Somehow they’d come together in sleep. Svend opened his eyes to find their bodies entwined, her cheek nestling against his chest as his arm curved protectively around her waist, holding her to him as if he couldn’t bear to let go.
So much for punishing her. He hadn’t even been able to leave her on the floor.
Instinctively he started to pull away, but she made a faint murmur of protest and he stopped, wondering how to extricate himself without waking her. Not that he particularly wanted to. She felt soft and warm, and her hair smelt of honeysuckle and daisies, heady and intoxicating. He took a deep breath, inhaling the now familiar scent, fighting the urge to pull her even closer.
He’d slept surprisingly well beside her, so deeply that he had no idea which of them had initiated the embrace, but their bodies fitted together perfectly, like two parts of a whole. There was no other way to describe it. Her being there felt right.
He felt a stirring in his loins and shifted his lower body quickly. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find him like this. He’d come this far through the night in bed with her—he wasn’t about to lose control now. They might be married, but nothing else between them had changed. She’d still deceived him and he still couldn’t trust her.
Even if, lying beside her, he could hardly trust himself.
He pulled away—determinedly this time. But she rolled after him, eyes still closed, arms outstretched, as if she wanted to hold him still. A surge of desire coursed through him and he stamped it down quickly. Judging from the sound of horses and marching feet outside, not to mention the slivers of light pouring in through gaps under the rafters, he’d already stayed too long abed. He had duties to attend to—the Earl’s departure, for one.
He dressed quickly, pulling the coffer away from the door as quietly as he could before descending the tower steps and stepping outside. The sun was even higher than he’d expected, the bailey already half empty as the Earl’s army marched out through the castle gates.
‘The Warden emerges at last!’ The Earl swung his destrier round in greeting. ‘We’d almost given up hope of seeing you this morning.’
‘My lord.’ Svend inclined his head. ‘I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye and expressing my thanks once again.’
‘For Redbourn or for your wife? I’ve never known you to be late for anything before.’
‘For both, of course.’
‘Then I’m glad you’re enjoying them.’ FitzOsbern’s smile widened as his mount stamped at the ground impatiently. ‘Redbourn’s a fine castle. You’ve earned it—now take care of it.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And remember I’m counting on you. Don’t let me down, Danemark.’
Svend nodded sombrely, watching as the Earl and his knights thundered out through the gates, most of them looking distinctly the worse for wear. In the bright light of day even Hugh’s good-natured face looked unusually strained, his brown eyes bloodshot and bleary as he waved farewell.
At last they were gone and he glanced back up at the tower, his thoughts returning to the woman in his bed, before forcing his attention back to the bailey.
FitzOsbern was right. Redbourn was a fine castle. It was a formidable example of Norman engineering, and it was his. He could still scarcely believe it. The building work was nearing completion—the masons’ hammers echoed loudly in the morning air—but now that the army had gone he could see Saxon structures too: wooden dwellings, stables and barns scattered in amidst the new Norman stone buildings.
He felt a twinge of unease looking at the two different worlds, Saxon and Norman, side by side and yet distinctly apart, as if the differences between them were too great to merge into one.
That was a sign, if ever he’d seen one.
He frowned. What the hell was wrong with him? He ought to be happy. He had everything he’d ever wanted and more. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about one woman?
He shook his head impatiently, gazing out over the battlements. The day was cold but bright, with thin wisps of cloud scudding across a pale blue sky—perfect for a ride to clear his head. Rays of sunshine were kissing the tops of the hills in the distance, as if challenging him to catch them, and he felt a shiver of anticipation.
But sunshine wasn’t all he had to catch. The Earl had been explicit in his instructions, giving him a month to clear the county of rebel incursions and establish Norman control. As far as the first days of his marriage went, hunting down his wife’s countrymen made for an ominous start, but those were his orders. Otherwise he might find himself out of a castle as quickly as he’d found himself in one.
He set his jaw determinedly and made for the stables, summoning his men as he passed. The sooner they got started the better. Idle soldiers made for ill discipline and worse behaviour. He’d set a bad enough example this morning, by tarrying in bed. It was time to get back to work. That was what they were there for.
And this time there wouldn’t be a woman to distract him.
* * *
Aediva felt it the moment Svend moved away, heard herself murmuring in response. Unconsciously, she reached out towards him and then froze, hardly daring to breathe as he dressed and left the room without her.
Then she opened her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. That was that. The door had stayed closed and somehow she’d got through her wedding night untouched and unscathed. As far as anyone else was concerned the marriage contract was sealed and she was Svend’s wife.
She stretched her arms, rolling into the warm space left by his body. She didn’t know how their bodies had ended up together, but she hadn’t wanted him to move. She hadn’t felt repulsed or horrified or even reluctant. She’d felt safe in his arms, safer than she’d felt in a long time, as if she somehow belonged there.
But it wasn’t real. He’d made it clear enough how he felt about her. And she didn’t want a man who didn’t trust her, no matter how safe she felt in his arms.
She heard voices outside and strained to listen, but the words were muffled, followed by ribald laughter. They were probably laughing about her. She wanted to bury her head under the covers and stay there, but what jokes would they make about her then? Besides, she wasn’t going to hide as if she had done anything to feel ashamed or guilty about. She’d done what was necessary to protect her people. Just as Svend had done what was necessary for his reward. That was their arrangement.
The fact that he’d carried her to bed and she’d woken up in his arms meant nothing.
In any case, she had her own business to attend to. Now that the Earl was leaving, she ought to try and find out what had really happened between Cille and de Quincey. If what Svend had told her was true, then somebody in Redbourn had to know something.
‘Lady Aediva?’ A maid poked her head around the door. ‘The Warden thought you might be hungry. I’ve brought you some porridge.’
‘Oh...thank you.’ She felt a moment’s surprise. Apparently Svend had been thinking about her even as he’d left.
The maid handed her a bowl and Aediva looked at her thoughtfully. There was something familiar about her round face and strawberry blonde curls.
‘Were you one of my sister’s maids? I think I’ve seen you before.’
‘Yes, my lady, I was with Lady Cille when she was in Redbourn.’
‘Judith!’ She sprang forward impulsively, grasping the other woman’s hands. ‘You’re Judith!’
The maid nodded shyly. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me.’
‘Well, I do.’ She pulled back, smiling. Somehow just being with someone who knew her sister made her feel closer to Cille. Besides, it felt good to speak Saxon again. She’d been surrounded by Normans for so long she’d almost forgotten how.
‘How is my lady?’ Judith sounded anxious. ‘They say de Quincey’s gone after her.’
‘He still wants to marry her. Did she tell you what happened between them?’
‘No.’ Judith shook her head. ‘She wasn’t happy with Leofric, but she was always loyal to him. She mourned his death after Hastings. Then when de Quincey arrived she seemed different...agitated, somehow...but I never knew why. Everyone could see he was smitten, but she never said anything—not to me or the other maids.’
‘She was unhappy with Leofric?’ Aediva felt a jolt of surprise. ‘She never told me that. What was the matter?’
Judith looked hesitant. ‘It’s not my place to say, my lady.’
‘Did she spend much time with de Quincey?’
‘They dined together, and they spoke about the building work, but she never showed him any special favour. It wasn’t until after he was gone that she seemed...’ Judith frowned, as if searching for the right word. ‘Frightened...’
‘Frightened?’
‘But I never thought she’d run away like she did. Not in her condition.’
‘So you knew she was pregnant?’
‘I suspected. She was sick in the mornings. And there were rumours.’
‘But you don’t know that de Quincey’s the father?’
‘No, but...who else?’
Aediva chewed her lip thoughtfully. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d been surprised by Cille’s behaviour, but she still didn’t have the answers she was looking for. And if Judith didn’t know...
She clambered off the bed. She wasn’t going to be defeated so easily. She’d ask every man, woman and child in Redbourn if she had to.
Just as soon as she got dressed.
She stopped short in the middle of the floor, struck by a new dilemma. ‘My clothes! They took them for washing and Cille’s gowns are in the other hall.’
‘Don’t worry, the Warden thought of that too. He’s having one of Lady Cille’s coffers sent up. Your old gown isn’t fit to be seen.’
‘He’s sending the clothes here?’ Aediva’s eyes widened in surprise. If he were having clothes sent to the bedchamber did that mean he expected her to sleep there permanently? He’d said that they would lead separate lives, and she’d assumed that this would be his room, not hers. Or did he intend for them to share it?
‘He’s very handsome.’ Judith gave her a sly look.
‘He’s Norman. Sort of.’ She took refuge in the old argument.
‘That doesn’t make him less pleasing to look at. There’s plenty here that would have him, but he seems to have eyes only for you.’
‘He does not!’ She felt a telltale blush spread up and over her cheeks. ‘Not like that anyway. Maybe once, but not now.’
Judith smiled serenely. ‘If you say so, my lady. But I saw his face this morning. It was the same as de Quincey’s when he met Lady Cille last year. And look what happened there...’
* * *
It was twilight by the time the scouting party returned, the clouds turning to misty drizzle as they rode back through the gates, sodden and saddle-sore.
Svend let his men disperse quickly. They’d ridden across half the county that day, finding signs of rebel activity although no rebels themselves. But it was a promising start. The trail was warm—could be picked up again tomorrow. They’d find them soon enough...he was sure of it.
He ate a brief dinner and then made his way to the bedchamber, pausing with his hand on the door. Would Aediva be inside? There’d been no sign of her in the hall, but that was hardly surprising. She’d probably gone back to her sister’s old room. But there was still a chance...
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?’
‘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?’
He saw her shoulders tense and gave a curt smile. ‘I thought you’d be back in your sister’s old room.’
‘You had my clothes sent here.’
‘I assumed you’d need some this morning. I didn’t think you’d stay.’
‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I thought you said we had to pretend?’
‘For the Earl.’ He stretched out, enjoying the obvious embarrassment in her voice. ‘But he’s gone.’
She sprang up at once, swinging her legs off the bed as if she’d just felt a mouse in the mattress. ‘Then I’ll go.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He threw an arm behind his head. ‘If I send my wife out in the rain the whole castle will hear of it.’
‘Fine.’ She eyed him warily over her shoulder. ‘I’ll stay—but just for tonight.’
He shrugged and she climbed slowly back under the blanket, curling up on the edge of the bed as far away from him as she could get. He felt a twinge of guilt, already regretting his words. He’d been cruel, venting his anger by making her feel she wasn’t welcome when in fact the very opposite was true. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to stretch out beside her and pull her face close to his...
Damn it, this was intolerable! How could he possibly share a bed with his wife and not touch her?
‘Aediva...’ He stretched a hand out and then thought better of it, shifting his body sideways instead. ‘Move over. I won’t bite. I had your things sent here so that you’d have a choice of clothing. You can move them back whenever you’re ready.’
‘They’re not my things.’ Her voice sounded muffled.
‘I doubt your sister will mind you borrowing them.’
‘Won’t she?’ She rolled over to face him again. ‘What if she doesn’t understand? What if she doesn’t forgive me?’
‘For borrowing her clothes?’
‘For the rest of it! You’re right—I do have some explaining to do. She came home for help and I failed her. I left her alone. I was supposed to take care of her, but I came here instead and married you. This is her land, her castle! I didn’t mean to, but somehow I stole it! What if she doesn’t forgive me?’
‘You were trying to protect her—she’ll understand that. And, as I recall, you didn’t just leave her alone. I almost had to drag you away. Tell her the truth and she’ll forgive you.’
‘You won’t.’
‘What?’
She regarded him sombrely. ‘You said that you understood, but you still won’t forgive me.’
He exhaled slowly. ‘I can forgive you, Aediva. I just can’t forget.’
‘Because I lied? Like Maren?’
‘I don’t trust easily.’
‘So that’s it?’ She pulled herself up angrily. ‘I make one mistake and you hold it against me for ever?’
‘One mistake? I could have lost everything!’
‘But you didn’t! You got your reward.’
‘Do you think that’s all that matters to me?’
‘Isn’t it...?’ Her voice faltered. ‘I thought it was all you wanted.’
‘Not all.’ He felt his resolve weaken. ‘Aediva, why do you think I lied to the Earl?’
‘Because you were being honourable.’
‘Honourable?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘I’m an outlaw, remember?’
‘You were an outlaw—now you’re a knight. And you’re more honourable than you think. You’ve been nothing but honourable since we met. I just didn’t appreciate it at first.’
‘That’s not why I lied to the Earl.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Then why?’
‘Because I didn’t want to see you get hurt. Is that so hard to believe?’
‘No. It’s what an honourable man would do.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake! Forget it, Aediva, it doesn’t change anything.’
‘It changes everything!’ She put a hand on his chest tentatively. ‘Svend, I know that you saved me, and I know what you risked. I wouldn’t lie to you again—not after that. You can trust me.’ Black eyelashes fluttered closed and then open again. ‘If you want to.’
‘Want to?’ He felt every part of himself stiffen at once. He had a feeling they weren’t just talking about trust any more. ‘Do you want to?’
She nodded silently and his voice turned to a growl.
‘Be careful what you wish for.’
* * *
Aediva held her breath. His voice was low and dangerous and achingly familiar. It made her body feel tight, as if all her nerve endings had sprung to life at once. He’d said that he wanted to protect her. He’d said that he could forgive her. Could he learn to forget as well? And if he could...if he didn’t only care about his reward...was there still a chance for them?
Did he still want her? Did she still want him?
Yes.
A thrill of anticipation coursed through her, impossible to resist. She knew the answer with every fibre of her being. And if his voice could arouse her so easily, what could the rest of him do?
He cupped a hand around the back of her neck, scrutinising her face as if he were searching for something. ‘I need to trust you, Aediva.’
‘You can.’ She trailed her fingers down the length of his jaw. It felt strong and solid and unmistakably male. She ached to explore the rest of him.
‘No more lies.’ His own fingers tightened convulsively, as if he were struggling to hold himself back.
‘No more.’
Emboldened, she slid her hands over the hard contours of his chest, scarcely able to believe her own daring. He gave a sharp intake of breath and she froze, waiting for him to push her away, but he didn’t move. Did he still want her? She had to find out.
Slowly she let her fingers drift lower, over his taut stomach and then down, and found the answer ready and waiting, throbbing against her fingers, harder and stronger with every pulsating heartbeat.
She gasped and then his lips seized hers, his tongue pushing its way inside her mouth as if he wanted to punish and possess her at the same time. She responded at once, her lips meeting his with equal ardour, a low moan of desire giving way to one of pure, unrestrained pleasure.
Strong hands gripped her shift, half pulling, half tearing it over her head. Then for a tantalising moment he held himself still, his blue eyes black with desire as they raked over her body.
He groaned and she smiled in answer, pushing herself up towards him as he gathered her into his arms. Instinctively she wrapped her arms and legs around him, revelling in the touch of his skin and the weight of his body, stunned by the depth of her desire. His lips and hands seemed to be everywhere—trailing kisses over her breasts and stomach, along her thighs, up the insides of her legs...
She moaned. She felt as though he were tightening something inside her, winding it tighter and tighter until she thought she might snap. Now that she lay naked and vulnerable beneath him she wanted urgency, but he seemed to be taking his time, torturing her with pleasure. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she wanted it now.
‘Hurry...’ She moaned in frustration and he gave a low answering laugh, circling a nipple with his tongue and gently licking the tip. ‘Svend...’ She dragged her nails over his back in retaliation and he shifted upwards at once.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ His breathing was ragged.
‘You won’t.’ She arched her body beneath him, felt the heat of him straining between her legs.
‘Cille...’
Cille! She froze abruptly, feeling as if a bucket of ice had just been hurled over the bed.
His mouth stilled at her throat and she stared helplessly up at the rafters, panting and breathless. It had been a slip of the tongue, she told herself. A mistake. Understandable under the circumstances. No reason to feel hurt or humiliated, even if she did wish the ground would open up and swallow her.
But it had brought her lie back between them.
‘Aediva,’ he said flatly, rolling away from her onto his back. ‘That will take some getting used to.’
She threw an arm over her face and took a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. There was so much for them to get used to. Her name was only the start of it.
He touched her arm but she shook her head, refusing to pull it away. She couldn’t look at him—not now. It was hopeless. There was no chance of him ever trusting her again. He couldn’t forget what she’d done. He couldn’t even remember her name.
She heard him sigh and move away, but she kept herself rigid, willing sleep to descend. If she could only sleep then perhaps they could put this catastrophe of a night behind them, pretend it had never happened...
If she could only sleep...
Every nerve and sinew was still alive and throbbing, every part of her still straining towards him.
If she could only sleep...
Somehow she doubted that would happen for a very long time.