She halted and, when he turned back, ignored the hand Guy set on her arm and said, “If that is so, He knows not what He does, but as I am certain He does know even if I cannot fully understand His ways, methinks it is the pope who knows not what he does—that or willfully he placed his interests ahead of God’s by granting papal approval of the invasion.”
Guy pulled her past the chaplain lest the man swung the hand twitching at his side. “God help you, Vilda,” he rasped. “You will not keep your head if—”
“It is already lost,” she said, making no attempt to keep her words between them. “My neck and all below just do not know it.”
As the king’s tent was directly ahead, guards posted both sides and the chaplain coming behind, Guy had only enough time to enlighten her on one matter. “My man yet lives.” She gasped, and as defiance slipped off her face, he added, “When all is not lost, let not pride and anger render it so.”
“Not yet dead. But that does not mean—”
“It means not yet dead,” he snapped, and when one of the guards swept back the flap, ducked to clear the opening and pulled her inside.
Then they were in the presence of William who sat center in a chair familiar for having been the abbot’s high seat in the refectory.
As Guy released Vilda, the chaplain scurried to the king who raised his ear in answer to the man’s lean. Moments later, the fingers drumming the arms of his seat ceased and William moved his gaze between Guy and Vilda and twice more before raising a hand that caused his chaplain to step back.
“I have you again, lady who flies arrows, sling stones, and wields daggers,” he said. “Of ill benefit to you, these circumstances are more grievous than the others, and will be worse if Sir Guy’s man dies.”
She clasped her hands before her.
“Will you not deny it was you who put a blade in him—tell it was one of those whose escape you aided?”
When she shook her head, he gestured her forward. When she ignored him, he growled, “Lady, did not Sir Guy warn of my foul mood?” Then he smiled the smile those acquainted with him knew to be worse than a snarl.
As if she recognized it, she advanced until he raised a hand.
Eyes watchful, he said, “Your cousin returned to Ely.” As if pleased by her startle, his mouth moved toward a more genuine smile. “It is so,” he prompted her to question the fate of Hereward and his men.
She did not.
“Alas, yet more deaths and injuries.”
She swallowed loudly but did not question who shed the most blood, letting him play both sides of his game.
“Though fearfully curious, you are stubborn,” William pronounced.
“I am,” she surprised, “but as it will not change what has become of my cousin nor what is to become of me, I see no reason to relieve the boredom of a king.”
He slapped a hand on the chair arm, causing her composure to falter again and Guy to stiffen in expectation of wrath. “A king!” he exclaimed. “At last, the lawless one affords me my rightful title.” He leaned forward. “Lady Hawisa Wulfrith struggled with the same, but as you know, she has accepted it is her Norman husband who holds her leash and that I, in turn, hold his. So you see, we make good progress, you and I. Now let us make more.”
He dropped back in his chair. “As I left the isle to be secured by lesser men who left it to be done by lesser men, your cousin returned and caught unawares warriors who will be fortunate if they leave my service whole of body. Certes, only because they routed the rebels after sustaining losses is that even a consideration.” He turned up a palm. “Ely, the last bastion of resistance, is mine again. Now all that is needed for Normans and Saxons to live and work peacefully is for he who believes himself the last true Englishman to cease stirring dissent and spreading false hope. So I ask—will you aid in bringing Hereward to my side?”
Vilda stared at the man who would still have cause to look at ease when she refused him. Of course he wanted to wrap his victory with the most impressive bow made of her cousin, but the same as the three men here, perhaps even Hereward, she knew that had there been any real hope of returning England to Saxon rule, it died this day. Those who had lost their country were too weary to expend more effort and emotion on insurrection when acceptance of Norman rule offered a greater chance of some return.
“Will you aid in bringing your cousin to my side?” Le Bâtard repeated.
“Truly, you think it possible to make Hereward your man?” She shook her head. “It is not. Hence, if I knew where to find him, I would not say.”
She glimpsed anger, but it seemed to swim in the shallows as if her response was expected. “As told, your circumstances are more dire, Lady. Even if Sir Guy’s man lives, such treason as that dealt your king justifies the harshest punishment.”
“This I know and accept.”
“Then you will give no excuse for what you did that you said you could not when Sir Roul and his men came for the tribute?”
She had told herself she would offer no defense, but for how much it hurt that Guy thought the worst of her, she said, “I…”
At her hesitation, the usurper held up a finger, called his chaplain forward, and whispered something that sent the man from the tent.
Having looked around to follow his progress, she met Guy’s gaze and glimpsed in his eyes the man with whom she had been best acquainted before this day.
Very well, she silently acceded, in the hope you think less ill of
