“I’m sorry, Tildie. I tried,” Ceidre said uncertainly.
Tears welled in Tildie’s eyes. “I know. I’m sorry too, for saying such awful nonsense. I didn’t mean it, Ceidre, I didn’t.”
You didn’t mean it, Ceidre thought, but you said it— how could you have said such things to me? Yet she did not voice her thoughts, instead managing a smile. There was a time when the two women would have embraced in their apology, but an invisible wall had come between them. “How are you feeling?” Ceidre asked.
“A little tired is all.”
They exchanged a few more words. What had happened created a tension between them that had never existed before. Then Ceidre said good-bye and turned away. She walked aimlessly, trying not to think.
“Ceidre?”
At the sound of Albie’s voice, Edwin’s most trusted man, Ceidre almost fainted. She whipped around, eyes widening at the sight of him. He was dressed as a simple serf, not as a thane’s son. She restrained the impulse to jump into his arms. “Albie! You have news?” Her voice was low and urgent.
“Let’s walk,” Albie suggested. He was her own age, sent to foster at Aelfgar when he was six. They had grown up together—he was practically a brother.
Ceidre twisted the sash of her girdle nervously as they strolled into the apple orchard. “They are fine?”
“Yes. Edwin took an arrow in his thigh, but he is healing well.”
Relief swept her, and sorrow that she hadn’t been there to see to his wound. “You are sure there is no infection?”
“You know Ed. Strong as an ox.”
Ceidre smiled, torn with missing both him and Morcar. Edwin was as strong as an ox, of average height, with her father’s strong, hawklike features and his raven hair. Morcar was taller, leaner, his hair brown and unruly, his eyes a dancing blue. Yet his quick smile hid as fierce a will and intelligence as Edwin’s. The brothers seemed opposite, the one brooding and intense, not one for excess words, the other quick to laugh and smile and shout, yet they were really of the same stuff. And loyal, the one unto the other.
“Where are they?” She glanced around again, but they were alone, the villagers going about their normal activity, the Norman still with his men at the drawbridge, now a good kilometer away.
“In the fens. Ceidre, Morcar is coming as soon as he can. Edwin will not allow this dispossession to occur. You must watch every move Rolfe de Warrenne makes. And listen as well. Anything of import that you see or hear you must relay.”
“I understand,” Ceidre said. “The Norman has fifty men, all seasoned knights. I’ve seen them in battle.” She shuddered, remembering how the Norman and his men had slain the Saxons at Kesop, effortlessly. “He may have more.”
“Of course he does, but they’ve been left at York. He’s the new castellan there, did you not know?”
“No, I did not.”
“William the Bastard still stays at York, with royal troops, to oversee the rebuilding of the castle. Rolfe must be in close correspondence with him. Ceidre, we need to know their plans. If they have written messages, you must find them, and you must try to overhear their conversations. …” Albie looked at her.
Ceidre thought of the price of treason: public flogging and the stocks, or even hanging. “I will try, Albie, but ’twill not be easy. The Norman is very smart.”
“Do your best.”
“You know he is to marry Alice?”
“No, I did not. I will relate the news to your brothers. When is the wedding?”
“A bit more than a sennight now. The time flies, Albie.”
“’Tis not good, I think. Morcar will come before, I am sure. Until then, watch and listen. I had better go.”
Ceidre took his hand. “God speed you, Albie. I was so afraid.”
“Your brothers are near immortal.” Albie grinned.
“Do not joke upon such matters, no one but God is immortal,” Ceidre said sharply. He shrugged, and she watched him trot off into the forest. A glance at the construction site told her the Norman and his men were still hard at work. Now was as good a time as any to hunt for royal missives. She started back to the manor.
Alice was in the kitchens, dictating the day’s fare. Ceidre slipped past the open doorway without being seen and entered the manor by the front of the house. At this time of day there was no one in the hall, save a serf wiping down the long trestle table. Ceidre hurried up the stairs.
She felt a tinge of apprehension as she pushed open the massive cedar door to the great chamber. She slipped inside, then thought the better of closing the door all the way—she left it slightly ajar so as not to look too suspicious should she be caught. She glanced around.
