“I do not know …” She faltered, tears filling her eyes.
He grabbed her and shook her, hard. “Did you betray me? Did you? You knew we were going to Cavlidockk! Was I a fool to trust you? Answer me!”
Tears welled and spilled. She shook her head to lie, to deny it, but no words came out. She was sick with guilt, sick at heart, and it must have shown, for suddenly he released her with such force she flew onto her back on the pallet. She lay there, panting.
“’Twas you!” he roared. “I see it in your eyes! Answer me!” he shouted, more furious than she had ever seen him, his face red, the cords standing out in his neck. His hands, clenched into fists, shook. His eyes were crackling blue flames.
Her own hand covered her mouth, trembling, and then she wept, reaching up to grab his palm. “I had to,” she said, sobbing. “Please understand, I had to!”
He threw her off, staring, stunned.
She saw then, too late, that he had refused to believe what he had thought, that maybe she could have convinced him she was innocent, but now there was no taking back her confession. She lifted her tearstained face. “But you are all right,” she said. “There was no harm done, no—”
“No harm done! A dozen of my men dead—because of you!”
She gasped, horrified.
He knelt, his expression twisted with bitterness and revulsion, and drew her forward by her shoulders. She winced but welcomed the pain. “You are a lying, conniving woman. You take me in your arms and play the inflamed lover, all the while shrewdly planning to betray me, waiting for an opportune time!”
She opened her mouth to protest, but could not find any words, for the indictment was true.
He yanked her roughly to her feet and dragged her out of the tent. “Where are we going?” She gasped.
He did not answer. She saw his face, filled with ice-cold resolve and red-hot fury. She was afraid.
When she saw that he was taking her to the keep, she dug her heels in. “What do you intend?” she cried.
He turned on her, livid, hand raised in fury to strike her. Ceidre cried out. The blow did not come. His grip was so tight she thought she might faint. “You may be dragged on your belly, ’tis of no import to me, or you may walk.” And he yanked her forward again.
She stumbled to keep up. He could not, she prayed, fighting the tears down, he could not be doing what she thought….
The great hall was filled with men. Most sat at the table, three times the size of that at Aelfgar and with William at its head. Rolfe did not pause. He propelled Ceidre forward, to the dais where William sat, then pushed her abruptly to her knees on the floor. His hand anchored in her hair, holding her facedown, her nose against the stone. “Here is the spy, Your Grace.”
Silence swept the room.
William stared at Rolfe. “Your mistress?”
“Yes.”
William rose. “Everyone out!” His gaze locked with Rolfe’s, as he waited for his men to leave. When they had, he spoke. “You are sure?”
“She has confessed,” Rolfe said coldly.
William looked down at her. “Raise up my prisoner,” he said.
Rolfe yanked her to her feet, ignoring her whimper.
Ceidre lifted her gaze to the king’s.
“You sent a spy to warn Hereward of our advent?”
Although she wanted to cry, she lifted her chin a notch. Her voice trembled. “Yes.”
“And how did you learn of our plans?”
Ceidre hesitated. She had betrayed Rolfe, but now she would protect him from his liege lord. “I eavesdropped around the garrison.”
“She lies,” Rolfe stated. “I trusted this witch because she warmed my bed so eagerly. I told her where we were going, to allay her fears for her brothers. More the fool, I.”
