Married to Her Enemy

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘Edmund...’ Cille’s expression hardened. ‘I never liked him.’

  ‘Father did.’

  ‘He liked Leofric too. He wasn’t right about everything.’

  Aediva blinked, taken aback by the sudden bitterness in her sister’s voice. ‘Judith said you weren’t happy with Leofric. Was he cruel to you?’

  Cille hesitated. ‘It’s in the past now. It’s probably best to leave it there.’

  ‘What about de Quincey? Do you love him?’

  For a moment Cille seemed on the verge of saying something, and then she appeared to change her mind. ‘It’s complicated. He loves our son. That’s what matters.’

  Aediva took a sharp intake of breath. Until that moment she hadn’t fully believed that the rumours were true. ‘So he’s really the father?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cille looked down at her knotted fingers. ‘I know I should have told you before. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.’

  Aediva shook her head in amazement, so many questions crowding her mind she hardly knew where to start. ‘But you ran away from him!’

  Cille’s gaze slid to one side evasively. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. When I found out I was expecting a child he’d already left for Normandy. It was only a few months after Leofric’s death and I was afraid of what everyone would think. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘How could I? After what happened to Father you were so angry. So was I—but I couldn’t hate all Normans the way you did. I thought if I told you you’d hate me too.’

  Aediva bit her lip guiltily. She knew how that felt—not feeling able to tell someone the truth. ‘I’m sorry, Cille. I let you down.’

  ‘No! You didn’t fail anyone—least of all me. You did everything you could to protect me. Just promise that the next time you pretend to be me we’ll talk first.’

  ‘I promise.’ Aediva smiled sheepishly. ‘At least we’re talking now. We haven’t done that in a while.’

  ‘I know.’ Cille’s face clouded over again. ‘There were things I couldn’t talk about. I wasn’t myself for a long time.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I feel like I’m waking up again.’

  ‘Because of de Quincey?’

  Cille nodded and Aediva squeezed her hand. ‘So you want to go to Normandy?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll be a fresh start for us and—’ Cille bit her tongue, her face suddenly crumpling with laughter.

  ‘What? What’s so funny?’

  ‘We’ve changed our son’s name. Leofric didn’t seem appropriate any more.’

  ‘Oh? So what’s my nephew called now?’

  ‘William.’

  ‘William?’

  ‘After everything that’s happened we thought we might need to curry favour with the Earl and the King.’

  ‘Do you think it will work?’

  ‘Philippe thinks so, and I trust him.’

  Aediva smiled. Judging by the look on her sister’s face as she said the Baron’s name, she didn’t need to worry about her any more.

  ‘If you truly want to go to Normandy then I’m happy for you, but what about Etton?’

  ‘I think you and your husband are more than capable of taking care of Redbourn and Etton. Speaking of your husband...’ Cille stood up determinedly. ‘I promised to tell him the minute you woke up. And I certainly don’t want to be on the wrong side of his temper.’

  ‘Wait!’ Aediva put out a hand to stall her. ‘I must look a mess!’

  ‘No more than usual.’ Cille smiled affectionately, putting a hand on Svend’s good shoulder. ‘But I don’t think he cares. I think he loves you the way you are.’

  ‘Just let me comb...’ She caught her breath unsteadily as a pair of blue eyes sprang open.

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’ Cille gave an enigmatic smile as she drifted towards the door. ‘I have a baby to tend to.’

  Neither of them spoke as Svend heaved himself out of the chair and walked to the end of the bed, looking down at her with an expression like granite.

  Aediva watched him nervously. When he’d held her in his arms on their journey back from the marshes she’d thought that he understood what had happened. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘How’s your shoulder?’

  ‘Worse than before.’

  ‘Oh.’ She swallowed hard, quailing beneath his accusatory stare. If he’d been torturing her for information she couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable. ‘I wasn’t trying to help them escape.’

  ‘So the guards said.’

  ‘They’re alive?’ She almost cried with relief.

  ‘Badly wounded, but they’ll survive. They’re none too pleased with you, though.’

  ‘No...’ Her insides twisted. ‘I tricked them into letting me see Edmund. I only wanted to tell him what you’d said—that if he surrendered he might be pardoned—but it all went wrong. I thought I could reason with him, but...’ She gave an involuntary shiver. ‘He wasn’t the man I remembered.’

  Svend looked distinctly unsympathetic. ‘I told you...war changes men.’

  ‘Women too. I’m sorry—truly.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell the guards that.’

  ‘I will. Are you angry with me too?’

  ‘Angry doesn’t begin to cover it.’

  ‘But do you forgive me?’

  He held out for another moment before heaving a sigh, sitting down on the end of the bed. ‘Yes, for my sins, I do. I just don’t have to be pleased about it.’

  She watched him with trepidation. He was sitting out of her reach, as if he didn’t want to come within touching distance. ‘What will FitzOsbern do when he finds out?’

  ‘He won’t be pleased.’

  ‘Maybe if I tell him...’

  ‘You’ll tell him nothing!’ Svend rounded on her fiercely. ‘You’ll stay as far away from William FitzOsbern as possible.’

  She caught her breath. He looked severe, but there was something else in his expression too—something she’d never seen or expected to see there before. Fear.

  ‘I need you to promise me, Aediva.’ Svend set his jaw firmly. ‘I’ll talk to FitzOsbern.’

  ‘I promise.’ She was almost afraid to ask her next question. ‘Will he punish you?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But...he won’t take Redbourn away?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘No!’ Her throat tightened on a sob. ‘Svend, I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to lose your reward. I know what it means to you.’

  ‘What?’ He stared at her for a long moment. ‘Hell’s teeth, Aediva, do you ever listen to a word I say? I don’t care about my reward!’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I want a home! That means with you. If I had half of England it wouldn’t mean anything without you. You’re my reward!’

  She clambered over the bed, her heart brimming with happiness, but he held his hands up as if to fend her off.

  ‘It’s too late for us.’

  ‘What?’ She sat down again abruptly, her blood turning to ice. ‘You said that you trusted me.’

  ‘I did. I do. I knew you didn’t go with Edmund willingly, but you still went to him when I had asked you not to.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought we could build a future together, but we have different allegiances. Yours almost got you killed. I’ve lost everything before, but when I thought I’d lost you... I can’t go through that again. We should go our separate ways.’

  She stared at him hopelessly, shuddering at the note of finality in his voice. He was bidding her farewell—sending her back to the old life he thought she still wanted. Except that she didn’t want it. Not any more.

  And how dared he tell her that she did?
How dared he give up on them so easily?

  ‘So you’re sending me away because you’re afraid of losing me?’

  ‘I can’t live with you when I don’t know whose side you’re on.’

  ‘Yours! Ours!’ She felt a rush of anger. ‘I only went behind your back because you gave me no choice. You wouldn’t even let me talk to Edmund. If you had then none of this would have happened.’

  ‘So it was my fault?’

  ‘Yes, in part. I’m Saxon—you know that. You can’t expect me to turn my back on my people just because you say so. I’m not one of your soldiers to be ordered around, and you can’t make decisions for me. We need to work things out together, find a new way—somewhere between Saxon and Norman.’

  ‘There isn’t—’

  ‘Why did you come after me if you were just going to give up? Why did you almost kill yourself to save me?’

  ‘Because I love you! But that’s not the point!’

  ‘Yes, it is! If you truly love me then you won’t give up, no matter what. If we give up now then it’s all hopeless. Edmund will have won. And if you think—’

  She didn’t get any further as he swept her into his arms, closing her mouth with his with a fervour that took her breath away.

  ‘Aediva.’ He broke the kiss finally. ‘You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever known.’

  ‘I know—but I love you. I don’t want to go back to Etton. Not any more. If you want me to go then you’ll have to drag me there in chains.’

  His lips twitched. ‘I never wanted you to go. I doubt I’d have been able to go through with it anyway. I’ll just have to stay one step ahead of you in the future.’

  ‘You won’t have to. From now on we’ll make decisions together.’

  ‘Together. Speaking of which...’ His eyes flashed wickedly. ‘Everyone keeps telling me I ought to be in bed. If it hadn’t been for your sister I’d have been there already.’

  She smiled eagerly, wriggling aside to make room as he lay down beside her.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if we had to stay here for days.’ He pressed his lips against the curve of her throat. ‘Recovering, that is.’

  ‘Days?’ She felt her pulse start to race.

  ‘Unless you have anything better to do?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Except appeasing an earl, maybe.’

  ‘We’ll find a way. There’s still time to recapture the rebels. If not...’ He shrugged. ‘So long as I’m with you, I don’t care. We’ll find somewhere else, or maybe go back to Danemark. I’ve been in exile long enough. I’d like to see my family again.’

  ‘I’d like that too.’ She nestled beside him with a sigh of contentment. ‘I love you. Norman.’

  ‘And I love you. Wildcat.’

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from BABY ON THE OREGON TRAIL by Lynna Banning.

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  Baby on the Oregon Trail

  by Lynna Banning

  Chapter One

  Oregon Trail, 1867

  “Miz Borland?”

  Jenna smoothed the threadbare apron over her swelling belly and turned to see Sam Lincoln, the wagon train leader. The big man removed his stained leather hat and stood uncertainly beside the wagon.

  “Hello, Sam. Would you join us for supper?”

  “No, thanks. I—” His sunburned face looked strained, and suddenly Jenna’s breath jerked inward.

  “Sam? What is it?”

  He turned the hat brim around and around in his hands. “Don’t rightly know how to say it.”

  Oh, God. Something had happened. “Is it about one of the girls? Ruthie?”

  The leader took a step closer. “Not the girls, no.”

  “Mathias?” she whispered.

  “’Fraid so. He’s...well, he’s been shot.”

  “Shot!” Jenna closed her eyes. Surely she was dreaming.

  Sam stepped forward and laid both his weathered hands on her forearms. “He’s dead, Jenna.”

  She felt suddenly cold, as if all the blood in her body was draining away. “What?”

  “He was caught stealing a horse. The owner killed him.”

  She pulled away from Sam’s steadying grip and abruptly sat down on the bare ground. Dead? It wasn’t possible. And stealing a horse? It made no sense.

  “Where is he?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

  “In our wagon. My Emma’s, uh, laying him out. I expect you’ll want to see him.”

  “Not yet. I have to tell the... His daughters.”

  “Ruthie’s over visiting with the Langley girl,” Sam volunteered. “The two older ones are down wading in the creek.”

  She nodded. Dead. Mathias was dead. Dear God, what would they do now?

  “I’ll tell ’em about their pa if you want, Jenna.”

  Jenna fought waves of blackness at the edge of her vision. “No. I’ll tell them, Sam. Just...just give me a minute.”

  Ten minutes passed before she could stand and make her way to the Lincolns’ camp. She hesitated before the large canvas-covered wagon and clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She couldn’t look at him. Then she resolutely mounted the step, drew back the curtain and stepped inside.

  Round-faced Emma Lincoln rose and without a word laid her freckled hand on Jenna’s arm. The older woman tipped her head to indicate the still form stretched out on the bedroll, and Jenna forced herself to look.

  She hadn’t remembered Mathias being so tall. Or so pale. In death his features had relaxed from the perpetual scowl he had worn; now he looked almost peaceful. She scanned his body for signs of blood but saw no stains. At her questioning look, Emma took her hand.

  “The bullet entered his temple, Jenna. Killed him instantly. I cleaned up the... I cleaned him up.”

  “Thank God,” Jenna murmured. Oh, yes, thank You, God. There would be no messy remains for his daughters to see. An unnatural feeling of calm flowed over her, along with an inexplicable sense of...what? Relief? Dear God, how could she feel this, as if a huge weight had suddenly lifted from her shoulders? It made no sense.

  Or maybe it did. Mathias had not been pleased with her of late. Maybe he had never been pleased with her.

  She drew in several deep breaths before she risked speaking. “Emma, thank you for doing this
for Mathias. I must find the girls and tell... They will want to see their father.”

  “Sam says if it’s all right with you, they’ll bury your husband at dawn, before we pull out. And tonight Sam and I will sleep under our wagon.”

  Jenna nodded and climbed down from the wagon to do what she must. She’d gone only a few yards when Ruthie danced up. “What’s wrong, Jenna? You look all white and funny.”

  She knelt before her stepdaughter and struggled to compose herself. “Ruthie, I want you to find your sisters. I have something important to tell you all.”

  * * *

  “Dead?” Tess screeched. “What do you mean Papa is dead?”

  Eleven-year-old Mary Grace began to sob.

  “I mean...” Jenna began. She glimpsed Ruthie’s stricken face and the words froze on her tongue. She swallowed hard and knelt before them.

  “Your father has been killed. Accidentally shot by...well, it doesn’t matter who.”

  Tess swayed forward and Jenna reached up to support her. Mary Grace wrapped her thin arms around her middle, but Ruthie just stared at her with horrified blue eyes.

  “You...” Jenna’s voice broke. “You girls can see him if you wish. He’s laid out in the Lincolns’ wagon.”

  “I don’t want to see him,” Mary Grace sobbed.

  Jenna folded her into her arms. “You might want to, honey. You will want to have seen him after we leave in the morning.” She pressed her lips shut and walked them over to the wagon, where she stood with them beside their father’s body in the fading light.

  “Papa don’t look dead,” Ruthie said after a time.

  “Doesn’t,” Tess snapped.

  “Well, he do—doesn’t. He looks like he’s sleeping.”

  Jenna patted Ruthie’s thin shoulder. “Let’s remember him that way, as if he is just...asleep.”

  At her side, Mary Grace jerked. “How come there’s no blood or anything?”

  Jenna drew in an unsteady breath. “Well, Mrs. Lincoln said the...the bullet hit his temple, so there wasn’t very much bl—” Her voice choked off. What could she say to them?

  “Come on,” Tess said, her voice tight. “Let’s go back to camp.” Without waiting for Jenna, she herded her younger sisters outside and started across the compound.