by Tamara Leigh
She followed in silence until they descended the stairs up which sounded the din that revealed the exuberance of those gathered for the delayed meal. With a note of hope, she said, “Crisis?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I am sorry to disappoint, but whatever message was delivered, it is with regard to his duchy.” Though that did not mean it would not impact what happened in the Fens, he thought. And it could benefit the resistance, especially if once more William moved too quickly.
Realizing she had halted, Guy turned and looked up at her. “Lady?”
“Would you tell me what is happening with the resistance?” At his hesitation, she said, “As the woman who tends me is close-mouthed though she is Saxon, I cannot know if my prayers have been answered.”
He knew what she asked, and as he could see no harm in easing her mind and the scrape of benches and chairs told William’s guests had yet to settle down to the meal, he said, “Thus far, no retaliation against Hereward and his followers, though greater the temptation for how emboldened they are by their victory and the loss of so many of our men.”
“Who, doubtless, shall be replaced,” she said.
“They are en route,” he confirmed. “The rebels have increased their raids and, until the day past, struck nearly as often in the day as the night. Though they do damage in seeking to further weaken our positions, I believe they have another motive.”
“That motive?”
“They search for you.”
She gasped. “I pray not. As I am of no great use to the cause and none at all now I am a captive, better they think me dead than risk their lives.” Her frown deepened. “You said things changed on the day past.”
“A single, half-hearted foray. Though it is possible they have accepted you were lost to the marsh, methinks it more likely infiltration of one of our camps yielded talk of your capture and removal from the Fens. Thus, they accept there is naught they can do to aid you.”
She nodded slowly. “When your new forces arrive, what then?”
Though he could provide no details of William’s plan, he said, “As you know, my king is far from done with your cousin. Thus, we have not been idle.”
“And that is all you will tell,” she said with accusation.
“That is all.” Guy turned forward and led her off the stairs.
Chapter Thirteen
The entrance of William’s captive caused a stir, though not as great as it would have had Guy and she sought seating minutes later when deference to the announcement of the meal’s blessing would hush all.
“Pray, the table most distant,” the lady said as he moved his gaze over the half dozen below the high table in search of enough bench to accommodate two. Though they could have sat nearer, and that honor was due him as leader of the elite force, they lowered to the end of one of several benches crowded by men-at-arms who would later patrol the walls.
When he looked to the high table to confirm what was felt, and William gave a nod and turned his attention to De Warenne, Guy bent his head to the lady. “Your presence is noted.”
She turned her face to his, and he was struck by how much could be found in her unusually large eyes. He had heard it said those spots of color with which one looked out upon the world were a window to the soul, and all the clearer where there was trust, but in that moment it seemed more a door thrown wide. In the next, it was slammed closed as if she realized the danger of allowing an enemy to know who she truly was—or in the case of the conquered, who she had been and did not believe she could be again.
The lady cousin of Hereward had been happy once, he was fairly certain, and thought it possible she had been of mischievous bent.
Having turned her regard on William who continued to converse with De Warenne, she said, “His presence is noted as well. Now if he will ignore me, mayhap I can rouse enough appetite to pass the time until I return abovestairs.”
“Likely, that will be hours, Lady. As you are the only real spoils of his first attempt to take Ely, he wants you seen as has been denied him a sennight.”
“I am surprised he allowed me out of the manacles,” she said, then frowned. “The one three spaces removed from your king who threatened to give me to his men—I was right in believing him Taillebois the drunkard?”
Seeing and feeling the hatred emanating from he who stared at her, Guy said, “Aye, the Sheriff of Lincolnshire who was the first sent to the Fens with forces of sufficient strength to end the problem of Hereward—or so my king thought.”
She looked around. “Methinks he would do worse than give me to his men.”
Because Ivo knew this lady’s efforts thwarted his informant, Guy thought and was tempted to warn her about Theta. However, since it would distress her knowing a traitor sauntered among the resistance, scooping up and delivering their secrets to the enemy, he would say naught. Too, he must not forget Ivo’s pretty eel was a weapon of his liege and what she supplied could end the confrontation sooner.
“I fear you are right,” Guy said. “Best to go nowhere near Taillebois.”
Once the priest had blessed the meal, all fell to eating and drinking, many conversing across mouthfuls and laughing between gulps.
The lady spoke little over the next hour, but for as much as she did not wish to be here, she made good use of the time, exhibiting a fair appetite, observing those at high table, and mindful of nearby conversations when mention was made of her cousin, the resistance, and Ely.
“Pigs,” she rasped when men-at-arms center of their table boasted of the ease with which the healthy men and women of several villages near Ely were conscripted to construct the causeway.
Certain she believed they spoke of the first causeway, lest further talk reveal a second was being built, Guy determined to distract her. “I am grateful this night it is not me you name a pig, just as they ought to be grateful you have no dagger to hand.”
Her chin came around. “They should, since this night better I might land a blade than that night.”
“I still have that dagger,” he said and saw alarm in her eyes. “Just as I have the one you held to when I pulled you from the water.”
Alarm transformed into confusion, she said, “I was certain I had lost it to the marsh.” Her frown deepened. “Though the second is of some quality, why did you keep the first?”
For answer, he shrugged, though there was more to it. When he learned the one who cast it was Hereward’s cousin, curiosity over the reason she possessed such a crude blade had kept him from tossing it. “More the question is why the cousin of Hereward who surely warrants a worthy blade, kept one so dull, nicked, and rusted.”
She averted her gaze, and now it was she who shrugged. Not because she had no answer, he guessed, because she did not wish to provide one.
Guy would have let her sink into silence had she not once more turned her attention to conversations over the subjugation of her people.
“I am curious, Lady. The night you named me a pig and said I was unworthy of Saxon slop, did you truly mean to put that dagger in me?”
Across a slow exhale, she said, “The injured rebel for whom Hereward risked all was dead by the time my cousin got him on his shoulder. He was a kind man, wanting only to return to his small living.” She slid her gaze to Guy. “That night, very much I wanted to put a blade in an enemy, to prove I could do it and give that Saxon some justice.” She swallowed. “As earlier you pointed out with regard to your wedding, intent is not enough, nor is desire. I knew the blade would not land true, and I knew it was more because I balked at taking another’s life than because I am more accomplished at slinging stones. We had lost six men to Norman blades, and that pitiful throw was all the answer I could give.”
Only six men, Guy mulled, recalling Taillebois had told William his informant reported some of those who made it to the boat were so discouraged they sought to persuade Hereward to yield. For it, their enraged leader had drowned the dissenters. Exaggeration only? Or a lie of which Theta was quite ca
pable?
“Then the others who reached the boat survived despite their own injuries?” he probed.
“They did, though…” She hesitated, then said, “As we were returning to the isle, greatly my cousin was feeling all that had gone wrong.”
Because of Theta who had alerted Ivo to the attack, Guy thought.
“An argument arose, and though we had slipped past the blockade, it was dangerous to speak above a whisper. When the men would not quiet, Hereward lost his temper and knocked several overboard, one of whom drowned. However, he went in after the man and revived him. So only six lost that night, though still it is too many.”
“It seems your cousin has a penchant for tossing his followers in the water.”
She frowned, blinked. “Ah, you refer to the woman thrown from the dock.”
“The day you named me a pig a second time.”
“So I did. As for Theta—that is her name—Hereward had good reason to test her ability to swim.”
Guessing something had caused the rebel leader to suspect she traveled between Ely and the Normans, Guy waited.
“The night before, I was patrolling the western shore, moving fortification to fortification to ensure the defenders remained alert.”
“I have seen you, Lady.”
She startled. “What say you?”
“When my men and I have the night watch and no mist obscures our view of Ely, we have seen the one we call The Torch Bearer who we guessed roused men lax in their duties.”
A huff of laughter escaped. “That is more kind than whatever they call me,” she said, then continued, “When I stopped to rest before starting back, I heard someone come out of the water. I did not show myself, but I saw it was Theta and reported it to my cousin. The next day, I testified to what I saw, and she claimed she was only bathing following a tryst and could do no more since she is unable to swim. When my cousin determined to test that, she set herself at me.”
Then Theta had dealt the bruised nose and reddened ear he had a noted when Alvilda sought to save the woman her testimony caused to be tossed in—a woman who needed no saving and deserved to be punished for betrayal of her people.
Again, Guy was tempted to warn the lady about her—to confirm Theta passed information to Taillebois—but it would benefit her none.
“A noose is too good for that outlaw!” cried someone at the table ahead and to the left. “Take his hands and feet, last his eyes.”
His voice was but one among many in the hall, but one of those who attended to it was the lady who tensed over what was spoken by a Norman who surely knew she was within hearing distance—as did Guy who imagined his knuckles bruising flesh and cracking bone.
“And do not stop there, I say! For every Norman murdered a sennight past, a dozen rebels.” There was murmured agreement, and Guy hoped that the end of it, but he added, “And from their women we shall take even more.”
“Quiet your mouth!” commanded the one beside him in a voice so distinctive Guy knew which of Ivo’s men corrected a lesser even before he set his gaze on that chevalier’s back.
Though of decent height and breadth, Sir Roul’s head was so small it appeared a blunder, as if following a battle it had been re-attached to the wrong body. Thus, there was no mistaking him—nor the lady’s catch of breath and jerk of body as if someone had punched her in the back.
Though he wanted to assure her they were only words, he knew they were born of ones come before that had ended in terrible deeds against her people. “I am sorry for his cruelty, Lady. Now let us speak of—”
“I know him, and ’tis possible he knows me,” she rasped, having gone so stiff he was certain of her determination to remain seated rather than flee.
Though he may have been right about her trying to keep her seat, he discovered he was wrong about her wish to flee when she thrust to her feet, snatched up her platter, and hurled it at the one who had tossed back his head to give his laughter greater reach.
As Guy sprang up beside her, the remains of her meal scattered in the wake of the spinning platter, then the wooden rim missed the one who offended, striking Sir Roul who had sought to silence the other man and dropping him face down on the table.
“Almighty!” Guy growled, and with the mood in the hall altering as all became aware something of note had happened, he snatched hold of her arm, not only lest she think to do worse, but keep her near should he need to defend her against Normans who had imbibed much.
“Loose me!” She jerked at her arm.
“Silence!” William bellowed as he thrust upright, turning raised voices and shouts to mutterings. “Sir Guy, you have lost control over the Saxon. How do you answer to that failing?”
“I shall answer to it!” the lady said and jabbed a finger toward the one whose words had offended while beside him the chevalier groaned, sat up, and began exploring what was likely a gash beneath his hair. “That foul, ignoble, dishonorable one who calls himself your man, though he is less than a pig, did me great injury.”
In the silence between her accusation and William’s response, Guy sent heavenward, Lord, though he dealt offense, she injured one who did her no injury. Even if only for survival’s sake, surely this fish in a sea of sharks could have made a greater effort to bear the taunting.
The king shifted his gaze to the chevalier who sat back with one hand to his head, the other pressed to the table as if he reeled. And Guy did not doubt he did. The platter had struck hard, a trickle of blood appearing behind an ear.
“I am thinking you will live, Sir Roul,” William said, “and in future not turn your back to the enemy, even if she is a woman—indeed, be more vigilant because she is a woman, hmm?” He looked to the lady, swept a hand toward her. “For those not yet acquainted with the outlaw’s cousin who aided in the destruction of our first causeway, let this satisfy your curiosity about the sturdy virgin widow.”
Vilda roiled, insides so stirred she was almost glad Guy kept hold of her, and doubly so when she realized Le Bâtard had stirred in two more things. He referred to the causeway as being the first as if there was another. And he named her what Theta did—not merely the virgin widow as some of the resistance referred to her, which had pricked when he called her that the night she arrived at Brampton, but the sturdy virgin widow. It was one thing for the enemy to know her by the latter two, but the addition of sturdy… Was it not too much coincidence?
“Sir Guy,” the usurper called, “as our attempt to be hospitable to a captive of noble blood has been cast in our face as we ought to be accustomed to these five years, remove that woman who is not even half a lady.”
Vilda had a response for that, and it pressed against the backs of her lips, but acknowledging further defiance would make things worse—possibly reminding Le Bâtard of the manacles of which she had been relieved—she pressed her lips harder and did not resist when Guy shifted his grip to her elbow and guided her toward the stairs.
Once they began their ascent, talk in the hall resumed, and when they went from sight, the voices surged as if to include the departed in their conversations.
“Forgive me,” Vilda said when they reached the landing and he released her. “’Tis wrong you suffer your liege’s displeasure for my inability to remember I have only enough power to offend and feebly strike out at what can strike back with painful and deadly force.”
He did not respond, and she thought him rightfully angered, but when they halted before her chamber and she reached to the door, he said, “You told you know the one whose words offended and it is possible he knows you. How?”
It did not surprise he misinterpreted that, and when she turned back, she nearly asked what it mattered to her enemy, but for some reason she could not bear him thinking she did not have a very good reason to disrupt his king’s meal. “Aye, that one offended, but though his words cut, the platter struck the one intended.”
He frowned. “More greatly you were offended by Sir Roul’s attempt to silence his companion?”
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br /> She gave a grunt of laughter. “Would that were his only trespass. Four years ago…” She swallowed, tried again, but could not tell what she should be able to after all this time.
What appeared understanding lit his eyes a moment before they darkened. “Lady, did he…?”
He thought the worst—and rightfully so, albeit not where she was concerned. Resisting the temptation to close herself in the chamber, she said, “Though I do not wish to speak there, I will not leave you empty-handed. Do you recall I told the night we met I wanted to be able to put a blade in my enemy?”
“I do.”
“That longing began with Sir Roul and his men.” She dipped her chin. “Good eve, Sir Guy.” She stepped inside, closed the door, and waited for the turning of the key. It was so long in coming she would have thought he had forgotten to secure her if not for the absence of boots in retreat.
Finally, the key was inserted and the lock engaged, then his footsteps sounded. Only when they faded did it occur if he left Brampton on the morrow she might not see him again. And wished that were something over which to rejoice.
Sir Roul made water against the stable’s wall.
Though he was permitted that privacy, when he started back toward the manor, jerking at chausses and tunic that caused the bandage around his head to go askew, Guy stepped from the shadows.
Halting, the light of torches showing his hand had gone to his sword hilt, the chevalier demanded, “There is something you wish to discuss, Sir Guy?”
Eschewing the threat of his own sword, certain he had time aplenty to draw steel should it come to that, Guy said, “Though it is to Taillebois you answer, it would be wise did you answer to me this one time.”
Sir Roul shifted in preparation to alter his stance should his fellow Norman’s threat become more than perceived. “Give question, and perhaps I will give answer.”
“Though I know the lady did not mistakenly strike you rather than the one who taunted, I am uninformed as to what ill she believes you dealt her. But as the commander of our king’s elite force, you ought heed me.”
