“Oh, I would,” he said softly.
Ceidre gazed at her hands, folded in her lap. “I truly do not know where they are, except that they are in the fens,” she said at last, looking up. Tears glimmered, hanging heavily on her lashes.
Rolfe knew she told the truth; he could see it in her eyes. He felt remorse for his bullying, yet swept it away. “Very well,” he said. She had told him nothing he did not already know.
“Please, my lord,” Ceidre said hesitantly.
He waited.
“Do not make me marry.”
“I will think on it,” he said gruffly. Summoning Guy, he turned and walked out.
Ceidre stared hard at the royal messenger.
A week had passed since that abrupt interview. Every morning Ceidre had awakened with dread that Rolfe would summon her to him again, this time divulging the identity of a groom and stating his intention to see her wed. She knew, if he chose to do so, there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She was afraid.
Yet the summons did not come. Instead, life crept lazily along. Most of the inhabitants of the manor were moved into the new keep, herself included. The manor, now enclosed in the bailey, served as another hall where the excess of Rolfe’s men and servants could sleep. The Norman tower was hot and airless, and Ceidre hated it. The ground floor was used for storage, the first as the hall. On the top story were the lord and lady’s chamber, as well as a solar and antechamber. Ceidre slept in the great hall, below Rolfe and Alice, with Guy ever present and nearby.
She had been given nothing to do since Rolfe’s return. She spent most of her time with her grandmother, in the village, away from him and his new, monstrously ugly building. She gained back all the weight she had lost, maybe a touch more. She felt strong again, and her near brush with death was almost, but not quite, reduced to the memory of a bad dream.
Ceidre just happened to be in the great hall fetching a clean undertunic from her pallet, carefully rolled up and shoved into a far corner. It was dark in the cavernous hall, darker still in its corners, and she froze when Rolfe and another man, dressed for travel, entered. Blinking in the dim light, it took her only a second to see that he was a royal messenger.
She stared at him.
Rolfe shouted for wine and refreshments and the two men sat carelessly at the long trestle table. Rolfe leaned back in his chair, unaware of her presence, as Mary came in with bread, cheese, pies, ale, and wine. The messenger began to eat ravenously, draining first one cup of wine, then another.
Ceidre hunched closer into herself.
“I am in no rush,” Rolfe said. “There is no need to act the wolf.”
“I rode hard, my lord,” the messenger responded, mouth full. “The king’s orders.” With a greasy hand, the messenger extracted a scroll and shoved it at Rolfe.
Rolfe took it but did not open it. He toyed with the string without untying it. “What news at York?”
“Two Danish vessels were spotted just off the coast,” the messenger mumbled. “Another invasion was feared. Yet they went right past. ’Twas most strange.”
Rolfe said nothing.
“The king is pleased with the rebuilding of the castle and has named Odo’s bastard, Jean, castellan. Scots raided Lareby and burned the village to the ground. Odo took a royal force and repelled them, chasing them far into Cumbria. That is all,” he finished, reaching for a pie.
Ceidre’s heart was pounding. The missive, the missive, she prayed. If only they would discuss it. She was afraid to move. She had already spied for too long; it was too late to make herself known. If she was caught now, she would truly be in jeopardy.
“Where are the Danes now?” Rolfe asked.
“Gone south.”
Lazily Rolfe poured himself a cup of wine and sipped it.
“Oh, William has stated that he intends to crush these rebels by this winter. He will not pass Christmas at York, he intends to be at Westminster.”
Rolfe smiled slightly, a mere curling up of the corners of his mouth.
At this precise moment, something furry and alive scampered across Ceidre’s bare foot. Ceidre was not afraid of rats, just cautious, for their bites were poison. But she was listening so intently that she was taken by surprise, and she gasped.
Rolfe was standing, piercing her with his gaze.
Blushing, Ceidre got to her feet, clutching the clean undertunic. She could not look away from him.
