had fled Redbourn just after he’d left—five months before. A pregnancy might not have been obvious. And if de Quincey had known of an heir surely he wouldn’t have gone back to Normandy.

No, de Quincey couldn’t know. But if the rumours were true he’d certainly know the difference between the two sisters.

A rush of panic overtook his rage. He’d left her to face FitzOsbern alone—a man who was implacable towards enemies and traitors. If—when—he found out she was lying, she’d be lucky ever to see daylight again. And he’d be lucky to see her.