Married to Her Enemy

by Jenni Fletcher

  She perched silently in the saddle in front of him, forced to share his horse since her own had run wild, grasping the pommel tightly as she tried to keep their bodies apart. But it was no use. The terrain itself seemed to be conspiring against them. Every roll of the horse forced them closer together...every incline slid her further back into the curve of his chest and arms. She felt too hot, vividly aware that the base of her spine was pressed against his groin.

  For the hundredth time that day she yanked herself upright, her muscles aching and sore from the effort of holding herself straight. Her back would be throbbing for days, not to mention her thighs. If she clenched them any tighter her spasming muscles might never be able to keep her upright again. Her body felt taut as a bowstring.

  To distract herself, she looked around at the gently undulating flatlands. Where were they? They’d been riding all day, but she’d made the journey to Redbourn only a handful of times and her memory of the surrounding landscape was vague. How close were they? She could hardly ask without giving herself away. She was supposed to know this terrain better than anyone.

  ‘We’ll stay at Offley tonight.’

  Svend’s mouth was close to her ear and she jumped as his breath stirred her hair, sending alarming tingling sensations all through her body.

  ‘Where?’ The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she found it hard to concentrate.

  ‘Offley. I’m sure the Thane will be pleased to welcome you.’

  Offley! A surge of panic coursed through her. It was an outlying village of Redbourn. The Thane would have sworn allegiance to Leofric. Which meant...surely he’d have met Cille!

  ‘Why not go on to Redbourn tonight?’ She tried to keep the nervous tremor out of her voice.

  ‘Tonight? It’s still half a day’s ride. Even at a gallop, I doubt we’d reach it by nightfall.’

  ‘No, I suppose not...’ She chewed her lip anxiously. If she insisted he’d only grow suspicious.

  ‘You don’t want to stop?’ He sounded perplexed. ‘Thane Harald was very concerned to hear that you’d left Redbourn.’

  ‘How do you know?’ She heard the shrill note in her voice and adjusted her tone quickly. ‘I mean...have you been there already?’

  ‘We stopped on the way. They were very hospitable.’

  ‘They’re helping Normans?’

  ‘They have more sense than others.’

  She clenched her jaw at the insult. Now she really didn’t want to visit Offley. On the other hand, if it had to be done it might prove a good test of her performance. If she could convince the Thane that she was Cille then she’d be less anxious about her reception at Redbourn. She only hoped that he didn’t know her sister too well.

  They continued in silence until the village appeared in the distance, faint tendrils of smoke coiling up from its rooftops like misty ribbons into the sky. Her heart stalled as they passed through the wooden gates, as if prison doors were already closing behind her. After all, if anyone recognised her they might as well be.

  There were no signs of panic at their arrival. On the contrary, the villagers seemed completely unperturbed by the arrival of a group of armed enemy soldiers. Aediva looked around in confusion, surprised to find that Svend’s men weren’t the only Normans in the village. There were at least two dozen others, lounging in doorways or outside houses as if they’d already taken up residence. The only flurry of commotion came as they approached the Thane’s hall, where a tall, gaunt figure accompanied by two women bustled out through the doorway, adopting expressions of dutiful acquiescence.

  ‘Sir Svend!’ The man bent almost double as Svend swung out of the saddle before him. ‘I’m glad to see you again.’

  ‘Thane Harald.’ Svend bowed respectfully, before gesturing towards her. ‘As you can see, we’ve been successful in our search. Your guess was correct. Lady Cille had returned to her home village of Etton. I’ll be sure to tell the King of your help in finding her.’

  The Thane’s face lit up avariciously, though his tone remained humble. ‘It was an honour to serve our new King. You remember my wife Merewyn and my daughter Joannka?’

  Svend nodded politely, a faint look of surprise crossing his features before he turned to present her again—more emphatically this time. ‘And this is Lady Cille, of course.’

  ‘My lady.’ The Thane turned towards her at last, his voice coldly polite. ‘I’m glad to see you safe and well.’

  Aediva bent her head in acknowledgement, hiding her eyes as well as her expression, seized by a feeling of instant dislike. Svend had never explained how he’d discovered Cille’s whereabouts, but apparently Thane Harald was the man to blame. She wondered how close a friend he’d been to Leofric and how quickly he’d betrayed him.

  Surreptitiously, she glanced at the two women. They were both strikingly attractive—two versions of the same flaxen-haired, doe-eyed model—and they both appeared to share the Thane’s interest in Svend, gazing at him as if he were the King himself. It was an impression that he was doing nothing to dispel, bowing gallantly to kiss each of their hands in turn. She fought an unexpected pang of jealousy. He hadn’t kissed her hand when they’d met—though under the circumstances she supposed that would have been difficult. Still, there was no need for him to be quite so charming now. Did he think to seduce every Saxon woman he came across?

  ‘Danemark!’

  She looked around as another man emerged from the hall, bellowing a greeting as if he intended the whole village to hear. From his appearance he was Norman, almost as tall as Svend but twice as wide, with dark, close-cropped hair and a sneering expression that made her immediately distrustful.

  ‘You’re back, then?’ He gave Svend a look that implied he was less than thrilled by the fact.

  ‘Armand.’ Svend’s face was equally unenthusiastic. ‘I see you’ve made yourself at home. I thought you were ordered to Wales?’

  ‘So I was.’ The other man smirked and slid an arm around Joannka’s waist. ‘But the Thane and his family have been so welcoming. I thought I’d stay a while and enjoy the scenery.’

  ‘Scenery?’

  ‘Whatever you call it.’ He leered unpleasantly. ‘You needn’t look so outraged, Danemark. There’s plenty to go round. I see you’ve found your own trophy.’

  Aediva bristled angrily. How dared he talk about Saxon women like that? If she were Joannka she’d have slapped him at least. Not that the Thane’s daughter seemed to mind. On the contrary, she appeared to be enjoying the attention, sliding herself up against Armand even as she made eyes at Svend.

  This new man was a brute—a vulgar, ill-bred swine, and the very epitome of everything she’d imagined about Normans. If he’d come to Etton... She frowned, dreading to think what might have happened. What would he have done if she’d held a knife to his throat? Would he have forgiven her? Somehow she doubted it. Perhaps she’d been lucky that Svend had come after all.

  ‘This is the Lady Cille.’ Svend sounded terse.

  ‘De Quincey’s bride?’ Armand regarded her with fresh interest. ‘Not what I expected, but not bad either.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Pity for you, though. De Quincey doesn’t like sharing. You’ll be lonely tonight.’

  She saw Svend’s fists tighten and she slid off the saddle abruptly, hardly knowing what she intended, but needing to break the tension somehow. Clearly there was no love lost between Svend and Armand, but his men outnumbered them two to one. Besides, this was a Saxon village. If there was going to be bloodshed she didn’t want innocent bystanders to get hurt.

  ‘Ow!’ She yelped as her strained back and legs jarred painfully on the hard ground. She’d forgotten exactly how long she’d been sitting, but now she felt as though she’d aged ten years in one afternoon.

  ‘Lady Cille?’ Svend was beside her at once, taking hold of her elbow to steady her.

 
She licked her lips, tasting blood. ‘I’m all right...’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to rest?’ Thane Harald looked at her sourly. ‘If you’ll honour us by accepting our hospitality tonight, Sir Svend?’

  ‘If it pleases Lady Cille, we’d be only too glad to accept.’

  Aediva blinked in surprise. Beneath his courtier’s tone, Svend’s words were a clear reproof. The Thane and his family were looking at her now with varying expressions of outrage.

  ‘I’d be delighted.’ She gave her brightest, most insincere smile and saw Svend’s lips twitch upwards. ‘Normans have such excellent manners—don’t you agree, Thane Harald?’

  She didn’t wait for a response, sweeping into the hall with her shoulders back and her head held high.

  Revenge left a bittersweet aftertaste. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eight

  Aediva drained her third cup of mead and stared moodily into the hearth, watching as tendrils of smoke twisted up to the rafters and out through the chimney.

  She needn’t have worried about being recognised. The Thane and his family had eyes only for Svend. She might have been invisible for all the notice they were taking of her. If she hadn’t felt so relieved, she might have been offended for Cille. Clearly the Thane had no problem with Normans. On the contrary, from the way his gaze was sliding speculatively back and forth between the two knights and Joannka it seemed he was already planning his own Saxon-Norman alliance.

  Against her will, she found her gaze drifting back towards them. Thane Harald was leaning so close to Svend it was a wonder he didn’t simply climb into his lap, while Joannka seemed to have abandoned Armand and was batting her eyelashes at Svend so furiously she seemed in danger of blinding herself. Not that Svend was doing anything to repel her. Whatever she was simpering about was clearly engrossing. He was even smiling!

  She stood up, unable to watch any longer as Joannka tossed her head provocatively, draping a blonde tendril over Svend’s arm.

  ‘Forgive me, Thane Harald, but I have a headache.’ Somehow she doubted he cared. ‘I’d like some air.’

  ‘Of course.’ The Thane threw her a cursory glance.

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  She stepped outside with relief, tipping her head back to inhale the fresh evening air. The sky was darkening fast, revealing a spattering of stars on a backdrop of blue-grey. She stared up at them thoughtfully. They were the same stars she could see from Etton, and yet everything else in her world seemed to have been turned upside down. She hardly knew who she was any more. She felt...lost. Protecting Cille was the only thing left to hold on to—the one thing that still made sense.

  ‘May I join you?’

  She didn’t need to look to know it was Svend. No one else could have approached her so soundlessly. No one else could have made her skin tingle just by standing beside her.

  She started to turn and then stiffened, remembering the way he’d smiled at Joannka.

  ‘There’s no need to accompany me.’

  ‘FitzOsbern might think otherwise.’

  He offered an arm and she glanced at it dubiously. She’d spent all day trying to avoid physical contact with him, and had the aching limbs to prove it. She didn’t want to fail now.

  ‘I won’t try to escape.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of taking a walk by myself.’

  ‘Even after three cups of mead?’

  She looked up sharply, but his expression was guarded. How did he know she’d had three cupfuls? She hadn’t thought he’d been paying her any attention at all.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to fall, my lady.’

  She gave a snort of derision. ‘I doubt Thane Harald would care.’

  ‘Perhaps not. He’s not as clever as he thinks.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Antagonising the soon-to-be wife of his future liege lord... He has a lot to learn about diplomacy. But it’s still my duty to protect you.’

  She gave a wry smile, the three cupfuls of mead starting to take effect. ‘I thought you were my captor?’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘And what makes you think I need protecting? Just because I charged into a skirmish, let my horse bolt and caught a fever?’

  He was silent for a moment, as if weighing his words with care. ‘There is that. And also because you remind me of someone.’

  ‘Oh?’ She felt taken aback. ‘Who?’

  ‘Someone I knew a long time ago.’

  ‘A woman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A woman you cared for? The question sprang to her mind unbidden but she pushed it away. She couldn’t ask him that.

  ‘A good woman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Her face fell abruptly, the effects of the mead evaporating in an instant.

  He shrugged, though his shoulders were tense. ‘Her name was Maren. She was a girl from my village in Danemark. I thought I loved her, but... Suffice to say she didn’t love me.’

  Aediva stared at him, speechless. He was comparing her to a woman he’d loved! Her heart soared and then plummeted again. No, he’d only thought that he loved her. What did that mean? As bad as it sounded, she had to know.

  ‘What happened?’

  He hesitated for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he sighed, meeting her eyes with a look of grim intensity.

  ‘She liked pretty things...stole a necklace from the local manor. When the theft was discovered she came to me, begging for help.’

  ‘You took the blame?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked faintly surprised. ‘She said that she loved me, that she’d be true to me if I took her punishment. I was young and naive enough to believe her. She found someone else instead.’

  ‘She betrayed you?’

  He nodded. ‘I was outlawed, sent into exile—away from my home, my family, everything I loved. Eventually I found myself in Normandy.’

  ‘So you’re an outlaw?’ She hardly dared say it aloud. The very word was a terrible one, conjuring up images of wild, lawless men. And he was one of them. If it hadn’t come from his own mouth she would never have believed it. The admission made him seem stronger somehow, even more honourable. ‘Does the King know?’

  ‘Only the King knows. And you.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt a stab of conscience. ‘So...she broke your heart?’

  ‘I thought so at first, but the woman I loved wasn’t real. I thought I could trust her, but she was only pretending to be someone she wasn’t.’

  ‘And I remind you of her?’

  There was a long silence, broken only by the frantic pounding of her heartbeat. She was only pretending to be someone she wasn’t. The words struck like a blow to her heart. He’d lost everything because a woman had deceived him. And she reminded him of her! Was he trying to tell her something? That he knew she was deceiving him too, pretending to be someone else? Could he see the guilt in her face? No, it was worse—far worse. He was confiding in her, taking her into his trust. A trust that she didn’t deserve.

  Suddenly she wished there were a pit she could jump into.

  ‘Cille.’ He spoke at last, his expression softening. ‘You remind me of her...but not like that.’

  ‘How, then?’ Her voice was the faintest hint of a whisper.

  ‘Some women are...dangerous.’

  ‘I’m dangerous?’ She stared at him, uncomprehending, as he took a step closer towards her.

  ‘To me.’

  Aediva caught her breath, elation vying with despair. She was dangerous to him. Dangerous because he wanted her. His stern features were glowing with emotion in the moonlight, with desire, tenderness, with something like love. Something
that surely couldn’t be love but that made her heart soar.

  But she was as bad as Maren. She’d been deceiving him from the start, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And if he ever found out he’d never look at her in the same way again.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ She averted her face quickly. ‘You should go back to your friends.’

  ‘Friends?’ He sounded bemused. ‘How bad must my enemies be?’

  ‘You seemed to be enjoying their company.’

  ‘It doesn’t pay to alienate anyone.’ His lips curled upwards. ‘Interesting that they’re Saxon, though—Armand excepted.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s just interesting that they’re Saxon and you don’t like them. I thought that all Saxons were on your side?’

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Was that why he’d been so gallant and attentive? To prove a point?

  He smiled. ‘Sadly, they overestimate my influence at court. I suspect their friendship might cool when they find out.’

  ‘Surely a knight has some influence?’

  ‘A small shred, maybe, but no lands and no money—not yet.’

  ‘Poor Joannka.’

  ‘Joannka?’ He looked at her askance. ‘That kind of woman can’t be happy unless every man in the room is looking at her. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I just thought Saxon women had better taste.’

  ‘Then perhaps she’s ill too.’

  Aediva felt her heart skip a beat. Since she’d woken up from her fever neither of them had made any mention of their kiss. She’d almost come to think it had been part of her illness, that she’d simply imagined it. But what else could his words mean?

  ‘Now, shall we walk more than five paces from the door?’ Svend leaned towards her, his voice deepening huskily. ‘Before my friends decide to follow us? Or is my company really so onerous?’

  She hesitated, looking around as if searching for an excuse in the darkness, guilt and excitement blending together in a heady combination. If their kiss had happened, really happened, then the last thing she should do was take a moonlit stroll with him. After everything he’d just told her she ought to turn and run. But suddenly she felt as though nothing on earth could make her.