Ceidre had married Guy Le Chante.
Ceidre paced her chamber. She looked around. It was truly a bridal chamber, with garlands strewn across the bed, wine and food laid out. She was supposed to be readying herself to receive her new lord, but she would not. She was still clad in her yellow gown. At least, she decided, she could get rid of these flowers. She began removing them abruptly.
The wedding feast had lasted hours. All around them was drunken boisterous laughter and dancing. As the newlywed couple, they had graced the raised dais under the walnut tree. Guy had eaten and drunk merrily, in no rush to leave the festivities. Ceidre had not taken one bite of food or one sip of wine. At first, he had offered her, as a groom should, the choicest morsels of what he picked for himself. She had refused everything ungraciously. Then he had ceased offering anything to her. He had not attempted conversation after, which had suited her just fine. She had sat still as a stone, ignoring everything and everyone.
Except for Rolfe. She could not ignore him, not when she was so keenly aware of him, not when he sat on her right. Like her, he did not seem inclined to conversation, yet he made an effort to quip with Guy. She was aware that he gazed at her from time to time. She refused to acknowledge him. She did not look at him. She was in a strange state, her wedding almost felt like a dream. And this state was infinitely preferable to the pain she had felt upon awaking, that same pain she had harbored the past few days.
There was a knock upon her door.
Ceidre clenched her fists. “Enter.”
Guy appeared, closing the heavy door behind him. Then, noting her state of dress, he looked unsure. “I am sorry, I am too quick. I will come back.” He started to leave.
“No!” Her abrupt command halted him. “I am not readying myself for you,” she said, her tone hard. His eyes widened.
“I did not want this marriage,” she said furiously. “And I do not want you!”
His face changed, grew hard, making him seem older, making her remember that he was a Norman knight and one of Rolfe’s best men. “But I want this marriage,” he stated.
“You want Dumstanbrough—not me!”
He flushed. “’Tis true. But Dumstanbrough comes with you, ’tis your dowry. I will not give it up—or you.”
“You may have Dumstanbrough,” Ceidre spat. “I care not. But you will not have me.” He stared. “You deny me my husbandly rights?” “If you touch me,” Ceidre hissed, “I will kill you!”
He blinked.
“I will curse you, do not doubt it. Your manhood will shrivel up. Your teeth will fall out. You will lose your hair. You do not think I can do this?” She laughed, slightly hysterical. “I have potions! You will be an old man before your time! I warn you!”
Guy crossed himself nervously. “Do not do anything rash,” he said. “I would not hurt you!”
Ceidre relaxed slightly. “Look,” she said, “I will be your wife—I am your wife. You did not want me before this wedding. I know it. You have never looked at me the way a man looks at a woman.” Bitterness touched her tone. “Men do not look at me that way, not once they know of my eye. I am used to it. No one needs know what passes between us. Just because we are married, you do not need to come to my bed, when you do not want me, when you are afraid of me. Seek out your lemans, I care not. Can we agree on this?”
“But what about children? I need heirs.”
“Then take a mistress,” Ceidre said frankly. “Make sure she is a virgin and is faithful to you. Adopt her get. ’Tis simple enough.”
“In truth, I do not want you,” Guy said. His words stabbed at her. Ludicrously she thought of Rolfe. “But not because I am afraid of you.”
“Of course not.”
“’Tis most unnatural not to consummate a marriage.”
“No one will know. Besides, you have not married a natural woman. Do you really want to bed one with the eye?”
Guy grimaced. “No, I do not. Not when the world is full of fair wenches. I have just never shied from my duty before.”
“Guy, what about your duty to God?”
He suddenly smiled. “You are right. You are not natural, not godly. My first duty is to God. Why did I not think of that? We have a bargain, then. But no one must know the truth, Ceidre. No one.”
“Believe me,” she said, overwhelmingly relieved. “I will not tell a soul.”
They stared at each other, then Guy shrugged. He strode to the trencher on the chest and picked up a pastry. “Are you hungry?”
Ceidre smiled. She was suddenly starved. She opened her mouth to reply, but her words were cut off. There was a violent pounding upon the door.
Ceidre froze. Guy leapt forward, hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Who is it!”
