Ceidre leaned heavily against Guy, trembling. Alice had tried to kill her. Her baby had almost died. She sank onto the pallet, clinging to her husband’s hand. He knelt beside her. “’Tis all right now,” he soothed. “I am sorry I must bring you back here after such an ordeal, but nothing changes.”
“Oh, Guy.” Ceidre gasped, gripping his hand. “She almost killed my baby!”
Guy froze.
Ceidre started to cry.
Guy sat beside her and held her gently. “You are having his child, Ceidre?”
She nodded, violet eyes wide and wet, unable to speak.
“Does he know this?”
She shook her head, then grabbed his arm. “Promise me you will not tell him!” “Ceidre,” he protested.
“Promise! Guy, I love him!” she begged. “I love him and he hates me. I will tell him of the child when the time is right—please! I cannot keep it hidden, this you know!”
“He might think it is mine,” Guy said thoughtfully.
“No, I told him how it was between us.” At his look, she said softly. “He is very proud, and, for a time, I think he loved me a little. He is not a man to share.”
“No, he is not,” Guy said. Then: “Have you enough to eat? Ceidre! You must tell him at once to improve your conditions!”
“I have more than enough now. Mary is bringing me extra rations, bless her soul.”
Guy suddenly eyed her. “Mayhap,” he said. “You have put on a bit of weight, your hair has uncommon luster, as does your skin. Your breasts are fuller. I will make sure the kitchen knows to send you extra portions.”
“Do not tell him,” Ceidre urged again. She blushed. “I know he hates me, but I do not want his gratitude for this. I—I don’t know what I want, but not that.”
“You are foolish, Ceidre. Rolfe is not a man to love a woman, and he is a hard man with strict ideas of duty and loyalty. He will not forgive you your betrayal. I know him well.”
“I know,” she said, yet it was as if she had been hoping secretly, still, deep in her heart for forgiveness, for now her spirits crashed heavily.
“And ’tis doubly foolish not to tell him he will be a father, for the baby’s sake. Of course”—Guy stood—“I do not want to be cruel, but he already has many bastards.”
“I am not surprised,” Ceidre said with calm she did not feel. She had not considered this, and it was another numbing blow. “Where—where are they?”
“Three in Normandy, one in Anjou, and two in Sussex, I believe. They are with their mothers, of course. All six are sons,” Guy added.
All six were sons. Ceidre almost laughed hysterically. So she would now give him a seventh! Dear Saint Edward! She choked on a sob.
“I am sorry,” Guy said, “but these are facts. He will treat you with courtesy for bearing him yet another bastard, but do not expect more.”
“We go the last day of September.”
Both Morcar and Hereward protested vigorously at Edwin’s quiet statement. “’Tis too soon,” Morcar said. “’Tis in two weeks.”
“My men are still recovering from Cavlidockk,” Hereward agreed. He was short and slim, dark, a few years older than both brothers.
They stood apart from the camp, almost out of the circle of firelight, speaking in low voices for fear of spies. “How many men can you muster?” Edwin asked calmly.
“Two dozen.”
“Good,” Edwin said, smiling for the first time. “Because I have three. We will outnumber de Warenne. He lost a dozen of his best at Cavlidockk, thanks to Ceidre.”
“You wish to take him by surprise?” Hereward asked.
“Yes. I fear to wait longer as well, because of spies. No one can be trusted these days. And he has yet to replace the dozen lost in the fens. We are the stronger now, it is the time to attack.”
