“’Tis your lord, open up,” Rolfe demanded harshly.
Guy threw open the door anxiously. “What is it! Are we attacked?”
Rolfe stared at Guy, his blue eyes brilliant. “I have come to claim my rights.”
Guy was taken aback. “Of course,” he said instantly. “What rights, my lord?”
Rolfe’s diamond-hard gaze swung to Ceidre. “Le droit du seigneur.”
A stunned silence ensued.
Ceidre’s stare was locked with Rolfe’s. The meaning of his words shocked her—he had come to bed his vassal’s bride. Her heart was banging wildly, uncontrollably. His gaze did not waver from hers. In it she saw both anger and fierce, unyielding determination.
Neither was aware of Guy, who recovered first, glancing from one to the other. “Of course, my lord,” he murmured, backing out, and then the heavy door swung shut behind him, with a bang as loud and ominous as a clap of thunder.
Ceidre jumped; Rolfe moved. He suddenly unclasped the brooch holding his black mantle together and let the heavy cloth fall to the floor. Ceidre’s eyes widened, she took a step back. He was unbuckling his sword belt. Total comprehension set in. He would take her now. Now, after rejecting her, after giving her so casually to another. Now, at his convenience—not hers. “You can’t mean this!” She gasped.
For the first and only time, he removed his glance from her, to lay his sword carefully aside. Then she was pierced again by bold, brilliant blue eyes. “Oh, I do meant it,” he said harshly. There was nothing smug in his tone.
He was shrugging off his tunic in one quick movement and tossing it aside. In the flickering candlelight his naked torso rippled and gleamed like bronze.
She was still stunned by what was happening, by the impossibility of it, the arrogance. “You have given me to Guy!”
His stare was hard, blazing like his tone. Was there a trace of bitterness there? “You think I do not know this, and know it too damn well?”
She clutched the bedpost. “And Alice!” she cried desperately. “Alice is my sister—your wife!”
“I am lord of Aelfgar!” he shouted furiously. It was the wrath of gods. “I am lord here!”
Ceidre reacted in real terror. She whirled and raced around to the other side of the bed. Rolfe ran after her. Even as she moved, she knew, with a huge, terrible fear, that there was nowhere for her to run to, that she could not escape. His mind was made up, and his will was steel. His iron hand closed on her wrist, dragging her forcefully up against his body. “No!” she screamed, struggling like a madwoman.
With his leg, he caught hers deftly, knocking her feet out from under her. She went down, as he had intended, and was on her back in a trice, writhing and bucking, while he straddled her, a knee on each side of her hips. He seized her wrists. His thighs were rock-hard, pinning her in place as she twisted desperately, futilely. He released her and, in one violent movement, ripped her gown and undertunic open, from throat to waist.
With a vicious cry, Ceidre raked his cheek with her nails, drawing blood and flesh.
His response was immediate; he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand, wrenching them up over her head and holding them down on the hard floor. She froze in the face of his overwhelming power. For one moment they stared at each other, his expression savage, determined, hers panicked.
“Do not fight me,” he commanded. “You cannot win.”
“I will always fight you,” she cried, bucking again, hopelessly trying to dislodge him. “Norman!”
He kneed her thighs far apart, throwing her skirt up to her waist. There was one instant in which she was aware of the large, wet tip of his penis suddenly free and naked against her inner thigh. Ceidre fought to close her legs but it was useless. He impaled her.
Ceidre gasped from the lightning lancing of pain. She turned her head aside and closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding furiously. He drove himself into her roughly, quickly, deeply. She could feel him, every inch of him, all the slickness and power. His rhythm was harsh, fast and deep, the pace increasing, increasing … And then he collapsed with a raw cry on top of her.
So it was over, she thought, as a tear trickled down her cheeks. It had come to pass. No seduction, but a rape. At least it had been mercifully quick. She lay very still, her heart thundering, hoping he would revive quickly and leave her.
He made no attempt to roll off her. Ceidre could not help but be aware of many things. His face was buried in her neck. She could feel his beard, slightly rough, and his breath, warm and rapid against her flesh. His hard chest crushed her naked breasts, and his heart was thudding as fiercely as hers. His legs were between hers, tight, not relaxed, holding her thighs apart. And the semisoft maleness of him was still inside her, reminding her of the heat and hardness she had just experienced, reminding her of the slickness and power…. He was throbbing within her, demanding her sensual response.
His arms, around her, tightened. Ceidre hoped he would get up now. There was a new nagging feeling raising itself, one she did not care for. Her breasts ached when he shifted slightly, her nipples hard and tight—she could not mistake that the feeling was pleasant, and worse, where she held him inside her she was aching as well. Then she felt something else. His mouth, open on her neck.
Ceidre tried to twist away, but pinned beneath him, in his embrace, she could not. His lips nibbled so gently, and a fierce stabbing of pleasure swept her. Again she shifted uneasily. She felt his mouth on her throat. One of his hands teased the side of her breast, causing her breath to choke inside her. And within her, she felt him hardening. Helplessly her body contracted around him, and she could feel it, and was stunned at the heat and length and fullness she housed. He groaned, pushed deeper into her, and raised himself slightly to look into her eyes.
Ceidre met his gaze, but she could barely think. She certainly could not breathe. Her body was throbbing madly, fevered with desire. She arched her pelvis, trying to pull him into her more fully, even deeper. He smiled slightly, and bent and claimed her lips.
She opened to him, unsurely.
His hand caught a hank of her hair. He played ever so softly with her mouth, gently inserting his tongue. She opened wider, straining against him. He probed deeper, rocking his huge shaft as far as he could into her. Ceidre gasped into his mouth, the sound a startled plea. She kissed him back, demandingly now, and her mouth caught his, nipping insistently.
