She drew back at once, her heart pounding violently. She hadn’t seen him for months, but it was him—she was sure of it. And he’d seen her too. The look of disgust on his face had been more eloquent than words. She could hardly have arranged it to look any worse—wrapped in a blanket in a Norman’s bedchamber in the full light of day. She didn’t want to think about what she looked like, but it was obvious what he thought.
She ran a hand over her face in dismay. She hadn’t expected ever to see Edmund again—hadn’t wanted to—but he was still part of her past, her father’s favourite. The Saxon side of her didn’t want to see him imprisoned, even if the new Norman side knew there was no choice. But for old times’ sake she couldn’t just turn her back on him—she had to do something.
But what? She could hardly help him escape. If she deceived Svend again he’d never forgive her—not a second time. It would be the end of their marriage before it had even begun. Besides, she couldn’t keep such a secret from him. Not after last night. She’d have to tell him and ask for his help instead, try to persuade him to let Edmund go even if it meant another argument.
Her stomach plummeted. She had a feeling their morning together was ruined.
* * *
Svend grinned, inhaling the fresh morning air with relish. He was in a better mood than he’d been in for... His brow creased as he considered. Could it really be years? He felt more at ease and contented than he could even remember. It was a beautiful day, cloudless and bright, and all he wanted was to spend it indoors, in bed, with his wife.
‘So what’s the issue with the masons, exactly?’
‘They’ve had some kind of argument, sir.’ Renard was still flustered, struggling to keep up with his long strides. ‘One of them says part of the wall is unstable—the rest say not. So they asked me to fetch you. I thought I should, just in case the first one was right.’
‘You did the right thing.’
‘I did?’ Renard sagged with reli
ef. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Am I such an ogre, lad?’
‘No, sir, but I didn’t want to interrupt...anything.’
Svend grinned. ‘Well, I forgive you, but you know Lady Aediva has a fearsome temper. It’s not me you need to worry about.’
He started to laugh at Renard’s panicked expression and then stopped, distracted by a noise coming from the building site—a low rumble followed by voices raised in alarm. He looked towards the sound and then broke into a run. Part of the wall was leaning precariously, the scaffolding beside it teetering over with men still trapped on top. As he watched two of them jumped clear, but a third man was too high, and the wooden planks were wobbling dangerously beneath his feet.
‘Climb down!’ Svend bellowed, charging towards the scaffolding and ramming his shoulder up against a beam, trying to stabilise the frame.
Already he could tell that it was too late. Other men were rushing to help, but the weight of the wall was pushing him down to the ground and the wood was already starting to crack, fragmenting into a thousand small pieces around them.
The last man clambered down a level and then jumped, landing just clear of the wood as it finally splintered apart. There was an eerie creak followed by a bass rumble as the wall started to disintegrate alongside them, large blocks of stone teetering at first and then tumbling down in a torrent of boulders.
‘Get back!’ Svend shouted, taking the weight by himself as he heaved the remains of the scaffolding aside. He made sure everyone else was clear before he jumped backwards himself, disappearing beneath a cloud of dust and rocky hailstones as the rest of the wall finally collapsed around him.
Chapter Seventeen
Svend forced his eyelids open. They felt leaden and heavy, as if they were trying to drag him back down into sleep, back to troubled dreams of noise and chaos. It was dark, though the flickering light of a candle told him he was back in his bed in the tower.
He flexed his sword arm, then winced as pain shot down his side, black dots dancing in front of his eyes like coal dust. A series of disjointed memories came back to him. The bailey wall collapsing...the scaffolding buckling under the weight of stone...a shower of dust and rock.
What had happened next? What was he doing here?
He waited for the dizziness to subside, then tested his other muscles more carefully. He felt battered and sore all over, though he seemed to have avoided serious injury. Only his chest felt heavy—as if there were a horse sitting on top of it.
He heard somebody else’s breathing and turned his head carefully, his heart lurching as he saw Aediva curled up in a chair by the bedside. Instinctively he tried to sit up, and then fell back with a grunt of pain, his shoulder collapsing beneath him.
‘Svend?’
He heard her whisper his name but couldn’t answer, his senses still reeling. Then he felt fingers, soft and tender, moving in circles over his chest, loosening the tight muscles. From the smell he guessed she was rubbing in some kind of ointment. It felt warm and sticky, not unpleasant despite a slight stinging sensation. He fought back a growl, inhaling sharply as her fingers brushed across his injured shoulder.
‘Can you hear me?’ She stopped at once.
He could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin, could tell that she was leaning over him. Her hair was trailing across his chest like a silken blanket, filling his senses almost to breaking point. She was close now—so close that if he reached out she’d have no chance of escape.
He moaned, luring her face down to his.