Married to Her Enemy

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘But you said that you... That we wouldn’t...’

  ‘We’re not.’ He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it aside. ‘I told you—you’re safe with me. This is a marriage of convenience. I want it as much as you do.’

  ‘I don’t want it at all!’

  She swung her legs off the side of the bed, affronted. No groom could have looked less pleased to be alone with his bride. How dared he talk as if he were the injured party when she’d practically been blackmailed into marriage?

  ‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’

  He kicked his boots into a corner with a sigh. ‘Aediva, unless you want this marriage annulled then we have to at least pretend to share a bed.’

  At least? She looked up in alarm. The words suggested the possibility of more.

  ‘Who’s going to know where I sleep? We’re sharing a room, aren’t we?’

  ‘We are.’

  His hands dropped to the ties of his hose and she averted her eyes quickly, though not before she saw the flash of humour in his.

  ‘So long as you explain what you’re doing to the Earl’s men.’

  ‘What?’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hose fall to the floor.

  ‘Let’s just say they like to make sure the marriage contract is sealed. But if you can think of a reason why you’re down there and I’m up here... Perhaps you can say you rolled off?’

  ‘But surely they won’t come in here?’

  ‘Not if they value their limbs.’ He laid himself out on the bed with an exaggerated groan. ‘Unless the Earl orders it. Then they’d have no choice.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’ He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Then at least we’ll have some excitement tonight.’

  She shot him a dark look. What kind of barbaric Norman custom was that? She had a feeling he was trying to scare her, but it sounded plausible enough to be true. Well, he wasn’t going to rattle her so easily. She’d stay awake and guard the door all night if she had to. She wasn’t going to climb into bed with him voluntarily.

  ‘I’ll move if I hear them coming. I doubt they’ll be able to approach quietly.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He sounded half asleep already.

  She undressed quickly, scooping up a blanket to drape over the rushes before settling down to unravel her braid, letting the tresses splay out over her shoulders.

  ‘I like it loose.’

  She glanced up in surprise. She’d thought that he was already asleep, but he was propped up on one elbow, watching the progress of her fingers through her hair admiringly.

  ‘I can never decide if it’s dark gold or light brown...’ He seemed to be genuinely considering the question.

  ‘It’s hair.’ She dropped her hands at once, tempted to find the nearest shears and give herself a cropped Norman haircut just to spite him.

  ‘Obviously.’ Pale brows arched upwards. ‘How’s the floor? Comfortable?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Good.’ He settled down again. ‘I’d hate to inconvenience you on our wedding night.’

  Before long his breathing altered and she glowered into the darkness. She hadn’t heard him snore at all during their journey to Redbourn, and now she was almost certain he was doing it on purpose. Worse still, the wooden floor felt as hard as rock. She wasn’t accustomed to luxury, only a straw-filled mattress, but no matter how she twisted or turned she couldn’t get comfortable. At this rate she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

  She sighed, inwardly conceding that she ought to have shared the bed. He was her husband, after all. There was nothing wrong in it. And, no matter how angry he was, she trusted him not to do anything she didn’t want.

  It was what she wanted—that was the problem. Despite everything, the thought of sharing a bed with him wasn’t nearly as repellent as it ought to be. Far from it. And she definitely didn’t want him to find out about that.

  She curled up into a ball, trying to make a cocoon of body heat. The fire was fading and she felt too cold to sleep now—probably due to the icy presence of her husband. Surely a knight ought to give up his bed for a lady? Or did those rules not apply to Saxon wives?

  And then he was beside her, lifting her up before she knew what was happening.

  She squealed, looking towards the door in panic. ‘Are the Earl’s men here?’

  ‘No, but we’ll neither of us get any sleep if you’re going to writhe about all night. Get in!’

  He laid her down on the bed, gently this time, drawing the blankets in around her before striding to the door and dragging a wooden coffer across it.

  ‘Is that better?’

  She nodded, answering a different question, enjoying the feathery comfort of the mattress, not to mention the warm space left by his body. This was what she’d been afraid of, and yet the very last thing she wanted was to go back to the floor.

  ‘Good.’ He walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in. ‘Like it or not, Aediva, we’re stuck in this together. We might as well try to make the best of it. Now, get some sleep. Trust me, I’ll break the arm of any man who comes in here.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  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.�
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  ‘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. ‘N
ot 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.