The Conquerer - De Warenne 1, page 26
His lust had arisen, so immense, he thought he might explode in his hose.
Shaken by the overwhelming need to bury himself in her, to comfort her this way, and with the giving to take his own comfort, to reassure himself with her responses that she was still Ceidre, still his, he rose, separating himself from her. This time she did not make a sound of protest, but her gaze was glued to him. She lay exhausted and still. He noted, gladly, that she was breathing normally at last.
He walked to the door and bellowed for the hot water for his bath. He paused there, afraid to go near her again, seeking control, afraid of the terrible depth of need he had just experienced. He felt her riveted gaze and turned to see her staring with the same wideeyed look. There was apprehension mingled with the trust, and he saw that her fists were clenched upon the bedcovers.
"I am not leaving, do not worry," he said huskily, correctly understanding why she was anxious. He noted that her palms relaxed, some of the tension left her gaze.
He came back to her. "Are you all right now, Ceidre?" She did not answer. "Talk to me. Please."
She looked at the floor. "I was so afraid."
His hand found her hair. "I know."
She choked on her fear, an unshed sob. "I prayed," she whispered. "I prayed you would come."
He swept her back into his arms. "I did come, I did come, but not soon enough, and I am sorry." She clung, and he almost didn't hear the knock upon his door.
He watched the servants bring in the hot water, filling the tub. When they had finished he ordered them out. He returned to sit next to Ceidre, pulling her upright. His hands were already loosening her girdle. She did not protest. "You will feel better once you bathe," he said.
He tugged her onto her feet, between his thighs. She was weak and she clutched his shoulders. He stripped her of her gown, then her undertunic. He tried not to look at her naked body, at her small waist and full, shimmering breasts, at her lush hips, at her femininity. He carried her to the tub and gently placed her in it. She sighed, closing her eyes.
Rolfe knelt beside her. He watched her immerse herself under the water, watched her come up with a sputter. She floated loosely and turned her head to stare at him.
The water did not cover her big, beautiful breasts, and her long nipples were hard and pointed. He was undone, throbbing and needing release, needing to bury himself inside her. But her gaze was still dark with her phobia of the dungeon and wide with her childlike trust of him. He picked up the soap and handed it to her. His hand trembled; his entire body shook.
"No," she said, closing her eyes. "I am too tired. Tomorrow. . . ."
So he washed her hair himself. There was no question of calling a maid. Then he washed her feet and legs, only as far as they were covered with mud, to just past her knees. When he picked up her raw hands she whimpered, when he gently soaped them she wept without fighting him. He did not touch the rest of her body-she trusted him, but he did not trust himself.
He wrapped her in clean linen and carried her to his bed. As he placed her in it, she said, "Do not leave me," in her raw, tortured voice.
"I will not," he promised.
"Hold me."
He hesitated, then was lying beside her, and before he could embrace her, she was crawling into his arms. She fell instantly asleep. He did not.
Chapter 46
Rolfe left Ceidre sleeping soundly on his' bed, curled up in a tight ball, like a child.
His strides were hard and determined as he crossed the hall and swung open the door to the solar, with such force that it clapped like thunder against the wall. Alice, seated in bed, watched him approach with wide, frightened eyes.
He did not pause. As soon as he was close enough, he hit her, hard, across the face, the blow making her scream and fall back onto the pillows. He had used enough force that the slap would leave an ugly mark, but not enough to crack her jaw. Shrinking from him, she whimpered. He stood over her, panting with his rage.
"Your ill will toward your sister has gone too far, Alice. You are confined indefinitely to this chamber. You are not to leave it under any circumstances, do you understand me?"
She looked at him, crouched on her hands and knees now, her small bosom rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide.
"Do you understand me?" he ground out.
Her mouth opened. "My lord," she said, and her tone was thick and husky. Her gaze was on his mouth, and then it moved to his groin. "My lord," she breathed, and the tone ended on a low, sexual moan.
He recalled her begging him to thrust harder and hurt her in his bed, and he was overwhelmed with disgust and revulsion. He turned abruptly, leaving. He heard her chasing after him and was so stunned when she threw herself at his back that he froze. She groaned, pressing herself against his buttocks. He twisted around and shook her off, too late realizing, as she gasped, moaning from the floor, that he was arousing her, not frightening her. He left, slamming the door behind him.
A quick glance into his own chamber showed him the Ceidre was still soundly asleep, untortured by dreams. The sight of her was enough to make him linger, that odd swelling feeling bubbling again in his heart. He forced himself to turn and go downstairs.
The hall was empty save for Guy, Beltain, and Athelstan. Although it was the latter who asked how Ceidre was, Rolfe saw the agonized look in Beltain's eyes and the steady one in Guy's. "She will be fine," he said grimly. His look was utterly cool as it lanced Ceidre's husband. "You do not inquire after your wife?"
Guy flushed. "Of course I do."
"She is asleep-in my bed."
Guy said nothing.
His anger was impossible to swallow. "Do you want to wake your wife, after her ordeal, and remove her to your own chambers? She is welcome to stay where she is. I will take a pallet in the hall."
Guy shifted uneasily. "I do not want to disturb your comfort, my lord." '
"You do not disturb me," Rolfe said quickly. "Fine, she may stay." His tone dismissed Guy, and he turned his gaze upon Beltain.
His captain immediately dropped to one knee, unsheathing his sword and laying it at Rolfe's feet. "I am at your command," he said levelly.
"Sheath your sword," Rolfe said. "If I had not seen, twice now, the sincere regret in your eyes, I would strip you of your command. The dungeon is no place for a lady. Yet that you considered her cunning does not escape me. You could not conceive of her fear of the pit. Therefore, take up your sword, rise, and learn from your mistakes."
Beltain stood lithely, his expression level. "Thank you, my lord, for your clemency."
Rolfe dismissed him with his hand. Beltain did not know how close he had come to being murdered just a few hours ago. He realized he was alone with Athelstan, and he frowned, anxious to go back upstairs. His gaze wandered where his thoughts had gone, and Athelstan followed it.
"You had best send the lady Ceidre to Dumstanbrough as soon as she is well."
Rolfe gave him a look.
"You cannot bear this situation, my lord, and you know it well. Guy is not jealous, which is good, and he trusts you, which is better, or you would lose a fine captain and a truly loyal soul."
"You think I do no know this? And what do you suddenly care for my dilemmas?"
"You are a just man, a good leader," Athelstan said softly. "It is a shame that 'tis war, not peace, which brings you to us."
"Dwelling on what should be is for fools and poets."
"Send her with her husband to Dumstanbrough," Athelstan urged. "If you lose your best man, you will come to hate her."
"I am Rolfe de Warenne," Rolfe said softly. "I am Rolfe the Relentless, the king's best man. You think I cannot control a mere passing fancy? Think again. Yes, the witch is enchanting, but never will I forget she belongs to another. Now go to bed, old man."
"Gladly," Athelstan said, turning. He paused. "Passing fancy or obsession, my lord?"
"To bed!"
"And which bed will you go to?"
Rolfe did not reply, watching him leave. The old Saxon had more nerve than most men. Obsession? 'Twas not an obsession. He would not allow it to be such.
Ceidre awoke and was instantly aware of whose bed she was in.
Her memories were harsh-and tender.
The awful nightmare of her imprisonment for a day and a half, which had seemed like eternity, was abrasive but fading. More potent, it seemed, were the events since her rescue and her recollections of her rescuer.
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 drew 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.
CHAPTER 4 7
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 Nor-man'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."
He nodded and turned to Athelstan, and began discussing the breeding of a wolfhound.
Once having gazed upon him, Ceidre found her glance constantly flitting to where he sat. He had the presence of royalty-the powerful presence of royalty. Seeing him reminded her that by now her brothers were awaiting information. Albie had told her to send Feldric again as soon as she had worthy news to impart. Of course she had no news; she had not become his mistress and was unable to gain his trust and his ear. She found it difficult to remember, now, why she had so furiously decided never to become his leman. She felt no anger toward him, none at all. As if sensing her regard, he shot her a look.
Their glances held and burned.
Ceidre tore her gaze away and continued to eat. Worry raised itself frankly now. She had been so involved with her own problems, with being married to Guy, with being taken on her wedding night by the Norman, with being imprisoned in the dungeon, she had forgotten the very serious predicament she was in. Her brothers were planning a rebellion by the end of August. They were intending to overthrow Rolfe, and, she assumed, to drive William south, and out of Mercia. They were expecting her to provide them with information. She knew they had other spies, but none so well placed here at Aelfgar. She had promised them she would become the Norman's mistress and obtain information. They were depending upon her. They knew her nature, and knew she would not fail them.
Which, of course, she could not.
Now that she was no longer angry, she could think clearly, logically, and knew she had to fulfill her duties to her brothers first and foremost. She eyed the Norman. She was a terrible seductress, this was proven. She had tried to seduce him and he had married her to his vassal. Even now she felt the pinpricking of hurt. Yet it was nothing compared to what she had felt before. She was not sure, in truth, if he still wanted her, as he had on her wedding night, and even if she did attempt a seduction, would he forget his loyalty to Guy? On the other hand, he was their liege lord, and if he really wanted her, he would be arrogant enough to take her and justify it because of his overlordship.
Her stomach was in knots. Now that her own problems had faded into insignificance, she felt the great weight of responsibility that her brothers had placed upon her. Gazing upon the Norman, she knew to do nothing was to fall. She must, at least, try something.
He looked at her again, his gaze sharp.
