She started to scream, but a hand clamped itself over her mouth, an arm coiled around her waist and she was carried out of the barn towards the gates.
What had she done?
She was almost too horrified to think. She’d only wanted to help her countrymen, but instead she’d allowed them to escape and kill innocent Normans. She craned her neck, trying to see behind her, but all she could make out was the crumpled body of the guard. She didn’t even know where the other one was.
Her stomach heaved with guilt. She’d tricked them, but she’d never intended for them to get hurt. She’d have rather Edmund had stabbed her instead.
‘Scream again and I’ll kill you.’ Edmund let go of her mouth, throwing her over the back of a horse like a sack before mounting quickly behind her.
‘Let me go!’
He ignored her, pinning her down with a hand on her back as they galloped out through the gates. Blood rushed to her head in a deafening roar. Who was he, this man who seemed to hate her? The Edmund she’d known had been rough and insensitive, but this man was a cold-blooded monster. And yet she found her fear of him was gone, replaced by icy loathing. She wasn’t afraid of anything he might do to her any more. She hardly cared. After what she’d done to the guards she deserved everything she got.
And Svend would think so too.
She retched, and her stomach emptied itself at the thought. When he woke up and they told him what had happened—that the prisoners were gone and her along with them—he’d think that she’d betrayed him again. He’d see the slain guards and think she’d had a hand in it.
Her own words from the evening before would incriminate her. She’d actually asked
him to free them! What if he thought she’d simply been biding her time, trying to manipulate him into letting them go before taking matters into her own hands? Who would believe that she wasn’t a rebel now?
‘Edmund, you’re free! You don’t need me any more!’ She tried to lift her head, but he forced it back down again.
‘I might if your husband decides to follow us.’
‘He won’t!’
She shouted the words with conviction. Svend was in no condition to follow anyone. And even if he was, it wouldn’t be to rescue her. The only reason he’d come after her now was for revenge. And as for his men... Bertrand might try to recapture the prisoners, but he wouldn’t rush to save her—not if he thought she was a rebel.
No, this time she wasn’t going to be rescued. If she were going to survive she had to save herself. But how? Surely it was easier just to give up, to let Edmund punish her as she deserved.
Her head hurt and she felt dizzy. Even face-down, and being jolted from side to side, the urge to close her eyes was almost overpowering.
But if she gave up now then Svend would never know the truth. If anything happened to her he’d never know what had really happened. She had to survive so that she could tell him the truth—that she wasn’t a rebel, that she hadn’t wanted to leave him, that she loved him.
And that she’d never let anyone, Saxon or Norman, ever come between them again.
* * *
Svend’s first thought was that they were under attack. He heard shouts, followed by swearing and running footsteps, then someone calling for horses and armour. He opened his eyes in alarm, surprised to find no sign of Aediva beside him. She’d been at his side almost every moment for the past three days. Where was she now?
‘What is it?’ He jolted upright as the door burst open, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder.
‘It’s the prisoners!’ Renard rushed up to the bed, followed by a hard-faced Bertrand. ‘They’ve escaped.’
‘What? When?’
‘Half an hour ago. The guard at the gate was bound and gagged. He says it was just after dawn.’
‘Go after them.’ Svend turned to Bertrand. ‘You know what to do.’
‘There’s something else, sir...’ Renard’s voice faltered.
‘What?’ He frowned. Something about the look on their faces made him suddenly reluctant to hear the answer.
‘It’s Lady Aediva.’
He felt a painful thud in his chest. ‘What about her?’