Thurstan stepped forward. “But my king, the agreement—”
“Do not speak to me of promises unkept! Be grateful and satisfied I honor as much of our agreement as I do. Step back!”
When he did so, it left only the earl. Though he raised his chin and leveled his shoulders, Vilda saw tremble in the hand at his side.
“Morcar, Morcar, Morcar. Our friendship goes back quite far, does it not?”
“It does, my liege.” There was a tremble in his voice as well.
“And therein the greatest of disappointments.” Le Bâtard sighed. “Did I not treat you and your brother well, giving you places of honor at my court?”
“You did, and we would not have left there if not for the needs of our people who depend on their overlords to ensure their well-being.”
“What needs those, Morcar? Surely you do not say I have been remiss in providing good governance to those who work your lands?”
The earl moistened his lips. “It is the governance of those Normans that concerns me, men who have made my people cry out for the return of their earl.”
“You are saying I chose poorly those set over your people?”
Though Vilda could not side with Morcar, she was tempted to remind Le Bâtard of the ones come to collect the tribute from her husband—too, that this day Hereward had slipped through his fingers because poorly he had chosen lesser men to secure the isle.
The earl cleared his throat. “What I say is that it is my duty to protect my people and their interests.”
“Admirable were it not too late for that, Morcar.”
“My liege, your messenger assured me of a pardon and return to your favor if my men and I stood down. That we did, so surely you will honor your word and set me over my lands again?”
William shook his head. “For the good of all, I am decided. However, rest easy in knowing my pardon stands, ensuring your life is spared.”
“That is all?”
“That is much. And here is more—the same as Bishop Aethelwine, in comfort you will live out your days removed from the temptation of working ill in my kingdom.”
“But my liege—”
“I have spoken! Step back!”
“But—”
“Guards!”
They entered, and though Vilda expected forceful removal of the three, the sheep did not resist the shepherds.
William turned his face to her. “Do you think I was fair in my dealings with those traitors?”
Though they were traitors, indeed, she wanted to spit at him for naming them that for which his theft of England was responsible.
Calm, she counseled and stood. “I am too biased to give a worthy answer.”
“Should I have slain them?”
“Non.”
“Should I have more generously rewarded them?”
“Non.”
“Then there the answer—I have been fair. Now the question of how to be fair to you. What say you?”
Fingers cramping for how tightly she gripped them at her waist, she pulled them apart. “That cannot be answered until the fate of Sir Guy’s man is known.”
He shrugged his mouth. “True, but we ought to prepare for the best.”
“The best?”
“If he lives, I may pardon you even do you not aid with Hereward since I am inclined to believe you do not know where he can be found.”
Did he speak true? If so, of what value to her? “And my pardon? Would it be the same as Earl Morcar’s—a comfortable prison?”
“That or better.”
“Better?”
“Though it has been a long day, as I was prepared for a much longer one lest those three failed me, I am restless. Hence, I am thinking a game of chess will aid in deciding your future.”
She did not understand how engaging in another match would make her fate any better, other than improving his mood should he triumph. Nor had she much reason to trust any promises made since he had just reneged on many. And yet, were there a possibility it would benefit her, she ought to accept.
Before she could agree, he said, “If I win the game, imprisonment your fate.”
She blinked. “If I win?”
“Another game. If I win, exile your fate.”
“If I win?”
“One last game. Should I prevail, you enter a convent.”
She was holding her breath. “And if I win that game?”
“I shall free you.”
She gasped.
He nodded. “I admire your facility with baser weapons, but you are no real threat, and certainly less so than the common rebels I pardoned this day. Too, though you prick like a bed of nettles, knowing the ill worked on you and yours that surely made you what you became, I can bear you no great ill for being that outlaw’s relation.” He looked over his shoulder past the chaplain. “The game is in my chest,” he said of that iron-banded thing that could hold an entire family’s possessions and still have room for those of extended kin.
“Accept,” Guy said low, his deep, entreating voice making her shiver.
Three games, she mulled. Better him thrice and gain her freedom. Better him twice and enter a convent. Better him once and suffer exile. Better him not at all, and her fate would be imprisonment the same as if she declined—providing Sir Guy’s man lived.
“I will play, if you give your word on your sword that all shall be as told.”
“You do not trust me.”
She nearly snorted. “I take my lessons from bishop, abbot, and earl, none of whom I resemble in the least.”
Amusement turned his mouth. “Non, you are not like them. As told, you bring to mind my wife.” He clipped his chin. “You shall have my vow. And you, Chevalier, are done here.”
Her heart leapt. Would he also send his chaplain away? Might he wish more than a game of chess?
She could not see Guy’s reaction, but whether Le Bâtard read hers or that of the man behind, he understood. “Fear not, Lady. As ever I am faithful to my wife, your virtue is safe.” He looked to Guy. “Take your leave.”
When he came out from behind Vilda and strode opposite, she followed his progress until he was gone from her. Perhaps forever.
A quarter hour
