‘It depends who else knows. If it’s only you—’
‘It’s not,’ he interrupted brusquely. ‘Renard heard a rumour. The kitchen maids here know more than the Earl.’
‘But if you’re the only Normans who know...’ She looked up at him imploringly. ‘You could still let me go. Let me tell them I’m Cille. No one else will know the difference.’
‘Believe me, if you go into that hall someone will know.’
‘Who?’
‘Trust me.’
‘But—’
‘Enough!’
He slammed the flat of his hand against the wall. They were wasting time. She hadn’t the slightest idea of how much danger she was in. He had to get her out of there. Now.
Quickly he glanced around the antechamber. Save for a couple of guards, it was empty. There was no time to think or reconsider. If he was going to save her, it had to be now. And there was only one place he could think of to take her.
He must truly be mad.
‘Come on!’ He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the antechamber, down the tower steps and towards a cluster of tents on the far side of the bailey.
‘Svend, what are you doing?’ She tugged at his arm, almost running to keep up.
It was a good question. As far as he could see there were only two choices. Escape and become fugitives, or throw themselves on the mercy of the Earl. Neither option seemed likely to end well.
‘First I’m going to get you out of here. Then I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing.’
They reached the tents and he threw a swift glance over his shoulder, checking for any sign of pursuit. There was none. They had that in their favour at least. Now, if they could just reach his tent without being seen he could keep her hidden while he worked out what to do next.
He found it at last and whipped back the flap with relief, pushing her roughly inside.
‘Ow!’ She stumbled into the tent, bumping against the side of a low pallet bed.
He ignored her, searching his narrow quarters for any sign of occupancy, but everything was as he’d left it a few weeks before, his small sack of belongings untouched. Good. At least no one had thought to take advantage of his absence. No one would interrupt them. He didn’t want to be disturbed—not until he had some answers.
He folded his arms in the doorway, trying to ignore the fact that she was sprawled on his bed. ‘You told me you were Cille!’
She sat up, rubbing the backs of her legs. ‘No, I didn’t. You assumed.’
He ignored the distinction. ‘Why did you lie?’
‘I had to!’
‘Why?’ He was getting impatient. ‘Tell me quickly. We don’t have much time.’
‘Before what?’
‘Before the Earl wonders why you’re ignoring his summons!’
‘I’m not!’ She leapt to her feet accusingly. ‘You’re the one stopping me!’
His anger exploded. ‘I just saved your life! Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped you? Bloody hell, woman, you were about to lie to the King’s cousin!’
‘Not lie exactly...pretend...’
‘What’s the difference? It’s still treason!’