This was a different kitchen staff, of course, the original one, including Tildie and Teddy, now working at the keep. Her gaze sought out Lettie, who was close to her own age and who was regarding her with sympathetic blue eyes. “Could you run up to the manor and fetch my rust gown and an undertunic?” Ceidre asked.
Lettie shoved wet strands of red hair out of her face. “Tore it right off of you, did he?” Her tone was sympathetic. “I’ll just be a minute,” she promised kindly.
Ceidre was horrified, she felt like weeping again. She returned to the manor but could not enter the bridal chamber. Instead she paced the hall below, alone. Lettie was true to her word, and returned with her things instantly, slightly out of breath. Ceidre thanked her.
“’Tis all right,” Lettie said, smiling. “If we don’t stick together, those brutes will destroy us, now, won’t they?”
Ceidre was somewhat surprised at Lettie’s philosophy, because she made herself available to just about any man around and it was no secret. In fact, since the Normans had come she was continuously at their disposal. Ceidre began to change.
“Hurt you, did he?” Lettie asked, pointedly eyeing her bruised wrists.
Ceidre recalled the way he’d wrenched them back after she’d drawn blood on his cheek. Surprisingly, she felt the urge to defend him. “No. He didn’t.”
Lettie dropped the topic. “Why don’t you stay abed today? No one will care.”
Ceidre looked at her. “I am going to the keep to dine, as usual.”
Lettie shrugged. Then she grinned mischievously. “So tell me, is it true? Is he as big as a bull and as tough?”
Ceidre flooded with color. She wouldn’t answer, she couldn’t.
* * *
Rolfe paused before seating himself at the table, surveying the room. She hadn’t come yet, and he was overwhelmed with disappointment.
He got a grip on himself. ’Twas over. He’d had her, sated himself, exorcised his lust. He had tried his best not to think a single thought about her since he’d left her, and he’d succeeded. Now was no time to fall back into old ways. He did not care if she came to eat or not, did not care that she was married to another, did not care that tonight she would lie in another’s arms. He sat down abruptly.
He was aware of Alice filling his cup. He hadn’t seen her since last night at the wedding feast. He spared her a curt glance now. Her face was carved in white stone. Her hand, pouring the wine, was steady. She did not look at him.
Nor did he care. He was the lord here, and if he chose to exercise le droit du seigneur with every bride that graced his fief, he would, and she would not say one word about it. He began to eat, quickly and quietly. Still Ceidre did not come. He refused to think about her, yet he was suddenly worried. She did not have the strength he had, and she had matched him all night long. Perhaps she was sick, or hurt from his attentions. Perhaps she was so bruised she could not get out of bed. Or perhaps she was merely defying him, refusing to come to his table.
’Twas not her day.
Ceidre was late, and she was aware of it, but she did not hurry. She made her way slowly toward the portcullis, staring at the ground. Dread filled her, and that nameless, breathless, quivering lump had risen to choke her again. Why was she so near tears? She should be relieved. She had survived the worst, and now it was over. Indeed, she was now another man’s wife. This would not only protect her from the Norman, but it gave her her own status, and she had even made the bargain to keep Guy out of her bed. Sheshouldbe happy.
“Ceidre, Ceidre!”
Surprised, Ceidre turned to see Feldric huffing up the hill after her. She turned and started down to meet him, her body tightening with anxiety. “What is it?”
She knew he was back; she had noticed him yesterday at her wedding. He paused to catch his breath, then said, “My boy is sick. Can you come?”
“Of course,” Ceidre said, as two knights passed them. She followed him down the hill and over the outerbridge, knowing well that his boy was not sick, he had been trying to tell her something. Had he a message from her that he hadn’t been able to give her yesterday? She felt a flaring of interest. Once they had left the castle’s walls and were in the village, she demanded the truth.
“’Tis Albie. He wants to speak with you.”
Ceidre hurried her pace. Albie was waiting at the mill; no one else was about. He lounged in deep shadows, careless but watchful, disguised as a serf. “Is it bad news?” Ceidre asked immediately. “Are they all right?”
“Yes, they are fine, do not worry so,” Albie soothed.
“Thank God,” Ceidre said, relieved.
“Ed is most impatient. You have news for him?”
Ceidre froze, then she blanched. “No, I do not.”
His eyes were soft. “You did not take the Norman to your bed yet, Ceidre?”
So Albie was privy to everything. Now she blushed, to her chagrin. “Ed sent you because he thought I might have learned something? ’Tis too soon!”
