‘Isn’t it?’
He glowered ferociously. Did he still care for her? He didn’t know what he felt. Only one emotion made sense.
‘I’m angry.’ He turned the question around. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘With her—a little. With Cille—extremely. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her.’ De Quincey shook his head, as if amazed by his own admission. ‘I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.’
Then that was the difference between them, Svend thought bitterly. He wanted to.
‘But you want to protect her?’ De Quincey persisted.
‘Yes.’ This time he didn’t hesitate.
‘Very well. But you know that it’s risky. If FitzOsbern suspects the truth...that she intended to lie to him...it will be dangerous for you both. A sensible man might balk.’
‘I’ve never been accused of too much good sense.’ Svend smiled grimly. ‘I know it’s a risk. I don’t ask you to share it.’
‘What would I tell Cille, then?’ De Quincey clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll do this together, but let me explain to FitzOsbern. You look like you’re marching into battle. I’ll do the talking. You take over if we need to fight our way out of there.’
They mounted the steps two at a time, and the Earl’s guards fell back as they recognised the Baron. Svend strode at his side, struggling to arrange his features into a calm, neutral expression—an endeavour that was ruined every time he thought about her. He swallowed an oath. This wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Danemark!’ The Earl’s voice boomed out to greet them as they entered the hall. ‘One minute they tell me you’ve brought de Quincey’s new bride, the next that you’ve run off with her. Are you two here to fight a duel?’
‘Quite the opposite, I assure you.’ De Quincey’s voice was full of good humour, revealing none of his earlier distress. ‘But if we might have a word in private?’
‘A word?’ The Earl waved a hand to dismiss his retainers, his gaze sharpening at once. ‘I thought to meet your new bride. Under the circumstances, I think I’ve been patient enough.’
‘So you have, but sadly my wedding will have to wait. There’s been a slight misunderstanding regarding the lady’s identity.’
Svend stood immobile, listening in amazement as de Quincey launched into a heavily embellished version of events, so artfully expressed that he almost believed it himself. Somehow he managed to keep the surprise off his face. The Baron must love Cille indeed to risk straining the truth so dangerously.
Then again, hadn’t he been prepared to do the same? What did that say about him?
He pushed the thought aside as de Quincey drew to a close and the Earl beckoned for wine, staring thoughtfully into his cup.
‘So this woman, Aediva, brought you news of her sister?’
‘Yes, and about the child—my son.’
‘Did she say why Lady Cille ran away?’
For the first time de Quincey looked unsure of himself. ‘No, but I intend to find out. With your permission, I’d like to leave for Etton at once.’
‘No.’ The Earl looked up sharply. ‘This business has taken too long already. I need to head towards Ely, attack the core of the rebellion, and I need a man here I can trust. There have been too many incursions already. The woman will have to wait.’
‘But my son—!’
‘The rebels shouldn’t pose too great a threat, my lord.’ Svend intervened hastily as de Quincey’s composure started to crack. ‘The ones we encountered were badly organised and easily scattered. The Baron could travel to Etton and deal with any threat he found on the way.’
‘Indeed?’ FitzOsbern peered at him speculatively. ‘And, in your opinion, how many men would it take to bring the rebels completely to heel?’
‘To clear the shire? Thirty should suffice.’
‘You have twenty under your command?’
‘Twenty-two.’ A suspicion flitted across Svend’s mind, but it was so outlandish that he dismissed it at once.
‘I could spare some of mine.’ De Quincey sounded calmer again. ‘And you said you wanted a man you could trust. Why not Danemark?’