Ceidre gasped, jumping back from an open trunk.
“What are you doing?” Alice demanded, looking again at at Rolfe, fully clothed in undertunic and hose, sprawled on the bed. They had not been fornicating like animals. She was almost disappointed. A thought struck her. “Have you poisoned him?”
“No, of course not,” Ceidre said, calmly closing the trunk. “He is drunk and fell asleep. I merely sought another covering for him.”
“You whoring liar! I want you out of here—this instant! I know why you came.” Alice was so angry, tears appeared in her eyes. “To seduce him—to seduce him until he freed Morcar!”
“’Tis not true,” Ceidre said quietly. “I came to demand he release Guy from his dotage upon me. Alice—” Her voice lowered. “We must help Morcar.”
“You are a fool,” Alice cried, and then she raced to the door. “Guy,” she shouted. “Guy, come quickly, this witch has poisoned our lord!”
Ceidre froze, stunned.
Guy appeared instantly, looking murderous. On his heels were Beltain, two others, and Athelstan. They pounded to the bed.
“I did not,” Ceidre cried out. “He is drunk!”
Guy took Rolfe’s shoulders and shook him.
“She poisoned him with her witch’s weeds,” Alice said. “Guy, I command you, put her in the dungeons with her brother, ’tis treason what she did.”
Guy shook Rolfe harder, who groaned and, with great difficulty, sat up, blinking. “What happens here?” he muttered thickly.
“My lord, are you all right?” Guy asked worriedly. “Have you been poisoned?”
Rolfe focused, then he grinned and laughed. “Nay, not poisoned,” he murmured, falling back upon the pillows. “Bewitched, Guy, bewitched…. Leave me now.”
“I think he is in his cups,” Guy said, confused. “I have never seen him thus before.”
“He drank two good pints of wine with supper,” Athelstan said. “And I saw the maid bring him another bag after—and then another. Let him sleep it away.”
Alice flushed under Athelstan’s regard. “I only sought to protect my lord,” she said. “What should I have thought, to see him so, with her in his room, rummaging through his chests.”
Guy stared at Ceidre. “What did you search for, mistress?”
“A covering.” She shrugged. “Look, he lies atop the blankets, and ’tis chill at night so close to the sea.”
“I will see to him,” Alice announced. “Get out,” she said to Ceidre. “And stay out!”
Ceidre, recovered, could only think one thought: All her plans were ruined.
For this night.
The sunlight awoke him, blinding him.
Rolfe groaned. As sleep rapidly fled, he became aware of a splitting headache, one that felt as if a rock were being repeatedly crashed against the back of his skull. Instead of capitulating to the urge to stay abed, he forced himself to sit up.
Last night he had gotten very drunk.
And today, today was his wedding day.
He groaned again, long and loud, and cradled his head in his hands. He could remember everything—or almost everything.
Yesterday at dinner he had begun to imbibe in a grim self-congratulation for Morcar’s capture. The wine had touched him strongly after his long, exhausting duel. He could not understand why his mood was so somber, so dark, when he should be rejoicing. He recalled William’s promise, that should he bring him Edwin and Morcar he would be awarded Durham too.
Had the king meant it?
Morcar was a worthy foe, he had brooded, draining another cup of wine. Rolfe had had instant respect for both brothers when he had met them shortly after Hastings. Their reputations as strong leaders preceded them. Rolfe could judge a man for himself, and well, he thought. The moment he had seen them both he had known they were strong, smart, dedicated, and brave. He had also not trusted them.
