Married to Her Enemy

She tried to turn away, but he followed after her remorselessly, grabbing her shoulders and wrenching her back round to face him.

‘Maybe she tried.’

For a moment he thought she was going to argue. Then her gaze misted over, as if she were struggling to remember something.

‘She did... Just before I left... I said that the baby’s hair was dark, not like hers or Leofric’s... She was upset, said there was something she wanted to tell me... I should have listened.’

Svend exhaled slowly. He wasn’t going to argue with that. If she’d only listened and not been so blinkered in her hatred of Normans then neither of them would be in this position.

‘I didn’t know...’ Her expression was distraught. ‘Svend, truly, I didn’t know.’

His grip on her shoulders slackened, though he still didn’t release her. No, she hadn’t known—hadn’t even guessed at the truth. That was the problem.

‘And de Quincey’s here. With the Earl. And if I’d gone into the hall he would have known...’ She took a deep, tremulous breath. ‘You saved me.’

He watched her steadily, saw her look of gratitude turn suddenly into one of panic.

‘But you told the steward I was Cille! They’re expecting her!’ She jerked in his arms. ‘Svend, I have to go to the Earl or they’ll think that you lied. I’ll tell him the truth before anyone else does—that I’m an impostor, that I deceived you.’

‘It’s too late for that.’

‘It can’t be!’

‘The steward saw us leave together.’

‘But this is all my doing! Take me back to the tower—say that you only just discovered the truth.’ She held out her wrists, pressing them together. ‘I’ll be your prisoner again.’

‘No.’

‘Svend!’ She stamped her foot. ‘You shouldn’t have rescued me. This was my plan, not yours. I won’t let you be punished for it!’

He raised his eyebrows, surprised by her vehemence. She might have deceived him like Maren, but she wasn’t asking him to take the blame. On the contrary, she seemed determined to take whatever punishment the Earl might mete out on her own. Was it possible that she cared for him after all? At least enough to want to protect him? Or was she simply reluctant to share the blame with a Norman?

He let his gaze drift over her face, over her bow-shaped lips and smooth, round cheekbones. She wasn’t who he’d thought she was, but she was still the same wildcat who’d attacked him that first day in Etton—the woman who’d said she hated all Normans, who’d lied to his face.

‘Svend, I never thought I’d put you in danger. I thought the risk was all mine.’

He gave a bitter laugh. Danger he was used to. He cared less about that than the fact that she’d lied to him. That deceit outweighed all the rest. She seemed sorry, but how could he know for certain? She was Maren all over again, just as desirable and even more dangerous. He couldn’t trust her—couldn’t trust anything she might say or do ever again.

But it was too late to save himself. He’d known that the moment he’d pulled her back from the threshold of the hall.

At least this time he’d walked into the trap with his eyes open.

‘We’re in this together now, Aediva.’

‘No! You have to let me go.’

‘Not on your own. We’ll go to the Earl together.’ He tightened his grip on her shoulders again. ‘We’ll just have to hope he’s in a forgiving mood.’

‘Forgiving?’

The tent flap flew open suddenly, revealing the figure of a man standing framed in the entrance, his dark eyes blazing like hot coals as his expression veered from disbelief to murderous fury.

‘The Earl might forgive you. I won’t.’

Chapter Eleven

‘Let. Her. Go.’