Had his hands really been so gentle, as if she were a chick that might be crushed by mistake? Had his tone been so soothing, as if she were a newborn, motherless babe? No, ’twas impossible—it had to have been a dream!
She was stunned to find that it was way past noon, that she had slept for almost an entire day. Ceidre could not stop wondering, as she roused herself, if he had really been a gentle savior. Certainly the recollection of his carrying her here, to his bed, was true. She was wrapped in linen towels, naked beneath them, and this fresh discovery kindled a vague remembrance of being bathed—but she was sure she was imagining that Rolfe had done so. In all likelihood, being out of her mind from the choking fear, she had been delirious and hallucinating, thinking one of the maids to be the Norman. Yet she was tortured with the need to know what was real and what was not.
Her hands were bandaged, and as she dressed, they were stiff and sore. Ceidre shuddered, reminded forcefully of her endless attempts first to climb the walls of the dungeon, then to tunnel out. Once dressed, she returned to the manor where she shared the chamber with Guy, without passing anyone.
Her husband returned before supper, as was his custom, for he bathed each second day, and recently, due to the Norman’s overzealous demands on the mock-battlefield, every day. Ceidre, as usual, had his hot water ready and clean garments waiting, along with wine and a few spiced cakes. His glance swept her. “Are you all right, my lady?” There was compassion in his tone.
She blushed, feeling like a fool for having behaved like a crazed woman. “Yes, thank you. Here, let me.” She helped him disrobe.
“I would have awakened you for dinner, but Lord Rolfe thought you should sleep until you woke yourself,” Guy said, letting her pull his tunic over his head.
For some reason, this comment deepened her color. “Yes, well, I was certainly a laggard today. Did all go well at Dumstanbrough?”
“Yes, the land is rich, if rocky, but the villagers barely till it. They are shepherds, but that will change. I will show them the benefits of the harvest.” His tone was rich with excitement as Ceidre bent to ungarter his hose. “And there is a perfect site for a keep, a natural hill. There is no water for a moat, but a deep ditch will keep all invaders out.”
Ceidre straightened, smiling slightly. “I am glad you are pleased, my lord.” She meant it. Guy had proved to be a good husband. He never had a harsh word, never raised his hand. True, he did not love her, true, he was out late most nights, and Ceidre knew he wenched excessively, but this, of course, relieved her. Now he stood naked before her, a finely made, lean man. His nakedness discomfitted neither of them. Ceidre found herself comparing him to the Norman, not for the first time. There was no comparison, the other taller, broader, his muscles so thoroughly hewn, as if by a master whittler. And of course, the Norman would never stand naked unaroused before her for long.
Guy was unaware of her scrutiny. “Ceidre?”
It was the first time he had called her by name, so intimately, and her gaze flew to his face.
“Did you receive the missive from your brother?”
“No! ’Twas a lie!”
Relief swept Guy’s face. “I believe you. I have not known you long, not even a fortnight as your husband, but I begin to understand many things.” He looked at her. “I am no longer afraid of you, Ceidre.”
She felt her tension in her trembling knees. “No?”
“I believe, still, that you are a witch, but I also believe you are a good witch. I am right, am I not? You do not seek to harm, only to heal.”
Ceidre was afraid. If he no longer feared her, would he want to assume his husbandly rights? She did not find Guy distasteful, not at all, yet she had no desire to share his bed—indeed, she felt an urgency to keep their relationship chaste.
He did not wait for her answer. “I also believe you are no liar—although I know you are loyal to your brothers. I am glad you did not commit so foolish an act. Ceidre, I will not allow my wife to betray my lord. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He sighed and climbed into the steaming tub. “Will you wash my back?”
“Of course.”
“Afterward, I will go tell Rolfe that you did not receive any missive from your brothers. Anyway, you do not need to fear further punishment. Our lord believes you have already suffered enough in the dungeon, regardless of the missive.” He settled back in the tub.
It had not occurred to Ceidre that further punishment would be awaiting her, not because she had suffered enough, but because she was innocent. Now she was relieved her husband believed the truth and would even defend her if need be, although apparently ’twas unnecessary.
As she helped him bathe, her thoughts immediately hurled themselves to the more imminent crisis—she wanted desperately to know if he had changed his mind regarding their relationship, but was afraid to bring up the topic, reluctant to give him ideas. She was relieved that under her touch he did not become aroused, and thought that this was a hopeful sign. But she found herself anticipating the night with worry and dread. If he had changed his mind, she realized there was no way she could stop him from consummating their marriage. Oh, she might hold him off for a night or two, owing to her recent ordeal, but ultimately she would be forced to capitulate.
Ceidre knew she was a fool. Guy was a good man and, although Norman, not half the enemy their lord was. He was kind. He now had his own fief. One day he would be a powerful northern lord in his own right, and she was his wife. She should accept it, she should warm his bed, bear his children. They were already becoming friends, and this friendship would grow. Not so long ago the suitor her father had approached had rejected her, and all her hopes of every marrying had been dashed. Yet fate had intervened. She had been gifted with a husband, both a fierce warrior and a gentle soul. What woman could be luckier? She was a fool if she continued to keep him at a distance.
Her mind discovered this quickly and was sure it was the truth. Yet she could not find the determination in her heart to change her relationship. She hoped it was not because a golden pagan image kept invading her thoughts.
Ceidre was surprised by the courtesy she received from the Norman’s men at supper. Not only did those seated near her inquire politely after her, Beltain openly apologized. Ceidre was pink with embarrassment. “Since I was a child,” she told him, “I have had an unnatural fear of that dungeon. You could not have known.”
She was seated next to her husband, who was on the Norman’s right. Alice had not come to take her place, and Ceidre wondered why. She avoided looking at Rolfe, although she was impossibly aware of his presence, of his every gesture, his every word and movement. Memories of his tender comforting of her assailed her, and whether real or not, they felt real. When he addressed her openly, she had no choice but to lift her gaze to his.
“How do you fare today, Lady Ceidre?”
Lady Ceidre, not Ceidre. She looked at him. His poise was relaxed, yet there was a bold tension in his blue eyes. He appeared to be casual, yet she could feel his intensity. He toyed with his eating dagger, yet his regard seared her. He was so handsome her breath was stolen away. “I am quite well, thank you.”
