De Warenne Dynasty 01 - The Conquerer (46 page)

but with time she had shown that she was good and kind. Hereward was something of a hero to the villagers, so his woman, pregnant with his babe, was received without too much consternation, despite the eye, and with a degree of hospitality. Mayhap, the villager thought, if her man would come home for a while the sadness would leave her.

Ceidre walked with the woman to her cottage and tended her husband, ailing from a chronic cough. She accepted a loaf of fresh bread and some smoked tongue in return for her services, then started home.

Home. A lump gathered in her throat as she saw the tiny hut she now called home. She hugged her mantle more tightly to her breasts, sore now in her seventh month of pregnancy. Would she ever see home again?

She knew she wouldn't.

She had learned from Hereward the night after the battle what had happened: Morcar dead.Edwin captured. Albie the traitor. She had wept for days for Morcar, beautiful, blue-eyed, bold Morcar. Life was so unfair, to take the best she offered. Later, more news had reached them-thatEdwin had been taken toYork , his sentence imprisonment for life. He would be transferred toLondon whenWilliam and his troops leftWestminster after Christmas. At least he still lived.

Rolfehad been given back the castellanship ofYork .

Ceidre wondered if she would ever see him again.

She knew she could never go back. To return meant giving up her freedom, sharing the same fate that had befallen her brother-imprisonment for life. Only a fool would agree to such, yet there were times when she missedRolfe so terribly she was ready to pack up and leave, return to Aelfgar, accept her confinementjust to be with him.

He hated her. If he had loved her, nothing would have kept her away. She would return to Aelfgar, surrender herself, and accept her imprisonment. Even if she would seeRolfe only from time to time, those few shared moments would be worth it. But he had never loved her. AsGuy had said, as even she had known, he was not a man who could love a woman, and he would never love her now, after her treachery. So she would not return-she could never go back.

One day, when she was old, her son full grown, she would send him his son, a final parting gift from her, proof of her everlasting love.

Rolfereined in on the hill above Llefewellyn, looking down upon the dozen scattered huts. Smoke rose from the roofs, the sky was gray, foretelling rain or snow. His heart was thudding so thickly he could barely breathe.

He had been looking for her for months.

And now, at last, he had found her.

Immediately after Aelfgar was secured, he had gone to her chamber. His first priority was to make sure she was unharmed, as he fully expected her to be. But most of all, he just needed to be with her. Never had he needed her before as he did then. Only Ceidre could help chase away the pain ofGuy 's death. He
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needed to hold her-and be held.

His disbelief to find her gone was overwhelming.

He stormed through the keep, shouting for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. 'Twas finally the prisoner who coldly informed him of her escape.Rolfe andEdwin stared at each other,Rolfe so enraged he could not speak. Then he thought of how he had treated her, as a whore, and knew he could not blame her for running away. His shoulders sank. She was gone. She probably hated him.

Her words came back to him, haunting him. "I love you," she had said. Was it true? Was there any possible way it could be true, after he had abused her so badly? He knew, in that instant, that he desperately needed not just her body, but her love-that he could not live without it. He wondered if he loved her.

It was a shocking question. The answer was elusive.

He had never thought love anything more than an excuse for lust, or the humor of the weak and foolish.

He was not weak, he was no fool, yet he could not live without her. If this was love, so be it, then he had been struck.

His resolve became obsession. She was his. He wanted her back, and he would find her, and she would never leave him again. He would not keep her a prisoner, although in fact she would be such. He would keep her so pleasured and pleased that she would not think to leave him. He knew he could do ithe was a man who did what he intended. But first, he had to find her and convince her to return, for he would not force her. He would beg her for forgiveness. He, who had never begged anything from anyone.

He would find her when he found the rebels, and slowly, methodically, he encouraged a network of spies until he got a message to Hereward. The Wake was understandably reluctant to meet him, butRolfe offered him peace on his northeastern borders. Hereward agreed. Then there was the problem of getting him to reveal Ceidre's whereabouts.

"You want her back as a prisoner,Norman , or a mistress?" Hereward asked bluntly.

"She is mine,"Rolfe said. "She will be treated well, do not fear this. Yes, she is stillWilliam 's prisoner, but I will see that she does not lack for any comfort." His gaze flashed. "Nothing will stop me from finding her."

They made a deal.Rolfe released one of Hereward's best men, whom he had taken prisoner during the battle for Aelfgar, and Hereward told him where she was.

Rolfesignaled to his men to wait for him there on the hill, and he spurred his gray down to the rutted road. He saw her instantly as she crossed the path ahead of him. She was walking in the same direction as he rode, her back to him, her hair in one thick braid, glinting like bronze fire. He could barely control himself; he wanted to sweep her into his arms and hold her, kiss her. He merely moved his mount into a faster walk and came up behind her.

She glanced casually over her shoulder to see who was passing and stiffened, eyes wide. It could not be!

"My lady,"Rolfe said politely, "I would have a word with you?" It was a question, not a demand.

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Ceidre stared, her hand on her racing heart, wondering if she might faint. Oh, he was here, sitting like a king on that stallion, devastatingly handsome, golden and pagan, like one of the lost gods. She blinked the sudden rush of tears.

"Lady?" he asked unsteadily. His gaze slipped to her swollen belly and breasts, then back up to hold her eyes.

"Have-" She swallowed, "Have you come to take me prisoner, my lord?" Tears blurred her vision.

Rolfeslid off his gray, holding the reins awkwardly. "'Tis I who am a prisoner," he said roughly. His gaze locked on hers. "You have imprisoned my heart, Ceidre."

She stared, hands clasped tightly. "What do you say?"

"I want you back," he said hoarsely. He looked at her belly again. "Ceidre-you carry my child!"

"Who else's?" she quavered, half smiling, half crying.

"My child." He gulped. He took an unsteady breath. Elation and joy warred with anxiety and fear and need. "I will not force you to return. Ceidre . . . can you forgive me? Can you forgive me and return to Aelfgar with me?"

"You are asking my forgiveness?" She gasped.

He slipped easily to one knee. "Yes."

She could not believe it, this was a dream. He was here, bowing before her, asking her forgiveness.

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord," she said softly, tears of joy falling.

He rose. "Your generosity has always overwhelmed me," he said huskily.

She touched his face. "I love you."

He closed his eyes, a ragged sound escaping, then pulled her slowly into his embrace. He held her tightly for a long, long time. "I cannot live without you," he finally said against her ear. "I cannot. If this is love, then I have been smitten."

She leaned back in his embrace to look up at him and saw tears glimmering in his eyes. She knew better than to comment upon them, however, and she smiled though her own vision was quite blurred. "If you do not know how to love, then I will gladly teach you," she whispered.

He smiled too, shakily. "You are a good teacher, you could teach me anything. Ceidre"-his tone lowered

-"teach me love. Teach me-now."

She took his beautiful face in her hands and kissed him, with all the tender love she felt. Yet, 'twas impossible, they were lusty souls, and the kiss turned deep and hard and frantic. When he pulled her against him she felt his sex, thick and hard, and she laughed, weeping at the same time.

"'Tis a sign of my love," he told her, kissing her again.

They separated to walk hand in hand, with urgency and many sidelong, burning glances, to her cottage.

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He embraced her instantly, seeking her mouth with hot, hard lips. Ceidre clung, shaking. She could not bear to be apart from him for another moment.

He laid her on the pallet and undressed her, running his hands over her reverently, over her face, her neck, her breasts, and her hips. He stroked her swollen belly. "You are so beautiful, Ceidre," he told her.

"Yet your beauty is not just of the flesh." He looked at her. " 'Tis of the soul."

"What a wonderful thing to say," she whispered.

His eyes were shining suspiciously. "You grow my babe," he muttered thickly, his hand exploring her stomach's contours. Then he corrected, "Our babe."

She laughed, a joyous sound.

He bent and kissed one full breast, then her navel, her belly. She gasped when he kissed the triangle of hair between her thighs. "What are you doing, my lord?"

"Rolfe," he corrected. He spread her thighs and kissed her again, this time his tongue flicking deeply into her. She gasped. "I love you," he said. He froze, then looked up. Their gazes met.

She smiled slightly. He would learn, he was already learning. Then her smile abruptly faded, because he lowered his head and was licking her with his tongue, lifting the bud of her flesh, gently drawing it into his mouth. She came in a violent, arching climax, and when she was through, he slid into her, his gaze hot and brilliant. "You will never want to leave me," he whispered in her ear, stroking steadily.

"I never wanted to leave you," she told him frankly, and then there were no words, just touches, kisses, and their bodies fused and pushing rhythmically together, until their world shattered brilliantly, as one.

"Will you return with me?" he asked, many hours later.

Ceidre was stirring a stew, and she turned. She saw the anxiety in his gaze, and her heart went out to this strong, proud man who had learned to ask, not demand who beneath his warrior's armor was flesh and blood, heart and soul. "Yes. I love you,Rolfe ."

He smiled with genuine pleasure and came to her, wrapping her in a hug. "I need your love, sweeting,"

be said. "I cannot live without it."

She turned to face him. "Does this mean you forgive me for Cavlidockk?"

"Yes," he said. "You are a patriot, as am I"

Their gazes held. Many unspoken thoughts and worries flew between them. "We must talk,"Rolfe said heavily, and taking her hand, he guided her to the table.

"I am sorry," he said slowly, "that I amNorman and you are Saxon. Yet you do love me."

She heard the question. She would reassure him forever if she must. "I do."

He smiled slightly, then continued. "I am sorry Morcar is dead, truly. Your brother is imprisoned. At least he is alive. Can you accept me as lord of Aelfgar, Ceidre?" His tone was blunt.

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"I do." She was sad and joyous at once. "There are things we cannot control, I cannot control. I have grieved endlessly for Morcar, and I grieve forEd . But I love you.Rolfe , I will never betray you again."

"I know." He hesitated. "Ceidre, there is something you must know. When you return, you will still be the king's prisoner. I cannot change that. I can attempt to talk toWilliam , and I will, but he does not forgive treason readily, and the truth is, I doubt he will lift your sentence. To return"-he took a breath-"is to put yourself back in my custody."

"I understand," she said levelly.

"I will never hurt you," he said fiercely. "I will protect you with my life. No one shall take you from me, I swear this. I will not allow it. You are mine-and this means you have all that is mine, and that you have my protection until I die. Do you understand this?"

"Yes." She took a breath. "I am going home with you,Rolfe . Even had you not said this, I would go. I cannot live apart from you either."

He smiled, taking her hand, holding her gaze.

"I would I could marry you," he said suddenly.

Those simple words meant more to her than anything he could possibly have said. She looked at the floor, willing herself not to cry.Alice was still in a convent inFrance . "I am flattered," she said softly.

"You know it cannot be," he said, lifting her chin so he could gaze into her eyes.

"I know."

"But in my heart," he said, his blue eyes locked with hers, "you are my wife."

No words could have made her happier.

"Alicewas never my wife in my heart," he said. "You know the man I am. When I pledge you my heart, it will never be taken back. You are my wife in my heart: You will always have my protection, my loyalty, my fidelity, and-" He hesitated, and then he flushed.

She was so happy she was crying. She gripped his hand. "'Tis only words," she encouraged softly. "Only words. A man like you is afraid of a few small words?" she teased through her tears.

He smiled slightly. "You also have my love. We are married in our hearts and, I hope, in the eyes of God."

She left her chair to sit in his lap, holding him. He let her, tucking his head in her bosom. She kissed him, trembling with love, stroking his hair. He could not remain submissive for long, and he shifted so he was holding her. She did not care, she laughed, she wept. Never had she been so happy. She knew the man he was, this husband of her heart. He wasRolfede Warenne , he wasRolfe the Relentless, proud, strong, a man of honor above all else. He had just given her everything she wished for, all that he could: He had given her his heart, his love.