Guy inclined his head. “You have my word.”
“And mine,” Maxen said.
Hereward considered his men, then nodding as if in agreement with his thoughts, said, “You are quiet, Taillebois. Not that it would matter what passed your lips were you talkative. Even did I half believe Sir Guy and Baron Pendery, not even a quarter would I believe you.”
Taillebois smiled venomously, drew Vilda nearer.
“You are very pleased for one who seeks the protection of a woman,” Hereward said. “I wonder what your men think of that. And what would your king say knowing such behavior is representative of his rule?”
The knave narrowed his eyes.
Hereward looked to Guy. “As this kingdom has become hostile to the last true Englishmen, leaving our country is a consideration. However, were we to make that bargain, for the sake of those who entrust their lives to me, I need more than your word.”
“What would satisfy?”
“Something that requires you to trust me to keep my word. With all major ports guarded by Norman forces, security is required to ensure we are not detained nor slaughtered.” He returned his regard to Taillebois. “You and your men were destined for the coast to put Earl Morcar on a ship, so it will not be out of your way to accompany us.”
This time Taillebois’ response was of outrage, and in Hereward’s language, he said, “You think to make hostages of us?”
“I call it security, and this is how it shall be do you and your men wish to live—when we reach the port, you will secure passage for the earl as well as me and my men. Once we are aboard, you will be released, and your king will think you most courageous for ridding him of his greatest enemy.”
“Non!” the miscreant spat.
“Then we do battle, and you will be among the dead since I will come for you first regardless of whether you bleed my cousin.”
“Taillebois!” Maxen warned.
That man’s gaze flew to him, and after a visible struggle, he said, “If I agree to this, what security have I the outlaw will not slaughter me en route?”
“That of knowing for certain you shall die do you not agree,” Hereward scorned.
Vilda looked between her cousin, Pendery, and Guy. Sensing an impasse, she said, “And there is me.”
“You?” her cousin voiced the disbelief rising on Guy’s face.
“As your relation, I can serve as security—a means of retaliation should ill befall Taillebois and his men.”
Hereward thought on that, looked to Guy. “Once I prove more trustworthy than a Norman, she would be released to accompany me to the continent?”
“Nay,” Vilda said. “As convent life will allow me to remain in England, I am well with it.”
“I am not, V. You are young enough to find happiness on a different shore.”
“After what these years have wrought, I believe I can be satisfied with contentment.”
“Then I know you better than you know yourself. If you stay in England, you will want more and be miserable for lack of it.”
More, she thought, and should not have glanced at Guy for how observant Hereward and what he knew of her feelings. “Even so, I will stay”—she looked to Baron Pendery—“providing after my cousin departs I am delivered to a convent of my choosing.”
He nodded. “I believe the king will find these terms acceptable. Taillebois?”
Vilda felt the jerk of that knave’s chin.
“Hereward?”
“Only if we add to the terms. Lady Alvilda does not wish to live out her days in a convent, but what else is there for a Saxon noblewoman in your king’s England?” He raised his eyebrows. “Marriage.”
Vilda gasped. “Hereward—”
“Hence, the agreement is amended. As the unmarried Sir Guy proved honorable during my cousin’s captivity, and I trust he will provide a better life for her than one of contentment, he shall wed her.”
“Nay, Hereward!”
“Taillebois gets his security, and a Saxon reclaims the life stolen from her. What say you, Torquay?”
Vilda looked to the one who withheld his gaze from her. Was what tightened his face the anger of one hunted into a corner?
When he inclined his head, her heart felt as if put through. It was sorrowful enough not to be loved in return, more to be seen as the altar upon which one sacrificed himself. Straining against Taillebois’ arm, she said, “Pray, do not do this to him, Hereward.”
Guy turned his regard upon her. “I do this to myself,” he said and managed a smile. “I will wed you, Lady.”
“This day,” Hereward said.
“This day.”
“Then we come to terms, and to ensure both parties remain true, my man, Martin, will accompany you to the nearest chapel to bear witness to vows while we make for the coast. But be warned, should anything prevent him from overtaking us this night and giving good report, what has been averted here will prove merely delayed.” He turned to Taillebois. “Loose my cousin.”
Vilda’s side was pinched so hard, it took all her will to suppress a reaction that would not escape Hereward. When the miscreant withdrew his arm, she sprang down and ran to her cousin. “Pray, do not—”
“Short of further betrayal, the course is set,” he spoke over her, once again counting his words of greater import than hers. Then he leaned down, cupped her face, and for her ears alone said, “Forgive me the anger loosed on you. After this last betrayal…” His eyes moved past her to the earl and bishop, then he closed them. When he raised his lids, there was such pain there she nearly wept.
Setting a hand atop his on her jaw, she whispered, “No need for forgiveness.”
As if to disguise his trembling jaw, he blew breath up his face. “I am truly done here. If ever England was my home, no longer. And so I return to my Turfida.”
The wife awaiting him on the continent who Vilda prayed could heal the wounds dealt him in England. “You will not return?”
“Do you truly love the chevalier?”
“I
