“I like it when you eye me,” he corrected lazily. His horse shifted. By accident? His knee caressed her breast. Her nipples were hard and tight, and Ceidre looked down to see that they were quite evident. She felt color rising.
“I am human, remember,” she mumbled, “no witch, as you know, just flesh-and-blood woman.”
“You do not have to remind me,” he said softly, leaning down again. His finger touched her cheek. It trailed to her throat. His gaze dipped lower, blatantly assessing her bosom. Ceidre was almost strangled with something nameless, or something she refused to name. She knew well, from memory, how his hands felt on her breasts, and she wondered if he would touch her there now. She wanted him to.
Of course he wouldn’t, they were in public, surrounded by his men. He shifted his horse backward, putting distance between them. His smile was twisted now, like the dog denied the bone. His glance now was just as derisive, and insolent. He turned abruptly and with an arm raised, to command his men to follow, he rode down the motte and through the raised portcullis.
Ceidre folded her arms tightly about her. Slowly, as the fog of wanting that his presence had generated lifted, coherent thought returned. He wanted her, it was no wish, but clear and true. She would be able to carry out this seduction easily, very easily. Why, then, was there this choking feeling in her heart?
She turned to go up the steps into the keep. It was then that she saw Alice, on the top step, staring down at her, her face flushed and pinched. Alice. A factor she had not considered. In fact, she had forgotten completely about her.
What game, he mused, was this?
Rolfe leaned back in his chair, replete with his noonday meal, staring at the bronze-haired wench below him. Throughout the meal she had cast brazen glances at him. Brazen, that is, for Ceidre. Because there was a vulnerability contained in them, an element of shyness, that, no matter how hard she tried to be bold, she fell short of the mark. If he were not so hot for her he would be amused. But he was hot. Uncomfortably so, his groin swollen and thick. He had adjusted his hose many times. Why, now, after all the fear, the wariness, and the anger, was she attempting to be so bold?
What did she want?
Should he test her, see how far she would go?
Or was he wrong? Mayhap it wasn’t a game. He knew she fought her desire for him. Perhaps finally, she was as smitten as he, the urges unbearable, and she was succumbing to them. Perhaps now, with the passage of time, she had forgiven him all his trespasses and saw him only as a man. He struggled not to give in to heady elation, to be cautious, wary, and cynical. It was impossible not to be thrilled.
He had not forgotten his vows. If she continued, with mere looks, half shy, half bold, to provoke him, he would become undone, forsaking his vows, and enter a near-incestuous relationship. Rolfe’s mouth pursed grimly.
He tore his gaze away from her, and to distract himself, he tuned in to the conversation between Guy and Athelstan. They were discussing the Scots, ever a problem in these far northern lands. William may have chased a clan of Campbells far into Cumbria, but reports had come in of raids upon his own lands, near the lonely village of Eoshire on the coast. Campbells again, Rolfe thought, from Tantalon.
“A few sheep today, a dozen tomorrow,” Guy said vehemently. “But they do not know my lord. He will chase them into their rotten sea!”
Athelstan smiled, as Rolfe would have if not so agonized, at Guy’s passion. “The Scots are wily, the Campbells the most of all. The best way is to make an alliance. Although they can’t be trusted to hold the peace for long, ’tis a respite.”
Alice’s voice surprised everyone into absolute attention, even Rolfe. “Mayhap,” she said slowly, “if it were the right alliance, things would not become undone so quickly.”
Rolfe was amused. “What do you know of these things, my lady?”
She regarded him levelly, her big brown eyes wide, innocent. “I have lived in these harsh lands my entire life. Did you not know my father, the old eoarl, actually considered marrying me to one of them? To a Scot?” Her pitch was higher. “For peace, you understand. But I begged him to reconsider, and he did.”
“Marriage is the best and surest way to cement relations,” Guy said earnestly.
Rolfe chuckled. “What know you of marriage, Guy?”
The young man colored. “I know facts, my lord. Had William not changed his mind and married his daughter Isolda to Edwin of Mercia, you think there wouldn’t be harmonious, aye, sweet relations betwixst Saxon and Norman now?”
“William would have been twice the fool to give that man so much power,” Rolfe answered. “Even though, I recall, Isolda dared to beg him not to change his mind.”
“Well,” Alice said, “in this case the participants lie closer to home. Do you know the Scot my father approached rejected me?”
Rolfe looked at her, wondering what she was leading up to and not doubting that she was angling purposefully somewhere. Otherwise she would not flaunt a rejection, and never before had he heard her profess the least interest in politics or warfare. He raised a brow, to show interest.
Alice smiled, gazing at him squarely, despite the lie she was making. “He wanted Ceidre, and of course”— she could not keep bitterness out of her tone—“my father would not even consider it.”
Rolfe smiled, without pleasure; now he understood. “You think, Lady, he might still want your sister?” His tone was impassive.
“Yes,” Alice said, too quickly.
“My lord,” Guy said, “excuse me, but what a grand match for our sakes!”
Anger, furious and boiling, bubbled up in him. But all he said, so coolly, was “Perhaps.”
And he thought, I am a fool. I should marry her off to a Scot, secure my borders, maybe, and never lay eyes on the witch again. He imagined, graphically, some big redheaded Scot driving himself into Ceidre, and knew he would not do it.
