Married to Her Enemy

by Jenni Fletcher

‘Get back!’ Svend’s voice was tense with fury.

  She ignored him, staring down the length of de Quincey’s blade as she willed him to see the truth. ‘Look at me. I’m not Cille.’

  ‘What?’ The Baron stared at her for a long moment before dropping his sword to the floor, his face paling as if he’d just seen a ghost. ‘Your eyes... Who are you?’

  She let out a breath of relief. ‘My name’s Aediva. Cille is my sister.’

  He kept on staring at her, seemingly unable to drag his eyes from her face, though his words were addressed to Svend. ‘You told the steward... You were touching her... I thought the two of you...’ He rubbed a hand over his face suddenly. ‘Sweet mercy, I could have killed you.’

  ‘You could have tried.’ Svend lowered his weapon at last, throwing her a look that was part anger, part relief. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding. Lady Aediva is here on her sister’s behalf.’

  ‘But you found Cille? Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated briefly. ‘We left her a week ago.’

  ‘Then why isn’t she here?’

  ‘She’s well, but not fit enough to travel. Her sister came as a gesture of goodwill.’

  ‘Goodwill?’ De Quincey’s brows drew together in a thick black line. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Just that she intends to return to Redbourn as soon as she’s able.’

  Aediva spun towards Svend indignantly. How could he promise that? They still didn’t know why Cille had run away—at least not for certain. What if she didn’t want to come back and marry de Quincey? How dared he simply assume?

  She caught the Baron looking at her and adjusted her expression quickly. A gesture of goodwill ought not to be glaring, no matter how indignant she might feel. But he seemed distracted, his face haunted by some overpowering emotion.

  ‘I don’t understand what happened...’ He dropped down onto the bed suddenly. ‘Everything seemed all right when I left. I thought the problems between us were over. When they told me she’d run away I felt desperate. But I was too far away...the message had been delayed for weeks. I sent word to FitzOsbern as soon as I could.’

  Despite herself, Aediva felt a surge of pity. There was no doubting the look of anguish on his face, nor the depth of his emotion. He looked tormented, as if he truly cared for Cille. He even spoke as if she cared for him too. No, this man was no monster. But he was still Norman...

  She waited for the customary sense of outrage, but it didn’t come. A week ago—a day ago, even—she would have hated him, would never have believed that her sister could care for a Norman. Now the idea didn’t seem so outlandish. The idea of loving her enemy seemed almost...natural.

  ‘Did she say why she left?’ He sounded desperate. ‘What did she tell you?’

  Nothing. Aediva’s stomach plummeted. Cille hadn’t told her anything.

  She turned away, shamefaced. She’d learned so much in the past hour—not just about her sister, but about herself too. Cille had come home for help and then hadn’t dared to confide in her because she’d been so intractable, so full of hatred, never questioning her own prejudices against Normans. Cille hadn’t retreated inside herself—she’d pushed her away. And when Svend had arrived she’d been too impulsive, taking Cille’s place without even asking, charging recklessly ahead and endangering everyone around her—him included.

  So why had he rescued her? She stole a glance towards him, confused. If she’d known about de Quincey she would never have let him help her, let him endanger himself by dragging her away. Besides, she didn’t want his protection—not like this! He looked as stern as granite, a different man from the one who’d kissed her so tenderly the night before.

  He wouldn’t kiss her again. That much was certain. So why was he still trying to protect her? Lying to the Baron to hide her deceit? Clearly he was as stubbornly honourable as she was impulsive. That made her feel doubly guilty. He wouldn’t let her take the blame even when she asked for it. Now she wished he’d left her at the tower. If he was so angry, why had he even bothered to rescue her?

  ‘Aediva?’

  His stern voice prompted her now. Apparently he expected her to tell de Quincey about the baby. Well, she wasn’t going to soften the blow—not for a Norman. She hadn’t changed her mind so completely.

  ‘She was with child.’

  The Baron’s face turned even paler. ‘She was carrying my child?’

  ‘A boy.’ Svend shot her a glance of warning. ‘Born a week ago. He’s healthy and strong.’

  ‘You didn’t leave them alone?’

  ‘No. Henri’s with her, and ten of my men. They’re safe.’

  ‘Then I’m indebted.’ He stood up shakily, clasping Svend’s shoulder for support. ‘I have to go to her.’

  ‘I’ll give you directions. You can be there in three days.’

  ‘Good. I’ll go to the Earl now. I want to leave immediately. Tonight.’

  He made for the flap and then stopped, as if suddenly remembering why he’d come. ‘You ought to come with me. You’ll still have to explain why she ignored the Earl’s summons.’

  Aediva tensed, but the Baron’s expression was thoughtful.

  ‘Perhaps it was my fault... Perhaps I came across her and couldn’t wait for news of Cille... Perhaps all this time she’s been assuring me of her sister’s good health...’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Svend’s expression was guarded.

  ‘As for what you told the steward...a slip of the tongue after such a long journey would be understandable. Or perhaps he simply misheard?’

  Aediva’s mouth fell open. This Norman—this man she’d assumed was a monster—was offering them a lifeline. She clenched her jaw, trying and failing to hold on to her resentment.

  ‘And perhaps...’ De Quincey looked faintly amused. ‘She might want to change her clothes before meeting the King’s cousin.’

  Mortified, she looked down at her tattered dress. He was right. She looked as though she’d been dragged through a hedgerow backwards. Twice. No decent Saxon lady would ever have appeared in such a state. Certainly Cille would never have done. Had she looked so ragged all week? What must Svend think of her? He had seemed to find her attractive despite her dishevelment, but now his averted gaze spoke volumes. He didn’t even want to look at her.

  ‘Wait here.’ The Baron smiled gallantly, as if to take the sting from his words. ‘I’ll have someone escort you to Cille’s old chamber. Her clothes are still there. You can choose a new gown.’

  ‘I...’ She hardly knew what to say.

  ‘In the meantime—’ he turned back towards Svend ‘—we need to speak with the Earl.’

  ‘But shouldn’t I come with you?’

  The two men exchanged glances and she stiffened. Did they think they could just leave her behind while they spoke to the Earl? As if she ought to stay put while Normans decided her future? She should have a say at least. If she were going to be condemned by FitzOsbern she wanted a chance to confront him first.

  ‘Stay here.’ Svend’s tone was peremptory, brooking no argument. ‘You’ll be safe.’

  ‘But I’m the one who was summoned!’

  ‘It’s best if we speak to him alone.’

  ‘You said we’d go together!’

  ‘That was before.’

  ‘So why can’t I come now?’

  ‘Because we didn’t stand a chance before.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I don’t trust you!’

  She took an involuntary step backwards, too shocked to respond. The look on his face was even worse than before—worse than any look she could have imagined. When he’d spoken of Maren his eyes had glittered with anger and bitterness, but now they were blazing with something else—some fierce emotion she didn’t recognise. Did he hate her so much, then?
<
br />   ‘You’ll see the Earl tonight.’ De Quincey broke the silence at last. ‘Trust me, Lady Aediva, you’ll be perfectly safe with my men, but we have to go. We need to speak to FitzOsbern before he sends someone to arrest the pair of you.’

  * * *

  ‘Promise of goodwill?’ De Quincey gave him a sceptical look as they crossed the bailey.

  ‘It was the best I could do at short notice.’

  ‘It might have worked too, if she hadn’t looked so angry.’

  Svend grimaced. That was true. For a woman who’d managed to deceive him so completely, she’d been remarkably poor at hiding her feelings around de Quincey.

  ‘Do you think the Earl will believe it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. There’s been a spate of Saxon raids recently. He’s not in a temper to forgive rebels—even suspected ones.’

  ‘She’s not a rebel.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  No. He wasn’t sure about anything to do with her. After a week in which she’d done little but lie to him he was a long way from sure. He certainly wasn’t going to risk taking her with them to FitzOsbern—couldn’t trust her not to say or do something to get them arrested.

  All his warrior’s instincts told him the same thing. He couldn’t trust her. But he still couldn’t give her up.

  ‘What’s going on?’ De Quincey looked at him meaningfully. ‘You didn’t really give Cille’s name by mistake.’

  ‘No, I only discovered the truth half an hour before you did. She was trying to protect her sister.’ Against his will, he found himself defending her. ‘She thought if she pretended to be Cille she could stop the marriage. She didn’t know anything about you.’

  ‘Cille never told her about me?’ De Quincey halted mid-stride, his brows knitting together thoughtfully. ‘Then again, she never told me about the baby. She could have sent me a message. I’ve never claimed to understand women, but this...’

  His voice trailed away and Svend stayed silent. Whatever had happened between the Baron and Lady Cille was none of his business. His only concern was the younger sister, and getting her as far away from Redbourn as possible. The sooner she was gone, the sooner he could stop thinking about her and start trying to forget.

  ‘Do you care for her?’ The Baron’s eyes narrowed inquisitively.

  ‘She lied to me.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  He glowered ferociously. Did he still care for her? He didn’t know what he felt. Only one emotion made sense.

  ‘I’m angry.’ He turned the question around. ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘With her—a little. With Cille—extremely. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her.’ De Quincey shook his head, as if amazed by his own admission. ‘I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.’

  Then that was the difference between them, Svend thought bitterly. He wanted to.

  ‘But you want to protect her?’ De Quincey persisted.

  ‘Yes.’ This time he didn’t hesitate.

  ‘Very well. But you know that it’s risky. If FitzOsbern suspects the truth...that she intended to lie to him...it will be dangerous for you both. A sensible man might balk.’

  ‘I’ve never been accused of too much good sense.’ Svend smiled grimly. ‘I know it’s a risk. I don’t ask you to share it.’

  ‘What would I tell Cille, then?’ De Quincey clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll do this together, but let me explain to FitzOsbern. You look like you’re marching into battle. I’ll do the talking. You take over if we need to fight our way out of there.’

  They mounted the steps two at a time, and the Earl’s guards fell back as they recognised the Baron. Svend strode at his side, struggling to arrange his features into a calm, neutral expression—an endeavour that was ruined every time he thought about her. He swallowed an oath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘Danemark!’ The Earl’s voice boomed out to greet them as they entered the hall. ‘One minute they tell me you’ve brought de Quincey’s new bride, the next that you’ve run off with her. Are you two here to fight a duel?’

  ‘Quite the opposite, I assure you.’ De Quincey’s voice was full of good humour, revealing none of his earlier distress. ‘But if we might have a word in private?’

  ‘A word?’ The Earl waved a hand to dismiss his retainers, his gaze sharpening at once. ‘I thought to meet your new bride. Under the circumstances, I think I’ve been patient enough.’

  ‘So you have, but sadly my wedding will have to wait. There’s been a slight misunderstanding regarding the lady’s identity.’

  Svend stood immobile, listening in amazement as de Quincey launched into a heavily embellished version of events, so artfully expressed that he almost believed it himself. Somehow he managed to keep the surprise off his face. The Baron must love Cille indeed to risk straining the truth so dangerously.

  Then again, hadn’t he been prepared to do the same? What did that say about him?

  He pushed the thought aside as de Quincey drew to a close and the Earl beckoned for wine, staring thoughtfully into his cup.

  ‘So this woman, Aediva, brought you news of her sister?’

  ‘Yes, and about the child—my son.’

  ‘Did she say why Lady Cille ran away?’

  For the first time de Quincey looked unsure of himself. ‘No, but I intend to find out. With your permission, I’d like to leave for Etton at once.’

  ‘No.’ The Earl looked up sharply. ‘This business has taken too long already. I need to head towards Ely, attack the core of the rebellion, and I need a man here I can trust. There have been too many incursions already. The woman will have to wait.’

  ‘But my son—!’

  ‘The rebels shouldn’t pose too great a threat, my lord.’ Svend intervened hastily as de Quincey’s composure started to crack. ‘The ones we encountered were badly organised and easily scattered. The Baron could travel to Etton and deal with any threat he found on the way.’

  ‘Indeed?’ FitzOsbern peered at him speculatively. ‘And, in your opinion, how many men would it take to bring the rebels completely to heel?’

  ‘To clear the shire? Thirty should suffice.’

  ‘You have twenty under your command?’

  ‘Twenty-two.’ A suspicion flitted across Svend’s mind, but it was so outlandish that he dismissed it at once.

  ‘I could spare some of mine.’ De Quincey sounded calmer again. ‘And you said you wanted a man you could trust. Why not Danemark?’

  The Earl’s fingers toyed with the stem of his cup. ‘It’s not a bad idea. I could almost suspect that you’ve agreed to it already.’

  ‘It works for all of us.’ De Quincey’s tone was smoothly persuasive. ‘I’ve no desire to come back here. This was Cille’s home with her first husband. Once I find her, with the King’s permission, we’ll go back to Normandy and make a fresh start.’

  FitzOsbern nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Svend. ‘The King promised to reward you, did he not?’

  ‘Yes my lord, but...’ Svend was speechless, his surprise giving way to incredulity. He was the son of a farmer, an outlaw. He could never aim so high...

  ‘You haven’t failed the King yet. Though we’ll have to do something about the woman.’

  ‘My lord...?’ His brow furrowed at once.

  ‘As the Warden of Redbourn you will need a Saxon bride. And since Lady Cille is already spoken for the sister will have to suffice. Unless you have any objection?’

  Svend hesitated. The Earl was offering him a reward greater than any he’d ever imagined. Land, a castle, a home of his own...

  A home with a woman who’d deceived him, a woman he’d almost, almost loved. That morning he would have agreed in a heartbeat, but now... How could he live side by side wit
h a woman he didn’t trust?

  ‘So reluctant?’ The Earl looked bemused. ‘Most men would have bitten my hand off by now. I’m offering you a castle and half of the shire to boot. Surely the prize is worth tolerating one Saxon maid?’

  ‘Yes, my lord...’ He faltered, fumbling for an explanation.

  Tolerating her wasn’t the problem—at least not in the way the Earl meant. He wanted to do a lot more than just tolerate her. The very idea was dangerously tempting. But desire could be conquered, overcome. It had to be. He couldn’t bed a woman he couldn’t trust. They would lead separate lives. She could go back to Etton if she wanted. That would probably be best for both of them.

  ‘You think she’s untrustworthy?’

  FitzOsbern looked suspicious and he shook his head hastily.

  ‘It’s not that, my lord, I’ll vouch for her. But she might not want me.’

  ‘I hadn’t intended to give her a choice.’

  ‘I never thought to marry at all.’

  ‘Then this is your chance.’ The Earl’s gaze narrowed perceptibly. ‘You should take it, Danemark. I won’t offer twice.’

  Svend felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. He was being foolish—ought to grab the prize with both hands before FitzOsbern retracted his offer. This was the reward he’d worked so hard for, the reward he’d thought that he’d lost—everything he wanted with just one proviso. Her. Somehow they’d become bound together, woman and reward, and if he couldn’t take one without the other he’d have to take both.

  He made up his mind. He wasn’t going to let a woman take everything from him again.

  ‘You honour me, my lord. I won’t fail you.’

  ‘Good.’ The Earl raised his cup in salute. ‘Then it’s decided. You can tell her the news. These things always sound better from a lover.’

  He smiled, as if the description were incongruous, and Svend gritted his teeth. The very word brought to mind things he didn’t want to imagine. As her husband he’d be free to touch her, to hold her, to explore her body and all its hidden spaces...all the things he had to resist.

  Of course that was if she agreed to the marriage. Somehow he doubted she’d take the proposal calmly. She’d be as thrilled by the idea as he was. On the other hand there was a kind of poetic justice to their predicament. He couldn’t think of a more fitting punishment for her deceit. She was the one who’d pretended to care for him. Now she’d have to live with the consequences.