“Everyone waits to see what you will do.”
Rolfe smiled, without mirth.
“You must punish her.”
“If she were my wife,” Rolfe said, “I could lock her up and throw away the key and no one would object.”
“She is not your wife,” Guy said.
Rolfe laughed. He thought of his wife, asleep upstairs, whom he had not even seen since yesterday morning when the news of this treachery had been revealed. “Believe me,” he said heavily, “I know well which dame is my wife and which is not.” He stood. “Bring her to the courtyard at noon.”
Guy was also standing. “Yes, my lord.” There was a question in his eyes.
“’Twill be done,” Rolfe said grimly.
Ceidre heard the edict immediately. The village rippled with excitement—she was to be brought to the courtyard at noon for the eaorl’s punishment. Ceidre was sick. Rumor and speculation abounded. Would she be whipped, or hanged? Perhaps the lord, who had a hot eye for the witch, would do neither, but toss her into the dungeons for a day or two. This was a big event for Aelfgar, the first instance of the new lord’s exercising of his power in discipline, for the most serious offense there was—treason. Everyone was breathless with anticipation, wondering what he would do. Most thought it would be the worst, for the lord was a cold, hard man, and a Norman as well. Ceidre knew that they were right. She was losing what little control she had over her emotions.
She was shaking and ready to weep. She was deathly afraid. She had tested him too many times—and now she would hang. She prayed. She prayed to Jesus, she prayed to the saints. She even prayed to a few old pagan gods she had never beseeched before. She prayed for the strength to bear her fate, to be brave and strong and die a martyr, not a coward. She was so terribly afraid she was going to weep and beg for mercy, clinging to his feet.
It was many hours till noon, and time was merciless, cruel, her pace slow and snide. Ceidre watched the sun —she could not bear its slow, inexorable ascent. And then a shadow fell across the straw at her feet, and Ceidre looked up, startled, for no one had dared to come this close all day. It was Alice.
Alice smiled meanly. “He is enraged, Ceidre. You have cost him a most valuable prisoner, and he will show no mercy.”
Ceidre closed her eyes. By the gods, she did not need to hear this! Not now!
Alice hunched down. “You are going to die.”
Ceidre opened her eyes, her face amazingly calm. “I will bear whatever I have to.”
Alice laughed. “As if you have a choice!”
Thankfully, Alice turned and left. Once she had slipped outside, Ceidre hunched over, retching dryly. Then she crouched panting. So it was true, she would hang—when deep inside, all along, she had clung to the faint hope that he would spare her life.
Then something miraculous began to happen.
She could feel her frightened heart begin to slow. The terrible, gut-wrenching fear quieted. The whole world quieted—the baaing of sheep, the laughter of villagers, the groaning wheel of a passing cart. She was no longer trembling. Her body felt heavy and lethargic; she had become utterly relaxed, as if given a potion to slow her senses. It was almost a feeling of serenity. The sun was not hot, it was warm. The earth was not cold, it was cool. The birdsong above mellowed, the yapping of the hounds dimmed. Only her vision remained sharp, in fact, the world became brighter, more focused. She no longer thought of what would occur. No images haunted her. Instead she sat back, her breathing steady, and waited for them to come for her. And there was peace.
At noon Rolfe stepped out of the manor. He was not surprised that the entire village had turned out, he expected it. In fact, he had just sent Beltain and Louis to rouse anyone who had not come. All of Aelfgar would witness the price to be paid for treason.
His mouth was clamped in a hard, controlled line. His eyes were opaque and showed nothing. His face was expressionless, except for the extreme rigidity there. He stood unmoving on the manor steps. He tried to detach himself completely from any emotions whatsoever, a feat he had long managed with complete success. So far, so good. He could not be unaware of the fluttering of his heart, but he was in control of himself.
Lady Alice stood beside him, head high, her hand on his arm.
The villagers began to whisper excitedly, someone crying “Here they come!”
His stomach lurched. Rolfe clamped down harder on his jaw and watched Guy and Ceidre approaching. Her hands were still tied behind her back. Her dress was dusty and covered with straw. Her thick braid was scraggly, many strands escaping, and it hung over one breast. Her head was high, shoulders erect. Her chin was in the air. As she came closer, he saw the mask of her expression—one of calm and dignity. His heart lurched with an emotion so strong he was not sure if it was pride or something more.
Guy brought her to him. She turned her purple eyes upon him. Her chin had not lowered. Rolfe saw the utter calm in her gaze—the trust. His own heart tried to leap out of his chest, and he felt a trickle of perspiration begin to descend from his temple. Guy paused with Ceidre in front of him.
Rolfe stared into her eyes. She was proud and serene on the brink of disaster. He could find no fear in her gaze, just acceptance. She was braver than most men, and he admired her greatly in that moment. She would not let her people down by weeping and begging; she would not show him any weakness.
“Ceidre,” he said, low. His tone was harsh with pain, yet intimate. He had not meant to address her in such a manner.
She smiled serenely, and then he saw the thinnest filming of tears. “I am ready,” she said simply.
He wanted to take her into his embrace—and protect her. “You have committed treason,” Rolfe said quietly. “Ten lashes.”
She blinked furiously, lucid cognition flashing in her gaze. Ten lashes! That bitch had lied! She would not hang, she would not die, and oh, she was so lucky, for she could survive this!
