Married to Her Enemy

‘It’s not far to the marshes.’

The marshes! She felt a jolt of panic. Once they entered the marshes the Normans would stand no chance of finding them. And she’d have no hope of escaping such a maze. If she was going to make a break she had to do it soon.

If...

At the moment her chances seemed slim to non-existent. Edmund’s hand was still pressing down hard on her back, and even if she somehow managed to jump free of the horse without breaking her neck there was nowhere to hide. In which case...

Suddenly the marshes didn’t seem such a bad idea. If she could get away from Edmund and hide amidst the reeds she’d stand a chance of escape.

Her only chance.

Tentatively she brought her knees up and braced her hands against the horse’s side, looking for purchase. There! Now, if Edmund released her for even a second, she could propel herself forward, dive off the side of the horse and hope that its hooves landed elsewhere. She was ready...she could do it...just as soon as he let go.

The ground grew boggier at last as they entered the morass of the marshes. Tall ferns brushed her face as the horses waded reluctantly into the reed beds, kicking up splatters of muddy water as they shied and whinnied in protest. Aediva held her breath, sensing Edmund’s distraction as his horse started to buck, feeling his hold on her back easing as he grappled with the reins.

Then he let go.

She didn’t hesitate, heaving herself over the side of the horse and headlong into the icy swamp below. For a few terrifying seconds she was lost in a swirl of muddy, frigid water before she found her feet and resurfaced, glad of the commotion around her as she half stumbled, half swam away through the reeds.

‘Get her!’

Edmund was bellowing furiously behind her, but she didn’t look back, dragging her sodden dress around her waist as she thrashed on through the reeds. If she could just find a place to hide she could wait them out. The Saxons hadn’t gone far enough into the marshes to be safe. If they wanted to be free from Norman pursuit they didn’t have time to waste looking for her. Their own need to escape would save her.

At last she found a thick clump of weeds and forced her way inside, crouching low in the water as a family of voles scurried past. She could still hear Edmund roaring in the distance, but the other voices were receding slowly, moving further away with every second.

She flung back her head, savouring her freedom as she laughed aloud with relief. She was free! Crouched down in a bog, up to her chin in filthy water, miles away from Redbourn and safety, but free!

Cautiously, she waited until the sound of Edmund’s ranting ceased completely, then waded out of the reeds towards the open countryside beyond. It was risky, emerging into the open so soon after her escape, but she couldn’t cower in the marshes all day. It was past noon already, and she’d catch her death unless she found shelter.

She moved slowly, keeping a wary lookout as she stepped back on to dry land, following the hoof prints back up the hill. It was near hopeless, she knew. There wasn’t the faintest hope of her reaching Redbourn on foot before dark, and they hadn’t passed any other villages. But she wasn’t going to give up. If there was any chance that the Normans were following their trail she had to head out to meet them.

Every footstep was taking her back towards Svend. That thought alone gave her strength. As long as she kept moving there was hope.

She stopped abruptly, staring at the ground in confusion as it started to vibrate and shudder beneath her feet. What was happening? She looked around, a horrified scream rising to her throat at the sight of Edmund behind her. He was riding at full tilt, bursting out of the marshes as if there were a wild beast on his tail, looking less like a man than an animal himself, snarling with rage. And there was something else—a look of such hate-filled intensity that for a moment she thought he might be going

to trample her into the ground.

Her heart stopped. He was going to trample her into the ground. Here in the open, with no weapon and nowhere to hide, she was going to be ridden down in cold blood by the man she’d once thought to marry.

If it weren’t so appalling she might have laughed. But now there was nothing to do but run.

No. She squeezed her hands into fists. There was no point in running. There was nowhere to run. And if she couldn’t run she could only fight. He wouldn’t expect it, and his horse was tired—wouldn’t be able to turn quickly. Its eyes were already rolling, its mouth flecked with gobbets of white foam. If she could confuse it, wear it out somehow, then Edmund would be forced to dismount. And then...

Then she’d think of something else.

She sprinted forward, trying to hold her nerve as Edmund hurtled towards her, giant clods of earth spinning out of the ground as he closed the distance between them, his horse’s hooves louder and heavier with each passing moment. She screamed—a war cry of defiance—waiting until the last possible moment before diving to one side, sprawling in the dirt as the beast swung madly towards her, one large hoof barely missing her chest.

Quickly she struggled to her feet, grabbing a branch from the ground and jabbing it up into Edmund’s face. As she’d hoped, he raised a hand to push it away and the horse shied, throwing him backwards through the air.

She felt a rush of triumph, and wielded the branch in front of her like a sword as Edmund staggered to his feet.

‘Bitch.’ He wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead. ‘I should have killed you when I had the chance.’

‘Why are you doing this, Edmund?’ She swung the branch between them. ‘You should be running away—not coming after me. Why won’t you let me go?’

‘Because you’re mine!’

‘I was never yours!’