Desperately she tried to arrange her thoughts into some kind of order, but now she had space to think and darkness to cloak her emotions she found herself utterly incapable of doing so. His presence beside her made it impossible to think about anything clearly. All her being seemed focussed on the warm, solid pressure of his arm against hers.
She cleared her throat, trying to distract herself. ‘Renard said it was you who nursed me through the fever.’
‘Did he?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
He ignored the question. ‘And how do you feel, after all my hard work?’
‘What do you mean?’ She glanced at him warily. He’d sounded faintly amused.
‘I mean how do you feel after the ride today? I’ve never seen anyone look more uncomfortable on a horse.’
She scowled, glad of the darkness concealing her crimson cheeks. How did he know how she felt? Did he notice everything?
‘I told you, I’m just a little stiff.’
They came to a halt at the top of the village, looking down over the thatched roofs to the moonlit valley below. To the east she could see the boggy morass of the Fens, to the north the hills they’d just crossed. She peered into the distance towards Etton, far over the horizon now. It was a long and more dangerous road than she’d given it credit for—a road that Cille had travelled alone just five months before.
Until now she hadn’t truly appreciated the risks her sister had taken. Cille had known she was carrying a baby, so why had she made such an arduous journey alone? She’d said that she’d wanted to come home, but that answer seemed inadequate now, the danger too great. For the first time Aediva wished that she’d asked more questions, been more persistent in getting answers. But Cille had been reluctant to talk about anything, retreating inside herself, silently mourning the loss of their father, of Leofric...
A memory stirred at the back of her mind. Cille had wanted to tell her something. Just before she left. Something about the baby...
‘It’ll take her a while to recover.’ Svend’s gaze followed hers, and his voice was low and reassuring. ‘The babe’s strong and healthy. And Henri won’t leave until he’s sure they’re both out of danger.’
‘He knows about babies?’ She looked up dubiously, an image of the battle-scarred soldier popping into her mind.
‘I doubt that.’ Svend’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. ‘But he’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.’
‘I know.’ She paused for the space of a heartbeat. ‘I trust you.’
‘Trust a Norman?’
‘You’re not Norman.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘That must be it.’
For a moment neither of them spoke, as if the atmosphere were already too heavy for words. Why had she said that? The mead was clearly affecting her senses, pushing Cille and Maren and all the reasons why she shouldn’t be alone with him to the back of her mind. She shifted uncomfortably, wincing as a taut muscle spasmed in her back.
‘Just a little stiff...?’
She set her teeth against the pain. ‘I’m fine.’
He sighed and pulled her towards him suddenly, one hand grasping her waist while the other slid up and down her spine, teasing the sore muscles.
She made a strangled sound in the back of her throat, the shock of his touch coursing through her body like lightning through her veins. What was he doing?
‘Relax.’
It was a command, not a request. Strong fingers stroked the curve of her back, tracing circular patterns around the knotted muscles, kneading them in a firm, smooth rhythm. She bit her tongue, holding back a groan of pleasure as she swayed towards him, lulled into submission. This was madness. Wrong—definitely wrong. But it felt too good to stop...too good to do anything but surrender.
‘Better?’ His fingers pressed deeper and harder, forcing the tension out of her body.
‘A...a little.’ She sighed, tipping her head back so that her spine arched beneath his touch.
‘Just a little?’ His voice was gently teasing.
She was almost panting now, and her head was screaming a warning so loudly she couldn’t hear herself think. Not that she wanted to. Not when his touch was sending toe-curling sensations all through her body, making every fibre of her being ache and shudder with longing.