Married to Her Enemy

He opened the door and felt an unexpected pang of disappointment. So much for his wife. He’d been the one to leave her that morning, and yet somehow he’d hoped that she’d still be there. Even after such a long day—especially after such a long day—he’d wanted to see her. After a week in her company he’d grown accustomed to seeing her, had felt a vague sense of unease at their being apart.

Damn it all, he’d missed her.

He strode to the table and plunged his hands into a bowl of fresh water, rubbing them vigorously over his face. How was it possible? Except for his mother and sisters, he’d never missed a woman in his life. He certainly hadn’t missed Maren after she’d betrayed him. So how could he miss his wife—a woman he hardly knew and barely trusted? It was ridiculous, irrational. He was tired and wet and not thinking straight. Her absence was the best thing for both of them. He definitely didn’t want another argument tonight.

‘Svend?’

He turned around in surprise. Of all the places he’d thought to look for her, the bed itself had never occurred to him. But there she was, facing towards him, a tiny bump beneath a pile of blankets. No wonder he hadn’t noticed her.

His heart seemed to skip a beat.

‘You’ve been gone all day.’ Her voice was quietly accusing.

‘Yes.’ He felt a twinge of conscience. He probably should have left some kind of message, to say where he was going, but the thought had never occurred to him. He wasn’t used to explaining himself—especially to a woman. But a husband ought to have done so.

‘Where have you been?’

Hunting Saxons. He grimaced, wishing he could give a different answer. ‘The Earl ordered me to clear the county of rebels. We’ve been searching for them.’

‘And?’

‘We’ve taken no prisoners today.’

‘Oh.’

She sounded relieved and he took a tentative step towards her.

‘Did I wake you?’

‘No. I wasn’t asleep, just...thinking.’

‘Have you been in bed all day?’ A wicked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘People will wonder what I’ve done to you.’

‘Of course not!’ Her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘I’ve been trying to find out about Cille and de Quincey.’

‘Ah. And what have you learned?’

‘Nothing.’ She gave a plaintive sigh. ‘No one seems to know anything.’

He took another step towards the bed. ‘And that bothers you?’

She nodded, pulling herself upright. ‘We never used to have secrets from each other. She was always more than a sister. Our mother died when I was born, and Cille took care of me. She was only a child herself, but she knew what to do. When she came back to Etton last spring I wanted to look after her, to protect her the way she’d protected me.’

‘You did.’

‘No, I let her down. That’s why she didn’t tell me about de Quincey.’ She shook her head, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. ‘Now it’s like I don’t know her at all.’

Svend folded his arms, resisting the urge to comfort her. Sitting up in bed, with her arms wrapped around her knees, she looked smaller and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her.

‘What about her first husband? Leofric? Did she ever talk about him?’

‘No.’ She sniffed unhappily. ‘People say the marriage wasn’t happy, but she never told me that either.’

‘So it wasn’t a love match?’

‘No, it was a peace-weaver. Their marriage sealed a union between the north and south of the shire. There had been raiding between villages, not to mention from the marshes. It got so bad that an alliance became necessary. So Cille was sent to Redbourn.’

‘But there were no children? In five years?’