De Warenne Dynasty 01 - The Conquerer (45 page)

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knees, reaching down to stroke her wet flesh where they joined.

Ceidre looked at his face. He was watching his own hands upon her woman's flesh, but then he looked up and their eyes met. The blazing passion in his brought her to a rapid, writhing climax.

He was no longer her warden, her torturer, but her lover. He did not finish, but wrapped her in his arms, moving steadily within her, his mouth on hers. Again and again he brought her to a shuddering climax, and finally, with a hoarse gasp, he spewed himself into her.

Ceidre held him, stroking his sweat-drenched back.

Tear were in her eyes. He had loved her as if Cavlidiocy had never happened. Dare she hope that this meant something? Dare she?

He rolled free of her and lay on his back, one hand across his eyes, panting.

She studied him openly, her heart near to bursting with hope and gladness. He was tall, golden with muscle, impossibly handsome. Her hopes started to crumble when he got up without looking at her. In the course of their passion he had shed his clothes with her help. Now he dressed efficiently, not sparing her a glance. "My lord?" Ceidre tried.

When he turned to her, a hard, cynical expression, one she had hoped never to see again, was firmly in place. His eyes were narrowed. His fine nostrils were flared with disdain. She felt her hope collapsing like a landslide, and she hugged her hands to her heart. "My lord?" Her tone quavered.

"If you have something to say," he said coldly, "say it."

He still hated her. He would never forgive her.Guy 's words echoed--he has strict ideas of duty and loyalty. He will never forgive you your betrayal, Ceidre. And hadn'tGuy also said that he was not the kind of man who was capable of loving a woman? She was a fool to love him, a naive fool! She swallowed.

"Is something happening? Why is the tower so hushed?"

His smile was ugly. "Think you to betray me again? Do you think"-and he laughed-"because I have shared your whore's passion that now I share my command's secrets? Think again!"

Tears blurred her vision as he marched to the door. Her heart pounded loudly, hurtfully, so much so that she bearely heard him when he paused. "Do not think to leave this chamber tomorrow regardless of what passes," he said.

She was crying, her face turned away, so she did not understand what he had said. And she missed the rest of his words entirely, when he added, low, "You will be safe, Ceidre."

She was only aware of her heart's agony, and the ironic, insane thought-how was it possible to have your heart broken twice?

Chapter 58

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At the edge of the woods, the Saxons paused. Across the moat lay the wall with the hidden door.

Although more than fifty men, they blended with ease into the forest, not moving, not making a sound. It was black out in the pitch of night just before dawn. Morcar crouched next toEdwin .

"'Tis time to go,"Edwin said firmly.

Morcar smiled, nostrils flared with excitement. He turned to his brother and was embraced in a massive, long hug. WhenEdwin released him, Morcar grinned. "Soon," he whispered. "Where's Albie?"

"Here" came a voice, and Albie stepped through some bushes.

Edwinslapped them both on the back. "God speed you," he whispered.

Morcar gripped his hand. "To victory," he said, then he was gone, racing across the open with Albie on his heels, lost in the engulfing blackness of the night.

At the moat Albie waited, handing Morcar the one end of a rope bridge. Morcar waded in, grinned once at the icy cold, a flashing of white teeth, then plunged on and swam for the far side. When he had reached it he tied the end of the rope bridge to a plank in the wall. Twenty minutes later a dozen men had crossed, with the rest waiting their turn.

When half their number had joined them beneath the keep's wall, the sky was just faintly lightening, dark now, but not ebony. Morcar gathered his dozen men around him. "Where is Albie?" he asked, looking for his second-in-command.

No one knew where he was, and Morcar felt both worry that something had befallen him and a frisson of nameless fear. He could not wait. They must be within the walls before dawn. "We go," he said, raising his sword.

The door was open, and Morcar smiled briefly, intending to thankBeth in the way he knew best. He slipped through, his men on his heels. He was four steps into the bailey when he saw a glinting of steel, but it was too late.

He turned to meet the attack, sword lifted, when he felt the blade piercing his side. There was a deafening roar all around him asNormans materialized from the shadows, engaging his men. He felt his own sword slicing flesh as the word sliced through his mind betrayed. We have been betrayed.

Edwinwas in the thick of battle in the inner bailey. His heart was sick with the disaster surrounding him.

Saxons lay slain everywhere, yet still a dozen fought, as he did. He knew they had been betrayed.

He thrust his blade into the heart of his opponent, only to feel a blade enter his hip. Whirling, he met this new attack, his face grim, determined. He instantly recognized his foe, who also recognized him. 'TwasLe Chante-Ceidre's husband.

Edwinmet parry for parry furiously, with determination and skill.Guy , like himself, was covered with blood. Their blades clashed.Guy was tired,Edwin saw, and, like himself, wounded, bleeding from the shoulder. Another blow fromEdwin 's sword forced the younger man against the wall, off balance.Edwin did not hesitate. He skewered him.

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He paused, panting, not watching asGuy sank to the ground with a moan. They had lost. He would weep later. He saw no sign of his brother. He knew he must escape--as long as he remained alive, there was hope of another rebellion, hope of victory. Yet he was also on the keep's steps-and his sister was within.

He was a fool if he tried to free her. His duty was to Aelfgar.

Rolfepaused, panting, his sword in hand. It dripped blood. He himself was unscathed. The battle was all but over, he thought, surveying the bailey grimly. His men were in control, driving the last of the Saxons to the wall. The rebels lay slaughtered, a few of his own men among the corpses. Yet he saw at a glance that he had suffered very few losses. There was no rejoicing. He was too pumped up with the battle, still alert, rigid with tension.

Where were the leaders,Edwin and Morcar?

Unable to stop himself, his glance strayed upward, toward the tower chamber where Ceidre was. She, of course, was safe, for no Saxon had penetrated the keep. He thought he could discern her by the arrow slit, and resolutely he pulled his glance away. Gripping his sword with renewed determination, he turned the corner of the keep and began a thorough search for the rebel leaders.

His gaze scanned everywhere, passing over the dead and dying and the few pairs of soldiers still engaged in combat. Then, like a pendulum, his glance swung backward over the path it had traveled, backward, over blood and gore, dirt and stone, the inert and the active, backward-to Guy.

Rolfecried out.

Guylay unmoving, and his mail hauberk was crimson with blood.

Rolferan to him and dropped to his knees. "Guy!Guy !" And before his hands even cupped his face, he knew he was dead.

He held his best friend's face, blinking back the hot rush of tears. "Guy," he croaked. "Aahhh." He hesitated, then abruptly pulled him up against his chest. Still he fought the goddamn urge to weep.

"My friend," he said hoarsely. "God keeps you now."

Ceidre stayed near the arrow slit, watching, horrified. What remained of the fighting was on the other side of the tower, and she could barely see the last of the battle, just a few men thrusting swords and swinging maces, a few dead, mutilated bodies on the ground. But she had seenRolfe earlier, wielding his sword methodically, fatally. He had decapitated a Saxon in one slicing blow, then turned to meet another Saxon about to stab him from behind, easily turning this new opponent back, then dismembering him, finally piercing his heart. Ceidre had watched because she was afraid-afraid for her brothers, who were out there somewhere, and afraid forRolfe .

When she had seen the Saxon coming up behind him as he was engaged, she had screamed in warning.

She doubted he had heard. When he had killed his attacker, she had wept in relief.

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He was no longer in sight, yet below her a few men still fought, and she watched, praying.

Her door swung open; she whirled.

"Edwin! "

He was bleeding, limping, bloody sword in hand, but he was alive. "We must go, come with me!" he shouted.

She, who had always obeyed her brother unquestioningly, hesitated. Her mind was full with one thought-Rolfe.

"Come," he cried, grabbing her arm.

Edwinwas authority, theNorman hated her, and she could not decide-she went with him. Together they ran down the stairs. The hall was empty, but outside could be heard the shouts of men, the moans of pain, the ringing of swords.

Edwinhad her hand. There was no time to talk, not even to ask him how badly he was hurt. He hustled her into the inner bailey, down the steps, and across the courtyard. Men lay dead and dying around them; men fought in isolated pairs around them. He suddenly froze at an open door, one Ceidre had not known existed. She was frightened and her blood coursed with the primitive need to flee and escape. She did not understand why he had stopped. "Go," he suddenly shouted, shoving her through. "I will follow. Go with the fleeing men across the bridge and into the woods. Go!"

"Why do you wait?" she screamed from the other side.

"Go!"Ed shouted, shoving her. "Go!"

Ceidre's hand was grabbed by a Saxon she recognized, and she was pulled down the hill and to the rope bridge that was swinging precariously as the Saxons fled over it, beneath a hail of arrows from the archers on the walls. She tried to look over her shoulder, butEdwin was gone.

Edwindropped to his knees beside the utterly still body of his brother. His heart had stopped, as had his mind. There were no thoughts, other than please God. Gently he rolled him over to his back.

Morcar groaned.

"God!"Ed shouted in relief. And then he saw the gushing torrent of blood spewing from his brother's chest, and, crazed, he jammed both hands down hard on the wound to dam the flow.

"Ed." Morcar choked weakly.

"Don't speak,"Ed cried. "Save your strength-don't speak!"

"Can't." Morcar panted.

Furiously, desperately,Ed put all his power into his hands as he pressed them on Morcar's chest. "You will be all right," he said, panting. "You will not die!"

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Morcar opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He choked on the torrent of his own blood.

Weeping,Ed put more effort into stanching the flow.

"Betrayed," Morcar said, and for an instant, his blue eyes blazed. "We have been betrayed,Ed ," he whispered hoarsely.

Edwinstarted to protest, to tell his brother not to talk, when he met his sightless stare. Vacant, when a moment ago it had burned with intensity. Lifeless.

"God, no!"Edwin shouted to the heavens above, fist raised, and then he lifted his brother into his arms and rocked him, sobbing.

He knew, as he wept, that he must get up and flee or be captured. Yet his grief was so unbearable he could not find the will to leave Morcar. He tried to look at his beloved, handsome face through his hot, thick tears. Morcar was angry and grim in death-not the laughing, handsome rogue he truly was. Oh, God,Edwin thought, the pain unbearable, ballooning in his heart, hurting, hurting . . . he had been slaughtered not moments after he had bravely led his men into their enemy's stronghold.

Betrayal.

Edwin's tears stopped with this comprehension and the knowledge that the rest of his life would be dedicated to finding the man responsible for his brother's death.

He rose, Morcar in his arms. He could not leave him, just as he could not have left Ceidre. He took one step, when the cold voice ofRolfede Warenne halted him in his tracks.

"Halt," theNorman ordered, sword raised. "You are my prisoner."

Edwinstared into the cold blue gaze of his worst enemy.

Then he looked at theNormans surrounding him as he cradled his dead brother to his chest. His arms tightened protectively around Morcar, and he fought the fresh urge to weep. It was over.

He had lost; Aelfgar was lost. It was over.

Chapter 59

"Can ye come, my lady?" the old woman asked anxiously.

Ceidre wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. It was early January, and here inWales in the tinyvillageofLlefewellyn , there had been a dusting of snow one night past. She barely understood the native tongue of the villagers, but this phrase had become familiar. Once her skill with herbs, her ability to heal, had been revealed, she had received many requests like this one. "Of course," she said softly.

The woman, gray and thin, looked at the beautiful Saxon and wondered, as they all did, at the sadness that never left her eyes. 'Twas a shame, they all agreed, for one so comely to grieve so endlessly. They knew little of her story, only that their native son, Hereward, had brought her here and left her in his cousin's cottage, the cousin long since deceased, then ridden out again to fight his endless wars. She was clearly pregnant, her belly and breasts straining her garments. Her eye made them all fearful and wary,
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