De Warenne did the same, then said, “You may be right, my prince. Though, of course, the lady must rid herself of men’s garments. Regardless of her wit, beauty, and the silver about her, she must dress the woman again.”

  Staring at the two noblemen who stood unmoving among the many preparing to ride, Nicola ground her teeth to keep from protesting the plans made for her. This was not what she had sought in transforming anger into the only acceptable weapon she could wield against Daryl—that she wed a Norman who would agree only because William commanded it, that she would live at court, becoming salve and bandage for nobles who, discontent with a rich life, deigned not to look on the suffering of those they ruled. It would make her—

  “Nicola.”

  She wondered how long Maël had blocked her from sight of De Warenne and the prince. And when had he set a hand on her arm?

  “Come, Cousin. I shall aid you in gaining the saddle.”

  “Vitalis?” She looked around and saw he walked between Guarin and Dougray, Eberhard leading the way to their horses.

  “He is in control as you were not,” Maël said as he guided her forward, “though only just, I wager.”

  “I think he may love me as I love him,” she whispered, and as she touched the brooch on her mantle, glimpsed on her cousin’s scarred face what was either dismay or disapproval. “Or perhaps I just wish him to love me, though I ought not since it is impossible for us.”

  Maël’s face had softened. Still concern there, but no glower as had become his mask since Hastings ruined one side of his face.

  She frowned. “What is it, Maël? What has happened?”

  “For what do you ask, little cousin?”

  Was that teasing in his tone? “Methinks you are changed, and not for the worst.”

  When he neither confirmed nor denied it, she delved what she knew of his journey since Bjorn abducted her a second time. “You were on the Danes’ ship with Mercia. Did you spend time together?”

  “We did, having no choice in the matter since we were caged side by side.”

  And? she wanted to ask, recalling his attraction she had sensed for the woman. Instead, she said, “I understand after you and Mercia were ransomed to William, she was taken again by the Danes who shall return her to her grandmother in Denmark.”

  “That is as you heard, eh?” He nodded. “A good thing.”

  “Good? Then you will not even acknowledge what you feel when you look upon her?”

  “What is it I feel, Nicola?”

  Was that more teasing? “You know what I speak of. You are attracted to her, and since she is not truly a holy woman…”

  “Silence!” he said low and sharp, and she saw they neared her mount that grazed alongside the horses of knights who gained their saddles.

  “We shall speak of it later,” she whispered and started to fit her foot in the stirrup.

  “So we shall, Nicola, but until then, think on this which should make what remains of the journey to Red Castle pass more quickly.” He leaned near and placed very few words in her ear—though no more were needed in that moment.

  She gasped, spun, and threw her arms around him just as done earlier in congratulating Guarin on the birth of his children. “Dear Lord!” she cried in a voice muffled by his chest. “Sweet Lord! Merciful Lord!” She shook her head. “I am…it is so…I can hardly…”

  She gulped and, spilling tears different from those last spilled, held tighter to him. It had been teasing she heard. And the movement now felt beneath her cheek further confirmed it. Maël D’Argent of no true laughter nor smiles since Hastings chuckled.

  “We must get you astride,” he said.

  She drew back and considered the smile on his mouth and in his eyes. He was handsome again, more even than before his disfigurement. “Guarin and Dougray know? Cyr and Theriot? Mother and Father?”

  His smiled faltered. “All know except Theriot, but he shall.”

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Worry not.” He kissed her brow. “Soon enough your youngest brother will know. Now set your thoughts on the good of this day so we may sooner set aright the bad of it.”

  Shifting her worry to Vitalis, she looked to where once more his great frame made the horse beneath him look undersized. “We will save him, will we not, Maël?”

  “Certes, we shall try.”

  She did not like that, but it was better than being warned of how unlikely it was Vitalis could escape William’s wrath.

  If it can come right for my cousin, it can come right for Vitalis, she told herself over and again as they rode opposite the setting of the sun. No matter what price I must pay, it will come right.

  Chapter Twenty

  Red Castle

  Thetford, England

  A sennight since word was sent to Wulfen and Stern castles and her parents in Normandy that she was recovered. Seven days. Which was… How many hours did that make? Two hundred? Not that many, though it felt it.

  “Not true,” Nicola muttered. It felt more. And that did not account for how it would feel with the passing of days between this one, when a missive had finally come from King William telling he would himself pass judgment on the rebel leader, and the day of his arrival at Red Castle. Of further concern was it could not be known when that would be since William’s missive said to expect him in his own good time.

  The cur! Meanwhile, Vitalis languished in a cell beneath the great hall—blessedly out of Daryl’s reach, but also Nicola’s. If not for Maël apprising her of the prisoner’s well-being, though never did he carry words to her from Vitalis himself, she might believe the man she loved was dead.

  Though she tried to be content with what he told her, she continued to press her cousin to find her a way past De Warenne’s guards so she could see for herself Vitalis was not mistreated—that Maël did not hide from her that the rebel leader suffered abuse when the Norman to whom he had yielded was not present.

  She frustrated her cousin and brothers in the midst of greater frustration that now, when they should be searching for Theriot, who they revealed was missing, further they were delayed since the king was in no hurry to resolve what held the D’Argents at Red Castle.

  Despite Nicola beseeching Guarin and Dougray to leave her with Maël and ride to where last their youngest brother was seen, they refused—and that refusal was more painful for how tempted they were to do as bid.

  They had assured her she only imagined that temptation, but it had pulsed between them, allowing insight into their depth of unease though they said Theriot was capable of extricating himself if necessary, had he not already.

  Thus, she prayed that her kin staying her side, which was also the side of Vitalis, did not end in tragic regret.

  Nicola straightened from the wall of the alcove she had slipped into following supper, dropped onto the bench, and looked to the hearth that knew no flame nor smoke for the warmth of a summer night. Most of the men had gathered there, and of all, De Warenne was loudest. Any time another spoke over him, quickly and somewhat good-humoredly, he returned that man to his place.

  Just as Nicola’s menfolk were not among those testing De Warenne’s patience, neither was Daryl. As observed often this past sennight, he distanced himself, either sitting and brooding and keeping watch over the D’Argents as if certain they intended to deprive him of a prize that did not belong to him, else departing the hall to walk the walls. The latter he had done this eve.

  It made Nicola breathe easier that he was further distanced from Vitalis, but it did little to ease this restlessness tempting her to slip down the short corridor near the stairs, open the iron-banded door that accessed the cellar which housed stores of food and drink as well as prisoners, and hope Vitalis’s jailers had imbibed enough they would not know she had come and gone.

  “Oh my heart, I must see him,” she whispered, and would have gripped her head in her hands had she not caught movement toward her.

  It was the prince. In all these days, he had not approached as it appeared he did now—that or he did not see her in the shadows he also sought. As he wished her wed to a man of his sire’s choosing and caged at court, she rose with the intention of taking the stairs to the small chamber she shared with another of De Warenne’s wards—a young Saxon heiress of seven years whose boredom was occasionally relieved by Nicola allowing her hair to be fashioned in all manner of braids.

  Were the girl not of good disposition and incredibly lonely, Nicola would not have indulged her. Thus, rather than hasten past the prince with chin high and head beautifully crowned in braids whose ends brushed her shoulders, it would have been a single fat braid flapping against her back.

  She had only exited the alcove when Richard greeted her as he would one he had arranged to meet. “Lady Nicola, I am pleased to speak with you.” He gestured at the dim recess. “Sit with me.”

  She met eyes that were on level with her own. “As it has been a long day, I hoped to find my rest, Prince Richard.”

  His mouth quirked. “Since the morrow will be longer now we wait on my sire’s arrival, I would save the escape of sleep for that night rather than this.” He took her arm.

  Nicola was tempted to resist, but lest she come to the notice of De Warenne and his men, she turned back and, as she did so, glanced at the D’Argent men.

  She had their attention. It had taken weeks to restore her to her family, and they would not risk losing her again, whether by her own devices or those of a young man who sought to practice courtship on her—or less admirable intentions. Though she did not think they would move against the prince unless provoked by untoward behavior glimpsed in the shadows, still she wished she were not under such close watch.

  She lowered to the bench alongside the youth and was pleased he released her.

  “We met before all this. Do you remember, Lady Nicola?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you know how I remember?”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I do not.”

  “My brother, Robert, thought you quite pretty.”

  Even more arrogant than Richard—worse, annoying. But then, he was the oldest of William’s sons and destined for greater things than the others. And knew it well.

  “I agreed you were pretty,” Richard continued, “and said perhaps father would give you for my wife when I became a man.”

  “Oh!” she chirped. “Well, I am…was…er, would have been flattered, Richard.”

  He gave a grunt of laughter. “Non, you would not have been. I was young, but even then I could see you were not like other girls. Because you were a D’Argent, my mother said.”

  On which too much she prided herself.

  He sighed. “Robert was quick to remind me you were nearer his age and, as firstborn, he had a right to whatever I wanted. Though slow to understand my place, better I had begun to grasp his mind, and so I said he could have you and no regret would I suffer, especially if you silvered the same as your brothers. While he frowned over that, I added it was one thing to wed a woman a few years older, quite another to live one’s younger years with a wife so silver of head she looked our grandmother.”

  Lightened by the conversation’s turn, Nicola waved a hand before her face. “Do I look your grandmother?”

  “Far from even my mother.” Richard leaned near, and she saw there was a slant to his serious mouth. “Methinks you all the more lovely for those silver strands, Lady.”

  “Ah, but ere I am two score aged, it will be more than mere strands.”

  He shrugged and drew back. “Still, I do not think it will be unbecoming.”

  In that moment, Nicola decided she liked him, and not because he flattered her—though perhaps a little. Regardless of his sire, arrogance, and wish for her to waste her life at court, he had tender places about a mischievous heart that, were it possible to preserve them into manhood, might make him a worthier ruler of England than William. Of course, to attain that position, he would have to outlive Robert.

  She angled toward him. “What was your brother’s response when you yielded me?”

  “He said he but teased his baby brother who was so gullible he did not know the future King of England and Duke of Normandy would require a lady of highest birth and perfect youth and beauty.”

  “I would have liked to have been there.” Nicola nipped her lip. “Tell me you do not still consider I would make a good wife for you.”

  He thought on it, then said, “I might wish it in the moment, but I am acquainted enough with my conceit to know it requires a match with one who returns my feelings, not one who…”

  She touched his hand. “Who what, Richard?”

  “I have watched you, Lady. I have seen your pain and fear, and the lean of your body toward the corridor down which one must travel to gain the cell where Vitalis is held.”

  Despite the dim, she saw the furrows of his frown.

  “I think you must love him, and that is an ill thing since I fear my sire’s judgment will be worse than harsh. But even in loss, still methinks you will love the Saxon rebel.”

  Nicola lowered her eyes, but the tears were in her voice. “I must find a way to free him.”

  “I know, just as I know there is little chance of it, even do I tell my sire Vitalis spared my life.” He took from his purse something exceedingly familiar. Here the mantle piece Vitalis had given Nicola at the abbey, she had returned to him upon the river, and he had given to the prince he pulled out of the pit.

  Just as she had seen Vitalis do, he drew through his fingers that which he could not know evidenced the great shame inflicted on his sire. “I will tell him what happened in the wood and deliver this, but…”

  “But?”

  He looked to her. “Lady, you do not know how difficult it will be to further disappoint William the Conqueror.”

  Did he realize the blood-red title he granted his father sounded equal parts praise and derision?

  “I do not know,” she said, “but I believe you will make good the word you gave.” Surely, if anything would keep William’s blade from Vitalis’s neck, it would be mercy shown even a second-born son.

  “You were near the pit the day I fell in, were you not?” he asked.

  “I came in answer to your call for help, but Vitalis answered first.”

  He returned the cloth to his purse. “Would that so great a warrior were my sire’s side, that offenses which seem too great to be forgiven would be.” He grunted. “A pity the life Vitalis spared was not that of the firstborn. Instead, it was the second who betters Robert only in height—and not by much.”

  Nicola had heard the eldest had not grown into the promise of his father’s build, and since Robert was mostly a man now, he would not.

  “I wish to give you a gift,” Richard said. “Not only to ease your hurting heart, if that is possible, but as apology for making light of your worth by suggesting your place is at court. I know it is not—that those walls would suffocate you. I knew it was the wrong thing to say ere I spoke it, but it seemed the right thing to say in Sir Daryl’s presence. I do not like him, not because he is a Saxon. Because he is a Saxon who makes himself a Norman when he can never be that. Accept Norman rule, oui.” He nodded. “That is the way forward, the same way the Lady of Wulfen has gone, but do not shed the skin of who you are. It only makes you look a snake.”

  Where Daryl was concerned, she could not agree more. “Your gift?” she asked.

  “When all are at rest this eve, meet me at the cellar door.”

  At her sharp breath, he nodded.

  “But what of his jailers?”

  “One thing I have learned which De Warenne wishes I had not is silence can be bought. True, its lips come unsealed on occasion, but since I am a prince, the punishment is never so dire it outweighs the reward of gaining what I want. Regardless, there is little chance De Warenne will learn of this night’s events since the only other prisoner held in the donjon died two days past.”

  Once more, Nicola caught her breath, this time for fear the man had been tortured or starved to his merciless end.

  “He was very old,” the prince said as if sensing her distress.

  That did not mean his death was natural. “Was he a Saxon?”

  He nodded. “You will come an hour after all bed down?”

  Assuring herself as long as Maël was here, Vitalis was safe, and refusing to think on how that would change with the king’s arrival, she gripped the youth’s hand and squeezed it. “I shall be there. I thank you for your kindness.”

  “Another thing at which I excel over Robert. Now go to little Lady Ardith who is likely to remain awake until her pet is beside her.”

  Nicola did not take offense at being named that. She knew the girl regarded her as such, and since the years ahead could prove turbulent for Ardith who was to wed a Norman when she came of age, at least she would have some good memories of her days at Red Castle.

  Nicola stood. “I shall join you soon,” she said and stepped from the alcove. Feigning ignorance of her brothers’ and cousin’s watch over her, she ascended the stairs.

  For what seemed the full turning of a night, she stared at the dim ceiling and felt the slow rise and fall of Ardith’s chest against her side and the delicate hand hooked around her pet’s neck. A hand easily loosed when it was time to go to Vitalis.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A half hour,” Prince Richard said. “Only that will the guards risk since the next watch relieves them an hour hence. Too, you must be gone ere this watch returns since they think I am the one who wishes a private audience. You are well with that?”

  “I will not fail you, my prince.” That last Nicola added to better express her gratitude.

  He inclined his head. “I am for bed now.”

  She startled. “I thought you would keep watch.”

  “No need. As I have faith you shall do as told, the five privy to what goes this eve shall remain five.”

  She was pleased to have gained his trust, and yet she wished he would stay close enough to alert her should circumstances change. Silently chiding herself for being fearful, she said, “I shall see you when next we break fast.”

 

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