“I will think on it,” he said shortly.
“God speed you, my lord,” Alice said politely.
“And you,” Rolfe said. He turned abruptly and mounted the stallion, which even tried to kick out at its master. Rolfe hit the beast’s neck hard with his open palm, and the animal quieted. The column moved out, Rolfe’s own pennants, in black and red and royal blue, streaming behind him.
Alice lifted her gown and literally ran upstairs. As she had hoped, no maid had yet come to their chamber. She found her eating dagger and did not think twice, but cut her little finger. She dripped the blood onto the sheets. And smiled.
As an afterthought, she smeared blood between her thighs, then called for a bath.
The sheets could not be missed, but better yet, the maid who helped her to bathe would spread the news like a wildfire. The marriage had just been consummated.
Ceidre awoke with a strange feeling of remorse. She remembered the dream as if it were real—she could almost feel, still, his warm, hard body as he held her so tenderly, soothing her in her anguish. She did not want to awaken. She wanted to sleep—and continue to dream.
But she was not asleep in the heavy, velvet embrace of a magical night. She was awake. The sunlight was pouring through her window, and with it came ugly reality. Ceidre shifted onto her side, wincing as she tested newly forming scabs, evidence of that reality. You are a fool, she told herself. He would never be like that. He is an ogre and the enemy and he had you whipped. To dream of him is insane. And, she thought helplessly, unfair.
Because there was something so compelling about the dream.
She was hot. She realized she was sweating slightly and knew she had taken a low fever. You have him to thank for that, she reminded herself. Anything to escape the dream’s clutches.
A maid was singing a wicked ditty in the great chamber as she did her duties there. Ceidre sighed and sat up, reaching for the urn of water. It was empty. She was so thirsty, so sore, so hot, and so tired. She fell back onto her stomach, head on her arms, trying to douse the remaining ashes of the dream. It had been soreal.
She heard someone coming up the stairs but did not pay close attention. She drifted close to sleep again, wondering when her grandmother would come, wondering, foolishly, if he would come again. How dare he show his face here, she thought, as the two maids chattered, giggling, across the hall. One of them mentioned the Norman, giggling again, and Ceidre found herself listening despite herself.
“’Tis a lusty one, he is, I’ve heard all the stories,” Mary said.
“If he’s so lusty, how come he hasn’t touched none of us, not since he’s come?” complained Beth. “Sweet Mary, that day at Kesop, I’ll never forget—he was so strong…”
Ceidre had a graphic memory assault her, the Norman thrusting into Beth, his face dark and strained, his member red and slick and full.
“’Twould insult Lady Alice,” Mary said. “That’s why he doesn’t touch any of us now. But he will, in time.”
“’Twas a bigger insult, if you ask me, that he did not take her on their wedding night,” Beth said. “If it were me, he would not have slept till dawn!”
Ceidre sat up. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But she was. She could not believe what she was hearing— it could not be true. And if it were—why was her heart beating so rapidly? Why did she feel lighter? “Beth, Mary, come here,” she called.
The two maids entered sheepishly, Mary holding a pile of linens in her arms.
“What are you talking about?”
They looked at the floor. “Nothing,” Beth lied, blushing.
“Tell me the truth, ’tis most important—for Aelfgar. He did not bed Alice?”
Beth looked up. “He did not bed her until last night,” she said, looking at the pile of linens.
Ceidre didn’t really hear. She felt dismay and something else, worse, something sickening, and she stared at the sheets. While she had been in that foolish, soothing dream, he had been with Alice. Mary interpreted the look as a question and held them up, to show the bloodstain. Ceidre looked away. Why did it hurt now, when she didn’t care? When she had thought it done with days ago, on their wedding night? She had no right to be hurting! None!
“Please bring me water,” she said, lying back on her side. It was the fever, she was sure, why else would she be fighting accursed tears? “And Granny.”
“You laggards,” Alice said from the doorway. “Get going.” She watched them race away, then paused to lean smugly against the wall. “You don’t look well, Ceidre.”
“Go away, Alice,” Ceidre said wearily.
“Now I know why you spread your thighs for him, Ceidre,” Alice purred. “It’s good, isn’t it, having that big thing inside you? Why, he’s randy as a bull! I thought I wouldn’t like it—but I found I loved it.”
Ceidre imagined him rearing over Alice, powerful, his organ massive and ready, and shook away the image. She stared at the floor, her cheek on her arm. “Alice, I am not well. I have a fever. Would you send Granny to me and some water, please?”
“I won’t have that witch in my house,” Alice said vehemently. “But I will send you some water.” She turned and left abruptly.
