“I love you,” he said low.
Her lips curved. “And I you.”
“Well come to Etcheverry,” Maxen called as he and his wife advanced on their visitors, the former with their daughter in the crook of an arm, the latter their infant son.
“You did not bring your children?” Rhiannyn said as she and her husband halted before the two.
Not for the first time, Elan looked to Guy—a glance only, a bit more for the woman at his side. “We thought it best they remain behind,” she said after embracing her sister-in-law. “The littlest is teething so fiercely, sometimes it feels my ears bleed.”
She turned toward her brother, and when he finished greeting Harwolfson, hugged him and kissed the nose of the little girl he held. “I know we impose in adding to your guests, but I could not miss the opportunity of seeing again my good friend, Sir Guy.”
Good friend, Guy mulled. He had been that, but as all knew, he had been more. And yet it did not offend, and he did not think it was meant to—that it was consideration to ease the discomfort of all.
“And here he is with his bride!” She stepped from her husband’s side and glided forward, something at which she excelled when not given to moods that made her stamp her feet and make quick work of steps to sooner be seen and heard.
When she halted before Guy, he said, “Lady Elan.”
“Sir Guy.” She extended a hand.
He took it as he would any offered, bent, and hesitated. Not because he meant to offend. Not for fear of renewing forbidden feelings. Because he was very aware of the other hand he held. When Vilda squeezed gently as if to assure him she felt no threat, he brushed his lips across the lady’s knuckles.
As he released her and straightened, he noted some strain in Elan’s smile, but she brightened it and turned it upon Guy’s wife. “Lady Alvilda, I am pleased to meet the Saxon who managed to capture this fine Norman chevalier.”
Now slight tension in Vilda’s hand. “As I am pleased to meet the Norman who managed to capture one of the greatest leaders of the Saxon resistance.”
The music of Elan’s laughter was barely out of tune, but Guy heard it, and a glance at Edwin, Maxen, and Rhiannyn revealed they did as well. But none rushed to make right what this woman could make wrong, and he was grateful they did not.
“Alliances between enemies,” said Harwolfson’s wife. “Increasingly the way of things, and though there may not be love in the beginning, with time it can grow, as has my husband’s for me and mine for him. I hope it will be the same for Sir Guy and you.”
Evenly, Vilda said, “Why do you assume it is not already?”
Elan’s gaze jumped to the joined hands of husband and wife. “Even had we not received intriguing tidings ere departing Blackspur, there is the ring you wear.”
Guy tensed. Though he had known news of the battle averted after the fall of Ely would travel and could include the condition of Vilda’s marriage, and that tidings would follow of what had come of Hereward and Taillebois’ journey to the coast, thus far naught had reached Etcheverry. But it had Blackspur whose lord had surely been intent on the fate of a fellow resistance leader.
“Since the ring is too large, and I recognize it as being from Sir Guy’s hand, it evidences you wed in haste. And so you did if what was told my husband is true.” She raised her eyebrows. “You are Hereward’s cousin, are you not?”
Had ever a man been so glad to have lost a woman he loved? Guy wondered. If not for how steady Vilda’s voice when next she spoke, he would have thought the tightening of her fingers anger like that rising through him rather than an attempt to calm him.
“I am kin to Hereward, and were your husband told my cousin’s terms included securing my future with the man who came to love me as I did him whilst your king held me captive not once but twice, then it is to be believed.” As Elan’s eyes widened, Vilda put a tilt in her chin and smiled, causing pride to displace Guy’s anger. “It is true we wed in haste, but why tarry when God moves within reach the person with whom you ache to spend your life?”
Elan continued to stare as restrained smiles rose on the faces of the three who watched from a distance. And there was nothing Guy wanted more in that moment than to be alone with his wife and divest her of that fine gown and undo those braids.
“I…” Elan cleared her throat. “That is…”
“Wondrous, Elan!” Christophe made known his presence, to Rhiannyn’s distress having gone missing when word came of the arrival of Blackspur’s lord and lady. “See what tale you have uncovered that Sir Guy and his bride withheld from us. Certes, we must hear more of it.”
He descended the last steps, came around Vilda, and embraced his sister who fiercely returned his hug as if he were a rope thrown to a drowning woman. “I am glad you and Baron Harwolfson have come.”
When he drew back, Elan’s smile faltered. “Surely you did not just awaken, Christophe?”
“Of course not. You know if I do not rise ere the sun, I rise with it.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Then someone has been testing the strength of your hair from scalp to ends.”
“Ah!” He chuckled, smoothed what had been tidily fastened at his nape on the day past. “Merely a habit when I have much on my mind.”
Doubtless, a certain
