Jenni Fletcher - Married To Her Enemy

Where was she?

He looked towards the Thane’s hall, his scowl deepening from dark grey to black. He’d slept badly after their confrontation the previous night, angry at himself for losing his temper and at her for provoking it. And now she was late, after he’d told her they’d be leaving at dawn! Damn it, they should have left already!

‘Sir?’

He turned to find Henri at his shoulder. While he was in his present temper, only his battle-hardened lieutenant dared to approach.

‘We’re ready to go after the villagers.’

‘Good.’ Svend nodded with satisfaction. At least one part of the morning was going according to plan. ‘Their tracks head east. They took carts, so they can’t have gone far or fast. Bring them back. Use persuasion if you can, force if you have to, but I don’t want anyone hurt—understood?’

‘Yes, sir. And the woman?’

‘I’ll deal with her.’

Henri grinned. ‘Her new husband might not appreciate you manhandling his bride.’

‘Then he should have come himself.’

Svend tightened his knuckles instinctively. For some reason the mention of her future husband made him irrationally angry. Not that he knew who it was. FitzOsbern had been unusually taciturn on the subject.

‘I’ll see you in a few weeks. Just make sure the villagers are settled before you join us in Redbourn. I don’t want them running away again.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And, Henri? As far as anyone else is concerned they never left.’

‘Understood. There’s just one other matter, sir. The new lad—Alan—I found him in the hall an hour ago.’

‘Looting?’

‘Searching the rafters.’

Svend’s expression hardened. He didn’t give his soldiers many orders to follow, but when it came to those he did he was inflexible. No stealing, raping, brawling or looting. Most of his men had sense enough to obey. Alan obviously thought he knew better.

‘I’ll deal with it.’

Henri mounted his horse. ‘He’s still a lad...just seventeen.’

Svend didn’t answer, his mouth set in a thin, implacable line as Henri and his men thundered out of the gates. Seventeen. When he was that age he’d been in exile for three years already. Seventeen was more than old enough to learn that actions had consequences.

‘Alan!’

‘Sir?’ A young soldier came running at once.

‘You were in the hall this morning?’

‘I... Yes, sir.’ Alan flushed guiltily. ‘I was searching in case they’d hidden valuables. The King gave us the right of plunder, sir.’

‘Do you see the King now?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Have we conquered this village? Did you fight anyone for it?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Would you like to?’

The boy gulped and Svend brought his fist up quickly, knocking him to the ground with one swift, decisive blow.

‘We raid only where we conquer, we don’t steal from farmers, and under my command you follow my rules—understand?’ He turned away brusquely, shouting over his shoulder at his men. ‘Wait outside the gates! This won’t take long.’

He stormed into the hall, barely resisting the urge to bellow her name. That whole incident had been her fault too. If she’d been ready when he’d told her the boy might never have been tempted to go looting. Was she obstinate on principle or just naturally infuriating? Either way, his patience was worn out. No matter how desirable she might be, her attractions were more than outweighed by her character. Thane’s daughter, ealdorman’s widow, nobleman’s future bride—whoever she was, she was under his command now. He’d meant what he’d told her last night. He’d drag her to Redbourn in chains if he had to.

His step faltered momentarily. What would the Earl make of her? What kind of maelstrom would this Saxon wildcat unleash in the Norman court? He’d been deadly serious in his warning. FitzOsbern wouldn’t tolerate disobedience or insults. Nor forgive them either. And Lady Cille seemed the kind of woman to learn lessons the hard way.

That strange protective feeling was back and he pushed it aside irritably. He’d warned her. That was all he could do. He wasn’t responsible for her temper—only her safety until they reached Redbourn. Once they were there she could do and say as she pleased. If she insulted FitzOsbern that was her mistake and not his problem. He certainly wasn’t about to risk his hard-earned reward for a woman who made the whole Saxon army seem welcoming.

‘Shh!’

He halted mid-stride, caught off guard as she stepped out of the shadows, the babe cradled in her arms.

For half a moment he wondered if he were imagining the vision before him. With the child in her arms she looked calmer, softer, a completely different woman from the spitting wildcat of the previous day. She’d changed her clothes too. Her mud-splattered tunic had been replaced by a woodland-green gown. He ran his gaze appreciatively over the close-fitting contours of the fabric, his body reacting despite himself. She was swaying from side to side, cooing gently as she tried to soothe the grumbling child, slim hips rolling in a slow and alarmingly distracting rhythm.

He forced his body back under control. This was the second time she’d caught him by surprise in this very hall. What was the matter with him? She seemed to undermine all his defensive instincts. What was it he’d wanted to tell her? Something about his authority...

‘You almost woke him!’ She hissed through her teeth. ‘You were stamping like a whole herd of cattle!’

Svend raised an eyebrow, the vision of loveliness dissipating before his eyes. It was her, no doubt about it. That fiery glare would have given her away even if her adder’s tongue had not.

He cleared his throat deliberately loudly. ‘It’s time to go. My men are waiting.’

‘I can’t.’ She shook her head so vigorously that tendrils of hair broke free from the sides of her headdress. ‘Not yet. It’s taken me half the night to calm him. If I stop moving he’ll wake up for certain.’

Svend narrowed his gaze critically. Her face looked wan and drawn, her eyes circled with dark shadows. Had she slept at all?

‘Have you been pacing all night?’

‘No!’

Her denial came too quickly and he scowled ferociously. ‘I told you to get some rest! For pity’s sake, woman, we have a day’s ride ahead.’

‘I did rest!’ Her chin jutted upwards unconvincingly. ‘But Eadgyth needed some sleep too.’

‘Then you should have asked one of my men for help!’

‘Ask a Norman?’

Her voice dripped with scorn and he clenched his teeth, trying to restrain his temper. ‘Is it too much to hope that you’ve packed?’

‘No.’ She gestured towards a sack by the door. ‘I did it last night, if you must know.’

‘Well, that’s something.’ He scooped up the bag and untied the leather cords, ignoring her shocked intake of breath as he rummaged inside.

‘What are you doing? Those are my things!’

He bit back a smile with effort. It was quite a spectacle, watching her lose her temper and try to comfort a baby at the same time. He wouldn’t have thought such an endeavour were possible.

‘You’ll have to forgive me for searching for weapons...’ he paused meaningfully ‘...under the circumstances.’

‘I’m not a fool!’

‘I never said that you were. Now, say goodbye to your sister. We should have left an hour ago.’

‘I can’t wake her. She needs to rest.’

‘Then don’t say goodbye—let her sleep. Either way, leave the baby with the old woman and let’s go.’

He fixed her with a hard stare, challenging her to argue. She was nearly trembling with anger, every muscle in her body taut with tension, eyes sparking so brightly he could almost feel the heat. If she’d been holding anything other than a baby he was quite certain she’d have thrown it at him by now.