Ceidre knew she had to have more food for her baby’s sake. “Mary, please!”
Mary was panicky. “I can’t! You know Lady Alice will have my hide!” She turned to leave.
“Wait!” Ceidre called desperately. Mary paused reluctantly. “Mary.” She hesitated. Then abruptly she decided that more nourishment was the priority, the baby was the priority. Alice would learn of her pregnancy eventually anyway, when it was visible, so what difference did it make if she found out now, from the maid, when Ceidre was so desperate for the proper food?
“Mary, I am pregnant—you must bring me more fare!”
Mary’s eyes widened, her mouth made a big O, and then she exclaimed that it was no wonder Ceidre was blossoming like a rose in spring, despite her confinement. The maid acceded to Ceidre’s wishes, and promised she would be given extra bread and cheese and enough water to bathe twice a week. Ceidre was content. She was going to have Rolfe’s baby, and nothing could take that away, nor her joy.
It was not a surprise when the day after this confession, Alice appeared. She was livid. The chamber was cast in dim light because the only sunlight came through the two small slits. Ceidre sat up, having been napping, and although prepared, her body became rigid with tension.
Alice stared at her. “Mary said you have become more beautiful with each day, and I did not believe it! I said it’s not possible—she said it’s true! Then the little brat said you’re with child—are you? Are you?” she demanded.
Ceidre was overwhelmed with pity for Alice, for her jealousy and malice were so evident, making her seem small and vindictive and unhappy, as she was. “I am pregnant, Alice,” she said softly, smiling.
“The babe is Guy’s!” Alice cried, flushing thoroughly.
Ceidre smiled again. “I am having the Norman’s son, Alice.”
“No! Once again you lie! Do you think to deceive me, to deceive him?”
Ceidre was amazingly calm, for the truth was the truth, and Alice could not change it. “No—Guy never touched me. Rolfe is the father. Oh, we will have a beautiful golden boy, I just know it!”
Alice was breathing harshly, incredulous. Fury contorted her features. “You witch!” she screamed. “I must have his seed, damn you, you cannot have his baby! You cannot!”
Alice moved so swiftly, Ceidre, lethargic as always in the afternoon, did not react. Alice’s hands closed with superhuman strength around her neck. Instinctively Ceidre fought to free herself. Alice had the strength of a madwoman, but Ceidre was bigger and stronger and she broke Alice’s grip, coughing. She saw the blow coming too late—Alice slammed the clay water urn on her head. Stars exploded, but Ceidre, fighting for her baby, did not black out. Dizziness assailed her. Alice was dragging her by the arm, across the room, and out the door. Ceidre shook her head, trying to clear away the ballooning spots, stumbling as Alice pulled her into the master chamber. She heard Mary exclaiming in surprise.
Her head cleared just as Alice forced her to sit, hard, on a stone ledge. Ceidre was poised on the edge of the open window, and Alice shoved her, hard.
Ceidre’s palm, supporting her weight, slipped, and she saw the three stories to the ground that she would fall if Alice succeeded in forcing her out the window. She heard Mary screaming. She was still seeing a few spots. Alice yanked up Ceidre’s other hand, and Ceidre’s chin hit the edge of the outside of the window ledge, as she sprawled across it on her belly. Alice shoved her buttocks with all her maddened power.
Her jaw hit the side of the stone castle as she was shoved out, her hands clawing the walls within the window, fighting for a hold. There was nothing to grab on to in the smooth stone, and her breast passed the ledge, the ground looming beneath her dizzily. Alice shrieked.
And large hands caught in her hair, yanking her back into the room.
“No!” Alice was screaming. “No! No! No! Let me kill the witch! Let me!” she howled.
Gasping, her heart beating so hard she thought she might faint, Ceidre clung to the male body holding her.
There was the sound of a sharp slap. Alice’s insane screams ceased. Ceidre looked past the man’s shoulder and saw that Beltain had delivered the blow to Alice’s cheek. Athelstan held Alice as she panted and struggled. Ceidre turned her gaze to her husband’s. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you!”
“You are all right now,” Guy said, soothing her with his hand.
Ceidre began to shake, her face buried in his neck. “She—she tried—tried—to throw me—out—the window!” A sob rose, unchecked.
“You are fine now, Ceidre.” Still holding her, Guy spoke to Beltain. “She has gone mad. She must be locked up until Lord Rolfe returns and decides what to do.”
“I will have the carpenter board the window. I think we should lock her in here. I will post a guard within to make sure she does not hurt herself.”
“I am not mad,” Alice hissed. “I am perfectly sane! I hate her ’tis all!”
Beltain and Guy, shifting uncomfortably, did not look at her. Athelstan regarded her with pity.
“Is she all right?” Beltain asked Guy.
“Yes.” With his arm around her shoulder, Guy walked her out of the chamber. “Come, Ceidre, you should lie down. Mary, bring wine now.”
The maid, whose screams had alerted the men, fled to obey.
