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Her mouth fell open. Eadgyth had spoken to him! Which meant...

‘You speak Saxon?’

Pale eyebrows arched upwards. ‘As you speak French.’

‘My father thought it important. Besides, that’s hardly uncommon. Not many Normans speak Saxon.’

‘Fewer than you think. I’m not Norman.’

She tilted her head towards him enquiringly but he was already looking at her, his gaze wandering over her face as if a new idea had just struck him. She fought the urge to take a step backwards. Such intense scrutiny made her uncomfortable. What was he looking at?

His gaze dropped. Slowly, almost leisurely, it travelled down over her neck and breasts. Lower. And lower. Past her waist, lingering over the curve of her hips, down to her toes and back up again, as if memorising every inch of her body. She flushed, her skin tingling wherever his eyes rested, as if they might strip away her gown and see the nakedness beneath. Instinctively her hands coiled into fists. Conquering warrior he might be, but she was a Thane’s daughter! How dared he insult her so brazenly?

He jerked his head towards the bed. ‘She’s your sister?’

She nodded cautiously. The question was casual—too casual. She felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck, hardly trusting herself to speak. It was obvious that they were sisters. Was he suspicious? Had he guessed who she really was? She had the discomforting feeling that he was testing her.

‘You’re very alike.’

‘I’ve noticed.’ She bit her lip instantly, regretting the sarcasm. She should try to ingratiate herself, not insult him.

His eyes flashed with something like humour. How could eyes be so intensely blue? she wondered. It was a blue that seemed to change every time she looked at them, sometimes so pale as to seem almost white, sometimes a vivid, piercing turquoise. People said that her eyes were unusual, but his were almost hypnotic. When they demanded she meet them, there was no way to refuse.

Like now. What did his scrutiny mean? What was he thinking?

He turned towards Eadgyth abruptly. ‘Is the baby moving? And facing the right way?’

‘Yes, but the mother is weak. She can’t stand much more.’

‘How close together are the pains?’

‘Close enough.’

Aediva looked between them, feeling suddenly out of place and excluded. Not many men had more than a vague idea about the mysteries of childbirth, preferring to leave such matters to their womenfolk, but this man seemed to know more about the birthing process than she did.

‘Is there anything you need?’ He sounded genuinely solicitous.

‘Something hot to eat wouldn’t hurt.’

He strode purposefully out of the chamber, leaving Aediva open-mouthed. Had this Norman warrior really just taken orders from an old Saxon midwife?

‘Not a monster after all,’ Eadgyth muttered.

She closed her mouth with a snap. ‘He’s still a Norman.’

‘Be glad you’re still alive to say so.’ Eadgyth looked her up and down critically. ‘What on earth happened to you, girl?’

Aediva turned her face aside, cheeks flaring anew. Eadgyth was right. She was lucky not to be in chains. What had she been thinking? She’d armed herself with no real intention except to warn the Normans off, but far from bartering with them, or pleading for mercy, she’d clambered on top of their commander and aimed a blade at his heart, channelling the full force of her fear and anger into one frenzied, pointless attack. For certes, Cille would never have done such a thing.

And what had she hoped to achieve? She couldn’t possibly have fought off a whole Norman battalion. She hadn’t even stopped one man. Fighting her off had caused him little more effort than batting away a troublesome fly. And now it seemed she didn’t even matter enough to be punished. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

The sound of footsteps brought her back to herself.

‘He thinks I’m Cille,’ she whispered hurriedly, throwing a worried glance over her shoulder as Svend reappeared in the doorway, bearing a thick, fur-lined cloak in one hand and a wineskin in the other.

For the first time she looked at him properly, free to do so now that his attention no longer held hers. Strange that she hadn’t done it before, but somehow those blue eyes had made everything around them seem like a blur.

He was unlike any man she?


Tags: Jenni Fletcher Historical