He forgot about Alice. He nuzzled the top of her hair. He held her tighter. She clung harder. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely, while his inner mind was astounded that he, Rolfe de Warenne, her lord and master, should ask her, or anyone, for forgiveness. He ignored this voice. In the darkness of this night, the rules did not matter: Anything was possible. And he felt the instant of her full awakening.
She became still in his embrace, her lashes fluttering against the flesh of his pectoral muscles like the teasing of butterfly wings. Rolfe, anticipating what was to come, tightened his hold, pressing her head farther against him. He had stopped breathing. So, he thought, had she.
With her awareness, he felt awkward, clumsy, and foolish, yet completely reluctant to let her go. And he felt a soaring thrill, like a victory, that she did not struggle, but now, in fact, snuggled closer with a sigh. He could not believe his good fortune. He rocked her slightly, realizing there was no need for words, for explanations. And then he felt her steady breathing and suddenly realized she was not awake, as he had thought—but asleep.
Vast disappointment claimed him.
“This is obscene,” Alice hissed.
Had she been sleeping all along? he thought foolishly. What did it matter? Was he being reduced to a fool? But for a moment, the thought that she had been unresisting in his arms had been exhilarating, like a potent wine. He gently laid her down again. Then he turned to look at Alice.
Before she could speak, he said coldly, “If you had comforted her the way a sister should, I would not have had to do so myself.”
Alice’s eyes filled with angry tears. “You shame me before all my people!”
“I have not shamed you.”
“To take my sister as your leman is not to shame me?”
“She is not my mistress, Alice,” Rolfe warned her. He took her arm and led her out of the chamber and into their own. He did not release her. “But it is time I made something very clear. You are my wife. You will be treated as such. But if ever you question my associations with a woman again, I will lock you away. I am a man and I have my rights. You do not question them. I will take any woman who is mine for the taking if she pleases my eye. And when I tell you Ceidre is not my mistress, you do not call me a liar. Ever. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Alice said, chin lifted. “May I speak?”
Rolfe released her and nodded, his thoughts fleeing back to the room across the hall.
“I do not begrudge you your mistresses,” Alice said. “It pleases me, you know that—I am a lady and I prefer being spared your attentions. I did not mean to call you a liar. I just know how she flaunts herself—”
“Enough! The topic wearies me. I am going to bed. You may do as you wish.”
He turned his back on her and strode back to their bed. Many moments intervened before Alice followed.
“Where are you going, my lord?”
“York.”
Alice was surprised, and she did not try to hide it. It was first thing that morning; they were still in their chamber. She watched Rolfe as he gave careful instructions to Guy, who was remaining behind, in charge of his men and the manor. Guy nodded and left. Rolfe quickly packed an extra change of clothes— tunic, undertunic, chausses, and hose. He added a velvet mantle in the richest rust color, the underside aubergine. The mantle he now wore, over his hauberk, was the familiar black over red, both sinister and utilitarian. The brooch boasted a huge, glaring yellow citrine. It was still chill out in the first hour after dawn.
“How long will you be gone?” Alice asked, anticipating his absence with great relish. She would not have to worry about the “mood” to consummate their marriage overtaking him; nor would she have to deal with his impossible arrogance and manners. Freedom. She wanted to sing with her joy.
“No longer than necessary,” he said. “A fortnight at most. If something arises to detain me, I will send word.”
Alice nodded. She knew better than to ask why he was going. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her. She watched him stride to the door, his mantle swinging out around him, his spurs clinking, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. He reminded her, she thought, of her father and her brothers— worldly, lordly, proud, a warrior. She was not sure if this pleased her or displeased her. She supposed it did both. The latter because it put her in a position of continued impotence; she would never have power because he would usurp it all for himself, as the men of her family had. And the former because, as a powerful lord, he ensured her position as the lady of Aelfgar by ensuring his own position. One day, at least, their sons would come into their inheritance. This reminded Alice that truly she must bear him a legitimate heir—if only to keep her own place at Aelfgar.
He paused in the doorway, looking across the hall. Alice felt hatred for both him and her sister well up. She was brutalized by the image of her husband holding her sister last night, so gently it was unbelievable. And with this reminder, her instincts began shrieking renewed warnings. Ceidre was a grave threat to her no matter what Rolfe said. She sensed it. She knew it.
Rolfe grimly gave a lingering look at Ceidre’s chamber. Alice could see that Ceidre slept still—and she could also see that her lord was waging an internal battle—which he won. He strode aggressively down the hall, and for a moment Alice remained, listening to the sound of his hard footsteps on the stairs. She seared her sleeping sister with a look, then hurried after her husband to see him off.
A dozen of his men were already mounted in the courtyard. They were all fully armed with sword, lance, mace, and shield. Pennants waved in the breeze from their lances. Their steeds stomped restlessly, blowing. All the soldiers wore leather-padded mail hauberks and chausses and helmuts. Alice shuddered. They were a frightening lot, and Ceidre and her brothers were fools for thinking the Saxons could even hope to win against these mounted soldiers.
Rolfe’s horse waited, held by one of his men, kicking out at anyone whose shadow came too close. His ears were laid back, and his massive head bobbed in temper. The man holding him had to dodge his lethal hooves on more than one occasion. Rolfe paused on the steps, his black cape swinging about him. Its red underside reminded Alice of blood.
“My lord, there is something I would like to ask,” Alice said softly.
His impatience showed, but he nodded.
“’Tis time, I think, that Ceidre be wed. Mayhap to one of the villagers, or the reeve.”
Other than the tensing of his jaw and the flashing of his eyes, Rolfe’s face remained expressionless. Alice hurried on, laying a hand on his sleeve, her voice sympathetic and earnest. “’Twould truly be better, my lord, for all of us.”
