failed her people. And yet she couldn’t help but feel that he’d been right. What good would it have done?
‘I don’t have to be your enemy, Lady Cille. Believe it or not, I’ve no more wish to see bloodshed than you do.’
‘No?’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. From what she’d heard about Normans, she found that hard to believe.
‘No. I wouldn’t have harmed your sister’s people. You shouldn’t have sent them away.’
She looked up at him sharply. ‘How could I have known that?’
‘You couldn’t. But what kind of life did you think you were sending them to? Do you know what the King does to rebels?’
Her scalp tightened. ‘I’ve heard rumours.’
‘Believe them. And how far do you think they’ll get without provisions? They haven’t brought in the harvest yet. What are they going to eat?’
‘They’ll survive.’
‘Will they?’ His voice hardened. ‘How?’
She twisted towards him, battling a tidal surge of panic. ‘What if they come back? What if I go after them, persuade them to return?’
‘Too late. My orders are to return you to Redbourn as soon as possible. Besides, if the King ever hears that they ran he’ll tear down the village, destroy their tools and poison the earth. Etton will be naught but a ruin. Trust me—I’ve seen it.’
Aediva gaped at him in horror. How could he describe such an event so calmly? It was horrific! And it would all be her fault. She was the one who’d sent them away. She’d been trying to protect them, but she’d sent them to their destruction instead. The pit in her stomach was so deep she felt as though it were swallowing her up from the inside.
‘So they’re doomed either way?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Henri went after them this morning. He speaks some English and he knows what to say. If anyone can persuade them to come back, it’s him.’
‘You did that?’ She sagged forward, breathless with relief. ‘Why?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? I told you—I don’t believe in revenge.’
‘And you won’t tell the King?’
‘No.’
‘What if someone else does?’
‘Who? My men know better than to spread rumours. Unless you’re planning to?’
She shook her head vehemently and he gave a dismissive shrug.
‘Then there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Nothing to worry about?’ Anger took over again. ‘Then why did you scare me like that? How could you be so cruel?’
‘Because you need to understand what you’re dealing with! You can’t go to Redbourn and threaten the Earl. You can’t speak of rebellion so lightly. Whether you like it or not, Lady Cille, the conquest is over and we have won. And I’m not your enemy—not unless you want me to be.’
He spurred his destrier forward then, cantering away as she stared helplessly after him, trying to make sense of her jagged emotions as they veered from anger to gratitude and back again. She was still furious, but if he’d sent Henri to rescue her people then she was in his debt too. Indebted to a Norman! The very idea made her blood run cold. How would she ever repay him? How could she repay a Norman?
She sat completely still, looking around at the narrow confines of her world, at the village and the valley where she’d spent most of her life. Etton and England would never be the same again. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it was true. The Conquest was over and the Normans had won. Even if she came back—even if her people came back—nothing would ever be the same again.
And if Svend du Danemark wasn’t her enemy, who was he?
Svend galloped to the head of the valley, trying to outrun his bad mood. She was maddening! Barely a slip of a woman, but what she lacked in size she more than made up for in temper. She hated Normans, that was obvious, but why couldn’t she understand that he was simply her escort, not her enemy? All he wanted was to get her to Redbourn as quickly and uneventfully as possible. Was that too much to ask, or was she going to argue with him all the way?
He placed a hand on his chest, vaguely surprised to find himself still in one piece. Had he taken leave of his senses, handing her a knife? What had made him so certain she wouldn’t use it? He grimaced. He hadn’t been certain at all, but something in her face had made him want to find out. The desire to test her had outweighed everything else, even self-preservation.
Well, now he knew. She didn’t want to kill him—not today at least. That was a minor improvement.
He rubbed a hand over Talbot’s neck, slowing the destrier to a trot. On the other hand, her anger that morning had been largely his fault. He shouldn’t have mocked her as she’d tried to mount the palfrey, shouldn’t have deliberately provoked her temper, but it had been easier than admitting the unwelcome urges she’d aroused in him. Those eyes...even when she was in a temper they lit up her whole face. He could hardly keep his own off her. Checking her for weapons had been harder than he’d expected—in more ways than one. When he’d finally lifted her up, wrapping his hands around her waist and feeling the soft pliancy of her body beneath, it had taken all his self-control to release her again.
He clenched his jaw, resenting his orders anew. He was a warrior, not an escort. He ought to be hunting rebels, not escorting Saxon ladies! Women had no place in his soldier’s world—especially this woman, who somehow angered and appealed to him in equal measure. He couldn’t help but admire her feisty spirit, the way she flared up like a spark catching light, but she was more than infuriating. If she were anyone else he might enjoy watching the sparks fly, but she wasn’t. She was his prisoner, and if he had any sense he’d keep as far away from her as possible.
If it were only that easy... Redbourn was still three and a half days’ ride away. And suddenly that seemed like a very long time.
* * *
Aediva awoke with a jolt, catching her breath as the earth swayed and then righted itself in front of her. Quickly she hauled herself upright, half amazed, half alarmed to have fallen asleep in the saddle, the night’s exertions finally catching up with her.
Blinking rapidly, she glared at the back of Svend’s broad shoulders, easily visible at the head of their small procession. He hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction since they’d left Etton. Not that she cared, but he was supposed to be her escort. He might have checked that she was all right—not left her to fend for herself. It would serve him right if she fell off her palfrey and broke a leg. Let him explain that to FitzOsbern!
She stole a furtive glance at the rest of his soldiers. There were around a dozen of them, most as grim and indomitable-looking as their
