She inhaled.
“You belong to me,” he said, soft. “I guard well what is mine.”
Ceidre understood the reference to her status as serf. So Alice had spread the lie, and why should he doubt it? “I am no serf.”
“You deny you were born to your mother?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you belong to Aelfgar and thus to me. I repeat—where do you go this morning?”
She clenched her fists, controlling her frustration and the urge to make him comprehend the truth. Yet why should she care what he believed? It did not matter what he thought of her, for she had no intention of leaving. He would not remain lord anyway, of this she was sure. Her brothers would die before willingly relinquishing Aelfgar to the Norman. No, she would be patient, until this mess was untangled. Until the Norman was defeated—and retreated or died.
A chill swept her.
“I go to visit Tildie. Mayhap she has need of me.”
“After what she did last night? Her accusations? You have the goodness to go to her again?” He was incredulous.
“She was overwrought and grief-stricken. Tis always easiest to blame someone other than oneself or God.”
“Your heart is overly large.”
“You would stop me?”
“No. Go. But do not let anything she says upset you, Ceidre.” There was warning in his tone. “We both know the truth, you and I. ’Tis enough.”
“And you are so sure of the truth?” Ceidre heard herself ask.
He smiled. His blue gaze went from her eyes to her mouth, lingered, then raked her from breast to hip. “The only power you have, wench, is that of seductress, not witch. Your power is as old as the gods, the power of woman over man.”
She could not look away, spellbound by the low, sensual note in his tone. Something strangely uplifting like elation swept her from head to toe. Finally she found her voice. “I am no temptress.”
“No?” He laughed. “Then you are a witch—for you have bewitched me—as well you know.”
She folded her arms, tight. “No,” she cried. “No! You are a slave to your own lusts—when you are to marry my sister!”
His smile faded. His eyes were hard. “If I were a slave to my own lusts, I would toss you now, here, in the dirt, like any common wench, for all to see.”
Ceidre flushed.
“But I wed your sister in less than a fortnight.” “’Twill never be!” Ceidre hissed. Her vision had blurred.
“Do not think you can stop me,” he said. “Your powers are not that strong.”
Tears, of anger, of hurt, came into her eyes. “I will stop you, Norman! But not as you suggest, with my temptress’s powers. You mistake it if you think I want you for myself! ’Tis Aelfgar I protect—from you! And I will gladly die before I see the day when you are truly lord here!”
“You are alive, Ceidre,” he said coldly. “And I am truly lord here. So put any thoughts of treason from your head. I warn you here and now.”
“May I take my leave—my lord?” she asked, blinking furiously, the effect of her sarcasm ruined.
He was fighting down his anger. “Go, before I act like a boy, not a man, and give in to my needs. But remember my words.”
She bit down a retort and, hands clenched at her sides, whirled away. He gazed after her for a long time.
“How are you feeling, Tildie?”
Tildie paused in the act of scattering feed to three hens and a cock. The two women looked at each other.
