easy, but why would a Norman knight care about one murdered Thane? Yet something in his face told her he meant it.
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why would you avenge him?’
He looked at her askance. ‘Because a man shouldn’t be slain for protecting his land or his people.’
She lowered her gaze, swallowing against the lump in her throat. That pit in her stomach had opened up again, cold and empty like a wintry chasm.
‘He was a good man.’
‘I’m certain of it.’
‘We were very close. When it happened...so soon after Hastings...after everything else... I felt like the whole world had collapsed. I’d never felt so alone. And ever since...’
She bit her tongue abruptly. Why was she telling him this? Of all people, why was she pouring her heart out to her enemy? No matter how carefully she phrased it, or how sympathetic he might seem, she couldn’t risk confiding in him. One slip and she might give everything away. He was the last person in the world she should talk to.
She pursed her lips, trying to regain her composure. She couldn’t risk Cille’s safety just to ease her own pain. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly she needed to talk to someone, she had to bury her feelings—just as she had for the past year. Like everything else, she had to bear them alone.
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