“We run quickly out of time,” Albie remarked. “In seven weeks we rebel, Ceidre. You have learned nothing? You have not lured the Norman to your bed? Tell me something!”
She was hotly red. And more miserable than ever. “Albie, I’m afraid I only have bed news. The Norman has married me to one of his men!” To her horror, she felt tears escaping.
Albie stared, then muttered an inaudible curse.
Ceidre wiped her eyes. Albie laid a rough hand on her shoulders. “I am sorry, Ceidre,” he said.
“’Tis not the whole truth,” she said, sniffing. “There is some ancient pagan custom they keep, and he claimed me on my wedding night.”
Albie turned startled eyes on her. “What? Why, that is good news!”
She recoiled. “I did not learn anything.” It was good news that she had been raped? She was suddenly furious, with Albie, with her brothers.
“Don’t you see? You can still become his mistress, if you are careful and cunning. All is not lost with this plan. You must do so, Ceidre. We need you privy to his innermost thoughts if we are to take back Aelfgar and chase him to the sea!”
She wanted to tell him that she did not want to be privy to that barbarian’s innermost thoughts, nor did she want to share his miserable bed. She said neither, the feeling of hurt she had been harboring all day increasing to overwhelm her. No one cared what she had been through. She had been raped; then she had experienced utter ecstasy in her enemy’s arms, which was worse than rape. He had left her as coldly as he had first taken her. No one cared what she felt. No one. The Norman had used her, her brothers were using her. Ceidre hugged herself. She was so utterly alone. Damn them all.
“I had better go,” Albie said. “At least I can report some progress. God be with you, Ceidre.”
She was too angry to call out a like farewell. Too angry, too hurt. But she knew one thing. She was not going to become the Norman’s leman, oh no. Never would she share his bed again. Even fortified by this resolution, she didn’t feel better. Not at all.
He knew the instant she entered the hall.
He and his men were more than halfway through with their meal. Like a magnet, his eyes were drawn to her as she made her way quickly and gracefully to the table. Her head was high, chin in the air. His breath seemed to get stuck in his chest. She did not look his way, and then she took her seat.
Rolfe became aware of many things at once. Alice’s rigidity as she sat beside him and the utter, absolute silence of his men. And that he himself was staring. He resumed eating. He no longer was hungry, but he ate rhythmically, as if entertaining the same gusto as before. Conversation slowly resumed. Rolfe did not look down the table again. He did not have to look. Her presence filled his senses.
Ceidre was shaking inside. The instant she had entered the hall, the talk had ceased, and every eye had been riveted upon her. She had attempted to show no feelings, to remain like a marble statue. It had not been easy to do, with her heart winging frantically, with his hawklike gaze upon her.
She could not eat, but realized, suddenly, that she had made a mistake. She was sitting at the lowest end of the table while Guy, her husband, sat on Rolfe’s right. A quick glance confirmed that Guy was aware of this too, for he was coming to her. Ceidre felt herself flushing. He paused beside her. Someone snickered not far from her. Guy lifted a furious glance at the culprit, one of his own cohorts. “Lady, please, ’tis unseemly you dine below the salts now that you are my wife.” His hand was on her elbow, urging her to rise. His gentleness and kind tone made Ceidre unbearably grateful.
“But is she yet your wife, Guy?” Beltain chortled from the other end of the table. “Mayhap you should take her to bed and rectify that immediately!”
Laughter greeted this reference to Rolfe’s having bedded her in place of the groom. Ceidre went hot red. Guy froze next to her. Ceidre wanted to shrink away, with everyone joking at her expense. The one responsible for this entire mess, of course, said nothing, just sat there listening indifferently. Ceidre realized she was glaring at Rolfe, but he was not looking at her. Nor was he amused.
“I demand satisfaction for such coarse comments,” Guy said stiffly, flushed. He pulled Ceidre to the other end of the table, where she dreaded going. Athelstan slid over to make a place for her, and she quickly sank down upon the bench, wanting to sink, instead, through the floor. Rolfe was oblivious to her, as if she were invisible, and she wished, desperately, that she were anywhere but here.
“The good knight is malhumored.” Beltain laughed. “But I know how his good humor can be restored!” He chuckled again, lewdly, and more laughter rose.
Before Guy could retort, Rolfe interjected, “Enough.”
At least, she thought miserably, beet-red, he had the decency to end Beltain’s crude insinuations. She stared at her hands, folded in her lap, a silence ensuing. Rolfe rose abruptly from the table. “There will be no quarrel among my men,” Rolfe stated. “If Guy’s wife is offended”—and still he did not spare her a glance—“Beltain will apologize.” With that, he strolled out.
Guy’s wife, Ceidre thought, shrinking up inside. He had called her Guy’s wife.
“She is most offended,” Guy said into an interested silence. “Apologize, Beltain. Do not make me defy our lord.”
“I am most sorry,” Beltain said to Ceidre, who finally lifted her eyes. “’Twas only a jest. I meant no harm.”
Ceidre mumbled an appropriate reply. She was sorry she had come to this meal, sorrier still that she had laid eyes on the Norman, that cold, unfeeling animal. He cared not an ounce that they had shared a night; he had no feelings at all. He had finally gotten what he wanted, and he had clearly forgotten everything that had passed between them.
If only she could forget as well.
He had succeeded; he hadn’t thought of her all afternoon.
But his success was short-lived. Supper was over, and his men had long since adjourned for the evening. Rolfe found himself in his chamber, alone, pacing like a wild caged lion. Now, now he could not stop his thoughts; he had not the willpower. Ceidre taunted him as twilight deepened the sky to jet-black. Ceidre— with Guy.
Now, at this very moment, was she writhing beneath him in ecstasy?
