As angry as a man who’d just found out he’d been lied to.
No, she reassured herself quickly, he couldn’t have. It wasn’t possible. She’d barely seen anyone since their arrival, and the only person she’d spoken to was the steward. Who could have recognised her? Who could have told him so quickly? Her heart started to race frantically. How could he possibly know?
‘Let me go!’ She tried to twist away, but his grip on her arm was unyielding. ‘Svend, I’ve been summoned! I have to go!’
‘Do you?’ His voice was a snarl laced with quiet menace. ‘Are you sure it’s you who’s been summoned?’
She stiffened, willing her face to remain calm, trying to brazen it out. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘No?’
He dropped her arm abruptly and she staggered away from him, stomach churning, trying to give herself space to think. Still he pursued her, intent and relentless, giving no quarter as her back hit the wall with a thud.
She stared up at him mutely. Something in his face warned her not to lie. Besides, what could she say? If he already knew, if he’d somehow discovered the truth, then there was nothing she could say.
If...
She waited, letting the silence between them lengthen. Every moment was
deeper and more dangerous as he came ever closer, stopping with barely a sliver of air between them.
‘Tell me your name.’
For a moment the room seemed to spin as she pressed her palms into the wall, gripping the stone to hold herself up. Certainty overtook fear.
He knew.
He knew everything.
She felt a thud in her chest, as though her heart had stopped beating and then started again. He knew who she was, knew that she’d lied, and from the fearsome look on his face it seemed as though he’d come to punish her himself. For a moment she was tempted to take her chances with the Earl.
‘No!’
She tried to push past him but he blocked her way, trapping her between his body and the wall. She wasn’t sure which was the more unyielding.
‘Tell me who you are.’ He placed a hand on either side of her, obstructing any chance of escape, his pale eyes as cold and cutting as shards of ice. ‘Who you really are.’
She lifted her chin. It was too late to argue or to explain, or even to defend herself. That moment had passed at the waterfall. But she wouldn’t show fear—not to him or any other Norman. No matter what he intended to do with her she’d face it like a Saxon, like the Thane’s daughter that she was.
‘My name is Aediva.’
‘The sister.’ He didn’t sound surprised.
‘Yes. What are you going to do with me?’
Svend stared at her furiously, letting the woman he’d thought of as Cille turn slowly into Aediva.
She’d deceived him. For more than a week she’d let him believe she was someone she wasn’t. She’d made a fool of him—would have made a greater fool of him in front of the Earl. He’d told her about his past and she’d betrayed his trust.
And now she was looking straight at him, defiant and undaunted, asking what he intended to do with her.
He knew what he ought to do. He ought to march her in front of the Earl and expose her before the whole court. He had the opportunity and more than enough motive. If he had any sense he’d be in there already. But all he could think about was getting her as far away from the tower as possible.
He muttered an oath, his heart at war with his head. Was he mad? He’d lost everything for a woman once before. Was he truly prepared to lose it again? If he helped her he’d be an accomplice, but if he did nothing...if he let her go ahead with her plan...he might as well hand her over to the Earl’s guards himself.
‘How did you find out?’ She asked the question warily.
‘Does it matter?’