Aediva climbed out of bed carefully, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and tugging the hood forward to disguise herself. Then she stole down the stairs, past the hall and out into the dawn, trying to concentrate on each passing footstep and not on what lay ahead. If she stopped to think about what she was doing she might never be able to go through with it.
A pale grey mist hovered over the bailey as she made her way towards the barn where the prisoners were being held, its silvery droplets of moisture lending the scene an unreal, dream-like quality. She felt as though she were in a dream herself, moving against her own volition, even against her own wishes, scarcely able to believe the risk she was taking. Common sense urged her to turn back, but conscience drove her onwards. She couldn’t go back—not yet...not until she’d spoken to Edmund. If surrender was his best chance of survival she had to tell him so to his face.
She glanced up at the tower guiltily. Behind the shutters Svend was still asleep. With any luck he’d never know she’d been gone. Not that she was violating his trust—not exactly. He’d said that speaking to Edmund was a bad idea and told her not to argue, but he hadn’t actually forbidden her. And she’d made no promise—wasn’t breaking her word. She was acting against his wishes, but she only intended to talk to Edmund, that was all! She wasn’t betraying Svend. She had every intention of telling him what she’d done later—much later.
Even so, if he were to wake up now...
She had a feeling it would make all their other arguments seem like friendly discussions. He’d probably lock her up too. But it was a risk she had to take. If she didn’t do something she’d feel like a traitor to her people for ever.
She straightened her shoulders as she approached the guards at the barn door, trying to look as though her arrival ought to be expected.
‘Lady Aediva?’ One of them stepped forward, exchanging a pointed look with his companion. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Matthieu, isn’t it?’ She flashed her brightest smile. ‘I need to speak with the prisoners. I have a message for them.’
‘It’s very early, my lady.’ He looked visibly perturbed. ‘My orders are to let no one in.’
She let her smile fade deliberately slowly. ‘I’m the warden’s wife. Are you refusing me permission?’
‘No, my lady, but the orders came direct from Sir Svend. Perhaps if I could speak to him first...?’
‘My husband is asleep and my message is urgent.’ She feigned affront. ‘But perhaps you’d like to wake him up and ask him if I’m lying? I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear your good opinion of me.’
‘Pardon, my lady, I meant no offence.’ The guard cast a pleading look towards his companion before backing away.
‘Good.’
She averted her gaze, amazed that he couldn’t read the guilt on her face. She hadn’t been at all certain that her bluff would work, but he was already lifting the locking bar, beckoning her forward with the look of a man who wished he were anywhere else in the world.
She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Light spilled in through the open door to reveal the dark silhouettes of at least twenty men lying on the floor.
‘Edmund?’ She whispered his name, almost afraid to disturb the eerie hush.
‘What are you doing here?’
She recognised his voice at once, though she couldn’t distinguish his face.
‘Edmund, where are you?’
‘I said, what are you doing here?’
A shadow at the back stood up and started to move towards her, slowly and steadily, like a predator stalking its prey.
‘Have you come to gloat?’
‘No! Of course not!’
He stepped into a patch of sunlight, revealing a handsome face made ugly by hatred. ‘Then what do you want, Aediva?’
She lifted her chin, resisting the urge to back away, looking around the room as she spoke. ‘I want to help you. You’re going to be taken east today to the King’s deputy for sentencing. If you surrender and swear fealty he might show mercy. You could still be set free.’
‘To live under Norman rule?’ Edmund’s expression was scathing.
‘It’s your only chance.’
‘We’re not all as keen to surrender as you.’
She flushed angrily. ‘I haven’t surrendered. I’ve come to terms with the Normans, that’s all.’
‘Is that what you call it? I saw you in the tower. Your father would have been ashamed of you.’
‘He would not!’ She held her ground, recognising the truth as she said it. ‘My father wanted to protect Etton, but he wanted peace too. So do I.’
‘By whoring yourself out to a Norman?’
‘By giving myself willingly to my husband.’
‘Husband?’
Edmund raised his fist and she sprang backwards, catching hold of the doorframe just as one of the guards came around it.
‘My lady.’ He took one look at the scene and raised his sword. ‘It’s time to go.’
She nodded her head. From the look on Edmund’s face there was no point in trying to reason with him. There had been no point in coming. She’d risked antagonising Svend for nothing. And suddenly all she wanted was to be back with him again.
‘I thought you didn’t like men.’ Edmund’s voice was sharp-edged with malice. ‘Now I see I was just the wrong kind. How many Normans have you slept with, my lady?’
The scuffle started so fast she hardly knew how it had happened. The guard at her side made a lunge towards Edmund just as half a dozen men leapt up from the floor, surrounding him in a mob. The other guard pushed past her, charging into the fray with a shout of alarm. She heard grunts, followed by a sickening cry and a thud, and then Edmund’s hands were around her throat, circling her neck like a noose, gripping so tightly she could hardly breathe, let alone scream.
‘We want horses.’
Edmund’s voice was a snarl in her ear, but he wasn’t talking to her. One of the guards was being pinned to the floor with his own sword, now wielded by one of the Saxons. Desperately she sought the other, but there was no sign of him—only a bloody patch on the floor.
‘What have you done?’ She stared at the blood in horror.
‘What all Normans deserve!’ Edmund spat into the rushes, aiming a kick at the guard’s stomach. ‘Now, get horses and open the gates!’
‘Don’t do it!’ She struggled furiously, but Edmund’s grip on her throat only tightened.
‘Do it. Or your commander loses his lady.’
The guard nodded and staggered to his feet, hobbling out of the prison and towards the stables as if expecting to feel a knife in his back at any moment.
She watched him go with a sickening feeling. Why wasn’t he raising the alarm?
‘You won’t get away with this!’ Somehow she managed to croak out the words.
Edmund let go of her neck and spun her around, grabbing her breasts as he pulled her roughly against him. ‘I think I will. And then I’ll find out what all the Normans have been enjoying.’
‘Just one Norman.’ She brought her knee up, catching him hard in the groin. ‘And he’s worth a hundred of you!’
‘Whore!’
Edmund’s fist hit her square in the jaw, so forcefully that she flew backwards, skidding to a halt beside the door. For a moment the world seemed to go dark, and the barn spun around her as she tried to hold onto consciousness. She couldn’t let Edmund escape...couldn’t let him get away it...
‘It’s all ready.’
The guard’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. She looked up, trying to see through a swirling fog. How could he be back so soon?
‘Horses?’ Edmund grabbed her arm, hoisting her roughly to her feet.
‘Outside. I’ve tied up the door warden. No one will stop you from leaving.’ The guard lifted his arm suddenly, brandishing a new sword. ‘But you have to let her go.’
She felt a flicker of hope—quickly extinguished as Edmund shoved her forward abruptly, so fast that the guard was forced to lower his weapon. Too late she saw the flash of a dagger as another Saxon lunged towards them, stowing the point under the guard’s ribs.
‘No!’
She started to scream, but a hand clamped itself over her mouth, an arm coiled around her waist and she was carried out of the barn towards the gates.
What had she done?
She was almost too horrified to think. She’d only wanted to help her countrymen, but instead she’d allowed them to escape and kill innocent Normans. She craned her neck, trying to see behind her, but all she could make out was the crumpled body of the guard. She didn’t even know where the other one was.
Her stomach heaved with guilt. She’d tricked them, but she’d never intended for them to get hurt. She’d have rather Edmund had stabbed her instead.
‘Scream again and I’ll kill you.’ Edmund let go of her mouth, throwing her over the back of a horse like a sack before mounting quickly behind her.
‘Let me go!’
He ignored her, pinning her down with a hand on her back as they galloped out through the gates. Blood rushed to her head in a deafening roar. Who was he, this man who seemed to hate her? The Edmund she’d known had been rough and insensitive, but this man was a cold-blooded monster. And yet she found her fear of him was gone, replaced by icy loathing. She wasn’t afraid of anything he might do to her any more. She hardly cared. After what she’d done to the guards she deserved everything she got.
And Svend would think so too.
She retched, and her stomach emptied itself at the thought. When he woke up and they told him what had happened—that the prisoners were gone and her along with them—he’d think that she’d betrayed him again. He’d see the slain guards and think she’d had a hand in it.
Her own words from the evening before would incriminate her. She’d actually asked him to free them! What if he thought she’d simply been biding her time, trying to manipulate him into letting them go before taking matters into her own hands? Who would believe that she wasn’t a rebel now?
‘Edmund, you’re free! You don’t need me any more!’ She tried to lift her head, but he forced it back down again.
‘I might if your husband decides to follow us.’
‘He won’t!’
She shouted the words with conviction. Svend was in no condition to follow anyone. And even if he was, it wouldn’t be to rescue her. The only reason he’d come after her now was for revenge. And as for his men... Bertrand might try to recapture the prisoners, but he wouldn’t rush to save her—not if he thought she was a rebel.
No, this time she wasn’t going to be rescued. If she were going to survive she had to save herself. But how? Surely it was easier just to give up, to let Edmund punish her as she deserved.
Her head hurt and she felt dizzy. Even face-down, and being jolted from side to side, the urge to close her eyes was almost overpowering.
But if she gave up now then Svend would never know the truth. If anything happened to her he’d never know what had really happened. She had to survive so that she could tell him the truth—that she wasn’t a rebel, that she hadn’t wanted to leave him, that she loved him.
And that she’d never let anyone, Saxon or Norman, ever come between them again.
* * *
Svend’s first thought was that they were under attack. He heard shouts, followed by swearing and running footsteps, then someone calling for horses and armour. He opened his eyes in alarm, surprised to find no sign of Aediva beside him. She’d been at his side almost every moment for the past three days. Where was she now?
‘What is it?’ He jolted upright as the door burst open, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder.
‘It’s the prisoners!’ Renard rushed up to the bed, followed by a hard-faced Bertrand. ‘They’ve escaped.’
‘What? When?’
‘Half an hour ago. The guard at the gate was bound and gagged. He says it was just after dawn.’
‘Go after them.’ Svend turned to Bertrand. ‘You know what to do.’
‘There’s something else, sir...’ Renard’s voice faltered.
‘What?’ He frowned. Something about the look on their faces made him suddenly reluctant to hear the answer.
‘It’s Lady Aediva.’
He felt a painful thud in his chest. ‘What about her?’
‘We can’t find her anywhere, sir. It looks like...’
‘Like what?’ Svend fought the urge to grab his squire by the throat and shake the words out of him.
Renard gulped. ‘Like she went with them.’
‘The night watchman saw her leave the tower this morning.’ Bertrand interceded quickly. ‘She was alone and heading for the barn.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything.’
‘He saw her speak to the guards before she went inside.’
‘They let her in?’
‘That’s what he says. He thought it was strange at the time, but since they opened the door he assumed everything was in order and moved on.’
‘Where are the guards now?’
‘In the infirmary. They’re alive, but they won’t be able to tell us anything for a while. There are no other witnesses, but from all appearances...’
‘She helped them escape.’ Svend finished the sentence for him.
‘That’s what it looks like.’
He shook his head, snippets of conversation from the evening before coming back to him. She’d asked him to free the prisoners, but when he’d refused she’d seemed to understand what was at stake. She’d asked what would happen to them, had seemed upset by his answer, but that didn’t mean that she’d helped them escape...did it? But why else would she have gone to the barn?
Edmund.
She’d mentioned Edmund. His insides twisted with jealousy before the rational part of his brain took over. Why would she have told him about Edmund if she’d been planning an escape? Why risk arousing suspicion? Besides, she’d said that Edmund had scared her, that she only wanted to warn him...
Hell and damnation! He swung his legs off the bed and stood up determinedly. She was just as headstrong and reckless as ever—going to warn the rebels because she thought it was the right thing to do, simply assuming she was safe because they were Saxon. Damn it all, it wasn’t as if she’d ever followed his advice before. Why the hell had he expected her to start now?
‘Get my horse ready.’
‘Sir, you can’t!’
‘Now!’ He fixed Bertrand with a hard stare. ‘She didn’t do it. She’s not a rebel. Make sure the men understand that.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And tell them I’ll cut the hand off any man who touches her.’
He grasped hold of the wall, steadying himself as the others departed the chamber. Renard was right, he shouldn’t be out of bed, but he had to go after her. If she’d gone, she’d done so against her will. He refused to believe otherwise.
But that meant she was in danger too.
His heart stalled at the thought. If he lost her it would be the end of everything, all his hopes and plans for the future. He had to find her. He’d told her he trusted her and he’d meant it. He was going to keep on trusting her until she looked him in the eye and told him otherwise.
And if she did that he’d never trust the evidence of his own senses again.
* * *
Aediva twisted her neck, looking for any sign of pursuit, but there was nothing—not so much as a cloud of dust on the horizon. She had no idea how long they’d been riding, but the sun was already past its zenith and the weary horses had slowed to a walk. They must be miles away from Redbourn by now—so far that she didn’t even recognise their surroundings.
She heard her name and pricked up her ears to listen. One of the other rebels seemed to be arguing with Edmund about her.
‘She’s weighing you down. Better to leave her behind.’
She held her breath, hoping that Edmund would agree, but if anything his voice only grew harder.
‘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!’
‘You were supposed to be. Your father was going to give me half his land too. It was supposed to be mine! Now the Normans have taken everything. I won’t let them have you too!’
‘But you don’t want me!’
‘No, but he does. And if I can’t kill him I might as well kill you!’
He drew his sword and sliced downwards, cutting the branch in two as she staggered away.
‘You can’t win like this, Edmund.’ She could hear the desperation in her own voice.
‘Maybe not, but I can make sure that you lose.’
He lunged at her again and she swung the remainder of the branch upwards, blocking the blow instinctively, so hard that his sword embedded itself in the wood.
Quickly she seized the advantage, heaving the branch towards him before turning to run. His horse was now halfway up the slope. If she could just reach it before he did...
‘Aediva!’
She looked up, afraid that she was imagining things as she heard Svend’s shout. But it was him—really him—thundering down the hillside towards her, a band of Norman soldiers at his back.
‘Svend!’
Relief gave her a fresh burst of energy. She changed direction at once, running towards him with only a swift glance over her shoulder at Edmund. He’d managed to free his sword, but seemed frozen to the spot, staring at Svend with a look of pure hatred. Silently she willed him to run, to flee back into the marshes, to escape so that she’d never have to see him again. Surely he wouldn’t come after her now—not with the Normans so close. He couldn’t want to hurt her that badly...
Then he looked at her and her stomach plummeted.
The answer was clear on his face.
It was going to be her or him.
* * *
Svend surged ahead of his men. Talbot’s mane was a streak of pale grey as they flew over the ground, faster and fiercer than they’d ever ridden before.
He’d allowed the horses a few brief rests, but they were still flagging. Only Bertrand was managing to keep pace—though his attention seemed less on the pursuit than on keeping his commander alive. Svend set his jaw grimly. He’d no intention of expiring just yet—not until he found Aediva. He’d go back to Redbourn with her or not at all.
‘Their tracks are heading for the marshes.’ Bertrand’s tone was discouraging.
‘Then we go into the marshes.’
‘It’ll be dark in a few more hours.’
‘Then go back!’
Svend shot him a savage look and Bertrand stiffened at once.
‘I won’t leave you, sir.’
Good. Svend tightened his grasp on the reins, fighting to stay upright. He was relying on his men’s loyalty. He’d ride alone into the marshes if he had to, but if he was going to rescue his wife he’d need every fighting man he could get. He didn’t care about the rebels, but he was going to rescue her even if it took every last ounce of his strength.
If he didn’t...if anything happened to her...
He pushed the thought aside, refusing to consider the alternative.
They crested another hill and his blood froze at the sound of a woman’s scream. Quickly he looked around, trying to find the source. Then he saw her. She was halfway up the slope, wrestling a Saxon warrior with what appeared to be a stick.
He spurred onwards, charging down the hill just as she turned to run.
‘Aediva!’
He roared her name and she looked up at once, her eyes locking with his in a mixture of amazement and relief. The Saxon looked up too, and his expression of outrage turned to one of implacable resolve as he started to follow her, swinging his sword above his head as if preparing to strike.
Svend drew his dagger and took aim—felt something tear in his shoulder as he flung his arm back.
‘Move!’ he shouted, hoping she would understand, and she moved, dropping to the ground as the blade flew through the air, its sharp tip embedding itself in the Saxon’s shoulder.
The man bellowed and Svend leapt from his horse with a grim sense of satisfaction. There. That evened the odds. Now they both had only one arm to fight with. That ought to be more than enough.
‘Edmund.’ He pointed his sword at the Saxon’s throat menacingly. ‘I’ll give you one chance to yield. That’s more than you deserve.’
‘You can’t have her!’
Edmund wrenched the dagger out of his shoulder, thrusting forward as Svend stepped to one side, slapping the blade away with the flat of his sword before driving his point up towards the other man’s chest. Edmund reeled backwards, parrying wildly with his sword as Svend pursued him remorselessly, closing him down with a rain of powerful blows before pummelling the hilt hard into his face.
Edmund sank to the ground, his nose streaming with blood, and dropped his sword with a grunt of pain.
‘I yield!’
‘I said one chance. You didn’t take it.’
Svend towered over him, his knuckles white, resisting the urge to finish what the other man had started. But he couldn’t do it—not in front of Aediva. She’d said that Edmund was part of her past. He couldn’t kill the man in front of her—couldn’t taint their future with his blood. Better to let FitzOsbern see that justice was done.
‘I’ll spare you for her sake.’
He lowered his weapon with a grimace. In the heat of combat he hadn’t noticed the pain in his arm, but now even his sword felt too heavy.
‘Tie him up.’ He jerked his head at Bertrand.
‘Svend!’
He turned towards the sound of her voice. She was running towards him, arms outstretched, soaking wet and covered in mud, but she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Eagerly he started towards her—then stopped as her expression changed abruptly, her mouth opening in a silent scream.
He reacted instinctively, spinning around and thrusting his sword up just in time to see Edmund run chest-first onto its point, the dagger in his hand grazing harmlessly against Svend’s chainmail.
For a moment nobody spoke. There was only an uncanny silence as Edmund’s body jerked and then stiffened. A red stain soaked through his tunic as he made a faint gurgling sound and then folded backwards, collapsing to the ground with a thud.
‘Aediva.’ Svend tossed the sword away, bridging the distance between them in two strides as she stared at Edmund in horror. ‘Don’t look.’
‘You killed him...’
He tensed. Was she angry with him? In spite of everything, would she hate him for killing a Saxon?
‘He killed himself.’
‘I know.’ She met his gaze finally. ‘It was all him. He wanted to kill me too. He hated me so much...’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I thought you would too. I thought you wouldn’t come.’
His chest tightened. ‘I told you before—I won’t let you go. I could never hate you.’
‘You trusted me.’ She gave him a look of wonder before her face crumpled. ‘Your shoulder...it’s bleeding!’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He pulled her into a hard embrace, wrapping his arms around her like a vice, pain forgotten as he held her tight. ‘None of that matters now. Let’s go home.’