‘You were supposed to be. Your father was going to give me half his land too. It was supposed to be mine! Now the Normans have taken everything. I won’t let them have you too!’
‘But you don’t want me!’
‘No, but he does. And if I can’t kill him I might as well kill you!’
He drew his sword and sliced downwards, cutting the branch in two as she staggered away.
‘You can’t win like this, Edmund.’ She could hear the desperation in her own voice.
‘Maybe not, but I can make sure that you lose.’
He lunged at her again and she swung the remainder of the branch upwards, blocking the blow instinctively, so hard that his sword embedded itself in the wood.
Quickly she seized the advantage, heaving the branch towards him before turning to run. His horse was now halfway up the slope. If she could just reach it before he did...
‘Aediva!’
She looked up, afraid that she was imagining things as she heard Svend’s shout. But it was him—really him—thundering down the hillside towards her, a band of Norman soldiers at his back.
‘Svend!’
Relief gave her a fresh burst of energy. She changed direction at once, running towards him with only a swift glance over her shoulder at Edmund. He’d managed to free his sword, but seemed frozen to the spot, staring at Svend with a look of pure hatred. Silently she willed him to run, to flee back into the marshes, to escape so that she’d never have to see him again. Surely he wouldn’t come after her now—not with the Normans so close. He couldn’t want to hurt her that badly...
Then he looked at her and her stomach plummeted.
The answer was clear on his face.
It was going to be her or him.
* * *
Svend surged ahead of his men. Talbot’s mane was a streak of pale grey as they flew over the ground, faster and fiercer than they’d ever ridden before.
He’d allowed the horses a few brief rests, but they were still flagging. Only Bertrand was managing to keep pace—though his attention seemed less on the pursuit than on keeping his commander alive. Svend set his jaw grimly. He’d no intention of expiring just yet—not until he found Aediva. He’d go back to Redbourn with her or not at all.
‘Their tracks are heading for the marshes.’ Bertrand’s tone was discouraging.
‘Then we go into the marshes.’
‘It’ll be dark in a few more hours.’
‘Then go back!’
Svend shot him a savage look and Bertrand stiffened at once.
‘I won’t leave you, sir.’
Good. Svend tightened his grasp on the reins, fighting to stay upright. He was relying on his men’s loyalty. He’d ride alone into the marshes if he had to, but if he was going to rescue his wife he’d need every fighting man he could get. He didn’t care about the rebels, but he was going to rescue her even if it took every last ounce of his strength.
If he didn’t...if anything happened to her...
He pushed the thought aside, refusing to consider the alternative.
They crested another hill and his blood froze at the sound of a woman’s scream. Quickly he looked around, trying to find the source. Then he saw her. She was halfway up the slope, wrestling a Saxon warrior with what appeared to be a stick.
He spurred onwards, charging down the hill just as she turned to run.
‘Aediva!’