Ceidre stared.
“You stay away from him with your whore’s tricks,” Alice whispered. “Do you understand?”
“You can’t want to marry him!”
“I do! He is mine! He might dally with you—as our father did with your mother—but he will never make you his true wife!”
It hurt. It shouldn’t, but it was God’s truth, and for that reason the pain was overwhelming. “I hate him,” Ceidre said. “He is a killer, the enemy, a Norman. He is stealing our brothers’ land. I would not marry him if I were truly you, or even if he wanted me.”
“Good.”
“Alice, are you mad? How can you even think to marry him—the enemy—the usurper of Edwin’s patrimony?”
“William is now king,” Alice said. “And I do not care. Nor do I care if Edwin be eaorl or not. In all, ’tis better this way, with the Norman lord of Aelfgar and me the lady.” She smiled, triumphant.
“I would help you,” Ceidre offered. “To run away. We could go together—find Edwin. He would protect us from the Norman!”
“No! Did you not hear? I am marrying him—gladly! But you—you stay away from him. You flaunt your witch’s unholy beauty in front of him and he pants after you like a stud. I will not have you enticing him into your bed. I will not have you his leman, as your mother was our father’s. I mean it, Ceidre, I warn you!”
“I would never be his mistress,” Ceidre snapped.
“Good.” Alice drew herself up straight. “Now, the next matter. Your place here.” “What?”
“I am the lady here of Aelfgar. I am tired of your ways. With our father dead, our brothers gone, many men lost, ’tis time you did your share.”
“What are you talking about?”
“At dawn you will go to the kitchens,” Alice ordered. “You will work as cook’s assistant to replace Jess. And, Ceidre, you will take your meals with the rest of the serfs as well.”
Ceidre stared. Alice was the lady of Aelfgar and had been since the widowed Jane remarried last year. Never had she ordered her to a station. In the past she would not have dared—Edwin would not have allowed it. Yet she had the authority to do so. “Surely you jest.”
“No. The Norman agrees, there shall be no slack hands here.”
Shock assaulted her. “He agrees to this?”
“Yes, of course. You are his serf, Ceidre, just like any other.”
“I am a free woman,” Ceidre said, “and you know it. You know Father gave me and my mother our freedom.”
Alice grinned. “Can you prove it?”
“Everyone knows.”
“Do you have the papers?”
“There were never any papers.”
“Then you cannot prove it.”
She could not believe the wicked intention of Alice’s game. “Everyone knows!”
“Who will swear on the Bible—or in the shire court? You? Your witch-grandmother? The villagers? Athelstan? You are a bastard brat, Ceidre, nothing more. Whose word will the lord accept, yours, a commoner’s, or mine?”
“Our brothers know the truth!”
“Do they? But, Ceidre—they are not here!”
“What are you trying to do?”
