Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move suddenly—a man’s figure, darting silently between the trees, but heading away from the camp, not towards it. Instantly he was on his feet and following, keeping low to the ground as he darted across the beach and into the camp, clamping a hand over Renard’s mouth as he shook him awake.
‘Wake the men! We’re not alone.’
He started off again, quickly, and then stopped as if reconsidering something. ‘Get her up too. I don’t want her caught by surprise.’
He broke into the trees, following the direction of the shadow, treading lightly as he ducked under and around branches, trying not to make a sound. There was a rustle of leaves and a sway of branches ahead and he crept towards it, halting abruptly as the shadow stopped, every muscle immobile as an unknown gaze seemed to sweep over him. Then the figure moved again and Svend carried on, reaching the far edge of the copse just as the shadow burst into the open, the unmistakable figure of a man revealed in the moonlight.
Svend swore imaginatively. The man might be a rebel scout, or simply a lone outlaw, but he couldn’t take the chance. Where there was one rebel there might be more. He wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
He made his way swiftly back to the clearing, relieved to find his men grouped in a defensive circle around Lady Cille. She was standing alone in the centre, a small figure dwarfed by the burly soldiers, her pale face tense and frightened. As he stepped out of the trees her shoulders seemed to slump suddenly, her whole body slackening as if with relief. Or was it disappointment? After the ride that day she’d probably hoped she’d seen the last of him.
‘Rebels, sir?’
Renard ran up to him and Svend patted the boy’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘Most likely. We need to leave. Now.’
His men didn’t argue, packing up camp with quiet, practised efficiency, clearing the ground in a matter of minutes.
‘Lady Cille.’ He found himself drawn irresistibly towards her, his feet moving as if of their own volition. ‘We need to go.’
‘Why did you do that?’ She straightened up as he approached, her voice high-pitched and accusatory, eyes glowing like golden orbs in the moonlight.
‘Do what?’ He frowned, taken aback by her vehemence. What was she angry about this time?
‘You shouldn’t have gone after him! It was dangerous.’
He stared at her, genuinely perplexed. Had she been worried about him? Flattering though the idea was, it seemed highly unlikely. More likely she’d been afraid for the rebels, or angry that he’d left her alone. But it wasn’t as if he’d left her undefended. His men had practically built a shield wall around her.
‘There’s no need to be frightened. My men are more than capable of dealing with rebels.’
‘Frightened?’
‘You’re safe with my soldiers.’
She blinked rapidly, as if she were coming out of a trance. ‘Why would I be frightened of rebels? They wouldn’t harm me.’
‘No?’ His temper stirred. Was she really so naive? Did she always have to provoke him? Even now when he was trying to reassure her? ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. They might be rebels or they might be outlaws. Either way, they’re men. Are you so certain who’s on your side?’
For a fleeting moment her expression seemed to waver. Then it hardened again, and her chin inched upwards in a now familiar gesture of defiance. ‘If they’re Saxon, they won’t harm me.’
‘Is that so?’
He took a step towards her, so that they stood only inches apart, the air between them
seeming to crackle and strain with tension. She swayed slightly, as if she were about to retreat, then straightened again, so close that he could feel the heat of her body through her gown. She was panting slightly, her breathing shallow and erratic, her breasts rising and falling just inches away from his chest.
From the sounds around them he could tell that his men were almost ready. If he had even the tiniest shred of common sense he’d turn and walk away from her now.
She licked her lips nervously and his gaze followed the movement. Her bottom lip was full, moist, dangerously tempting. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge he’d felt that first night, the almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss the defiant look off her face.
‘They won’t harm me,’ she repeated, less convincingly.
‘So you say.’
‘You could leave me here.’
He frowned, thinking he must have misheard her.
‘Just leave me here.’ She looked hopeful suddenly. ‘You could say that I ran away.’