by Brenda Joyce
She regarded him levelly, her big brown eyes wide, innocent. “I have lived in these harsh lands my entire life. Did you not know my father, the old eoarl, actually considered marrying me to one of them? To a Scot?” Her pitch was higher. “For peace, you understand. But I begged him to reconsider, and he did.”
“Marriage is the best and surest way to cement relations,” Guy said earnestly.
Rolfe chuckled. “What know you of marriage, Guy?”
The young man colored. “I know facts, my lord. Had William not changed his mind and married his daughter Isolda to Edwin of Mercia, you think there wouldn’t be harmonious, aye, sweet relations betwixst Saxon and Norman now?”
“William would have been twice the fool to give that man so much power,” Rolfe answered. “Even though, I recall, Isolda dared to beg him not to change his mind.”
“Well,” Alice said, “in this case the participants lie closer to home. Do you know the Scot my father approached rejected me?”
Rolfe looked at her, wondering what she was leading up to and not doubting that she was angling purposefully somewhere. Otherwise she would not flaunt a rejection, and never before had he heard her profess the least interest in politics or warfare. He raised a brow, to show interest.
Alice smiled, gazing at him squarely, despite the lie she was making. “He wanted Ceidre, and of course”— she could not keep bitterness out of her tone—“my father would not even consider it.”
Rolfe smiled, without pleasure; now he understood. “You think, Lady, he might still want your sister?” His tone was impassive.
“Yes,” Alice said, too quickly.
“My lord,” Guy said, “excuse me, but what a grand match for our sakes!”
Anger, furious and boiling, bubbled up in him. But all he said, so coolly, was “Perhaps.”
And he thought, I am a fool. I should marry her off to a Scot, secure my borders, maybe, and never lay eyes on the witch again. He imagined, graphically, some big redheaded Scot driving himself into Ceidre, and knew he would not do it.
Alice sat back, turning her face down to hide her smile. Rolfe did not miss it. He abruptly launched himself out of his chair and through the hall. A soft hand on his elbow, behind him, stopped him. “My lord?” Ceidre asked.
He was stunned that she had touched him. She clasped her hands now, twisting them, trying to meet his gaze and failing. He had heard the note of nervousness. “You wish a word with me?” he asked, trying to contain feelings, ripe ones, suspiciously heartfelt ones.
“Please, yes.” She bravely glanced at him again.
Was this a game or not? he wondered, and he, usually so decisive, could not decide. He gestured her to walk with him, and they strolled outside and down the broad wooden steps into the inner bailey. “Well?”
Ceidre flung a glance behind her. At first Rolfe thought it was to see who was nearby, then he realized she was making him aware of Wilfred, her guard. He began to understand; in fact, he suddenly knew why she had been so bold all day. She wanted him to cease his constant vigil of her. Rolfe smiled tightly.
“My lord, I beg a boon,” she said, confirming his suspicions.
He folded his arms and waited.
“Ever since I was a little girl,” Ceidre said, “there is this place I go.” She peeked at him. “To bathe.”
He said nothing, confused but infinitely patient, waiting for her to reveal herself.
“In the creek,” she blurted. “In a hidden spot. But since you have come, I have been afraid to do so, because of your men. I am most dirty. I want to go there, but how can I with this oaf you have set on me, day and night? Please, free me for an hour. What harm can I do in an hour?”
He imagined her naked, hip deep in the creek, her breasts full and gleaming. “You are a traitor, Ceidre,” he said quietly. “You have what you deserve.”
She swallowed. “If I go, with him”—she pointed at Wilfred—“he will rape me!”
“Come here, Will,” Rolfe said. When the young man had, he said, “Ceidre is going to bathe in the creek. You are to guard her, as usual, but you will turn your back. You are not to look. She has ten minutes to do what she may. If you touch her, the penalty is death, by my own sword” He looked at Ceidre. “You have nothing to fear.” Still, he waited.
Her face paled. “You—you are sure?” she croaked.
“Very sure. Of course,” he said coolly, “you can order a bath in the antechamber upstairs, if you wish.”
Her nostrils flared, her purple eyes darkened. “I want to bathe in the creek,” she said angrily. “I want to swim and frolic, I want to have fun.”
So now she wanted to swim, which was entirely different from bathing. “Ten minutes,” Rolfe said. “You may frolic to your heart’s contentment for ten minutes.”
A silence ensued. She was upset, he could see it. Why?
He seriously doubted this was about a swim or a bath in the creek. She was up to more mischief, or she was testing him, he wasn’t sure which. He had let her send Feldric to her brothers, because he wanted to be led to their lair, to locate it so he could capture them. Yet he was determined to prevent her from committing treason again, at all costs. For what punishment would he have to administer this time? Therefore, the guard remained. Did she hope to go to the creek to rendezvous with some Saxon traitor? Or did she think to entice him, seduce him, with this “bath” of hers? Was this a ploy to get him to follow her—right into the jaws of a trap?
“I do not trust him,” Ceidre finally said, referring to Wilfred.
How far would she go? If she truly wanted to bathe, and only to bathe, she would give it up. “Then do not swim, or bathe, or whichever it is you want to do.”
Surprisingly, a moistness entered her eyes. “You— you do not—you do not want to …”
“I do not want what?”
There was actually a tear on her lash. He had the urge to take it away with his fingertip. “You I would trust,” she said, so low he thought he had misheard.
“What?”
“You I would trust.” She wasn’t looking at him, she was regarding her hands, worrying the folds of her gown.
She wanted him to go with her to the creek, where she would bathe. His ears were actually ringing. Seduction or entrapment? “You want me to guard you while you shed your clothes and bathe naked?”
“N-no, I mean, y-yes.”
He caught her chin in his calloused grip, lifting it. “What game is this?” he demanded, even as he knew he should test her by playing the game to the end. He should follow her to the creek. His temple throbbed visibly. Would she dare to commit treason again? Would she?
“No game,” she whimpered, shrinking.
He was hurting her, hurting her because he wanted to go with her, wanted to watch her, wanted to take her … while she was most likely playing at treason again. “Do you think to seduce me?” he growled, easing his grip.
“N-no.”
“Do you want me, Ceidre?” he purred, dangerously.
“No! Yes! Stop!” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“Which is it?”
“Let me alone, leave me be!” she cried.
He released her. His heart was pounding. She was up to something, he doubted she merely lusted for him, knew he could not be so lucky. He was furious. Enraged because of her invitation, her probable motivation. “Go,” he choked. “Go now. Will is your guard. Bathe or not, I do not care.” He strode away. Later he would find out what she had done. He would not follow her into the jaws of a trap and thus catch her at treason, again.
Ceidre tried not to cry, because Will was just a few paces behind her. Under the shade of an apple tree in the orchard, she regained her shattered composure. The plan had been awful, and she, she was the worst seductress in the world. She was humiliated. She was hurt. And … if he truly wanted her, wouldn’t he have agreed to go with her?
It was a hot, airless day. Ceidre stared up at the sun, a burning ball, oblivious to Will, who was uncomfort
able and looking everywhere but at her. She hated the Norman. She hated Edwin. She had failed—she hated herself.
She would swim, she decided abruptly. It was hot, she was hot, and more important, she was angry. Now it would not be a seduction, she could enjoy herself, and if her guard dared look at her, she would kill him with the biggest rock she could find. Ceidre got up and marched through the orchard. She stopped so abruptly Will bumped into her, and she whirled on him. “I am going swimming,” she shouted at him. “And not for ten minutes, for the entire godforsaken day. And if you look, or if you try to touch me, I’ll curse you, your mother, your father, your brothers, I’ll give you the pox, and you will die!”
Will recoiled, white-faced.
It had felt good to yell, but now she was ashamed at having taken out her anger on the poor soldier. She strode on, ignoring him. She would pretend he wasn’t present. He would not ruin her swim, and she would pretend she was truly free.
And she would not think of how she had failed.
He had to know, and that night, at supper, he singled Wilfred out as everyone ate. “Did she go to the creek?”
“Yes,” Will said, growing pale. “I did not touch her, my lord.”
“I do not doubt it,” he said, his heart beating thickly. She had gone. Had she been honest, then? Had she really only wanted a swim? If so, did she really trust him to be able to stand guard over her while she bathed? The relief he felt was vast, yet he could not shed all of his suspicion. He turned his gaze to her. She was eating, with gusto. Her hair, coiled in a braid, gleamed from its fresh wash. His breathing was constricted.
Dare he trust her?
The next day Will sought him out as he watched his men drilling against each other. Every day they honed their skills as knights, with lance and shield, mace and sword. At the sight of Will, Rolfe grew agitated. Something had occurred or Will would not leave his post. “What has happened?” He was afraid she had relapsed into the sickness that had almost claimed her life. A dozen other equally fateful possibilities tore through his mind.
Will was panting from his run across the field. “She is at the creek. You did not give permission for her to go again, and I explained this, but she would not listen. Indeed, she laughed and asked if I would stop her. What shall I do?”
“You are not to leave her unguarded for a second,” Rolfe said, hard. “Your orders stand, Will. Go to her now.” He was furious that the boy had left her alone. Tomorrow he would set him to an unpleasant task for failing in his duty, maybe demoting him to stable duty, or those of a page. Will jogged off, and Rolfe watched him, watched him the whole way, seeing exactly where he disappeared into the trees. He memorized the spot.
He could not concentrate on his men. He kept glancing to the east, to the place where Will had disappeared, to where she bathed. So it was not a trap. She had not intended to commit treason. She had, truly, unbelievably, only wanted to swim in the creek. Was she naked? He pictured her thus. Beltain forced Guy to drop his lance in a furious charge, and he whooped.
“If you do not do better, Guy,” Rolfe said, “you will find your head on a Saxon’s pike.”
Guy scowled, angry. Rolfe barely watched as two of his best knights rode at each other for another exchange of blows. He glanced again at the woods where his nymph frolicked. With a growl, he raised his own lance. Guy and Beltain had just separated. Neither was unlanced this time.
“Beltain,” Rolfe called, slipping on his helmut with one hand. He picked up his shield. Beltain had readied himself, and Guy had moved aside. Rolfe nodded once and let Beltain begin. When the knight was racing toward him, Rolfe spurred his destrier into an answering gallop. He relished the feel of the powerful brute beneath him. He relished the sight of the terrain speeding in front of him. He relished the sight of Beltain on his huge bay, approaching head on. Rolfe smiled. His lance ripped into Beltain’s. Beltain’s own weapon barely glanced off the edge of Rolfe’s shield. Rolfe savagely reined in his stallion, whipped him around, and was attacking again before Beltain could recover. This time, his charge was so powerful Beltain was unhorsed. His men laughed and shouted. Rolfe sat panting, looking again toward the woods. His gaze pierced Guy. “Your turn.”
He called out a dozen of his men, one by one, and unhorsed half of them, broke Roger’s lance, and cracked Beau’s shield. Charles suffered a sprained ankle from his fall. The men no longer shouted and laughed. ’Twas not unusual for Rolfe to participate in their drills; in fact, it was expected. What was unusual was that he would drive himself remorselessly, taking on a dozen, instead of two or three or even four. His savage mood was all too visible.
Rolfe threw down his lance and then his helmut. His blood was bursting in his body, he was panting heavily. Sweat plastered his curls to his scalp. He looked, again, at the woods, then gave his steed his spurs.
At the edge of the line of trees he dismounted and proceeded on foot. He was no longer winded, but breathing easily, so he could hear the bell-like sounds of the running creek, and he could also hear splashing. And was she singing? He saw Will first. The boy had his back to the creek, his face to Rolfe, and he gaped. Rolfe made a motion for him to be silent and another for him to leave. And then he looked.
She was not naked. He was disappointed. She was waist deep in the creek in a thin undertunic. It was opaque, hinting at the warm tones of her flesh beneath. Her hair was loose, a glorious mass of bronze and gold, only the ends wet. She was laughing, splashing about, and was beauty immortalized. Lightly, unconsciously, Rolfe touched the tumescent protrusion that was his manhood.
She ducked beneath the water and came up sputtering. Her tunic molded her body, leaving nothing unrevealed. Her full breasts, her slim waist, and as she climbed onto a rock, he glimpsed the lushness of her hips and buttocks. Her nipples, he saw, were hard and tight. She dove in again.
His breathing was already harsh and uneven, and he cursed himself for coming. He reminded himself that she was his wife’s sister. He reminded himself of his vows to God. He was so hard he hurt. He touched himself again, through tunic and hose, and almost groaned. Never had he been so hard, this near to bursting. She surfaced. She moved thick, wet strands out of her face. Then she hopped onto a boulder, lifting her face to the sun, eyes closed, her body arched, breasts thrust up like an offering to the gods.
He was shaking. He reached into his hose, gripped the length of his cock, squeezed. She shoved thick strands of hair from her face, shaking her head like a wet puppy. The innocence of her action only heightened his need. His blood roared in his ears. His eyes slipped to what her parted legs offered to his view. His hand slid up. I should leave, he thought, and knew he would not.
She turned abruptly onto her stomach, and he was lost. He wanted to hold her lush buttocks, squeeze them, knead them, as he was kneading himself. He groaned, heard it, and knew from the way she had stiffened that she had heard it too. He didn’t care. He couldn’t. His hand was sweeping up and down his turgid length, no longer languid, but quickly now, he was so close, and God’s blood, he needed this, he needed her now….
She whipped upright, looked around, saw him, saw what he was doing. For one instant their gazes locked. When he closed his eyes, he still saw her, shocked, gasping. He released himself, then jerked faster, faster, and he cried out, coming violently, again and again.
His heart had not slowed when he opened his eyes, sure she was gone. She wasn’t. She stood now on the far side of the creek, eyes wide, mouth parted, quivering, arms folded across her breasts. Staring. He pulled his hose up. “Would you still trust me to guard your bath?” he asked harshly.
She shook her head wildly.
He wiped his hand on the tree near him, never removing his gaze from her. The next time, he wondered, would he be able to resist what he truly wanted? The question did not have to be answered. He had lost control of the situation. Therefore, the situation had to be changed.
“What?” Alice gasped.
“Beth told me, Lady,” Mary said ea
gerly, correctly assessing her mistress’s surprise as interest.
“They were here,” Alice cried, still stunned. “Are you sure? If this is a mistake, I will have you flogged and thrown in the dungeons!”
Mary shrank, her pretty mouth trembling. “’Tis the truth. Beth only saw Morcar, but he said Edwin had come too. She was sent to fetch Ceidre so they could meet.” Mary eyed her. “Are you not pleased with me?”
“Oh,” Alice breathed, her heart pounding. “I am pleased!” Absently she extracted a gold coin from her girdle, then pushed Mary toward the door. “Leave me, I must think!”
When Mary had left, Alice sank, trembling, upon the bed. She had known it would come to pass! Ceidre was playing at treason again. Only this time she had not been caught. What punishment, she wondered, would Rolfe inflict this time? Surely he would not let her get away with this! Meeting her own brothers right under his nose! Alice knew exactly what she would mete out, and she clapped her hands, smiling. This was her chance to get rid of her sister, finally.
She knew precisely how to proceed. Hurriedly she rose and ran downstairs to find her lord. He was just coming inside, looking quite relaxed, without his customary grimness, and Alice thought that this was most fortuitous. The gaze he turned upon her, at her greeting, was level and even, not annoyed. “I must speak with you,” Alice said huskily.
He smiled slightly. Indeed, his mood was good. His gesture was expansive. “A chair, my lady.”
“There must be no ears to overhear us,” she said. “Can we adjourn to our chamber, my lord?”
His look was bemused, but he allowed her to precede him upstairs. Trying not to be dramatic, Alice closed the heavy rosewood door behind them. She turned to find Rolfe seated on the bed, indolently lounging there. “My lord, I have spies about, my own spies.”
He looked at her. “Indeed?”
“Yes. And I have just learned something of great import that affects us both.” “So it seems.
Continue.”
“The afternoon you were hunting, Ceidre met with both Edwin and Morcar.”