‘I saw the prisoners on the morning of your accident. One of them...it was Edmund.’
‘Edmund?’ His whole body seemed to tense. ‘Did he see you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And...?’
‘He looked angry.’ She felt her cheeks flush. ‘I was only wearing a blanket at the time.’
‘So that’s why you’re asking me all this? Because you want me to let him go?’
‘Yes—but not because I care for him.’ She hastened to explain. ‘I never did. I was always more scared of him than anything.’
‘Scared?’ He frowned. ‘Why?’
She hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about this—didn’t want to remember it—but she had a feeling that Svend wasn’t simply going to drop the subject.
‘He was...rough. When he kissed me it hurt. And...he tried to make me do other things.’
‘And you want me to let him go?’ Svend’s face was a mask of restrained fury.
‘Yes.’ She put a hand on his chest quickly. ‘I know it sounds strange. Part of me hates him, but I don’t want revenge—not like this. He was part of my life once, and he’s Saxon. It doesn’t seem right for me to be so happy when he’s lost everything.’
‘So happy?’ Some of the anger ebbed from his face. ‘Is that what you are?’
‘Very happy. I thought that all men were like Edmund until I met you. I thought I never wanted anyone to kiss me again. But now...’ She pressed her lips against his. ‘Now I can’t seem to kiss you enough.’
‘Temptress. You should have told me all this before.’
‘It’s not easy to talk about.’
‘No, but if I’d known...’
She smiled at his anxious expression. ‘You’re nothing like Edmund, Svend. I’ve always wanted you to kiss me.’
‘Always?’
‘Most of the time anyway.’
‘I wish I’d known that sooner too.’
He seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head.
‘No, I can’t let him go. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I can’t make exceptions. I trust my men to keep their own counsel, but de Quincey’s men are another matter. If word ever got back to the Earl... I won’t expose you to that kind of danger.’
‘Can I speak to Edmund, at least?’
‘That’s not a good idea.’
‘But I could tell him what you said—that he should surrender. I could tell the others too.’
‘No.’
‘Svend, they’re my countrymen. I’ll be perfectly safe with Bertrand.’
‘No!’ His eyes flashed a warning. ‘Prisoners are desperate men and that makes them dangerous. Don’t argue with me on this, Aediva. I won’t change my mind. The further you stay away from the rebels, the better.’
Chapter Eighteen