That was how he felt about her now. Except that she was real. She might have changed on the surface, but she was still the same woman underneath. The only thing she’d lied about was her name. Everything else—every kiss, every touch—had been real.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to hold back the emptiness inside. Since their last night together that feeling had come back with a vengeance. No, she couldn’t stay in Redbourn—couldn’t live with Svend any more. If he couldn’t trust her then there was only one thing she could do.
She would confront him, and then she would leave.
* * *
It was late when Svend rode back through the gates—so late that for a moment he thought he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. The woman standing on the steps of the tower looked like his wife, but couldn’t be. She couldn’t be there simply to greet him. Something must have happened.
He dismounted quickly, tossing his reins to a groom as he hastened towards her. She was standing motionless in the torchlight, a red gown he hadn’t seen before billowing in the evening breeze, moulding the fabric to her body.
‘Aediva?’ He tore his gaze from her legs. ‘Is everything all right?’
She nodded, her eyes flickering towards the prisoners and then back again. ‘You’ve been busy.’
He frowned, his jaw tightening defensively. ‘I have orders, Aediva, you know that.’
‘I know.’
They were both silent for a moment as he looked around the bailey, searching for some kind of problem.
‘So nothing’s the matter?’
‘No.’ She looked surprised. ‘Why?’
His eyebrows lifted before he could stop them. ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’
‘Can’t a wife greet her husband?’
‘She can.’ He was already regretting his words. ‘And a husband might be pleased to see her.’
He mounted the steps, still vaguely wondering if it were all a dream. He hadn’t expected any welcome at all—had thought he’d have to search the bailey for her—but the evening was already going better than he’d dared to imagine.
‘You look lovely this evening. Red suits you.’
‘Thank you. You’re filthy!’
He looked down and grimaced. ‘I need a bath.’
‘I thought you might. I asked the maids to prepare one when we saw your torches approaching.’
‘For me?’ His eyebrows shot even higher.
‘And there’ll be a hot meal for your men shortly. The prisoners too.’ Her gaze darkened. ‘If you’ll allow it.’
‘Of course.’
She looked mildly appeased. ‘Where will you put them?’
‘In one of the barns. They won’t be harmed, I promise.’
She studied him intently for a moment before gesturing for him to follow her inside. ‘Come, your bath is upstairs.’
Svend followed her in stunned silence. That she’d arranged a bath for him was surprising enough. That she appeared to be going with him was almost unthinkable.
‘Here...’ She opened the door to the bedchamber and pointed towards a metal-lined wooden tub by the fireplace. ‘It’s all ready.’
‘I’m impressed.’ He grinned with anticipation. The water looked steaming hot and inviting. He could hardly have asked for a better welcome—not unless she intended to join him.