“Do you understand?” he repeated harshly. A vein throbbed in his temple.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then get you from my sight, before I come to my senses.”
Ceidre clutched her hands to her bosom. “My lord?”
His eyes were blue fury. “Ceidre …”
“Please—may I attend my brother?”
“No! Now get!”
Ceidre turned, took a step, then with a breath ran from the hall. Once outside in the fresh air, she leaned against a trough, shaking. She had come so very close to a severe punishment, but had somehow—and she thanked God, St. Edward in shrine at Westminster, and St. Cuthbert—evaded it. Yet there was still the awful reality to face: Morcar was the Norman’s prisoner.
And it was up to her to do something about it.
Immediately Ceidre began to plan Morcar’s escape.
She would slip a potion into the guard’s food. When he was asleep, she herself would unlock the dungeon and free Morcar. She would have a horse ready and waiting. And then it would be up to him.
And she would not think of the Norman’s threat.
But when she left the manor to gather more of the herb, she was startled to find Guy at her side. He glanced at her sideways, but stopped as she had. “Sir,” Ceidre said, spirits sinking, “why do you play the shadow?”
“Lord Rolfe has commanded I be your escort,” Guy said.
Ceidre turned her face away before he could see her consternation. Then she continued on. She would gather what she needed, and worry later about how to shake Guy this night to free her brother. Yet that evening, to her utter dismay, Guy pulled a pallet next to hers and stretched out beside her. Ceidre could not believe that she was to be guarded so, day and night. Amulet around her neck, she got up. Guy followed.
“Nature calls,” she hissed furiously.
“I am sorry, mistress,” he said, “but where you go I go as well.”
She would test him. She stomped outside, he was on her heels. He would not leave her to seek any privacy other than to turn politely away. Ceidre stormed back into the manor, and careless of the hour—past midnight—she stomped up the stairs and crashed her fist down hard on the Norman’s door.
It opened immediately. The Norman stood there, stark naked, keen alertness fading and being replaced with a flicker of amusement. Ceidre blushed and looked at his shoulder. Behind her, Guy coughed.
Rolfe grinned, unable to prevent himself, and then he chuckled. “’Tis my lucky night,” he said. “The lady of my dreams seeks me out—-just when I need her most.”
’Twas not funny, not at all. Ceidre lifted her gaze to his, red-faced. “Have you no shame? Or are you flaunting now for me?”
Rolfe threw back his head and laughed. “I gladly flaunt myself for you, Ceidre—any time, any place.”
His tone was so seductive, her heart tripped.
Rolfe grinned at Guy. “Await her downstairs.”
“No, stay!” Ceidre cried. Of course, Guy didn’t hesitate, he was already trotting away. Ceidre, looking from Guy to Rolfe, managed to glimpse a goodly portion of naked flesh—and to her dismay, she noted he was becoming aroused. “Can you not clothe yourself?”
“But you seek me out,” he teased.
“Not for the reason you think,” she managed, staring at his shoulder again.
He gave her a last look, then turned and went to retrieve his hose. Ceidre could not help it, she studied his back, taut and ridged with muscle, and his backside, high and hard. She realized she had almost forgotten why she had sought him out in his chamber.
Rolfe turned to her, shrugging on a thin undertunic. He gestured to the hearth. Ceidre stepped inside the room, but hovered near the door, for safety. Now that her senses had returned, she realized he was in rare good humor, and seeing the near-empty bag of wine, she wondered if this was the cause. He noted her gaze and grinned.
“Some wine, Ceidre?”
