Married To Her Enemy

‘He joined the rebellion.’

‘And left his wife with child?’

She shrugged. ‘I came to look after her.’

Svend stared at her incredulously. What kind of a man abandoned his pregnant wife, rebellion or no? Small wonder that Lady Cille seemed reluctant to talk about him. On the other hand, at least it explained what she was doing here—though not why she’d left Redbourn so suddenly and secretly.

‘You ask a lot of questions, Norman.’ Her expression was guarded.

‘I’m simply confused. Since the death of your husband, you’ve inherited his lands, have you not?’

‘No. Leofric had a younger brother. He’s the ealdorman now.’

‘He forfeited that position when he refused to swear fealty to the King and joined the rebels. Surely you knew that?’

‘Forfeited under Norman law. I don’t have to accept it.’

‘It would be wise if you did.’ His voice was low, but the veiled threat was unmistakable. ‘In any case, you’re now mistress of one of the largest estates in England.’

She looked less than impressed. ‘What of it?’

‘You left Redbourn in something of a hurry, my lady. It’s time for you to return home.’

She froze instantly. If he’d told her Redbourn had burnt to the ground she couldn’t have looked more horrified. ‘And if I don’t wish to go?’

‘Your people are vulnerable and afraid. As the ealdorman’s widow it’s your duty to take care of them. Or did you forget that when you ran away?’

‘I told you—I came to look after my sister. I have a duty to her as well.’

‘And yet you ran away by yourself, without telling anyone where you were going. That doesn’t speak of a particularly clear conscience.’

‘How dare you? My reasons for leaving are none of your concern.’

‘You still have a duty to come back.’

‘Duty?’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Ironic for a Norman to be worried about Saxons!’

She whirled away but he caught her wrist, pulling her back again. ‘Even a Norman understands duty.’

‘Let me go!’

‘Forgive me.’ His tone was anything but apologetic. ‘But my orders come from the King. He was most displeased to hear that you’d left Redbourn.’

‘The Conqueror is at Redbourn?’

‘The King,’ he corrected her. ‘King William was crowned in December. But, no, he returned to Normandy in the spring. He left his half-brother Bishop Odo in charge, along with his cousin William FitzOsbern. He’s the one waiting for you at Redbourn.’

‘The King’s cousin wants to see me?’

He nodded slowly. His fingers were still wrapped around her arm, but he felt strangely reluctant to pull them away. He’d held her wrists before... The memory of her writhing beneath him flashed through his mind, heating his blood. He could feel the quickening of her pulse against his thumb and fought the urge to caress it.

‘Why?’ She looked panicked. ‘What does he want with me?’

He wishes for you to marry again.

The answer sprang to his lips, but the obvious fear in her voice made him hesitate. With his hand gripping her arm he felt suddenly, irrationally, protective. It wasn’t his place to tell her the Earl’s plans, but she was watching him, no longer defiant but frightened, asking him a question. He felt a stirring in his chest—something he hadn’t felt in a long time—as if something were shifting inside of him. Damn it all, how could such a small woman have such a powerful effect on his senses?

‘He intends for you to marry again,’ he said softly, surprising himself.

‘Marry a Norman?’

She staggered backwards, the colour draining from her face, and he dropped her wrist instantly, the protective urge evaporating.

‘That is something I wouldn’t say to FitzOsbern, my lady.’

‘But I’ve no wish to marry again! The King has no right to force me!’

Svend held his temper with an effort. Was she determined to fight him on everything? This wasn’t the way he’d intended their interview to go. He hadn’t even got to the part that was bound to provoke her more.

‘That’s no longer your choice. You’re a vassal of the King now, not a freewoman. Your people need you.’

‘They’re not my people any more—they’re his.’

‘You don’t think they’ll take comfort in having a Saxon mistress?’

‘False comfort!’

‘Perhaps, but this marriage will permit you to keep your lands. I’d have thought you’d be grateful.’

‘My lands?’ She gave a hollow, derisive laugh. ‘Is that all you Normans think about? Land?’

Svend’s patience snapped, and his voice was coolly insulting. ‘Aye. Land, money and tupping Saxon women!’

This time he didn’t even try to stop her hand. He didn’t flinch as she slapped him hard across the face, her outstretched fingers connecting violently with the side of his jaw.

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of wood in the fire and the sound of their combined breathing. Svend rubbed a hand over his chin. He supposed he’d deserved that. Normally he prided himself on his self-control, on not showing what he was thinking or feeling, but this woman pushed the very limits of his self-restraint. Something about her unsteadied him. She was dangerous, somehow. He’d known her for mere hours and already she was under his skin.

He looked down at her glowering face, at her slender chest heaving beneath it, and felt the sudden urge to grab her around the waist, pull her towards him and...what? His lips curved slowly. Do something that would wipe the defiant look off her face for certain.

What would she do if he kissed her? he wondered. Stab him in his sleep, most likely. Well, he could keep a guard outside his door. It might be worth it.

‘Sir?’ There was a discreet cough from the doorway.

‘Come!’

Svend beckoned to Henri, his second-in-command, relieved at the interruption. One more second and he might have done something he’d regret.

‘Are the men settled?’