Still, Guy prayed Vilda had made it over the wall. As for the one responsible for spilling blood on holy ground, he ought to be on his knees soon since rebels were thought to be lurking in the chapel’s perimeter passage as reported by Ivo’s man given watch over Morcar and Aethelwine. Further evidence of that was had by a crimson smudge on the partially obscured door through which Guy sent a man to ensure that rebel entrance did not become a rebel exit.
“What is this?” Taillebois demanded when they reached the front of the chapel and saw the earl and bishop stood before the steps.
Guessing their other guard had decided to confront the rebels alone, Guy instructed a man to keep watch over the traitors and turned to the others. “We do not know how many are within, and best they know not how many we are and where we move. Thus, go in quietly and follow my signals exactly.”
Only his men nodded. “You understand, Taillebois?” Guy growled and saw anger widen his eyes. Ivo ranked higher, but as William had given another command of the undertaking, he jerked his head.
Having earlier removed their chain mail, they entered with swords drawn and the stealth trained into them that allowed those of the elite force to more easily survive the Fenlands.
But it seemed their entrance was noted, movement drawing Guy’s gaze ahead to the right as someone went behind a wide curtain. Though it was only a glimpse, it was enough to identify the rebel wore skirts.
Feeling a pang center of him, he saw another Norman had been felled, this one’s lower legs partially concealed beneath the curtain as if he had toppled out of the vestry.
Fury stirred further, but he tempered it by assuring himself that as it was done by a woman, the man was only stunned—unless another had dealt what could be a killing blow.
Guy looked to his men who saw what he saw. Though they might not have caught Vilda’s retreat, they had to have noticed the curtain’s movement. He signaled for them to hold their positions and paused over Taillebois. Though the man scowled, he remained unmoving.
Since Guy and the others had been heard if not seen, there was no reason to soften his footsteps nor seek the cover of the nave wall as he advanced. Ten feet from the vestry, he breathed out relief when he saw movement about the man on the floor, then called, “Lady Alvilda, you and those with you will show yourselves.”
Silence.
“Now!”
A hand curled around the edge of a curtain and her pale face appeared in the space she opened. With wide eyes, she considered him, his drawn sword, and the nave at his back. Then she took a single step forward, and as the curtains closed behind her, let her arms fall to her sides.
As expected following her defense of the shore and retreat, she was disarrayed, tangled hair all about her shoulders and garments askew. As not expected, more than dirt stained the red tunic he had given her, though he would have believed the blotches and streaks merely filth if not for dried blood on her right hand.
Was it possible she had put the blade in his man’s belly? Certes, were the blood gained from the warrior here beginning to return to consciousness, it would not yet be dry.
Heart pounding, he demanded, “Who is with you, Lady?”
Her lashes fluttered, and he saw her eyes were bright as if tears needed shedding. “Having made a distraction of myself so the others could escape, I am alone.”
Guy stared as two angers vied for dominance—that men had left a woman behind to save themselves and, providing she did not deceive, further proof she had done injury to both warriors.
Pray, deceive, Vilda, he silently beseeched, then commanded, “Open wide the curtains.”
She walked back one side then the other.
The light that swept within showing no others there and hiding places exceedingly questionable out from behind shadows cast by curtains, Guy accepted she was alone and her sacrifice—and his complicity—had enabled the others to flee.
Muscles tense, he glanced behind and confirmed those who had accompanied him remained unmoving, then looked back at Vilda and returned his sword to its scabbard, knowing those who watched would question the wisdom of doing so.
Her shoulders eased slightly, and she looked to the man on the floor. “He lives. I feared—” Voice catching, she closed her eyes.
The timing could not have been better, the chevalier sent into the passage by way of the blood-marked door appearing to her right. Guy’s shake of the head causing him to step back, once more the passage enfolded him in shadow.
Vilda raised her lids. “Though I struck him hard, he…” She swallowed loudly. “I believe he will be well.”
Unlike the other warrior, she did not say.
Guy was certain she would not attempt to harm him, but the others had cause to believe her dangerous, and though he was angered by what she had done that would not have happened had she left the Fens, he could not abandon her. And so for their audience—especially Taillebois—a show not entirely all show that might permit him to remain near when she was brought before William.
He took a step forward and reached to her.
Though she had to see his hand, she held her gaze to his and narrowed her lids as if searching for things unseen as her mind worked this forward and backward.
Guy gave a nod of encouragement, raised his hand higher.
She lowered her eyes to it, but still questioned, still struggled.
Much anger I exude for my man who may die, he guessed.
At last, she stepped forward and reached her blood-tainted hand to his.
He closed his fingers over hers, and as she came nearer, sharply drew her toward him and twisted her around so her back was against his front. Amid her gasp
