’Tis not another kiss that will make the morrow more difficult, she thought, but this.
Laughter rising above the voices of those in the camp made her look around. She could not see Theta, but that joy sounded from the only other woman among warriors. “She has won, her betrayal rewarded.”
“For the moment,” Guy said. “As she should know by now—and perhaps does—there is no good end to being clay in the hands of men who want only to shape it into what they need in the moment and, having not fired it to give it permanent form, toss the clay aside for another to make use of.”
Recalling what Herba had told of the young Theta, once more Vilda felt sympathy she resented in knowing the woman was responsible, at least in part, for the fall of Ely and the deaths of those she had not considered her countrymen.
More deeply feeling the day’s ride and the one to come, she said, “I thank you for this parting and believe it best we mark your word as fulfilled in its entirety.” She forced a smile. “I pray you a good life, Guy Torquay—that you find a love so greatly returned you have no more regrets about what you lost, only gratitude its loss allowed you to gain more.”
She hesitated, then pushed to her toes and kissed his coarsely whiskered cheek. That fleeting contact was utterly benign, and yet needed to finish this. Dropping to her heels, she turned, but he caught her back.
“Vilda?”
She looked around at her hand engulfed in his. “Guy?”
“For you, I nearly betrayed my king again.”
She flew her gaze to his. “Me? Again?”
His jaw shifted. “You are aware the English princess wed King Malcolm of Scotland last year?”
She gave a murmur of laughter. “So great the rejoicing of the English and so loud the ranting of the Normans, who does not know?”
“True, but what is little known is that to avert the threat to William’s rule should Princess Margaret bear children with a claim to the Scottish as well as English throne, I was to prevent the wedding. To give credence to what I was prepared to do for you, I shall reduce that tale to as few words as possible.”
She frowned. “I listen.”
“Though given the opportunity to seize her so William could lock her away the remainder of her life, I could not deprive that godly woman of her chance at happiness after all she and her family lost to the conquering. Thus, willfully I failed my king and for it was demoted and sent to Ely.”
Though Vilda would not have it any other way for the princess, it would have been better for this wounded heart had he not broken faith with Le Bâtard. Of course, still he might have come to the Fens.
“How did you nearly betray your liege again?”
“While waiting to learn the outcome of your first chess match, I began planning how to get you away should death be your sentence.”
She caught her breath. “You would risk so much for me?”
“You know I care for you.”
Care. Despite how much she wanted him to use another word to describe his feelings, for his sake she was glad they were not of that depth. Had he loved her even a portion of what he felt for Elan, more loss he would suffer that might cause him to put away his heart and never gain what she would pray for him every day.
“I do know,” she said and drew her hand from his. “Fare thee well.”
Guy watched her go, not gliding—never gliding—but with head up and firm steps that even more made him—
Momentarily, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them to watch her escort follow her, silently admitted that he more than cared for her. Still, care was the better word, just as it was best he had not kissed her again.
The morrow would be difficult. No reason to make it more so.
Chapter Thirty
As far as Ivo Taillebois knew, the parting of ways was exactly that, his entourage turning east toward the convent while the others veered further south toward Etcheverry.
What the knave did not know was Guy and Maxen continued to suspect they were watched and followed, and perhaps beyond the Fens where once more the ground and landscape were mostly predictable. Thus, as decided before the parting, once their two forces were well out of sight of Ivo’s, they had turned back to confirm there was no substance to their misgivings. But there was, suspicion now made fact.
“They outnumber us,” Maxen said of the horde that had drawn wide around Ivo and his men, “and they are no mere rabble.” The former was evidenced by two dozen more men than the three forces combined, the latter by all being astride and well armed.
Guy glanced at his friend mounted alongside in the spotty shadows of trees losing their summer finery. “I wager their leader is Hereward—these the ones he took off the isle and collected when those left behind fled.”
“Precarious, this,” Maxen said. “Though I have little doubt our warriors of fewer number will prevail, many the injuries and deaths both sides.”
Guy was thinking the same, and though there was calm in knowing Vilda would not be harmed by her own, it was threatened by the possibility Ivo and his men would use her as a weapon of negotiation and, failing that, of bloody retaliation when faced with defeat.
He nodded. “As they have encircled those of Taillebois, we encircle them, and quickly ere either moves on the other.”
“Agreed,” Maxen said and each signaled their men and spurred forward.
This Hereward’s answer. If God would not provide the one he wanted, he would provide it himself. But at least he was not reckless, having struck only after Guy and Pendery departed. And he had done so with impressive numbers that revealed still the resistance had heart—albeit diseased, Vilda was
