above the hem.
Imagining that giant of a man drawing near enough to humiliate England’s king, she laughed softly. “I would have liked to be there, mighty Vitalis, to see for myself what you, albeit ill, inflicted on the one I am ashamed to name my liege.” She blew breath up her face, rolled her eyes. “Non, no matter what you think of me, I do not hate you. I dislike you. And it is the Christian of me who is glad you look so fine—because you are restored to health. Only that.”
A moment later, she heard a voice beyond those of the Danes outside her door. It was of a woman, and she sounded Saxon.
The chemise too loose to hide the mantle piece down her chest, Nicola snatched up the thin mattress, shoved the cloth between it and the rope springs, and was sitting pretty when a Dane threw open the door.
Though the figure of the young woman who entered carried more weight than Nicola’s, it did so for bigger bones rather than fat. But of greater note was garb that, albeit worn, was of a Saxon lady and her features were familiar. Were she not a close relation of Hereward, it would surprise.
When the door thumped closed, the woman said in Anglo-Saxon, “I am Vilda come to deliver you the best of my gowns and chemises whilst yours are laundered.” She dropped them atop the bed and set her head to the side, unbalancing golden brown braids such that one skimmed her waist and the other her hip.
Nicola smiled, and in the woman’s language said, “Much gratitude, Hereward’s kin.”
She who appeared somewhat older than Nicola, likely having passed her twentieth summer, raised an eyebrow. “You are observant, Lady Nicola. Though some suspect the same when I am in the company of my cousin, most do not, and only you have been certain enough to proclaim it.”
Cease, pride! Nicola silently warned. You will not have your way with my smile. “When I sit still, much I see what others do not,” she said. Still too prideful, but it seemed so only after spoken.
“Of good benefit to the sister of many D’Argents,” Vilda said and stepped near and sank to her haunches before Nicola. She looked close at the Norman lady’s silvered hair that was in need of a basin of fresh water and a good quantity of soap, next her face and body down to her toes.
“Lady Vilda?” Nicola ventured.
“That I was until Normans stole that from me and others too many to number.”
When first Nicola arrived in England, she had been pricked by guilt over what her people had done to the Saxons, but in the years since, the steel of that prod had lengthened and thickened. Now it felt a stab.
“But of no use to speak of it,” Vilda said, “and it is not for that I linger.”
“Then?”
“If you can be honest, tell me—do the Danes truly stand our side, or will what happened after the fall of York happen in the Fens?”
Ache squeezed Nicola’s heart. “I know not their plans—”
“You are Bjorn’s woman.”
“Nay, Lady Vilda, he only wishes it. Never shall I belong to him, and for that his sire hates me. Indeed, so much I do not believe the earl trusts his son with knowledge of what is to come of the Danish king’s arrival lest Bjorn reveal it to me.”
The Saxon who was pretty despite little feminine delicacy, stared as if to catch a lie scurrying across this Norman’s face, then straightened. “Hereward says ’tis best I tend you, and as your Bjorn agrees, I shall. But know I do not like it, not because service is beneath me, because more of my time and dignity shall be lost than already your people have stolen.”
Though the woman baited by naming the young Dane this Norman’s possession, Nicola said, “I am sorry. I do not want to be a burden nor a reminder of what you have lost. I but wish to return to my family upon Wulfenshire. If you…?” Dare she? Of course she dared. “Much gratitude my brother, the husband of Hawisa Wulfrith, would extend were your cousin to—”
“Betray the Danes?” Vilda gave a huff of laughter. “’Tis true Hereward keeps his demons fed, which sometimes causes him to fail as much as succeed, but he is a better man than any Norman—including those of your family. Thus, as long as the Danes stay true to him, he shall be true to them. And