by Brenda Joyce
Rolfe stared.
“’Tis true. They came right into the village once you had left. She is planning treason again, my lord!”
“This is a serious accusation. Do you have proof?”
“Yes! The maid, Beth, relayed a message betwixt Morcar and Ceidre. She may lie and deny it, for she is most fond of Morcar—indeed, ’tis said one of her brats is his—but if you beat her she will tell the truth.”
Rolfe stood and paced to the dark, unlighted hearth, his back to Alice. He turned slowly. “You are quick to wish your sister ill, Alice. Rightly, I think, I am suspicious of this accusation.”
Alice went to him, and brazenly touched his sleeve. “My lord, I am lady of Aelfgar. I intend to continue to remain so. If treason against you rears itself, I will fight it—for treason against you is treason against me. I have, for the first time in my life, what I want. I will not willingly give it up. Your interests are mine, thus I protect us, not just you. True, we are not close, but you must know I am loyal. Me you can trust.”
“A pretty speech,” he murmured.
“A true one.”
He did not respond.
“What will you do?” Alice asked boldly.
His glance skewered her, but she was too intent, and she did not falter. Seeing this, he almost smiled— bitterly. “I see you are eager to impart your thoughts. Please continue.”
She smiled, a quick, lightning smile. “She will be your downfall, my lord—our downfall. She is here among us, yet she is a spy—she is too dangerous. You have few choices. Truly, if she were a man, she would already have hanged. As you can see, this guard you have set upon her has failed you. Therefore, you must lock her away, forever.”
“Or?”
“Or you can marry her to a Scot. Or a Frenchman, an Irishman. But she must be far, far away, where she can do you, and us, no harm!”
“My thoughts,” Rolfe said, “exactly.” And his mask disappeared, his eyes blazed with fury.
Rolfe was livid.
He was enraged, and not because the two Saxons had dared to sneak into Aelfgar under his own nose. That showed their daring—in fact, he respected it, and would remember well their unpredictability for the future. This was cause for concern and reflection, not rage. His anger was centered on Ceidre.
She had again betrayed him. She was risking her neck. She knew what she did. Did she truly think he would be so lenient with her again? Lenient! Rolfe remembered the ten lashes, the eternity he had stood there and watched her suffer, and knew he could not endure to observe a like punishment again. She must sense this! How else would she dare to continue to play the traitor?
She did not know that he had, in truth, protected her the last time from his own king and had, in so doing, violated his own strict code of ethics, himself committing a breach through omission that bordered on treason. This could not happen again. He would not let it happen again.
He paced the chamber. Alice had been sent out. He understood his wife now, and believed her. Like himself, Alice was ambitious. They both coveted the power Aelfgar gave them. He had not seen her as an ally before, just as a nuisance. Now he realized she was his ally, and a valuable one. Her ambitions could rest fulfilled only as long as his did. He had told her not to do anything regarding the matter they had discussed and to keep her spy’s ears open and mouth shut. This was exactly the kind of spy Rolfe needed to protect himself and his position at Aelfgar. It was an unexpected boon, an unexpected gift from his wife.
What was he going to do with that witch? He wanted to punch the wall, but recalled too vividly the pain he had endured the last time she had aroused him so, when he had slammed his fist into the trestle table downstairs. He managed to restrain himself.
Alice had assessed the situation shrewdly—he was impressed. Ceidre was dangerous. She was worse than a spy, because she hated him personally. He knew this, had always known it. His guarding of her had failed once, it would fail again. In truth, there were two options, as Alice had pointed out—lock her away, or marry her off and send her away.
He cursed savagely. He could not do the latter. He refused to analyze why he could not exile her through a marriage. The first choice was distasteful too. Yet he could not keep the situation as it was. Hadn’t he reached this conclusion this afternoon at the creek? Now, understanding how Alice would truly serve him well as a wife, there was added incentive to rid himself of the other. Either that or protect her now, and protect her again, and again. Until he, Rolfe de Warenne, ceased to function as the king’s man.
This time would be easy. He could make up an excuse to Alice, that Ceidre would lead him to some goal, perhaps to her brothers, and this was the reason he was pretending he did not know of her last act of treason. Such a lie. He would harbor and protect a traitor? For the second time? It was incomprehensible, unbearable!
He was Rolfe de Warenne, the eaorl of Aelfgar. He had followed William to Normandy for everything he now had. Because of Ceidre, he had already lost half of his holdings, the castellanship of York. Alice was right —she would be his complete downfall if something were not done. He had realized this for some time, yet now he must confront the situation.
He could not continue to protect her as he harbored her in their midst. He could not. It violated his every ethic. He was ceasing to be an effective commander, ceasing to be a leader, losing his values, his courage, his resolution. Always, in his life, he had known what was right and what was wrong, and always he had acted accordingly. Now nothing was clear.
No, he thought, as his mind shrewdly grasped another straw, one thing was clear. If he did not protect her, someone else had to.
Rolfe suddenly smiled at the solution that presented itself. He strode to the door, flung it open, and bellowed for Guy.
“What?” Guy gasped, paling.
Rolfe smiled again, the smile cool, ruthless. “You will marry Ceidre,” he said softly.
Guy gaped.
“The banns will be posted tomorrow,” he continued relentlessly. “You will wed the day after. Do not worry about dispensation. I grant it now.”
Guy somehow recovered, but there was no mistaking his abhorrence. “Yes, my lord.”
“I will provide the dowry, of course.” This time Rolfe’s smile was genuine. “The parcel that is Dumstanbrough—with the village, of course. We will ride over your borders tomorrow. As for services—I need you now, Guy, as you well know. This year you will give me three hundred of your days. You know I am fair. If Aelfgar is secure next year, we will reduce it accordingly.”
Guy was now flushed with pleasure. Like most knights, this was his dream come true. It did not matter that Dumstanbrough was a tiny hamlet of a dozen huts, at most. What mattered was that now he had his own honor, small as it was. He would have his own men, eventually, when he could afford them. For now, to have Dumstanbrough was enough. His page would be his number-one man, and he would be promoted and given his spurs. “Thank you.” Guy gasped, going down on one knee and taking Rolfe’s hand. He kissed it.
“Up, up,” Rolfe said, pleased. “Now we must talk, seriously.”
Guy nodded, all attentiveness.
“Ceidre will bear watching, Guy.”
“I know,” Guy said quickly. “Do not fear, my lord, she will not betray you, or me, again.”
Rolfe nodded. He knew Guy would not hurt Ceidre, just as he doubted Guy could curb her activities. Of course, if he kept her pregnant she might mellow considerably. He hated that thought, so he shoved it away.
Guy left shortly after, and Rolfe ordered a passing serf to bring him wine. It was almost a celebration. He had nearly solved his problem—nearly. His priority was to protect Ceidre, and this he had done. As Guy’s wife, should she commit treason again, she would not hang but be locked away indefinitely. Marrying her to one of his Norman nobles was the smartest thing he could have done other than locking her away himself, or sending her away to marry a foreigner—and never seeing her again.
He was instantly angry at
himself. It did not matter if he ever saw her again. She could not be his. Ever. He had just given her to one of his finest men. He was saving her ungrateful neck. And Guy was just and good. He did not have a temper, he would not abuse her. Rolfe could not stand men who hurt those weaker than themselves, and he could not stand the thought of Ceidre being hurt—by anybody.
Something hard and unpalatable, however, was wedged in his chest. He knew well what it was. It was jealousy. Facing this, his mind was suddenly filled with the image of Guy taking his bride on his wedding night, on succeeding nights. Guy was young, lusty, and virile. Rolfe knew this well, they had taken many wenches together. He would satisfy Ceidre, pleasure her, make her moan in ecstasy.
It was no longer, he told himself, his affair.
Ceidre did not know why she had been summoned. She did not like Alice’s smug, satisfied glance, which followed her as she climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Dread threaded her being. The door to the great chamber was open. Rolfe was within, his broad back to her. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned.
She blushed. She couldn’t help it; she could not look at him now without recalling, vividly, his performing a very intimate act upon himself, his hand full with his own sex. She had been stunned to find him there, invading her privacy—and in such a manner. Stunned, and something else. At first she could not move, she was mesmerized by him and what he was doing. Something hot and aching pierced her, making her tremble wildly. When he had finished she had scrambled to the other side of the creek, breathless, still shocked. She knew what she had witnessed. She just could not believe it.
He was regarding her steadily now, and her color deepened. She found herself looking at his right hand, remembering. At his groin, now clad and completely hidden. Catching herself, she looked up, wanting to flee, to be anywhere but here. He was almost smiling, and she knew, unfortunately, that he was aware of her thoughts. She tensed for some biting remark, preparing for a verbal battle.
“You will marry Guy Le Chante.”
She gasped.
“The banns will be posted tomorrow. The wedding will be the day after.” His gaze was level. “Consider yourself lucky.”
She stepped forward, shocked. “No! I mean, this cannot be! How—what do you mean?”
“Exactly as I have said. You will marry Guy. I have given him a small fief as dowry.” He did not smile. “You will be lady of Dumstanbrough, Ceidre.”
She did not care, she was too stunned and too upset. “Please, I do not understand. This must be a trick!”
He lost his patience. “’Tis no trick. You are to be wed. That is all. Leave me.” He turned away.
She could not fathom it. If he wanted her, why was he marrying her to another? She was supposed to seduce him, become his mistress. Yet she was to be Guy’s wife. She felt the hot burning of tears just behind her eyes. So he did not want her. “I will not,” she said, quavering.
He turned, looking deadly, displeased. “Do not think to defy me on this,” he said, so softly she quaked. “My resolve is like a boulder. ’Twill not budge.”
“You are punishing me!” she cried. “Why—I told you my brothers are in the fens! ’Tis all I know! Please, my lord, don’t do this!”
His nostrils flared, his eyes blazed. That she should beg, near tears, almost undid his resolve and increased his ire. “’Tis no punishment, woman. You are not thinking. You have just been given your own manor. Do not be ungrateful. Do not test my will.” He gave her his back rudely, ordering her out.
Ceidre hesitated, choking on a sob wedged deep in her chest. This could not be happening! If, in truth, he didn’t want her, had it all been a sadistic game? Had his looks been a mere mockery, some form of cruel torture? And what of this afternoon? Tears welled.
She desperately grasped logic. Even if he lusted after her, ’twas unimportant. He did lust after her, but what was lust to a man like him, or to any man in the greater scheme of things? He had everything he needed. He had both Aelfgar and Alice. If he really wanted her, he would not be wedding her to another, he would keep her as his mistress. What he was doing was proof of the depth of his interest in her—and it wasn’t very flattering. She tried to swallow down the thwarting of her plans to help her brothers. What should she do? Submit docilely? Did she have another course? She stared at his rigid spine, almost blindly.
She took swift steps to him and laid her trembling palm on his sinewed flesh. “Please,” she breathed. “Please, I beg you.”
He shuddered beneath her touch and twisted to face her.
Ceidre did not remove her hand, the result being a caress as he moved, and now she touched his chest. She could feel his heart, strong and powerful, its beat accelerating. Their gazes locked. “I will—I will do anything,” she whispered. Tears blurred her vision. “But do not make me marry Guy.”
“Anything?”
“Y-yes.”
“Are you offering yourself to me, Ceidre?”
She forced herself to hold his gaze. “Y-yes.”
His hand came up and closed over hers, and for an instant she thought she had achieved what she was aiming for. Then he squeezed her palm, almost crushing her, and she whimpered. He was angry. “Do not think to tempt me, witch,” he said with a growl. “Do not think to tease me. And cease your tears—they will not work.”
“I am not,” she said, trying to free her hand, and when the pressure increased, she ceased abruptly.
“You will wed Guy,” he said savagely. “Nothing will change my mind, not even the offer of your lush body. Now get out of here. I do not want to lay eyes on you again until your wedding. Be gone!”
It was a roar. He shoved her away, and she stumbled. Then she fled.
She could run away.
It wasn’t too late.
This was Ceidre’s last thought the following evening before sleep claimed her, and it was her first waking thought the morning of her wedding.
The time since the Norman had informed her of her marriage had passed in a blur. She was aware of panic and fear. She was about to be married to a man she barely knew, a Norman, her enemy, and one day, maybe soon, she would be leaving Aelfgar—forever. Panic and fear swelled, strong and nauseating. This was happening too fast. She could not let her fate be decided like this!
She was aware of failure. She had a mission to fulfill, for Ed and Morcar. Even now they probably thought her warming the Norman’s bed, his mistress. Yet she was no closer to this goal than she had been when she had agreed to do her brother’s bidding; in fact, she had never been farther from it. She was not about to become his mistress, she was about to be married to one of his men.
Hurt. It was there, raising its awful, multifanged head. She fought it, denied it. But it was there. She hurt inside, like a wounded cub. He did not want her. He had rejected her. He had married her sister. Alice warmed his bed every night. She, she was nothing but an amusing diversion, a light dalliance. This was now proven—because he had rejected her overtures of the past few days and was now, in the crowning rejection of them all, marrying her to his own best man.
Ceidre cried. She did not want him, she told herself furiously. She hated him, she always had. But the rejection was foul and bitter. She, who had been rejected so many times, was rejected again. Why was she not used to it? Why was she not immune to these crushing feelings? Why did she feel as crushed as she had the time her father lied, telling her the suitor he had approached was not good enough for her, that he had changed his mind, when in truth she knew she had been rejected again?
She told herself she cried because she had failed Ed and Morcar. Not because the one man who had ever dared to treat her as a woman had only been amusing himself, and had now cast her off, finding a better use for her, while he slept with her sister.
It was not too late. She could run away. Yet where would she go? To Ed, wearing her failure like a banner upon her arm? Should she hide in the woods, like a wild animal? She would be hunted, this she knew, and she even supposed he would
eventually find her. She did not doubt his prowess over her. Ultimately the end result would be the same—the altar.
Ceidre stared at the ceiling of the great hall. Everyone had long since risen and left, but she did not care. Depression was vast, weighing her down. The best she could do, she decided, was marry Guy and spy upon him as well as the Norman. At least, that way, she would still be fighting for Aelfgar.
It was no consolation.
Ceidre’s best gown was a bright, sun-gold yellow. She had always loved it. Today she hated it. Alice watched while Ceidre allowed Mary and Beth to help her don it. Alice abruptly cried out for them to halt.
“Take it off,” She said.
Ceidre barely looked at her, not really caring what she was up to. Alice turned and ran across the hall into her and Rolfe’s chamber. Ceidre was being dressed in the solar. The ceremony was to take place shortly thereafter at the chapel. A small feast, nowhere as elaborate as the one given upon Rolfe’s wedding day, had been prepared. Rolfe had given Guy his old chamber in the original manor, now in the bailey. Ceidre felt sick.
Alice returned, carrying something. “Take off that wretched undertunic,” she ordered Ceidre. “’Tis most unseemly for a bride.”
Ceidre did not care. Her undertunic was plain wool, ivory, worn in places, a simple shift. Mary helped her draw it off, and Alice handed her a tunic of her own. “You want to look your best for your groom, Ceidre,” she purred.
The tunic was virginal white, almost new, the finest weave, so fine it was sheer. Ceidre hated it. Mary slipped it over her head. Alice was much smaller than she was, so it fit like a glove. “’Tis too small,” she noted listlessly.
With a needle and thread, Mary let out the bust and hips. It still fit like a second skin, but at least this time it would not tear at the seams. The brilliant yellow gown followed, with a purple girdle. Beth began brushing Ceidre’s long, flowing tresses, murmuring all the while about how she was the most beautiful bride ever to be. “And all this hair! Incredible, so long, and so thick! Guy will be a lusty one, he will, when he sees you! Like a goddess, you are—”