“Make good use of it so as much as possible you look the lady.” He turned away.
“Sir Guy?” She did not understand what possessed her to call him back, and though she reconsidered her words, when he raised his eyebrows, she said, “Is it truly honor that left me unmolested? Or merely that I do not appeal?”
Now Guy stared, uncertain how to answer what was asked of him by this bold woman whose feet and the short length of chain running between them were visible beneath the blanket. Of course the answer was honor built on the foundation of right over wrong, but unless he also addressed the other option, she might fear honor would eventually collapse beneath the weight of temptation if she remained in his custody. Best to be honest both sides of the coin.
Imagining the beautiful and delicate Elan standing alongside the relatively plain and hardy Alvilda, he said, “Even were you to my taste, Lady, honor would win out.” And if that offended, at least she had some assurance she could rest easier in his presence as she had not on the night past when she and her chains permitted him only snatches of sleep.
Thrusting back the flap, he stepped out, and as he strode to his squire, looked across the lowland to the marsh. Whereas a half hour earlier some flames were still visible, by the light of the rising sun, all that could be seen now was smoke rising from charred pieces of causeway.
“The chausses will not be needed, Jacques.” Guy extended them. “The lady thanks you for the use of your tunic.”
“That she may keep,” the young man said with disdain, aware Alvilda had been present the night his disobedience shamed him when he gained a scar that evidenced death would have drawn nearer yet had his lord not struck a bargain with Hereward. It was a hard lesson learned, and Jacques was better for it—occasionally questioning but no longer challenging commands and putting greater effort into becoming a warrior who might one day prevail against one such as the resistance leader.
Guy nodded over his shoulder. “Providing you mark her movements by the sound of her chain, it will suffice to keep watch before the tent.”
“I shall do so, my lord.”
Guy inclined his head and strode toward the training yard where his men assembled to give account of what their commander had been unable to witness from the opposite end of the doomed causeway.
She shuffled, and her proud bearing fortified by her appearance made what was done her seem more a crime as she crossed from the tent toward those who would deliver her to William’s camp.
Standing alongside his horse center of the men chosen to accompany them, Guy was more relieved than astonished Alvilda had heeded his counsel to look the lady. The great surprise was the extent to which she made use of the two hours.
Her lightly tanned face was clean, marked only by abrasions. She had removed the bandage, washed and dried her hair, and worked golden brown tresses into two purposely loose braids that pooled on her shoulders, coursed her breasts, and whose ends brushed her abdomen.
Though her looks so paled compared to Elan’s he had thought her almost plain, now that she did not peer at him from behind a mask of mud, was not drenched nor soiled, and wore fine garments—his own—he saw the pretty about her. And when she halted, silencing the chain, he smelled it as well. Though sage was more a man’s scent and one he favored, she wore it well.
She adjusted the green mantle over her arm, raised her chin, and with a tilt to her mouth that seemed amusement, said, “Since you granted permission to go through your packs, I did. Though as you warned, I discovered naught to aid in my escape, much I found to better present as a lady. Pray, tell you are not vexed I went beyond what was expected, Sir Guy.”
He knew he should nod and lift her astride, but he drew back and ran his gaze down her. “I did not know my finest tunic, which I have had rare occasion to don since its fashioning”—and in which I thought to wed, he silently added—“could be made to look a lady’s gown.”
“I did what I could with what I found,” she said of that which was not only broader of shoulders than his squire’s, giving it an appearance of short sleeves above those of the chemise extending to her wrists, but of greater length, causing the hem to fall mid-calf above her undergarment’s lower edge.
She had done much with what she had, though not enough, he thought as he lingered on feet over which she had drawn hose that also belonged to him. As she had possessed only one boot when he pulled her from the water and he had disposed of it, from somewhere he would have to acquire slippers.
Moving his gaze back up the tunic of dark red linen whose hem was embroidered all around with silver diamonds against a black background the same as the neck, he paused again, this time on his spare purse fixed to a belt different from the one he had left her.
Wondering what caused the former to bulge slightly, he considered the belt. Made of wide leather and studded all around, she had looped and cinched its excess length, revealing though hers was no tiny waist a man’s hands could easily span, it was narrow enough to emphasize the fullness of breasts above and hips below.
The next thing that caught his eye was that with which she tied off her braids. Yielding to impulse, he lifted the end of one, causing her to startle when his fingers brushed her abdomen. “I am thinking this lacing was taken from my black tunic and the other…” He glanced at the second braid. “…the white and blue.”
Her gaze wavered.
