After assuring herself most of those drawn to witness the squire’s discipline had returned to their conversations and the ones who continued to watch were focused on Guy and Jacques, she looked toward her cousin. Having lost his place, he had moved to the end of the line which surely better served in assessing preparations for the next siege.
Keeping Guy peripherally in sight, she fastened her eyes on Hereward, raised her hand low as he had done, then clawed up her skirt until she felt enough air on her ankles to evidence manacles and chain were visible.
When he looked up, he nodded. Blessedly, before she could do the same, she caught movement to her right and released her skirts.
Guy moved toward her as his squire hastened back the way he had come.
Relief she had not been caught doing something untoward was short-lived. As he neared, she glimpsed suspicion in his eyes, and more evidence of that when they turned from her to where Hereward stood—rather, had stood. Like one of a hundred sparks from flames that would burn out before finding tinder to start its own fire, her cousin had disappeared among the many.
Though she assured herself Hereward was one spark that would not burn out, to give him more time to get away should Guy act on his suspicion, she stepped forward with a rattle of chain and set a hand on his arm.
Hoping the innocence fixed on her face was believed, she said, “Your king ordered you to come without delay, and I would not wish you to suffer his wrath.”
“Jacques will deliver word that to ensure William’s captive is securely returned to her tent, I will be a few minutes late.”
“But—”
“Vilda, here the question you do not wish spoken—with whom were you communicating?”
She knew she frowned too large and her flickering lids could be interpreted as difficulty holding his gaze, but to protect her cousin and his mission, she had to lie. “I know naught of what you speak.”
Anger sparkled in his eyes. “You were not staring sightlessly in that direction.” He jerked his head to the side. “And the raising of your skirts was not to cool your feet but show your bindings.”
Vilda was ashamed at having underestimated Guy. She had not allowed for the possibility he could be as observant as Hereward who did not let such things slip past—which was why he departed the instant he saw the chevalier knew something was amiss.
“Who did you wish to know the state of your captivity, Lady?”
She knew he but sought to keep his fellow Normans safe and especially those under his command whose lives depended on him making the right decisions, but she resented him—and that his address was formal again, though she had thought it better he did not use her familiar name.
She nodded at those lined up for water. “Are not the ones pressed into Le Bâtard’s service my people?”
His eyebrows pinched. “For them you showed what is beneath your skirts? Not one in particular?”
Determinedly holding his gaze, she said, “For them.”
Guy stared at the woman who had recovered what he had discomposed. And believed she lied—that someone was here who should not be, whether it was a common rebel gathering information or Hereward himself.
Had he a good chance of discovering and overtaking the rebel to whom she had shown her bindings, he would have set off to hunt him down, but two things held him to Vilda’s side. From experience he knew once rebels of the Fens went to ground as this one had done, almost always the pursuers ended up empty-handed, seriously injured, or dead, their lack of familiarity with the landscape causing them to rush headlong into natural or constructed traps. And had he taken that chance, it would have required he leave Vilda in the care of a Norman he did not trust to treat her well.
Knowing he would get nothing from her and William waited on him, he said, “Keep your secrets and follow.”
Once they were moving side by side among the tents, he recalled what he had intended to say before he glimpsed behavior that revealed she had an audience. “I apologize for my squire. He should not have been harsh nor spoken as he did.”
She shrugged. “Though I do not doubt he recalls I named you a pig nor that he knows it was my cousin who did him injury, I find it curious one such as he serves you. I would have expected after he defied you that night, for which he is more responsible for his injury than any, you would have released him from your service.”
As Guy pondered whether he should explain, he turned left past a cluster of tents, each of which accommodated a half dozen archers, then right and left again. And noted she did not falter as if she knew the way as well as he though she would have traversed it only one time and in reverse—providing the shortest route from her tent to the springs had been used. Either way, she had a good sense of direction as was needed in these wetlands.
“Why does he squire for you still?” she pressed.
Deciding there was no harm in telling her, he said, “Shortly after I arrived, my squire received tidings his older brother had passed. Named his family’s heir, he was called home to Normandy and De Warenne took it upon himself to find a replacement for me. Though I see some promise in Jacques, I would not have chosen him. Among my reasons is what you witnessed that night, it being the result of impulsive vengeance for the death of one of his kin years ago during a clash with Hereward and the few followers your cousin had then. Another reason is Jacques is a relation of De Warenne, and it is never good to have at one’s side a man of divided loyalties.”
“Divided?”
“Just because De Warenne and I are both Normans fighting Saxons does not mean we
