‘No, she was afraid she couldn’t have them.’
‘Until she met de Quincey?’
‘Until she met de Quincey,’ she repeated softly. ‘I never thought she might be unhappy with Leofric. Everyone said it was a good match. But it must have been terrible for her, married to a man she didn’t...’
She bit her lip and Svend gave a twisted smile. ‘Didn’t love? Quite. But she might still find happiness with de Quincey.’
‘I hope so.’
She saw his sceptical expression and drew herself up indignantly.
‘I do!’
‘Even though he’s Norman?’
‘Yes, if she loves him. I want her to be happy.’
He moved away from her into the shadows, feeling a surge of some powerful emotion in his chest, as though the knot of resentment there were slowly uncoiling. She seemed genuine, but how could he be sure? It didn’t sound like her, but then she’d already changed so much in one week... Was it possible that she didn’t hate Normans quite so vehemently any more? If she could let her own sister be happy, what did that mean for them?
‘It sounds like you need to talk to her.’
‘You said de Quincey was taking her to Normandy...’ Her voice was faint, strangled with emotion. ‘When will I ever see her again?’
He swore under his breath. Had she been upset about that? He could have saved her that anguish at least.
‘You’ll see her soon enough. I have asked him to bring her here before they leave.’
‘You asked him that?’ Her face was transformed suddenly. ‘Svend, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.’
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement. She looked beautiful, positively radiating happiness, but he didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted... He dug his heels into the rushes, resisting the temptation to move back towards the bed. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he didn’t want her to feel that she owed him anything.
‘When do you think they’ll be here?’
‘A couple of weeks, maybe. You can get your answers then—though you might have your own explaining to do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She might be curious about us.’
‘Us...?’ Her voice wavered slightly.
‘The last she knew, you were threatening to kill me. Now we’re married. And you say she’s mysterious?’
‘This is different. There’s nothing mysterious about us. You married me for Redbourn.’
‘As you married me for Etton.’
‘Exactly. Cille and de Quincey are in love. Probably.’ Her brow furrowed slightly. ‘We’re not.’
‘And that seems better to you?’ He gave a bitter laugh.
‘I didn’t say that!’ She threw herself down on the bed, turning her back on him. ‘It’s just how it is.’
Svend muttered an oath, hurling his clothes across the room as he started to undress. She hadn’t changed at all! She was the same argumentative, intractable shrew he’d met a week ago. If there was no mystery, it was only because he’d already uncovered her deceit! And if they weren’t in love, it was because she’d lied to him! He hadn’t asked to marry her, he’d simply been stuck with her. None of this was his fault.
He climbed into the bed, still fuming. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here.’
‘What do you mean?’