‘Yes, I’m angry!’ She felt her temper rising again. Of course she was angry! What else would she be?
‘Because...?’
‘Because you’re still one of them—a Norman, or as good as. I can’t help but hate you for it!’
She glared at him unrepentantly, caught up in the moment. That was the truth. Hadn’t he asked for it? No matter how sorry for her behaviour or how grateful for his she might be, they were still enemies. That was obvious...wasn’t it?
‘So you hate all Normans?’ His voice was expressionless. ‘Your new husband will be pleased to hear that.’
‘I can’t help it.’
‘Do you always hate so indiscriminately?’
‘I have g
ood cause!’
‘Yes.’ His expression turned sombre. ‘Yes, in this case you do.’
‘So?’
‘So is it really that simple? Saxon good? Norman bad? Take your sister’s husband, for instance. You say he abandoned her, a vulnerable woman, and their unborn baby. Do you still think well of him just because he’s Saxon?’
She reeled backwards, staggering as if he’d just hit her. The words were so closely akin to her own thoughts that she had to turn her face away to hide her mortification. She didn’t want to talk about Edmund, especially not with him.
‘That’s different.’
‘Is it? I’m capable of many things, Lady Cille, but I hope not that.’
‘You don’t know anything about it!’
‘No, I don’t, but the world isn’t all black and white. Hate is a very strong word.’
‘Sometimes it fits very well!’
His mouth twitched, though his expression was mirthless. ‘If you’re saying we can’t be friends, then for once we’re in agreement. As for your hatred of Normans...for your own sake I hope that you might overcome it.’
‘For my own sake? Is that a threat?’
‘It’s a warning. You should think about it before meeting the Earl. Or your new husband, for that matter.’
She opened her mouth to retaliate and then closed it again. He had a point. She wouldn’t be able to persuade FitzOsbern to do anything, let alone release her—Cille—from the planned marriage if she charged in arguing and threatening. She’d have to learn to hide her true feelings, her true hatred of Normans, if she were going to stand any chance of success.
As for this new husband—she fully intended to make herself as disagreeable to him as possible. After all he’d never met Cille, wouldn’t know what to expect. With any luck she’d put him off Saxon women for ever.
A gust of wind caught her cloak unexpectedly, making it billow open, and Svend reacted at once, catching the edges and pulling them back together at her throat. She gasped, startled. The gesture seemed too intimate, unexpectedly tender, as if he were wrapping her tight in his arms. For a fleeting moment she felt safe and warm, as if the emptiness inside her had been banished, replaced by a warm glow that seemed to radiate outwards, along every nerve ending from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.
She looked up in alarm, saw his eyes flash with something like surprise before they both pulled away at the same moment.
He averted his gaze. ‘Believe it or not, I’m trying to help.’
She cleared her throat, trying not to think about what had just happened. Even if that were true, she wasn’t going to thank him for it. She hadn’t asked for and certainly didn’t want advice from a Norman!
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Well, that’s progress.’ He sighed. ‘Now, get some rest. I want to be a third of the way to Redbourn by nightfall and I don’t want you falling asleep on the ride.’
Chapter Five