It had hurt unbearably to be treated as a whore, but in a way she welcomed punishment, for she deserved it. Yet, in truth, even though he hated her, she still loved him, and being in his arms could not be a punishment no matter how cruel he tried to be. She sensed the raw, gaping wound she had left, the one he hid with anger and hate. She ached unbearably with love and hurt for him—she had not lied when she had said she could never hate him.
She knew she should hate him. To love one who hated her so thoroughly was hopeless. Yet she could not—just as she could not deny him. If only he would come to her again!
Something was amiss this night. It was already very late. Ceidre was tense in her vigil, for the keep was hushed, and she sensed that something dire was about to happen, was happening. She hugged her knees, staring through the candlelit room at the door. Rolfe, where are you? Come to me!
When Rolfe suddenly entered, approaching her with hard, quick strides, Ceidre felt both dread and joy. His face was so closed, his eyes like ice, and what if she failed? What if he came to seek release and hurt her and she could not thaw the freeze in his heart? She was already standing, trembling. “My lord,” she managed. “I am glad you have come.” She prayed her heart’s deepest feelings shone in her eyes.
Something flickered in his gaze. “Do you think I care?” He laughed, yanking her to him. “I am bored with the pallet, whore. Show me some new tricks.”
Tears came to her eyes. “Which kind would you prefer?”
“Any kind,” he snapped.
Ceidre lowered her lashes to hold back the tears, knowing she was a fool—she would never penetrate his hate and disperse it. Never. But how to give up her hopes, her dreams?
He made a sound, of disgust, and wrenched her hand down until her palm covered his manhood. It was rock-hard and straining to his navel already. She stroked it blindly, despair filling her. She could not continue like this—but hadn’t she prayed for the chance for them to be together? Why did her heart have to feel as if it were breaking? She must be strong and filled with resolve! And then, as she felt him coming under her power, under her spell, she heard him utter a short, hard sound, and she looked up. His eyes were closed, his face dark and strained with arousal. The stabbing of desire was like lightning—her own body grew tense and eager. For she loved him. “Rolfe,” she whispered.
He heard her, she saw the flitting of something undefinable across his face, but he did not open his eyes. She leaned against the wall and lifted one thigh to wrap it around his waist. He needed no encouragement, soon he was plunging into her, her legs anchored on his hips, back against the wall. To her surprise, he kissed her, fiercely, the first time he had done so since her treachery. With a cry she kissed him back, claiming his mouth as he possessed hers. They kissed and kissed as their hips thrust, tongues entwining in a desperate dance. She loved him. She loved him so much. “Rolfe,” she cried when her orgasm spun her away. “Rolfe, Rolfe!”
He slid her to her feet, stared at her, and she saw something in his eyes, something that had nothing to do with hatred and anger. He suddenly lifted her in his arms and laid her on the pallet. Ceidre’s heart clenched. “I want to see your witch’s body,” he said, and his tone was unsteady instead of mocking.
“What is it?” she said, worry gripping her, all her intuition coming into play. Something was amiss, something was happening! He ignored her, pulling off her gown. For a moment he just stared at her breasts, at her belly, at her long legs. His hand swept over her. “What is it? What happens?” There was fear in her tone.
He did not answer, his eyes on her swollen bosom, his hands testing their weight and feel. Ceidre froze. He can tell, she thought, panicked, that I am with babe. He had not undressed her and seen her naked body in six weeks, not since Cavlidockk.
He groaned and sought her nipple with the eagerness of a nursing infant. Ceidre relaxed. Soon she was gripping his head, and then he was entering her, leisurely this time—gently. She wanted to weep at the beauty of his coming to her. His mouth found her throat, her jaw, her cheeks and ear. His hands played her like a viol. He touched her everywhere, even pausing, magnificently still and full within her, on his knees, reaching down to stroke her wet flesh where they joined.
Ceidre looked at his face. He was watching his own hands upon her woman’s flesh, but then he looked up and their eyes met. The blazing passion in his brought her to a rapid, writhing climax.
He was no longer her warden, her torturer, but her lover. He did not finish, but wrapped her in his arms, moving steadily within her, his mouth on hers. Again and again he brought her to a shuddering climax, and finally, with a hoarse gasp, he spewed himself into her.
Ceidre held him, stroking his sweat-drenched back. Tears were in her eyes. He had loved her as if Cavlidockk had never happened. Dare she hope that this meant something? Dare she?
He rolled free of her and lay on his back, one hand across his eyes, panting.
She studied him openly, her heart near to bursting with hope and gladness. He was tall, golden with muscle, impossibly handsome. Her hopes started to crumble when he got up without looking at her. In the course of their passion he had shed his clothes with her help. Now he dressed efficiently, not sparing her a glance. “My lord?” Ceidre tried.
When he turned to her, a hard, cynical expression, one she had hoped never to see again, was firmly in place. His eyes were narrowed. His fine nostrils were flared with disdain. She felt her hope collapsing like a landslide, and she hugged her hands to her heart. “My lord?” Her tone quavered.
“If you have something to say,” he said coldly, “say it.”
He still hated her. He would never forgive her. Guy’s words echoed—he has strict ideas of duty and loyalty. He will never forgive you your betrayal, Ceidre. And hadn’t Guy also said that he was not the kind of man who was capable of loving a woman? She was a fool to love him, a naive fool! She swallowed. “Is something happening? Why is the tower so hushed?”
His smile was ugly. “Think you to betray me again? Do you think”—and he laughed—“because I have shared your whore’s passion that now I share my command’s secrets? Think again!”
Tears blurred her vision as he marched to the door. Her heart pounded loudly, hurtfully, so much so that she bearely heard him when he paused. “Do not think to leave this chamber tomorrow regardless of what passes,” he said.
She was crying, her face turned away, so she did not understand what he had said. And she missed the rest of his words entirely, when he added, low, “You will be safe, Ceidre.”
She was only aware of her heart’s agony, and the ironic, insane thought—how was it possible to have your heart broken twice?
At the edge of the woods, the Saxons paused. Across the moat lay the wall with the hidden door. Although more than fifty men, they blended with ease into the forest, not moving, not making a sound. It was black out in the pitch of night just before dawn. Morcar crouched next to Edwin.
“’Tis time to go,” Edwin said firmly.
Morcar smiled, nostrils flared with excitement. He turned to his brother and was embraced in a massive, long hug. When Edwin released him, Morcar grinned. “Soon,” he whispered. “Where’s Albie?”
“Here” came a voice, and Albie stepped through some bushes.
