“I am no ogre,” he said, and his look penetrated. She went red.
“After you, my lady,” he said stiffly.
Aelfgar.
Rolfe sat very still. Beneath him, his huge gray destrier shifted restlessly. The blood was pounding in Rolfe’s ears. For the first time that day, he wasn’t even aware of the beautiful woman mounted beside him. He was aware of only one thing.
Aelfgar.
Aelfgar itself was a vast fief, and they had been on its land all morning. But now, this was the heart of the honor. They had paused on a ridge. Below them ran a thick river, an estuary from the sea, and nestled in the hilly terrain was the village and the manor.
Truly it was not impressive, but Rolfe was unconcerned. The village boasted a dozen wattle huts, a mill, a cornfield, orchards, and vegetable gardens. Sheep were on the hills everywhere. The village was only slightly lower than the manor, which, compared to Norman keeps, was nothing more than a rectangular wood building, its roof timbered, boasting upper-level windows, open now to the summer breezes. There was not even a palisade. But Rolfe saw more, much more.
He saw a keep, three stories, set high on a mound, with a moat around it. In stone, of course. High, fortified walls. Below, another palisade, enclosing the bailey where his men and their women would live. Then, below that, finally, the village.
He smiled. Construction would begin immediately.
And with his practiced eye, he made instant decisions of where he would place each structure, pleased with the natural lay of the land. When he was finished, Aelfgar would be very defensible.
It was the Norman way, to crush the Saxons, destroy their homes, and erect timbered keeps in their stead in the Norman style, with motte and bailey. When time allowed, the fortifications were replaced with stone, first the palisade, then the keep, and so on. Rolfe himself had overseen this process a dozen times since coming to England four years past; he was sure he would oversee it another dozen times before he died.
He urged his stallion forward. Coming out of his reverie, he turned to smile at his bride. “We are home,” he said, his tone rich.
“This will never be your home,” she returned coolly.
His glance was lightning, filled with warning. She ducked her head. Not even her defiance could dispel his pleasure and his purpose.
They had entered the village. Rolfe reined in, his retinue halting. The villagers paused in their work in the fields and gardens, children, curious, approached the one road where they stood. “Rouse everyone, Guy,” Rolfe said quietly.
“No!” Ceidre cried, stunned, recalling only too well that these had been his exact words yesterday before razing Kesop to the ground.
Rolfe did not look at her.
“You can’t.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Please, my lord!”
The men came in from the fields, the women from their homes, children tugging at their skirts, babies at their breasts. Rolfe was pleased. They were a well-fed, healthy lot. Ignoring Ceidre, he turned to Guy. “I want a precise head count this afternoon. Listed by family. Every name, even a day-old babe.”
“Yes, my lord”.
“And possessions, be it scythe or sow.”
Guy nodded. “’Tis done.”
“Good.” Rolfe smiled, then stood in his stirrups. “Here now,” he said, raising his voice so it boomed. “In the name of the king, William of Normandy, you have before you your new lord, the eaorl of Aelfgar, Rolfe de Warenne.”
A collective gasp went up.
“No!” Ceidre cried. “’Tis not true!”
Rolfe turned a hard stare on her. “Keep your tongue,” he warned.
“How can it be?” Ceidre cried, hysterical. “Are they dead? Are Ed and Morcar dead?”
“Your brothers are alive,” he said coldly. “Aelfgar is mine, just as you are mine. Your brothers are traitors, enemies of the crown. Their lands have been forfeit, and they will be lucky if their lives are not.”
Dispossessed. Ceidre thought she might faint. Edwin and Morcar had been dispossessed, and this man —this Norman—was the new lord of Aelfgar. She wanted to weep. She wanted to kill.
“I am your lord and master, Alice,” Rolfe said. “And the sooner you accustom yourself to this, the better ’twill be.”
