‘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.