Alice did, slamming the door hard, then shivering, waiting with tensed expectation for him to intrude with his fury, to punish her for her insolence, beat her, rape her…. He did not come.
She had lost all her power.
She was nothing, a prisoner, with only a few servants to obey her commands. Ceidre had pushed her into this position, and Ceidre would usurp her place entirely if she did not do something to prevent it.
“If only she had died in the dungeon,” Alice muttered, fists clenched. “If only there was a way to rid myself of her once and for all!”
* * *
Ceidre was aware of a new deference the instant she entered the great hall for the noonday meal. She was careful not to look at Rolfe, just as she knew he did not look at her. Yet his men ceased their conversation at her appearance, parted so she could make her way through them, and one, whom she did not know, held her elbow as she seated herself. Beltain, on her right, offered her wine with a smile. She flushed hotly, despairing that everyone had learned that she was sleeping with the Norman.
She was happy to see, however, that Alice’s chair was still vacant.
Now that Guy was gone, she was on Rolfe’s right. It was disturbing. She kept her eyes down and concentrated on eating, yet once, when she reached for bread, he did too, and their hands met. Her startled gaze flew to his, as his did to hers. For a brief instant they looked at each other, and then she quickly averted her glance. Rolfe tore off a piece of bread and handed it to her politely. “After you, Lady,” he said causally.
“Thank you,” she managed, just as polite. Her ears were burning.
Ceidre knew, if everyone in the hall was aware she was the Norman’s mistress, her sister knew it as well.
She felt guilty. Alice had wanted to marry the Norman, and Ceidre knew she cherished being his wife. She was sure that she would be faithful and would willingly bear him sons. They had shared marital relations as well. Ceidre knew, with despair, that Alice had enjoyed it, for the Norman was a superb lover. She felt she owed Alice something—an explanation. But she dreaded it—Alice would only be angry. Indeed, Ceidre thought, if our roles were reversed, I’d want to kill her! If he were my husband, I would not let another woman touch him, not if I could help it!
Ceidre’s thoughts were distracted throughout the meal. Afterward, when the men were dispersing, she decided she must go and try to explain to her sister. She debated asking the Norman’s permission, then decided against it. He might forbid her from seeing Alice, either because of her punishment, or because they were wife and mistress. Ceidre was about to go outside to wait for an opportune moment to sneak upstairs, when a messenger from William was announced.
Rolfe returned to the table with the messenger, ordering everyone else out. Ceidre lingered as his men, already in the process of departing, continued to do so. Her heart was thumping. She felt a sick knot in her stomach. Would he ask her to read a missive again? Yet she did not see a scroll.
Rolfe lifted his gaze and looked at her sharply, then, seeing it was she who remained, a softness appeared in his eyes and upon his face. Ceidre bit her lip, knowing her color was high. They were alone in the hall, except for the messenger. “I will speak with you later,” he said, his tone softer than she had ever heard him use before. It was a dismissal.
Ceidre left.
“What do you want?” Alice cried, furious.
It was several hours later, and Ceidre had found the opportunity to steal unnoticed upstairs. She quietly closed the door behind her. “Alice, we must talk.”
“Talk! I don’t want to even look at you, much less talk!”
“I know you are upset, and I am here to explain.”
“Explain?” Alice laughed. “Oh, I understand, Ceidre, believe me. You cannot resist that big cock, can you? You think I do not know myself, firsthand, how much pleasure it brings?” She sneered. But there were tears in her eyes.
Ceidre could not help imagining Alice in the Norman’s arms, and it hurt. She momentarily could not speak.
“He is truly insatiable, is he not?” Alice continued, voice high. “Do you know that this morning, when he returned before dawn, we had a fight and then he took me—in the hall, on the floor?”
Ceidre stared. “I do not believe you,” she said. The problem was, it was just the Norman’s style to do exactly what Alice had described. Yet could he have still had the stamina to do so after being with her all night?
“What, are you upset? You think he will rest exclusively unto you? Hah! You know he is not a man to be faithful to any woman, and certainly not to his whore!”
Alice wanted to hurt her, and Ceidre was aware of it. This did not stop her from succeeding. Alice was right. The truth hurt. It hurt so much she had to ignore it. With resolve, Ceidre folded her arms tightly. “I did not want to become his mistress,” she said stiffly. “You know me well, Alice, you know I would never give myself willingly to the Norman—to the man who has stolen Aelfgar from Ed.”
“He raped you?” Alice sneered skeptically, but her eyes were bright with sharp interest.
It was not in Ceidre’s nature to lie, but she wanted to somehow spare her sister further pain. Instead of recalling all the pleasure she received in the Norman’s arms, she tried to focus on that first night, the first time, when he had raped her on her wedding night. “Yes.”
“You liar!” Alice shrilled. “Mary’s brother-in-law saw the two of you in the orchard—and it wasn’t rape! You were hot, he was hot! You liar!”
Ceidre paled. They had been seen? Embarrassment turned her pink. “I don’t know what he saw,” she mumbled, dismayed, realizing her attempts to explain were failing miserably. “It must—it must have been the Norman with another.”
“Liar, liar, liar! Witch liar!” Alice screamed, fists clenched. “You enjoy it, you are a whore like your mother, Ceidre. Just like your mother, only a whore, a damn whore!”
