‘Aediva.’ He pressed her fingers to his lips. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but it will be even better for you, I promise.’
‘Better?’ She moved her hips against him tentatively. ‘You mean like this?’
He gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Like that.’
‘Like the first time we met?’
‘What?’
‘When I tried to kill you, or so you said.’ She rocked herself backwards and forwards, saw him grit his teeth. ‘I sat astride you like this.’
‘Aediva...’
She gave a coy smile, enjoying her power. ‘Of course if I’d known you were enjoying it I might have used that dagger after all.’
He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. ‘I didn’t realise you enjoyed torturing men.’
‘Just you. Norman.’
‘Wildcat.’
She bent towards him and then froze, clutching a blanket to her chest as she heard a knock on the door.
‘What?’ Svend’s voice was a roar.
‘Sorry, sir.’ Renard’s muffled voice sounded more than a little nervous. ‘But the masons need to speak with you. There’s some kind of problem with the wall. They say it’s urgent.’
‘Tell them to—’
Aediva clamped a hand over his mouth. From the murderous look on his face, whatever he wanted to tell them to do didn’t bear repeating.
‘Be nice!’ she admonished him. ‘If it weren’t for Renard you might not have come home last night.’
Svend made a face. ‘True. I’ll be down in a minute, lad!’ He gave her a smouldering look, then rolled off the bed and into his hose. ‘It seems I owe him a debt too. But I’ll think of a different way to thank him.’
She lay on her side, watching him dress. ‘I suppose the barn will have to wait too?’
‘It doesn’t help that you look so irresistible.’
‘There’s always tonight.’
‘Tonight? You think I can wait that long?’ He bent over the bed, kissing her thoroughly before making for the door. ‘I want to see you back here in an hour. That’s an order!’
She laughed gleefully and wrapped herself up in the blanket, running to the window to watch as he strode out into the bailey. He raised a hand in salute and she waved back, unable to keep the smile off her face. Danish or Norman, whoever he was, she didn’t care any more. He was her husband and she loved him.
He hadn’t said that he loved her, but he’d certainly shown her how he felt. The words could wait for the moment. All that mattered was that the pit in her stomach was gone, all the loneliness and fear of the past year banished. For the first time since before the Conquest she felt safe and happy. Because of him.
She only hoped that whatever the masons wanted wouldn’t take long. He’d said he had lots more to show her and suddenly she felt very eager to learn.
She leaned happily against the side of the window and looked out over the bailey, over the barns and tents and kitchens. They’d all have to manage without her today. Though maybe later she’d take Svend to one of the barns and show him their winter supplies. She could probably find a hay bale that needed lifting too...
She saw a commotion on the far side of the bailey and her face fell at once. A crowd had gathered, watching as the prisoners were moved between barns. Their hands were untied, and there were no signs of ill treatment, but the guards around them were taking no chances, swords drawn in case of attack.
She watched as they came closer. The men were unkempt and dishevelled, their faces contorted with loathing even towards the other Saxons in the bailey, but her heart still ached for them. A month ago she might have been one of them, but now... All she wanted was for the fighting and the turmoil to be over, for there to be peace again.
Her attention fixed suddenly on a sandy-haired rebel near the front. There was something familiar about him—something about his posture and the way he walked. Intrigued, she leaned over the ledge, trying to get a better look, and for a fleeting moment he looked up.
Edmund.