Married to Her Enemy

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘You should get some air.’ Svend’s voice was sleepy. ‘You don’t have to tend to me all day.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you.’ She smiled, amazed at the power his blue eyes held over her. Just one look from them made her insides feel weak. ‘Not until I can trust you to stay put.’

  ‘And I hoped it was because you might care...’

  ‘That too.’ She took hold of his hand and squeezed it, feeling a rush of tenderness.

  When they’d carried him in on a stretcher she’d felt as though it was her own body that had been crushed. She’d spent a night of anguish waiting for him to wake up, and spent every day since falling more deeply in love with him than ever.

  On the other hand, he was the worst patient she’d ever known—trying to get out of bed twenty times a day and wanting to know everything that was happening in the castle. To quell his impatience she’d arranged for Renard to bring almost hourly reports, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him in bed. There was only one sure method she could think of, and that was the one thing she had to avoid—no matter how tempted she was to succumb. Injured or not, nothing seemed to dampen his ardour.

  She forced her mind back to the present. ‘Bertrand was here. He wanted to ask about tomorrow.’

  ‘He told you about that?’

  ‘Only by accident. He said the prisoners are going to be taken for sentencing.’

  ‘Those are the Earl’s orders.’

  ‘That’s what he said.’ She took a deep breath, steeling her nerve for her next question. ‘What’s going to happen to them?’

  ‘If they surrender and swear fealty there’s a chance they might be pardoned, but FitzOsbern’s losing patience with them. In all honesty, I don’t know.’

  ‘Isn’t there another way? Couldn’t you just...send them away? Let them go?’

  ‘No.’ His voice hardened. ‘I can’t let the Earl think I have any sympathy with them.’

  ‘Do you? Have sympathy with them, I mean?’

  ‘They’re fighting for their home—I can understand that—but they knew what they were doing when they joined the rebellion. They chose their side.’ He sighed. ‘I have to follow my orders, Aediva.’

  ‘Because FitzOsbern will blame me if you fail?’

  He looked surprised and she shrugged.

  ‘He told me so at our wedding feast.’

  Svend’s jaw tightened revealingly. ‘I won’t take any risks—not where you’re concerned.’

  ‘What would he do? Annul our marriage?’

  He didn’t answer and she tilted her head, peering at him quizzically. ‘Svend?’

  ‘That would be the best we could hope for.’

  ‘Oh.’ She held back a shudder. That was that, then. She had her answer. There was no point in asking Svend to release Edmund. But she still had to admit that she’d seen him. Somehow it felt disloyal not to.

  ‘I saw the prisoners on the morning of your accident. One of them...it was Edmund.’

  ‘Edmund?’ His whole body seemed to tense. ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And...?’

  ‘He looked angry.’ She felt her cheeks flush. ‘I was only wearing a blanket at the time.’

  ‘So that’s why you’re asking me all this? Because you want me to let him go?’

  ‘Yes—but not because I care for him.’ She hastened to explain. ‘I never did. I was always more scared of him than anything.’

  ‘Scared?’ He frowned. ‘Why?’

  She hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about this—didn’t want to remember it—but she had a feeling that Svend wasn’t simply going to drop the subject.

  ‘He was...rough. When he kissed me it hurt. And...he tried to make me do other things.’

  ‘And you want me to let him go?’ Svend’s face was a mask of restrained fury.

  ‘Yes.’ She put a hand on his chest quickly. ‘I know it sounds strange. Part of me hates him, but I don’t want revenge—not like this. He was part of my life once, and he’s Saxon. It doesn’t seem right for me to be so happy when he’s lost everything.’

  ‘So happy?’ Some of the anger ebbed from his face. ‘Is that what you are?’

  ‘Very happy. I thought that all men were like Edmund until I met you. I thought I never wanted anyone to kiss me again. But now...’ She pressed her lips against his. ‘Now I can’t seem to kiss you enough.’

  ‘Temptress. You should have told me all this before.’

  ‘It’s not easy to talk about.’

  ‘No, but if I’d known...’

  She smiled at his anxious expression. ‘You’re nothing like Edmund, Svend. I’ve always wanted you to kiss me.’

  ‘Always?’

  ‘Most of the time anyway.’

  ‘I wish I’d known that sooner too.’

  He seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head.

  ‘No, I can’t let him go. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I can’t make exceptions. I trust my men to keep their own counsel, but de Quincey’s men are another matter. If word ever got back to the Earl... I won’t expose you to that kind of danger.’

  ‘Can I speak to Edmund, at least?’

  ‘That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘But I could tell him what you said—that he should surrender. I could tell the others too.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Svend, they’re my countrymen. I’ll be perfectly safe with Bertrand.’

  ‘No!’ His eyes flashed a warning. ‘Prisoners are desperate men and that makes them dangerous. Don’t argue with me on this, Aediva. I won’t change my mind. The further you stay away from the rebels, the better.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aediva climbed out of bed carefully, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and tugging the hood forward to disguise herself. Then she stole down the stairs, past the hall and out into the dawn, trying to concentrate on each passing footstep and not on what lay ahead. If she stopped to think about what she was doing she might never be able to go through with it.

  A pale grey mist hovered over the bailey as she made her way towards the barn where the prisoners were being held, its silvery droplets of moisture lending the scene an unreal, dream-like quality. She felt as though she were in a dream herself, moving against her own volition, even against her own wishes, scarcely able to believe the risk she was taking. Common sense urged her to turn back, but conscience drove her onwards. She couldn’t go back—not yet...not until she’d spoken to Edmund. If surrender was his best chance of survival she had to tell him so to his face.

  She glanced up at the tower guiltily. Behind the shutters Svend was still asleep. With any luck he’d never know she’d been gone. Not that she was violating his trust—not exactly. He’d said that speaking to Edmund was a bad idea and told her not to argue, but he hadn’t actually forbidden her. And she’d made no promise—wasn’t breaking her word. She was acting against his wishes, but she only intended to talk to Edmund, that was all! She wasn’t betraying Svend. She had every intention of telling him what she’d done later—much later.

  Even so, if he were to wake up now...

  She had a feeling it would make all their other arguments seem like friendly discussions. He’d probably lock her up too. But it was a risk she had to take. If she didn’t do something she’d feel like a traitor to her people for ever.

  She straightened her shoulders as she approached the guards at the barn door, trying to look as though her arrival ought to be expected.

  ‘Lady Aediva?’ One of them stepped forward, exchanging a pointed look with his companion. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Matthieu, isn’t it?’ She flashed her brightest smile. ‘I need to speak with the prisoners. I have a message for them.’

&nb
sp; ‘It’s very early, my lady.’ He looked visibly perturbed. ‘My orders are to let no one in.’

  She let her smile fade deliberately slowly. ‘I’m the warden’s wife. Are you refusing me permission?’

  ‘No, my lady, but the orders came direct from Sir Svend. Perhaps if I could speak to him first...?’

  ‘My husband is asleep and my message is urgent.’ She feigned affront. ‘But perhaps you’d like to wake him up and ask him if I’m lying? I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear your good opinion of me.’

  ‘Pardon, my lady, I meant no offence.’ The guard cast a pleading look towards his companion before backing away.

  ‘Good.’

  She averted her gaze, amazed that he couldn’t read the guilt on her face. She hadn’t been at all certain that her bluff would work, but he was already lifting the locking bar, beckoning her forward with the look of a man who wished he were anywhere else in the world.

  She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Light spilled in through the open door to reveal the dark silhouettes of at least twenty men lying on the floor.

  ‘Edmund?’ She whispered his name, almost afraid to disturb the eerie hush.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  She recognised his voice at once, though she couldn’t distinguish his face.

  ‘Edmund, where are you?’

  ‘I said, what are you doing here?’

  A shadow at the back stood up and started to move towards her, slowly and steadily, like a predator stalking its prey.

  ‘Have you come to gloat?’

  ‘No! Of course not!’

  He stepped into a patch of sunlight, revealing a handsome face made ugly by hatred. ‘Then what do you want, Aediva?’

  She lifted her chin, resisting the urge to back away, looking around the room as she spoke. ‘I want to help you. You’re going to be taken east today to the King’s deputy for sentencing. If you surrender and swear fealty he might show mercy. You could still be set free.’

  ‘To live under Norman rule?’ Edmund’s expression was scathing.

  ‘It’s your only chance.’

  ‘We’re not all as keen to surrender as you.’

  She flushed angrily. ‘I haven’t surrendered. I’ve come to terms with the Normans, that’s all.’

  ‘Is that what you call it? I saw you in the tower. Your father would have been ashamed of you.’

  ‘He would not!’ She held her ground, recognising the truth as she said it. ‘My father wanted to protect Etton, but he wanted peace too. So do I.’

  ‘By whoring yourself out to a Norman?’

  ‘By giving myself willingly to my husband.’

  ‘Husband?’

  Edmund raised his fist and she sprang backwards, catching hold of the doorframe just as one of the guards came around it.

  ‘My lady.’ He took one look at the scene and raised his sword. ‘It’s time to go.’

  She nodded her head. From the look on Edmund’s face there was no point in trying to reason with him. There had been no point in coming. She’d risked antagonising Svend for nothing. And suddenly all she wanted was to be back with him again.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like men.’ Edmund’s voice was sharp-edged with malice. ‘Now I see I was just the wrong kind. How many Normans have you slept with, my lady?’

  The scuffle started so fast she hardly knew how it had happened. The guard at her side made a lunge towards Edmund just as half a dozen men leapt up from the floor, surrounding him in a mob. The other guard pushed past her, charging into the fray with a shout of alarm. She heard grunts, followed by a sickening cry and a thud, and then Edmund’s hands were around her throat, circling her neck like a noose, gripping so tightly she could hardly breathe, let alone scream.

  ‘We want horses.’

  Edmund’s voice was a snarl in her ear, but he wasn’t talking to her. One of the guards was being pinned to the floor with his own sword, now wielded by one of the Saxons. Desperately she sought the other, but there was no sign of him—only a bloody patch on the floor.

  ‘What have you done?’ She stared at the blood in horror.

  ‘What all Normans deserve!’ Edmund spat into the rushes, aiming a kick at the guard’s stomach. ‘Now, get horses and open the gates!’

  ‘Don’t do it!’ She struggled furiously, but Edmund’s grip on her throat only tightened.

  ‘Do it. Or your commander loses his lady.’

  The guard nodded and staggered to his feet, hobbling out of the prison and towards the stables as if expecting to feel a knife in his back at any moment.

  She watched him go with a sickening feeling. Why wasn’t he raising the alarm?

  ‘You won’t get away with this!’ Somehow she managed to croak out the words.

  Edmund let go of her neck and spun her around, grabbing her breasts as he pulled her roughly against him. ‘I think I will. And then I’ll find out what all the Normans have been enjoying.’

  ‘Just one Norman.’ She brought her knee up, catching him hard in the groin. ‘And he’s worth a hundred of you!’

  ‘Whore!’

  Edmund’s fist hit her square in the jaw, so forcefully that she flew backwards, skidding to a halt beside the door. For a moment the world seemed to go dark, and the barn spun around her as she tried to hold onto consciousness. She couldn’t let Edmund escape...couldn’t let him get away it...

  ‘It’s all ready.’

  The guard’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. She looked up, trying to see through a swirling fog. How could he be back so soon?

  ‘Horses?’ Edmund grabbed her arm, hoisting her roughly to her feet.

  ‘Outside. I’ve tied up the door warden. No one will stop you from leaving.’ The guard lifted his arm suddenly, brandishing a new sword. ‘But you have to let her go.’

  She felt a flicker of hope—quickly extinguished as Edmund shoved her forward abruptly, so fast that the guard was forced to lower his weapon. Too late she saw the flash of a dagger as another Saxon lunged towards them, stowing the point under the guard’s ribs.

  ‘No!’

  She started to scream, but a hand clamped itself over her mouth, an arm coiled around her waist and she was carried out of the barn towards the gates.

  What had she done?

  She was almost too horrified to think. She’d only wanted to help her countrymen, but instead she’d allowed them to escape and kill innocent Normans. She craned her neck, trying to see behind her, but all she could make out was the crumpled body of the guard. She didn’t even know where the other one was.

  Her stomach heaved with guilt. She’d tricked them, but she’d never intended for them to get hurt. She’d have rather Edmund had stabbed her instead.

  ‘Scream again and I’ll kill you.’ Edmund let go of her mouth, throwing her over the back of a horse like a sack before mounting quickly behind her.

  ‘Let me go!’

  He ignored her, pinning her down with a hand on her back as they galloped out through the gates. Blood rushed to her head in a deafening roar. Who was he, this man who seemed to hate her? The Edmund she’d known had been rough and insensitive, but this man was a cold-blooded monster. And yet she found her fear of him was gone, replaced by icy loathing. She wasn’t afraid of anything he might do to her any more. She hardly cared. After what she’d done to the guards she deserved everything she got.

  And Svend would think so too.

  She retched, and her stomach emptied itself at the thought. When he woke up and they told him what had happened—that the prisoners were gone and her along with them—he’d think that she’d betrayed him again. He’d see the slain guards and think she’d had a hand in it.

  Her own words from the evening before would incriminate her. She’d actually asked
him to free them! What if he thought she’d simply been biding her time, trying to manipulate him into letting them go before taking matters into her own hands? Who would believe that she wasn’t a rebel now?

  ‘Edmund, you’re free! You don’t need me any more!’ She tried to lift her head, but he forced it back down again.

  ‘I might if your husband decides to follow us.’

  ‘He won’t!’

  She shouted the words with conviction. Svend was in no condition to follow anyone. And even if he was, it wouldn’t be to rescue her. The only reason he’d come after her now was for revenge. And as for his men... Bertrand might try to recapture the prisoners, but he wouldn’t rush to save her—not if he thought she was a rebel.

  No, this time she wasn’t going to be rescued. If she were going to survive she had to save herself. But how? Surely it was easier just to give up, to let Edmund punish her as she deserved.

  Her head hurt and she felt dizzy. Even face-down, and being jolted from side to side, the urge to close her eyes was almost overpowering.

  But if she gave up now then Svend would never know the truth. If anything happened to her he’d never know what had really happened. She had to survive so that she could tell him the truth—that she wasn’t a rebel, that she hadn’t wanted to leave him, that she loved him.

  And that she’d never let anyone, Saxon or Norman, ever come between them again.

  * * *

  Svend’s first thought was that they were under attack. He heard shouts, followed by swearing and running footsteps, then someone calling for horses and armour. He opened his eyes in alarm, surprised to find no sign of Aediva beside him. She’d been at his side almost every moment for the past three days. Where was she now?

  ‘What is it?’ He jolted upright as the door burst open, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder.

  ‘It’s the prisoners!’ Renard rushed up to the bed, followed by a hard-faced Bertrand. ‘They’ve escaped.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Half an hour ago. The guard at the gate was bound and gagged. He says it was just after dawn.’

  ‘Go after them.’ Svend turned to Bertrand. ‘You know what to do.’