She blushed. “I imagine you are easy enough to please.”
“Release is easy, yes,” he agreed, “But that is not the kind of pleasure I am talking about.”
She smiled and nuzzled her face against his chest.
He stared down at her. This second time they had loved passionately, fiercely, for hours, yet he did not feel sated—there was an urgency still within him, not as intense, but distinct nonetheless. He wasn’t sure it was entirely physical either, but if not, then what was it? He wondered if Ceidre really understood what he meant—that she had taken him to heights of ecstasy so high they were unbearable, and now, lying here in his arms, she was bringing him equal pleasure, although completely different, soothing and calm and replete, except for that elusive niggling sense of urgency he could not shake. Never had he experienced this last kind of pleasure before. When had he, in fact, ever dallied abed with a woman after fucking? The answer was an unqualified never.
He wanted to tell her all this, but did not know how.
“Is your brother as big as you are?”
“What!”
She looked up innocently, saw his expression and grinned. “Do not be lewd! I meant is he as tall, as broad of shoulder—is he as fine of face?”
“What is this interest in my brother?” He was absurdly pleased with her compliments, and his tone was rough to hide this. “How do you even know I have a brother?”
“I have my witch’s ways.” She smiled; he smiled. “Is he not here in England?”
“Yes, in the south, and if you must know, he is almost as tall, but slimmer. Height runs in my family, but not the breadth. I do not know where I got these shoulders from. Mayhap some Viking ancestor.”
“Your shoulders are very fine,” she said, touching one. “Will you ever go back to Normandy?”
“There is nothing for me there.”
“But do you not have family there? Parents? Other brothers, sisters, cousins?”
He smiled. “Yes, of course. Ceidre,” he explained patiently, “I am the fourth and youngest son. I followed William to Normandy for the promise of my own land, a patrimony for my sons. You understand the way of the world. There was nothing for me in Normandy, and there is still nothing for me there. My life is here now. Aelfgar is my life.”
She looked at him, rising up. “’Tis not fair,” she said, eyes flashing.
“I do not want to fight.”
She instantly softened. “Nor do I.”
He looked at her breasts. “Your tits are magnificent, do you know that?”
“So I have been told.”
He had been caressing one, now he froze. “Who in hell told you such?”
She laughed. “I wanted to see your reaction. No one, my lord.”
“Guy does not tell you how beautiful you are?”
Ceidre hesitated. She looked away, thinking frantically, trying to decide if she should tell him the truth.
“Ceidre?” There was a hint of warning in his tone. She gazed at him. “Guy has never seen my breasts, my lord.”
He stared. “I do not believe this—he beds you in the dark or with your clothes on?” Rolfe sat up. There was distinct jealousy in his tone.
“He does not bed me.”
“What are you saying?” he demanded.
“He has never touched me. He is afraid of me because I am a witch and does not wish to consort with the devil’s own. He is my husband, yes, but he takes his pleasure elsewhere. We have an understanding and it suits us both.”
Rolfe could not believe it; he gripped her shoulders. “’Tis the truth?”
