The man rose, bowed, and went the way of the others.
Certain soon she would be dismissed and trying not to think on Guy’s departure, Vilda waited. And nearly jumped when her greatest enemy motioned her to the vacated chair.
At her hesitation, he said, “You fascinate, Alvilda, and since boredom looms large, sit.”
Loath to offer further entertainment, she remained unmoving.
“This one skirmish you have won, Lady,” he titled her as previously refused when she denied him his misbegotten title. “Sit awhile and relish your victory.”
Generous because he thinks it the only victory this Saxon shall enjoy, she thought. Because he believes the battles yet to come shall be utterly lost, and I will be on my knees begging for my fellow rebels.
Fatigued over revisiting the worst of her memories, Vilda ached to press her face into the mattress and let it absorb her grief, but she stepped forward. However, upon catching sight of the chess piece Le Bâtard had knocked off the board that lay near Guy, she veered toward the hearth, bent, and swept it up. Straightening, she looked full into the chevalier’s face. “I know what you did for me,” she whispered. “I am indebted.”
More cautious than she, his face remained expressionless, but not his eyes. However, beyond acknowledgement of her gratitude, what seemed pity was there. Determined not to show offense, she crossed to the chair, lowered, and set the piece on its square.
“You wish a game with your king, Lady?”
She flew her gaze to he who was not her anything beyond the enemy. Despite previously entertaining what he proposed, she wanted no such thing. And yet if she must suffer his company, surely easier done over a game whose moves required much thought that left little room for conversation—and memories.
She shrugged. “Given the only other thing with which I might occupy myself is lying abed watching day’s light crawl across the ceiling, I think it agreeable.”
“Another insult beyond the mantle of civility.” He clicked his tongue. “Loath as I am to admit this since you are sure to make use of it, my wife is also fond of imbuing words with more meaning than their outer layers.” He held up a finger. “But here the challenge, Lady—no insult does she deal me.”
She propped her arms on the table. “Quite the challenge, and greater for me since surely she has the advantage of being schooled in according respect to her husband, regardless of whether he is precious to her. Thus, lest further I disappoint, best I not accept that challenge.”
His laughter showed many teeth, then he said, “Place your pieces.”
Chapter Fifteen
Before this day, Guy would not have thought it possible, but it felt he did not know himself. Or was it a sennight now since familiarity with his thoughts and emotions was compromised? Might it have begun the night he pulled Alvilda from the water?
When she had regained consciousness and they spoke before and after William came to the tent, he had felt something unexpected. Surely not attraction. It could not have been. Of course, neither could it be that now, and yet what else to call this?
He wanted to name that which made him exceedingly aware of the beat of his heart as merely admiration for her strength, what jolted it fear for her well-being, and what softened it sympathy for her plight. Certainly, he had cause, her greatest resemblance to Elan being she was also a woman and the only other likeness that both were imperiled, albeit in different ways and for very different reasons.
Maxen’s sister had needed Guy to save her from her indulgent self and, as much as possible, the scandal which her spoiled willfulness brought down upon her. Guy had needed her because she was beautiful and spirited and made him feel valued and desired for the protection afforded her and the wisdom and patience to turn tears of sorrow and rage into smiles, kind words, and kisses.
This lady, now further proving her greatest intelligence was not that of bending others to her will, needed him as well, though likely she would survive in his absence. After all, as Sir Roul had verified, great her losses and suffering. Though Theta had revealed to Ivo that Hereward’s cousin was called the virgin widow because her husband refused to touch her, that was painfully false.
When Guy had pulled her into the boat and she whispered she would die first, it had to be for fear of being molested as her servants had been. And until she had thrown that dagger at him, likely she had kept so unworthy a weapon to remind her of the price of hesitation in the face of the enemy.
Despite all she had endured—or perhaps because of it—she fascinated as William had noted, though Guy was certain the king had not expected her to do so in this manner.
Keenly, she attended to the game, rousing William’s frustration by making him wait long on moves as if, unlike De Warenne who was rebuked for not thinking far enough ahead, she was determined to give her opponent no cause to say the same of her.
Regardless, she played well—certainly better than Guy who enjoyed the game though not enough to aspire to mastery. And increasingly, it looked as if her intent was not merely to frustrate but prove her skill was greater, even if to her detriment.
Fascinating indeed, and courageous, Alvilda forging ahead though she had more to lose than ever Elan might have sacrificed. It should not appeal, but it did.
“What fool move is this?” William demanded as he considered the addition of her queen to other powerful pieces moved center of the board. “Doubtless you have heard control of the center is of greatest advantage, but this is not the way it is done.” He looked up. “Though this game becomes so tedious I am
