“Send me,” Guy said with little thought, though had he given it more, still he would have offered.
William narrowed his eyes. “Have you a care for her?” He held up a hand as if to prevent denial. “Sacrificing what is surely your best tunic, you clothed her to look as much a lady as possible rather than a foul, muddied rebel. And ere you departed the morn after delivering her to Brampton, you sent her two things as reported by the servant who did your bidding.”
“I did,” Guy said, “my motive to increase her chance of being shown the same consideration as other nobles who oppose the King of England and Duke of Normandy.”
“This I know, but what of the motive behind that one? Do you have more than a pitying care for Alvilda?”
There being no question he did not feel for her as he had Elan, Guy said, “I do not.”
“Good. Great my displeasure if feelings for a Saxon rebel jeopardize the fealty owed me.”
Already that fealty had been jeopardized when Guy eschewed the opportunity to prevent the King of Scotland’s marriage, and it would be beyond jeopardized should it be discovered he had refused to be a party to lifelong imprisonment of the English princess.
“With your permission, I will escort the lady belowstairs,” Guy prompted.
The king nodded. “You may gain her chamber key from my steward—as well as the one to the manacles since I would not have her rattling all around whilst she dines with us.”
Then she was yet bound though Guy had hoped her relieved of the chain regardless of whether she made her bed in a chamber or a cell. “I thank you.”
William jerked his chin and strode toward the dais while Guy went in search of the steward.
Boots, meaning once more she would be asked to dine in the hall among the enemy. When it was the patter of slippers approaching her tiny chamber at corridor’s end, she knew it was the servant who tended her, whether to replenish items needed to carry out daily ablutions or deliver a meal.
The latter visitor welcome, the former not at all, Alvilda remained seated before the brazier and did not look around when the key granted the squire admittance. Continuing to reach her hands toward glowing coals, she called, “Still I bleed.”
As ever, that would so discomfit he would retreat immediately. But he did not. Since the only time he had hesitated was his first trespass when he gaped over her excuse to refuse the summons and spluttered when she told him to deliver her words exactly as spoken, something was amiss—and more so when she heard him step inside and close the door.
It was not the squire. There was too much command in that single stride and threat inherent in an enemy closing himself in with her.
Lord, nay, she silently pleaded. Let this not be my punishment. As last eve I was not certain it was the end my menses, only this morn did I lie. I would have tried harder not to do so on the morrow. Force your way into this man’s frigid heart so he not work ill on me.
“Lady, I am to remove your manacles and escort you to the hall for supper.”
From his first word, Vilda had become aware of how still her body, the hands she warmed remaining extended and splayed and no breath entering nor exiting. However, whereas fear had caused her to cease breathing, it was for a different reason she remained in this state now she knew her visitor’s identity.
It was wrong it should feel as if one of her own had stolen into the chamber, but such relief flooded her she began to quake and her loosening back nearly dropped her over her knees.
“May I approach, Lady Alvilda?”
“Please do.” She lowered her hands and slid clattering feet forward. “My disagreeable companion and I are eager to part company.”
As he strode forward, she looked sidelong and saw the boots his few strides delivered to her side. When he lowered to his haunches, his torso and face were well within sight, requiring only a shift of eyes to bring him to focus. Finding it easier thought than done and hating she might be perceived as fearful, she swept her gaze up over spread knees, grey tunic, lightly-bearded jaw, and a mouth with no curve about it.
As she settled on those piercing brown eyes that boasted bits of grey, he said, “You look well, though somewhat pale. If you truly remain encumbered by that affliction exclusive to women, I shall seek to persuade my king—”
Vilda gasped at remembrance of what she had said upon his entrance. Not only were her words coarse the sooner to recover her solitude, but too intimate to be shared with a man she did not loathe.
“Lady, would you have me speak on your behalf?”
She did not want to go belowstairs and be bound on all sides by the enemy, but now there was inducement—removal of her bindings and the company of Sir Guy. She moistened her lips, causing his eyes to flit to them. “The worst of it is over. I shall join you.”
He smiled tautly, and she realized she had made an assumption. “You are to dine there, are you not?” Hardly spoken than inwardly she groaned over what sounded pleading.
I have been alone too long, she thought, I have forgotten who I am to myself and to him. But surely forgivable providing I never forget who I am to Le Bâtard and who he is to me.
“I shall be there, Lady. Unless commanded otherwise, you may sit with me if you like.”
She nodded. “I think that acceptable.”
“Then let us not linger. Better you enter as all are gaining their seats.” He opened a hand, revealing a ring of two keys. The long one had to be that which fit the chamber’s
