Rolfe grunted and she hurried away, leaving him alone in the great chamber. His thoughts grew dark, more ominous than a hurricane. She had deceived him. To gain what? Respite, he guessed, from his intentions to rape her. Damn her. He was more than furious. She could not defy his authority, could not continue to do so—and it seemed she did so at every turn! And this, to withhold her identity, have him believe she was his bride, this was very serious indeed. But … what penance?
He was so angry he forced his thoughts from her, to deal with more pleasant matters. He leaned back and began to plan his afternoon. There were still hours of light left—he would inspect the eastern side of his holdings as far as the coast. And tomorrow, first thing in the morning, construction of a modern Aelfgar would begin. He smiled at the thought.
His pleasure died. And what of the marriage? When would it be? A fortnight, he decided, would be soon enough. After all, he had much to do in the next days, and wouldn’t it be better to have most of the new construction under way before wedding?
He snorted derisively. Had it been Ceidre, he would wed her tomorrow and bed her soundly tomorrow eve!
A flash of gilt caught his eye. He straightened, eyes locked on the open doorway. Ceidre stood in the frame.
Rolfe smiled slightly, his eyes never leaving her. He was struck again with her beauty, her bold coloring, her seductive form. Maybe she is a witch, he thought, momentarily and slightly amused, for already he was responding, just to the sight of her. He was thickening, swelling … “You seek me—Ceidre?”
“I beg for the return of my potions—my lord.”
Rolfe did not look at the chest where her herbs lay atop his garments. “They are not here,” he said silkily.
She fidgeted. “My lord, please, I truly have need—”
“Come here, Ceidre.”
At his sensual tone, she froze.
His smile, predatory, grew. “Come here.” A beat passed and she did not move, frozen like the netted lark. “And I will give it to you.”
Ceidre hesitated, then boldly came into the room, and Rolfe watched the swing of her hips. His pleasure was so vast it was more like pain. She paused an arm’s length from the foot of the tub, eyeing him warily, a hunted doe. “I will have it now.”
“Will you? First, penance.”
“Penance?”
“For your lies.” His tone was silky soft.
“What would you have me do?”
“Come here.”
Her gaze widened. She only looked at his face.
“There is no one to wash my back.”
Her breath expelled. “Here, Ceidre.”
Slowly she inched toward him, then, in a burst of desperation, she was suddenly behind him, dipping the cloth in the water. “I expect my amulet back,” she warned, touching his back with the wash rag so lightly it was like a feather’s tickling.
“Not if that is the best you can do,” he purred. And he leaned forward, exposing the long length of his hard, muscled back from shoulder to hip.
Ceidre stared at the superb, glistening flesh. His back was flawless; his torso had one long diagonal scar running from hip to nipple, and half a dozen smaller ones. Her heart, of course, was slamming wildly in her chest. She took a breath, grimly, and touched the rag to his nape.
His body stiffened under her hand. Her own chest grew tight. “Finish,” Rolfe said.
“Yes, my lord,” she muttered bitterly. “But are you sure you don’t want the good lady Alice to do this?” She put all her strength into the task and began scrubbing his shoulder.
He winced, but she did not see. “She is not here,” he said calmly. “And you are.”
She scrubbed harder. She hoped to tear the flesh from his body—’twould serve him right!
“Ceidre,” he warned.
She was panting from her exertions. And then she spied the pouch on the pile of his tunics. In a flash she was on her feet and at the chest, packet already in hand. She made two more steps to the door. His hand, large and powerful, closed over her wrist, yanking her around to face him, and his other arm came around her waist like the jaws of a trap. She was pressed, immobile, against his wet, naked body.
