“We will attack Aelfgar, then, my lord, not York?” Albie spoke up for the first time. He stood slightly apart, even deeper in shadow.
“Aelfgar.” Edwin’s tone was hard. “It is as strong as York now that he has rebuilt the fortifications. If we take it, we can hold off further attacks by William and he will have to sue us, eventually, for peace.”
“But as it is fortified so well, how will we take it?” Hereward asked.
“Through surprise, and treachery. One of the maids will open a secret back door, placed in the wall for the inhabitants’ escape in event of siege.” Edwin looked at Morcar, smiled slightly. “His wenching has been proving useful. Can we count on Beth?”
Morcar grinned. “Absolutely.”
“We go the thirtieth, then,” Ed stated, and with that, he turned away to stare out into the starless night.
Morcar approached as Albie and Hereward drifted back to the others. “Ed? I am upset with the news Hereward brought of Ceidre. That she was imprisoned as a spy in York, but sent to Aelfgar with de Warenne. I worry for her safety.”
“She is safe,” Edwin said. “She was not condemned to death but to life imprisonment. Had she not been Guy Le Chante’s wife, she would have swung at the end of a rope, I have no doubt. In that respect, we owe the Norman.”
“I fear for her because of his rage.”
“We will take Aelfgar and then you need not worry any more,” Edwin said.
Rolfe learned of the attempt upon Ceidre’s life the instant he returned, before he had set foot within the Great Hall. “Was she harmed?” he demanded.
“No,” Guy said. “Shaken, of course, but it quickly passed.”
“And what was done with Alice?” His heart was thudding. Alice had almost succeeded in pushing Ceidre out of the window and to her death!
“We locked her in her chamber with a guard, my lord,” Guy’s voice lowered. “She is sane now, but truly, she was insane to do such a thing. I saw her. She was howling like a madwoman, screaming how she wanted to kill Ceidre. Beltain and Athelstan saw it too.”
Rolfe left Guy and strode up the stairs, controlling his temper with vast will and great difficulty. Alice had gone too far. He would not stand it any longer. At the top of the stairs he paused and looked at the bolted door behind which Ceidre was imprisoned. It had been over a month since he had seen her, and he had the urge to throw open the lock and go within—to make sure Guy told the truth, that she was unharmed, that she lived. He struggled with himself and won. He turned to his own chamber, entered, and dismissed the guard.
Alice stood, hands clasped, eyes wide. “They are all lying,” she said huskily. “’Twas a mere spat. I did not intend to push her to her death. I swear it.”
“You are leaving Aelfgar in the morning,” Rolfe said relentlessly. “Pack everything you wish to take with you,”
“Where are you sending me?” Alice cried.
“You are going to France, my lady,” Rolfe said coldly. “To the Convent of the Sisters of Saint John.”
“I—for how long?” She gasped.
“In the convent you may repent your deeds, if you wish. If not—” He shrugged. “There, at least, you will not be able to harm your sister, or anyone else.”
“For how long?”
“Until you are old and gray, my lady,” Rolfe said. “You cannot mean it!” Alice shrieked. “You cannot do this!”
“No? I do mean it, and I can do it. You are not the first wife to be exiled to religious seclusion. You were warned, yet you failed to take me seriously. Were you one of my men you would have been dismissed forthright, long since. Prepare what you need, Alice, for an extended stay.”
Rolfe paced his chamber. He had removed Alice, under guard, to the old manor, never wanting to set eyes upon her again. He was still angry, furious at her attempt to murder Ceidre. This realization made him livid with himself. He still harbored some kind of feelings for that deceitful whore.
She was so close, behind the door across the hall. He paused in his pacing and imagined her asleep on the pallet, her beauty unsurpassed, a seductress’s unnatural beauty. He hated her with every fiber of his being. He did not care that Alice had almost murdered her, he told himself, he cared only that Alice had defied him and nearly killed the royal prisoner who was his responsibility. His frustration and wrath increased.
He needed a woman. There had been no one in the past month since his own wife, bedded with rage and frustration just before he had left for his northeastern borders. All his men had gone celibate, for there were no villages and no wenches about in that far, savage clime. He did not think he had ever gone so long without a woman since he was a bare-faced boy. He thought of Ceidre, just across the hall. He could easily fuck her brains out this night.
He hated her, and he would not.
Why not?
She was a whore. He desired her. She had been his whore. She was now his prisoner. She could not deny him, and if she did, he would take her anyway. He was so hard just thinking about it he thought he might explode. With no thoughts now beyond that of instant gratification with the woman who had betrayed him, he stalked to her door, threw the bolt, and flung it open.
