Married to Her Enemy

‘Not tonight, Hugh.’

Svend’s voice at her shoulder sent a tingling sensation down her spine, making her relieved and apprehensive at the same time.

‘The lady’s already spoken for.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked up at him nervously as Hugh staggered away, surprised that he had been able to reach her so quickly.

‘You looked in need of rescuing.’ He took her arm and tucked it inside his. ‘Where were you going?’

‘Just outside.’ She flexed her fingers on the hard muscles of his bicep. ‘I don’t know any Norman dances.’

‘And I have two left feet. We’d make a pretty pair on the dance floor. Are you ready to escape?’

‘Escape?’ She felt irrationally offended. This was their wedding feast! He could at least pretend to be happy. ‘You mean you aren’t enjoying yourself?’

‘About as much as you are.’

‘And who says I’m not?’

‘Your face is quite expressive, my lady. But if you want to stay...’

‘No!’ She tightened her grip on his arm hastily. ‘You win. But don’t we have to stay? Won’t anyone mind?’

He gave her a wry look. ‘I think we’ve done our duty. Besides, most of them have more wine in their veins now than blood. They wouldn’t notice if we flew out of here.’

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile. She couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t so much a dance going on around them as a stumble.

‘We just need to ask permission from the Earl first. Come on.’ He swung around, pulling her after him before she could protest. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

Get this over with?

She stumbled after him, torn between resentment and alarm. Was he determined to offend her? That had to be the least romantic thing she’d ever heard. Besides which, this was their wedding night! He wasn’t just escorting her out of the hall. He was going to go with her. And the last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. He’d said that she had nothing to fear, but he was still her husband.

Suddenly she wished she’d accepted Hugh’s offer to dance.

‘Ready to leave so soon?’ The Earl’s face broke into a lascivious grin as they approached the high table. ‘Are you so eager, Danemark? Or is it the lady who desires your company?’

‘A man can dream.’ Svend put a hand on his heart with mock gallantry. ‘Sad to say, my new wife is tired. With your permission, I’ll show her to bed.’

‘And tend to her in it, no doubt.’ The Earl smirked. ‘You may leave us.’

He waved a hand to dismiss them and she spun around instantly, wanting to get the hall, the banquet, the whole evening behind her. Her husband too, if she could. How could he joke about her so publicly? It would serve him right if—

For a moment she didn’t know what was happening. She staggered slightly, then felt a sharp tug on her arm, followed by a jo

lt as her knees buckled and she stumbled over her sleeves, falling headlong into a pair of familiar strong arms.

‘It seems she can’t wait for your embrace, Svend!’ The Earl was bent over, laughing. ‘Perhaps you ought to carry her?’

She felt a flash of panic, swiftly followed by outrage as Svend’s hands swooped around the back of her legs, lifting her into his arms.

‘Put me down!’ She kicked her feet indignantly. ‘Everyone’s looking!’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘Let me down!’

‘Not in that dress. You’ll break a limb if you’re not careful.’