He was just in time—for the Norman was to wed Alice on the morrow.
She had to appear at dinner, for not to do so might arouse the Norman’s suspicions. Also, he might think that she was sulking—or hiding. In fact, she was angry over his treatment of her, although equally relieved he had not taken her as he almost had. She would have to tread carefully around him in the future. She had not realized when she aroused his ire she also aroused his desire; she would be certain to do neither from now on.
The meal was interminable, but Ceidre did not fidget. She refused to look at Rolfe, seated with his bride, although she knew he watched her often. When he and his men returned to the field, Ceidre escaped to the orchards, basket in hand, careful not to be followed. The Norman, she saw, was so involved in his task that he did not even remark her going.
Morcar’s tall frame became visible in the glade by the stream as she approached, crying out with joy. He beamed, blue eyes sparkling, and swept her into his hard, familiar embrace.
“Are you all right?” she asked, holding his face in her hands, when he had released her.
“Me?” He laughed, removing her hands and clasping them. His smile faded. “Ceidre—how have you fared?”
“I am fine.”
“You have not been harmed by these pigs?”
She felt color creeping into her face. “No.”
His grip tightened, his handsome features darkening. “What happened? Have you been touched?”
She was flaming, and she knew Morcar’s quick, hot temper. “It’s all right,” she cried. “Truly it is! ’Twas before he knew who I was—but he found out in time and did not harm me.”
“Who?”
“The Norman.”
“Rolfe de Warenne? The Relentless?” At her nod he scowled. “Explain, quickly.”
“There is nothing to explain. I was at Kesop, to heal a sow. He thought me a peasant. His men had just slain a band of Saxons, and he chased me down on his horse. But his men called out my identity before he could—before he could do as he would. In truth—” Suddenly she smiled. “He thought me Alice, and thus I was saved from his embrace.”
Morcar swore, foully. “I wish I had been there,” he cried, blue eyes flashing as he paced. “I would have killed him for the mere impudence of his desire!”
“’Tis finished now, Morcar,” she lied. “How is Ed?”
“Near healed. We will not let this pass, Ceidre,” he said, hard. “We nurture our wounds now, and when we are strong, we will chase the Normans to the sea and beyond.”
“There was a royal messenger here four days past. I could not find out what was said. The next day, at dawn, the Norman and a score of men rode out. They returned two days later. I know not where they went.”
“William the Bastard had a scrape in the north with the Scots.” Morcar shrugged. “We know he sent for Rolfe to turn them back. He is highly trusted and very able.” He scowled then fiercely. “Too able!”
Ceidre touched his sleeve. “You did not come alone?”
“I left two men beyond yon ridge, Ceidre. I have no wish to encounter the Norman now. What is this news of Alice wedding with him?”
“Tomorrow, Morcar, ’twill be done.”
“Alice is willing?”
“Yes.” At his frown, Ceidre found herself defending her sister. “Try to understand, Morcar. She is afraid to grow old, a spinster. And he is very handsome.” She realized what she had said, and her eyes widened. She pictured his Adonis-like visage, his powerful body, and knew she had not lied.
“I wish there were a way to prevent this marriage. If only Alice would refuse, become sick upon her wedding day!”
“You would have to abduct her to stop her from marrying him,” Ceidre said.
“I would,” Morcar said with a growl, “if I had the men and thought I could do so without risking a single life. But I know ’twould be suicide.”
“Do not,” Ceidre said. “Mayhap her shrewish ways will keep him soft in her bed, and they will not be married in truth under God’s eyes.” Ceidre frowned, for it was most unlikely such a man would rest soft near any woman!
“Ceidre, you may have an idea,” Morcar exclaimed. “Could you not give him a potion to make him deathly ill?”
