Married to Her Enemy

by Jenni Fletcher

  His heart seemed to skip a beat.

  ‘You’ve been gone all day.’ Her voice was quietly accusing.

  ‘Yes.’ He felt a twinge of conscience. He probably should have left some kind of message, to say where he was going, but the thought had never occurred to him. He wasn’t used to explaining himself—especially to a woman. But a husband ought to have done so.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Hunting Saxons. He grimaced, wishing he could give a different answer. ‘The Earl ordered me to clear the county of rebels. We’ve been searching for them.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We’ve taken no prisoners today.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She sounded relieved and he took a tentative step towards her.

  ‘Did I wake you?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t asleep, just...thinking.’

  ‘Have you been in bed all day?’ A wicked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘People will wonder what I’ve done to you.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘I’ve been trying to find out about Cille and de Quincey.’

  ‘Ah. And what have you learned?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She gave a plaintive sigh. ‘No one seems to know anything.’

  He took another step towards the bed. ‘And that bothers you?’

  She nodded, pulling herself upright. ‘We never used to have secrets from each other. She was always more than a sister. Our mother died when I was born, and Cille took care of me. She was only a child herself, but she knew what to do. When she came back to Etton last spring I wanted to look after her, to protect her the way she’d protected me.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘No, I let her down. That’s why she didn’t tell me about de Quincey.’ She shook her head, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. ‘Now it’s like I don’t know her at all.’

  Svend folded his arms, resisting the urge to comfort her. Sitting up in bed, with her arms wrapped around her knees, she looked smaller and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her.

  ‘What about her first husband? Leofric? Did she ever talk about him?’

  ‘No.’ She sniffed unhappily. ‘People say the marriage wasn’t happy, but she never told me that either.’

  ‘So it wasn’t a love match?’

  ‘No, it was a peace-weaver. Their marriage sealed a union between the north and south of the shire. There had been raiding between villages, not to mention from the marshes. It got so bad that an alliance became necessary. So Cille was sent to Redbourn.’

  ‘But there were no children? In five years?’

  ‘No, she was afraid she couldn’t have them.’

  ‘Until she met de Quincey?’

  ‘Until she met de Quincey,’ she repeated softly. ‘I never thought she might be unhappy with Leofric. Everyone said it was a good match. But it must have been terrible for her, married to a man she didn’t...’

  She bit her lip and Svend gave a twisted smile. ‘Didn’t love? Quite. But she might still find happiness with de Quincey.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  She saw his sceptical expression and drew herself up indignantly.

  ‘I do!’

  ‘Even though he’s Norman?’

  ‘Yes, if she loves him. I want her to be happy.’

  He moved away from her into the shadows, feeling a surge of some powerful emotion in his chest, as though the knot of resentment there were slowly uncoiling. She seemed genuine, but how could he be sure? It didn’t sound like her, but then she’d already changed so much in one week... Was it possible that she didn’t hate Normans quite so vehemently any more? If she could let her own sister be happy, what did that mean for them?

  ‘It sounds like you need to talk to her.’

  ‘You said de Quincey was taking her to Normandy...’ Her voice was faint, strangled with emotion. ‘When will I ever see her again?’

  He swore under his breath. Had she been upset about that? He could have saved her that anguish at least.

  ‘You’ll see her soon enough. I have asked him to bring her here before they leave.’

  ‘You asked him that?’ Her face was transformed suddenly. ‘Svend, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.’

  He gave a grunt of acknowledgement. She looked beautiful, positively radiating happiness, but he didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted... He dug his heels into the rushes, resisting the temptation to move back towards the bed. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he didn’t want her to feel that she owed him anything.

  ‘When do you think they’ll be here?’

  ‘A couple of weeks, maybe. You can get your answers then—though you might have your own explaining to do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She might be curious about us.’

  ‘Us...?’ Her voice wavered slightly.

  ‘The last she knew, you were threatening to kill me. Now we’re married. And you say she’s mysterious?’

  ‘This is different. There’s nothing mysterious about us. You married me for Redbourn.’

  ‘As you married me for Etton.’

  ‘Exactly. Cille and de Quincey are in love. Probably.’ Her brow furrowed slightly. ‘We’re not.’

  ‘And that seems better to you?’ He gave a bitter laugh.

  ‘I didn’t say that!’ She threw herself down on the bed, turning her back on him. ‘It’s just how it is.’

  Svend muttered an oath, hurling his clothes across the room as he started to undress. She hadn’t changed at all! She was the same argumentative, intractable shrew he’d met a week ago. If there was no mystery, it was only because he’d already uncovered her deceit! And if they weren’t in love, it was because she’d lied to him! He hadn’t asked to marry her, he’d simply been stuck with her. None of this was his fault.

  He climbed into the bed, still fuming. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He saw her shoulders tense and gave a curt smile. ‘I thought you’d be back in your sister’s old room.’

  ‘You had my clothes sent here.’

  ‘I assumed you’d need some this morning. I didn’t think you’d stay.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I thought you said we had to pretend?’

  ‘For the Earl.’ He stretched out, enjoying the obvious embarrassment in her voice. ‘But he’s gone.’

  She sprang up at once, swinging her legs off the bed as if she’d just felt a mouse in the mattress. ‘Then I’ll go.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He threw an arm behind his head. ‘If I send my wife out in the rain the whole castle will hear of it.’

  ‘Fine.’ She eyed him warily over her shoulder. ‘I’ll stay—but just for tonight.’

  He shrugged and she climbed slowly back under the blanket, curling up on the edge of the bed as far away from him as she could get. He felt a twinge of guilt, already regretting his words. He’d been cruel, venting his anger by making her feel she wasn’t welcome when in fact the very opposite was true. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to stretch out beside her and pull her face close to his...

  Damn it, this was intolerable! How could he possibly share a bed with his wife and not touch her?

  ‘Aediva...’ He stretched a hand out and then thought better of it, shifting his body sideways instead. ‘Move over. I won’t bite. I had your things sent here so that you’d have a choice of clothing. You can move them back whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘They’re not my things.’ Her voice sounded muffled.

  ‘I doubt your sister will mind you borrowing them.’

  ‘Won’t she?’ She rolled over to face him again. ‘What if she doesn’t understand? What if she doesn’t forgive me?’


  ‘For borrowing her clothes?’

  ‘For the rest of it! You’re right—I do have some explaining to do. She came home for help and I failed her. I left her alone. I was supposed to take care of her, but I came here instead and married you. This is her land, her castle! I didn’t mean to, but somehow I stole it! What if she doesn’t forgive me?’

  ‘You were trying to protect her—she’ll understand that. And, as I recall, you didn’t just leave her alone. I almost had to drag you away. Tell her the truth and she’ll forgive you.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘What?’

  She regarded him sombrely. ‘You said that you understood, but you still won’t forgive me.’

  He exhaled slowly. ‘I can forgive you, Aediva. I just can’t forget.’

  ‘Because I lied? Like Maren?’

  ‘I don’t trust easily.’

  ‘So that’s it?’ She pulled herself up angrily. ‘I make one mistake and you hold it against me for ever?’

  ‘One mistake? I could have lost everything!’

  ‘But you didn’t! You got your reward.’

  ‘Do you think that’s all that matters to me?’

  ‘Isn’t it...?’ Her voice faltered. ‘I thought it was all you wanted.’

  ‘Not all.’ He felt his resolve weaken. ‘Aediva, why do you think I lied to the Earl?’

  ‘Because you were being honourable.’

  ‘Honourable?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘I’m an outlaw, remember?’

  ‘You were an outlaw—now you’re a knight. And you’re more honourable than you think. You’ve been nothing but honourable since we met. I just didn’t appreciate it at first.’

  ‘That’s not why I lied to the Earl.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Then why?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to see you get hurt. Is that so hard to believe?’

  ‘No. It’s what an honourable man would do.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake! Forget it, Aediva, it doesn’t change anything.’

  ‘It changes everything!’ She put a hand on his chest tentatively. ‘Svend, I know that you saved me, and I know what you risked. I wouldn’t lie to you again—not after that. You can trust me.’ Black eyelashes fluttered closed and then open again. ‘If you want to.’

  ‘Want to?’ He felt every part of himself stiffen at once. He had a feeling they weren’t just talking about trust any more. ‘Do you want to?’

  She nodded silently and his voice turned to a growl.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

  * * *

  Aediva held her breath. His voice was low and dangerous and achingly familiar. It made her body feel tight, as if all her nerve endings had sprung to life at once. He’d said that he wanted to protect her. He’d said that he could forgive her. Could he learn to forget as well? And if he could...if he didn’t only care about his reward...was there still a chance for them?

  Did he still want her? Did she still want him?

  Yes.

  A thrill of anticipation coursed through her, impossible to resist. She knew the answer with every fibre of her being. And if his voice could arouse her so easily, what could the rest of him do?

  He cupped a hand around the back of her neck, scrutinising her face as if he were searching for something. ‘I need to trust you, Aediva.’

  ‘You can.’ She trailed her fingers down the length of his jaw. It felt strong and solid and unmistakably male. She ached to explore the rest of him.

  ‘No more lies.’ His own fingers tightened convulsively, as if he were struggling to hold himself back.

  ‘No more.’

  Emboldened, she slid her hands over the hard contours of his chest, scarcely able to believe her own daring. He gave a sharp intake of breath and she froze, waiting for him to push her away, but he didn’t move. Did he still want her? She had to find out.

  Slowly she let her fingers drift lower, over his taut stomach and then down, and found the answer ready and waiting, throbbing against her fingers, harder and stronger with every pulsating heartbeat.

  She gasped and then his lips seized hers, his tongue pushing its way inside her mouth as if he wanted to punish and possess her at the same time. She responded at once, her lips meeting his with equal ardour, a low moan of desire giving way to one of pure, unrestrained pleasure.

  Strong hands gripped her shift, half pulling, half tearing it over her head. Then for a tantalising moment he held himself still, his blue eyes black with desire as they raked over her body.

  He groaned and she smiled in answer, pushing herself up towards him as he gathered her into his arms. Instinctively she wrapped her arms and legs around him, revelling in the touch of his skin and the weight of his body, stunned by the depth of her desire. His lips and hands seemed to be everywhere—trailing kisses over her breasts and stomach, along her thighs, up the insides of her legs...

  She moaned. She felt as though he were tightening something inside her, winding it tighter and tighter until she thought she might snap. Now that she lay naked and vulnerable beneath him she wanted urgency, but he seemed to be taking his time, torturing her with pleasure. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she wanted it now.

  ‘Hurry...’ She moaned in frustration and he gave a low answering laugh, circling a nipple with his tongue and gently licking the tip. ‘Svend...’ She dragged her nails over his back in retaliation and he shifted upwards at once.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ His breathing was ragged.

  ‘You won’t.’ She arched her body beneath him, felt the heat of him straining between her legs.

  ‘Cille...’

  Cille! She froze abruptly, feeling as if a bucket of ice had just been hurled over the bed.

  His mouth stilled at her throat and she stared helplessly up at the rafters, panting and breathless. It had been a slip of the tongue, she told herself. A mistake. Understandable under the circumstances. No reason to feel hurt or humiliated, even if she did wish the ground would open up and swallow her.

  But it had brought her lie back between them.

  ‘Aediva,’ he said flatly, rolling away from her onto his back. ‘That will take some getting used to.’

  She threw an arm over her face and took a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. There was so much for them to get used to. Her name was only the start of it.

  He touched her arm but she shook her head, refusing to pull it away. She couldn’t look at him—not now. It was hopeless. There was no chance of him ever trusting her again. He couldn’t forget what she’d done. He couldn’t even remember her name.

  She heard him sigh and move away, but she kept herself rigid, willing sleep to descend. If she could only sleep then perhaps they could put this catastrophe of a night behind them, pretend it had never happened...

  If she could only sleep...

  Every nerve and sinew was still alive and throbbing, every part of her still straining towards him.

  If she could only sleep...

  Somehow she doubted that would happen for a very long time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Svend counted the prisoners, trying and failing to keep his mind on the task. They’d captured more than a dozen rebels that morning, and each one of them was now glaring at him with the same expression of blatant barefaced hostility, but he hardly noticed. All he could see was the distraught look on his wife’s face when he’d called her the wrong name.

  If he’d wanted to punish her, it appeared he’d succeeded.

  That had been almost a fortnight ago. She’d moved back to her sister’s old chamber the next morning and he hadn’t objected—hadn’t known what to say. He’d barely seen her since, most of his time having been spent away from Redbourn. The little he’d glimpsed of her,
she’d been busy with her new duties as chatelaine, and with organising the harvest with practised efficiency. Even from afar he’d admired her hard work and commitment. She hardly needed his help to settle in at Redbourn—quite the opposite, in fact. She was a favourite with both Saxon and Norman alike.

  He frowned. For the first time in ten years he had a home. When would he be able to live in it? If it hadn’t been for the Earl’s orders he would have relished taking up the role of farmer again, but he couldn’t exchange his sword for a spade just yet. He had a soldier’s business to finish first. And the sooner he got it over with, the better.

  ‘The prisoners are ready, sir.’ Renard approached him. ‘Are we going back to Redbourn tonight?’

  Svend shook his head. There were still a few hours of daylight left and he didn’t want to waste them. If Henri had been there he might have delegated more of the tracking, but there was no one else with sufficient experience for the task.

  ‘Take half a dozen guards and lead the prisoners back to Redbourn. You can be there by nightfall. The rest of us will camp overnight.’

  ‘What about Lady Aediva?’

  ‘What about her?’ Svend shot him a savage look and Renard took an involuntary step backwards.

  ‘It’s the first new moon of the month, sir. Her birth date.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Her maid Judith told me.’ Renard looked abashed. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I thought you knew.’

  Svend felt a twinge of bitterness. No, he hadn’t known—had barely spoken to his wife for two weeks. He’d wanted time apart from her, hoping that distance would bring some clarity to his emotions, but it hadn’t worked. He still couldn’t get her out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes he could see her face, hear her voice asking him to trust her.

  Could he?

  He still didn’t know.

  But it was her birth date. He ought to see her at least. He even had the perfect gift—the one thing he knew that she wanted...

  The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to repair the damage between them. For a few brief and intoxicating moments that last night he’d thought that a new start was possible. Perhaps it still was.