‘Taking a rest. My men have earned it.’
‘FitzOsbern expected you a week ago.’
‘Then a few more hours shouldn’t matter.’
Aediva shifted uncomfortably. Svend’s terse manner was doing nothing to dispel the tension between them. If anything, he was making it worse. Surely Hugh could sense it too? She didn’t want him guessing the reason as well.
‘It’s my fault,’ she said smoothly. ‘I suggested a swim. I wanted time to gather my thoughts before meeting the Earl.’
‘Of course.’ Hugh’s gaze darted speculatively between them. ‘But we ought to be going now. If he finds out that you’ve been swimming, of all things...’
‘Not yet.’ Svend pushed him aside deliberately. ‘There’s something I need to discuss with Lady Cille first.’
‘Can’t we talk and ride?’
‘No.’
‘What is it?’ Aediva felt a rush of panic. The seriousness of his expression alarmed her.
A muscle tensed in his jaw. ‘You need to prepare yourself, my lady. Redbourn has changed a great deal since you left. The fortifications needed improving. It’s not the home you left...’ He paused meaningfully. ‘It would be best if you tried to accept it.’
She caught her breath as his eyes bored into hers. He was trying to warn her, to prepare her for her meeting with FitzOsbern, but all she could hear was the note of finality in his voice. He was saying goodbye.
She took refuge in anger. ‘And you’re only telling me this now?’
‘There was no point before. I didn’t want to alarm you.’
She dug her nails into her hands, fighting back tears. She didn’t care about the changes to Redbourn. Her memories of Cille’s home were hazy, at best. At least now she wouldn’t arouse suspicion because of it. But it was better to be angry than to admit that she cared about him—about the fact that he’d been hiding things from her just when she thought she could trust him.
Just as she was hiding everything from him.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Who was she to accuse him? She’d been deceiving him all along. And it was too late to admit it.
If Hugh was right, and the Earl was really so impatient, it was too late to turn back. She had to go ahead with her deception, no matter what. If she told Svend the truth now he’d be forced to choose between exposing her and lying to the Earl. And if he took her side and something went wrong he’d be a traitor...an outlaw all over again. She couldn’t do that to him—not like Maren. It wasn’t just Cille and her nephew she was protecting any more. It was him too.
She took a step towards the horses, suddenly desperate to get the journey over with.
‘My lady.’
He followed to help her mount and she stopped short, stiffening as his fingers touched her arm. They felt warm and strong. They were all she could feel. At that moment they seemed to be the only thing holding her up.
She mumbled something incoherent and clambered up quickly, hoping he couldn’t see the effect that even such a slight touch had on her body. He mounted behind and she shifted forward self-consciously, keeping her back as straight as a spear, determined this time to keep their bodies apart. She couldn’t let him touch her again—not when she needed a clear head.
‘Cille?’
His lips skimmed her ear when Hugh’s back was turned, his voice low and intimate, but she shook her head, refusing to answer. If she spoke to him now she might fall back into his arms and never let go.
And for Cille’s sake—for all their sakes—she had to let him go. Whatever awaited her in Redbourn, she had to face it alone.
Chapter Ten
Svend stormed into the gatehouse, pounding his fist into the wall so hard that fragments of stone dust erupted in a small cloud.
‘It went well, then?’ Hugh had followed him inside, closing the door carefully behind them.
Svend scowled and flung himself into a chair. It was over. She was gone. He’d left her on the steps of the hall—had handed her over to the Earl’s steward as if she were any other prisoner, as if his heart hadn’t been ripped from his chest, acutely aware of Hugh’s eyes following them both.
‘You’re a terrible actor, my friend. I saw the way you were looking at her.’ Hugh picked up a flagon and poured two cupfuls of ale. ‘The way she was looking at you too, for that matter. But you ought to be careful. De Quincey’s a dangerous man to have as an enemy.’