The older one—a warrior loyal to William since the boy who became a duke began his struggle to keep hold of his lands and his life—strode from the opposite end of the table and halted alongside his liege. “Terms would be easier in the moment, but do you negotiate with this outlaw, just as you nearly lost your duchy in making peace with those who sought to take it from you, you could lose this kingdom. Better the hammer that pulverizes than the hand that slaps, the latter providing the enemy an opportunity to manacle it.”
Another’s manacles and the chain between them clattered, returning Guy’s regard to the lady who had proven a keen listener on the night past. She had turned to face those across the hall, and Guy’s glance at William confirmed she had his attention. Before once more being relegated to something unseen and unheard, she traversed the floor with dainty steps that were no fit for her but of some dignity compared to a shuffle.
Guy expected William to order one of his guards to drag her back, but he turned fully toward her and watched her advance with the interest of one first to encounter a creature so foreign, it fell to him to name it that by which ever it would be known.
Only once did her gaze move from William. Guy did not understand why he was so pleased it was him she looked upon, especially as she knew no others here, but he was—and hoped she saw the warning in his expression. If so, she did not heed it, continuing forward until just out of reach of the king.
Peering down his nose, William said in Norman-French what he could not in her language, “Do you tire of waiting on me, Saxon?”
“No more than you would tire were you waiting on me.” There was stumble about the language in which she answered, and her accent was poor, but she was understood.
With a grunt, William stepped forward and gripped her chin less roughly than last eve while she feigned senselessness. He looked close at both sides of her face, said, “When I saw you in the water, I did not think you comely. Though you are no beauty, you are not without some appeal.”
Guy was glad that during the last stop of their ride to water the horses, she had heeded his advice to rework loosened braids. Though these were now slightly mussed, the wisps brushing brow, cheeks, and jaws softened her face such that he was struck by the unwelcome thought it was how she would present on mornings she awakened in a husband’s arms.
“There is much to be said for a solid woman.” The king’s mouth curved when a sharp breath parted her lips. “You remind me of my wife when she was young. Though she is a bit shorter and prettier, she is nearly as solid, and for that has given me many healthy children—and may yet give me more.”
A swallow bobbed her throat.
“Naught to say, lawless one?” William prompted.
She raised her eyebrows. “You wish me to speak?”
He released her chin. “Providing you tell me something of interest.”
Her gaze wavered, and Guy thought she might look to him for guidance, but she said, “Only this—that you are more kind than I would be were I to comment on your appearance.”
Though William’s profile was turned to Guy, the depth of his frown was unmistakable. “It sounds you think me unattractive, though my wife says otherwise.”
She clasped her hands at her waist. “That is a wife’s prerogative and serves as greater proof of her devotion when her husband’s face is as long as a horse’s, nose as broad as a…” As if feeling Guy’s dread she would reference a pig, she sighed and said, “I am grateful you do not deem me entirely without appeal, especially since these past days have been cruel enough.”
Again, the wrong thing to say, causing those of William’s council to mutter over Norman losses. But the king let it pass—rather, appeared to since he was known to keep good account of offenses, and this was that since he prided himself on a handsome countenance and figure that would have had many a woman gaining his favor were he not devoted to Matilda.
Pinching the shoulder of the tunic the lady wore whose excess width made it appear a short sleeve, he looked to Guy. “Generous, Chevalier. This garment is so fine, a man could wed in it.”
Guy stiffened. It was no idle comment, but neither was it one of certainty. It was a good guess from the one whose decision to make peace with Edwin Harwolfson had lost Guy the lands promised him and his betrothal to Elan.
Determined to make light of it, and grateful it was easier done with the passing of two years, he said, “A man could, and there was a time that was my intention. But now, better use is made of the tunic to accord the lady respect due her station though she finds herself a prisoner of my king.”
“Not finds herself—made herself.” William returned his gaze to her. “Would you not agree, Saxon?”
After a hesitation, she said, “Is it the snake who makes itself an enemy of the hawk by striking when that bird of prey swoops down to make a meal of it, or is it the hawk who makes an enemy of the snake?”
Guy tensed further.
But William laughed heartily as if, desperate to control emotions impeding his ability to think clearly, he had gathered up all the anger of the night past, wrapped it in mirth, and cast it out. But even if that was what he did, he was only slightly less dangerous to the lady.
He smiled lazily. “You think yourself and the resistance a snake to my hawk, Lady?”
Hearing herself titled, rather than derisively named Saxon or lawless, Vilda was momentarily distracted. Even so, it did not alter her response, though she knew Sir
