‘Let me go!’
She wrenched herself out of his arms, stumbling away into the darkness. How could her feelings for him have altered so much in a few days? Less than a week ago she’d tried to stab him, and now... Now she was afraid of hurting him as Maren had. Was this love? Did she love her enemy? What kind of Saxon did that make her? What kind of sister and daughter? All she knew was that she had to get away from him—away from the temptation of his arms. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was that she’d give herself away.
‘Cille...’ He sounded contrite. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. Your husband and your past are none of my business.’
She stared at him helplessly. If she went back to him now she’d be lost. She rocked on her heels, fighting the urge to run into his arms and tell him everything.
‘We should go back. They’ll be wondering where we are.’
‘Cille...’ He held out a hand to her.
‘No!’ Her voice was harsher than she’d intended and his hand fell at once.
‘As you wish.’
She walked silently ahead of him, her emotions in disarray, desperate to get away and yet dreading the moment of parting. She couldn’t tell him who she really was, but she didn’t want it to end like this.
They reached the hall at last and she turned to face him.
‘When we reach Redbourn will I see you again?’
His face was impassive. ‘That depends on FitzOsbern. He may have another commission for me.’
‘Oh.’
Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. Even if she saw Svend again, this was probably the last time they’d be alone together.
‘Then this is goodbye, Svend du Danemark. I won’t forget you.’
He nodded sternly. ‘Goodbye, Lady Cille.’
She turned away, but his voice arrested her.
‘Cille, if there were another way...’
She attempted a smile but failed, moving away before she could change her mind. If there were another way, she thought miserably, one of them would already have found it.
Chapter Nine
‘I’m sorry you can’t stay any longer.’ Thane Harald laid a restraining hand on Talbot’s bridle. ‘You’ll be sure to tell the King of my service?’
Svend nodded tersely. The Thane’s obsequious manner had ceased to be entertaining and was starting to grate heavily on his nerves. If the man didn’t let go of his horse in a moment he’d wrench his whole damn arm off.
‘We’re grateful for your hospitality, Thane.’
He pulled sharply on the bridle, hardly bothering to hide his contempt. The old hypocrite had made endless declarations of loyalty to the King, though he’d failed even to offer the loan of a horse.
As a result, he and Cille were still sharing a mount—her small body was still perched in front of him as they rode out of Offley and into open countryside. It was slow torture, being so close and yet unable to touch her the way he’d touched her last night, the way he wanted to again...
Silently, he studied the base of her neck. It was smooth and swanlike, with her long hair swept carelessly over one shoulder in a loose braid. Every time the horse swayed he found himself tempted to reach down and bury his face there. And if she pressed any further back against him she’d know how badly he wanted to.
Neither of them had spoken a word to the other all morning. What could they say? Nothing that would ease the tension between them. Nothing that would take back what had happened.
He should have known better—had known better—but he hadn’t been able to resist following her out into the night. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who’d drunk too much mead. That and the moonlight had made him reckless, made him say and do things he should never even have thought about.
He’d told her about his past. Why? Because she reminded him of Maren? No, it was more than that. He was as powerfully attracted to her as he’d been to Maren, but the feelings she aroused in him were completely different.
Over the past few days he’d found himself thinking of his lost home more and more, her presence evoking half-forgotten feelings of warmth, affection, loyalty...belonging. Since he’d met her he’d started looking at the land in a new light too, wishing it were possible to start again, to build a new home, to belong somewhere, with someone. With her.