She had learned from Hereward the night after the battle what had happened: Morcar dead. Edwin captured. Albie the traitor. She had wept for days for Morcar, beautiful, blue-eyed, bold Morcar. Life was so unfair, to take the best she offered. Later, more news had reached them—that Edwin had been taken to York, his sentence imprisonment for life. He would be transferred to London when William and his troops left Westminster after Christmas. At least he still lived.
Rolfe had been given back the castellanship of York.
Ceidre wondered if she would ever see him again.
She knew she could never go back. To return meant giving up her freedom, sharing the same fate that had befallen her brother—imprisonment for life. Only a fool would agree to such, yet there were times when she missed Rolfe so terribly she was ready to pack up and leave, return to Aelfgar, accept her confinement— just to be with him.
He hated her. If he had loved her, nothing would have kept her away. She would return to Aelfgar, surrender herself, and accept her imprisonment. Even if she would see Rolfe only from time to time, those few shared moments would be worth it. But he had never loved her. As Guy had said, as even she had known, he was not a man who could love a woman, and he would never love her now, after her treachery. So she would not return—she could never go back.
One day, when she was old, her son full grown, she would send him his son, a final parting gift from her, proof of her everlasting love.
Rolfe reined in on the hill above Llefewellyn, looking down upon the dozen scattered huts. Smoke rose from the roofs, the sky was gray, foretelling rain or snow. His heart was thudding so thickly he could barely breathe.
He had been looking for her for months.
And now, at last, he had found her.
Immediately after Aelfgar was secured, he had gone to her chamber. His first priority was to make sure she was unharmed, as he fully expected her to be. But most of all, he just needed to be with her. Never had he needed her before as he did then. Only Ceidre could help chase away the pain of Guy’s death. He needed to hold her—and be held.
His disbelief to find her gone was overwhelming.
He stormed through the keep, shouting for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. ’Twas finally the prisoner who coldly informed him of her escape. Rolfe and Edwin stared at each other, Rolfe so enraged he could not speak. Then he thought of how he had treated her, as a whore, and knew he could not blame her for running away. His shoulders sank. She was gone. She probably hated him.
Her words came back to him, haunting him. “I love you,” she had said. Was it true? Was there any possible way it could be true, after he had abused her so badly? He knew, in that instant, that he desperately needed not just her body, but her love—that he could not live without it. He wondered if he loved her.
It was a shocking question. The answer was elusive. He had never thought love anything more than an excuse for lust, or the humor of the weak and foolish. He was not weak, he was no fool, yet he could not live without her. If this was love, so be it, then he had been struck.
His resolve became obsession. She was his. He wanted her back, and he would find her, and she would never leave him again. He would not keep her a prisoner, although in fact she would be such. He would keep her so pleasured and pleased that she would not think to leave him. He knew he could do it— he was a man who did what he intended. But first, he had to find her and convince her to return, for he would not force her. He would beg her for forgiveness. He, who had never begged anything from anyone.
He would find her when he found the rebels, and slowly, methodically, he encouraged a network of spies until he got a message to Hereward. The Wake was understandably reluctant to meet him, but Rolfe offered him peace on his northeastern borders. Hereward agreed. Then there was the problem of getting him to reveal Ceidre’s whereabouts.
“You want her back as a prisoner, Norman, or a mistress?” Hereward asked bluntly.
“She is mine,” Rolfe said. “She will be treated well, do not fear this. Yes, she is still William’s prisoner, but I will see that she does not lack for any comfort.” His gaze flashed. “Nothing will stop me from finding her.”
They made a deal. Rolfe released one of Hereward’s best men, whom he had taken prisoner during the battle for Aelfgar, and Hereward told him where she was.
Rolfe signaled to his men to wait for him there on the hill, and he spurred his gray down to the rutted road. He saw her instantly as she crossed the path ahead of him. She was walking in the same direction as he rode, her back to him, her hair in one thick braid, glinting like bronze fire. He could barely control himself; he wanted to sweep her into his arms and hold her, kiss her. He merely moved his mount into a faster walk and came up behind her.
She glanced casually over her shoulder to see who was passing and stiffened, eyes wide. It could not be!
“My lady,” Rolfe said politely, “I would have a word with you?” It was a question, not a demand.
Ceidre stared, her hand on her racing heart, wondering if she might faint. Oh, he was here, sitting like a king on that stallion, devastatingly handsome, golden and pagan, like one of the lost gods. She blinked the sudden rush of tears.
“Lady?” he asked unsteadily. His gaze slipped to her swollen belly and breasts, then back up to hold her eyes.
“Have—” She swallowed, “Have you come to take me prisoner, my lord?” Tears blurred her vision.
Rolfe slid off his gray, holding the reins awkwardly. “’Tis I who am a prisoner,” he said roughly. His gaze locked on hers. “You have imprisoned my heart, Ceidre.”
She stared, hands clasped tightly. “What do you say?”
“I want you back,” he said hoarsely. He looked at her belly again. “Ceidre—you carry my child!”
“Who else’s?” she quavered, half smiling, half crying.
“My child.” He gulped. He took an unsteady breath. Elation and joy warred with anxiety and fear and need. “I will not force you to return. Ceidre … can you forgive me? Can you forgive me and return to Aelfgar with me?”
