“You have not said”—she took a breath—“when we will be wed.”
A frown flitted across his features. “I have not? I thought I had. In a fortnight, if it suits you.”
Relief brought a wide, happy smile to Alice’s face. “Oh, yes,” she cried. “It suits me well!”
Ceidre did not appear for the noon meal, but Rolfe assumed she was resting, and was satisfied. However, at supper there was no sign of her either, and he began to worry. He knew she was not well. Anger rose in him again at the thought of his bride’s little scheme, for he was certain she had abused her power over her sister in her jealousy. He wondered if it had always been this way, Alice ordering Ceidre to unpleasant tasks, the girl, being low-born, having no choice but to obey. It was only natural that she obey, but it bothered Rolfe— and he had never in his life questioned the natural order of things, nor sympathized with a serf’s plight.
He had not been aware of the fact that she was a serf until Alice had mentioned it. Now he felt pleased with the thought—she belonged to him. Before, when he had erroneously assumed her to be just another member of his household, she also had to obey his authority, but this was entirely different. She could not travel without his permission, not one foot off his land. To do so would be considered running away, a severe breach of the law. She could not leave Aelfgar without his permission, to reside elsewhere. She could not marry without his permission, and she owed him a certain amount of services each year—services he had not yet determined the nature of. She was his complete responsibility. Legally she belonged to him.
Perhaps the reason she had not come to sup with them was because she was ill, even with fever. Rolfe lost his appetite. He knew he should send someone to check on her, but he decided to do so himself. He left his wife at the harp, his men dicing. He knew she often spent time with her grandmother, who lived in the village, and guessed she was probably there. However, first he would inquire of the servants.
For the second time in his life, Rolfe entered the kitchens, now lighted with oil lamps. He would not have been more shocked if he had seen a ghost. For there she was, hard at work. Ceidre sensed his presence, and from where she was cleaning up, she half turned.
He was so stunned at her complete defiance he gaped.
Ceidre, already flushed, went crimson.
He found his voice. “You dare,” he managed, livid, “you dare to defy me this openly.”
She clutched the cutting table. “I can explain.” It was beyond belief. “My men do not defy me.”
“Truly, there is a reason.”
“My men fear just chastisement.” He was actually shaking.
“My lord—”
“But you—you do not fear me?” He stepped forward.
Ceidre stepped back, holding her hands up as if to ward him off. She was too exhausted for a fight, and had dearly hoped he would not find out she had continued in the kitchens. “My lord! ’Tis Tildie—she has begun her labor. We are short of hands here, I had to help!”
The anger was replaced with puzzlement. “You would work yourself to death in another’s place?”
“She is about to have a babe, my lord,” Ceidre said softly. “She is my friend.”
He shook his head. “Enough! You cannot disobey my commands, Ceidre. I cannot countenance it.”
“Will you beat me?”
He clenched his jaw. “I would dearly like to! This time, Ceidre, only this time, do you escape punishment. But harken well. The next time you disobey me ’tis at your own risk—for the price you pay will be most severe.”
Her mouth trembled, and she consciously straightened her spine.
“Enough. You are finished here. If ever aught like this happens again, you come to me—do not take it upon yourself to decide whether to continue or no, especially if it means defying me. I will see you to your bed.”
She felt relief and was angry for feeling so. “To it— or in it?”
“Are you suggesting the latter?” His tone was mocking. “No.”
“You have only to invite me. You know I am willing.” Silky, now.
“Well, I am not!”
He almost smiled, and his gaze stroked over her breasts. “Your mind, perhaps—but your body is most willing.”
Ceidre folded her arms. “Not true.”
“Do not think you can ever spar with me and win,” Rolfe said softly. “What you begin, I will finish. Always.”
