His step faltered momentarily. What would the Earl make of her? What kind of maelstrom would this Saxon wildcat unleash in the Norman court? He’d been deadly serious in his warning. FitzOsbern wouldn’t tolerate disobedience or insults. Nor forgive them either. And Lady Cille seemed the kind of woman to learn lessons the hard way.
That strange protective feeling was back and he pushed it aside irritably. He’d warned her. That was all he could do. He wasn’t responsible for her temper—only her safety until they reached Redbourn. Once they were there she could do and say as she pleased. If she insulted FitzOsbern that was her mistake and not his problem. He certainly wasn’t about to risk his hard-earned reward for a woman who made the whole Saxon army seem welcoming.
‘Shh!’
He halted mid-stride, caught off guard as she stepped out of the shadows, the babe cradled in her arms.
For half a moment he wondered if he were imagining the vision before him. With the child in her arms she looked calmer, softer, a completely different woman from the spitting wildcat of the previous day. She’d changed her clothes too. Her mud-splattered tunic had been replaced by a woodland-green gown. He ran his gaze appreciatively over the close-fitting contours of the fabric, his body reacting despite himself. She was swaying from side to side, cooing gently as she tried to soothe the grumbling child, slim hips rolling in a slow and alarmingly distracting rhythm.
He forced his body back under control. This was the second time she’d caught him by surprise in this very hall. What was the matter with him? She seemed to undermine all his defensive instincts. What was it he’d wanted to tell her? Something about his authority...
‘You almost woke him!’ She hissed through her teeth. ‘You were stamping like a whole herd of cattle!’
Svend raised an eyebrow, the vision of loveliness dissipating before his eyes. It was her, no doubt about it. That fiery glare would have given her away even if her adder’s tongue had not.
He cleared his throat deliberately loudly. ‘It’s time to go. My men are waiting.’
‘I can’t.’ She shook her head so vigorously that tendrils of hair broke free from the sides of her headdress. ‘Not yet. It’s taken me half the night to calm him. If I stop moving he’ll wake up for certain.’
Svend narrowed his gaze critically. Her face looked wan and drawn, her eyes circled with dark shadows. Had she slept at all?
‘Have you been pacing all night?’
‘No!’
Her denial came too quickly and he scowled ferociously. ‘I told you to get some rest! For pity’s sake, woman, we have a day’s ride ahead.’
‘I did rest!’ Her chin jutted upwards unconvincingly. ‘But Eadgyth needed some sleep too.’
‘Then you should have asked one of my men for help!’
‘Ask a Norman?’
Her voice dripped with scorn and he clenched his teeth, trying to restrain his temper. ‘Is it too much to hope that you’ve packed?’
‘No.’ She gestured towards a sack by the door. ‘I did it last night, if you must know.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ He scooped up the bag and untied the leather cords, ignoring her shocked intake of breath as he rummaged inside.
‘What are you doing? Those are my things!’
He bit back a smile with effort. It was quite a spectacle, watching her lose her temper and try to comfort a baby at the same time. He wouldn’t have thought such an endeavour were possible.
‘You’ll have to forgive me for searching for weapons...’ he paused meaningfully ‘...under the circumstances.’
‘I’m not a fool!’
‘I never said that you were. Now, say goodbye to your sister. We should have left an hour ago.’
‘I can’t wake her. She needs to rest.’
‘Then don’t say goodbye—let her sleep. Either way, leave the baby with the old woman and let’s go.’
He fixed her with a hard stare, challenging her to argue. She was nearly trembling with anger, every muscle in her body taut with tension, eyes sparking so brightly he could almost feel the heat. If she’d been holding anything other than a baby he was quite certain she’d have thrown it at him by now.
He swung her bag over his shoulder, deliberately relaxing his stance to present an open target.
Her eyes flashed and he found himself smiling sardonically. She was a wildcat, in truth. Surely any man would enjoy taming her—or at least trying to.
‘I need a few moments.’ Her voice was clipped with anger.
‘A few,’ he agreed, turning his back and strolling casually towards the door, not even bothering to turn for his parting shot. ‘Just be quick or I’ll come and carry you out myself.’
* * *
‘Cille, wake up!’
Aediva shook her sister’s arm urgently, wondering how much she should tell her about what had happened. The truth was impossible. She didn’t want to frighten her. And, besides, there was so little time. How could she possibly tell her everything in a few minutes?
Nervously she glanced back over her shoulder. She’d no wish to be carried anywhere over any man’s shoulder, let alone a Norman’s, but she’d believed this warrior when he had threatened to drag her outside. Something in his face told her he wasn’t a man to make threats lightly.
‘Aediva?’ Cille’s voice was groggy with sleep. ‘What’s the matter? Is the baby all right?’
‘Yes, he’s here. But I have to go.’
‘Go?’ Cille sat up in alarm. ‘What do you mean?’
Aediva perched on the edge of the bed, trying to find words to reassure her. ‘I have to go with the Normans. Not for long, but it’s important. We’ll be together again soon, I promise.’
‘What do they want?’
‘Nothing to worry about. And some of the soldiers are staying to make sure you’re safe, so there’s no need to worry. Just get better.’
The baby stirred in her arms and she passed him carefully to Cille, smiling at the sight of his round pink face.
‘His hair is so dark,’ she mused aloud. ‘Darker than either Leofric’s or yours. Maybe he takes after someone else in the family...?’
She stopped mid-sentence, taken aback by the horrified expression on her sister’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I wanted to tell you...’ Cille’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I tried to, but I didn’t know how...’
‘What?’ Aediva felt a shiver of panic ripple down her spine and pool in her stomach, hardening there like a lump of ice. What was the matter? What could possibly be so bad?
‘You’ll hate me...’ Cille’s voice was almost inaudible.
‘No! You can tell me anything.’
‘She’s delirious.’ Eadgyth bustled between them suddenly, taking charge of the baby as she jerked her head towards the curtain. ‘You should be going.’
‘But—’