her to escape, slipped beneath, and pressed her back to his side.
Having had little cause to cry in her ten and eight years, she had not known it was possible to do so without alerting those nearby. But it was in these circumstances. No sounds escaped her that were not hidden beneath the calls of night creatures, the breeze through reeds and grass both sides of the waterway, the dip and thrust of oars, and the grunts of a warrior determined to distance them from Ely.
As for the occasional shaking of her shoulders beneath the blanket shared with Zedekiah, the moon was now entirely clouded. If that was not enough to conceal her misery, the boat’s soft lurches would be deemed responsible for the movement.
Were these only tears of self-pity, Nicola would not yield, but they were mostly for Zedekiah. It was unlikely he would survive wounds gone deeper than flesh, no amount of stitching the outside capable of mending the inside. Unless a physician was found soon and the Lord determined England still needed this warrior, he would leave this world.
Of concern, though far less than losing Zedekiah, was how Vitalis would react to that for which, ultimately, Normans were to blame.
Including me, she thought and shook anew.
Cease this self-pitying, she silently rebuked. Cease, else more unworthy you will prove of your family name.
She tensed until every muscle ached, eased out her breath, and prayed when the sun rose she would awaken at Stern Castle, all this a nightmare to teach her hard lessons without others paying their price.
Chapter Nine
A warrior made good use of his anger, suppressing it to learn self control that would one day save his life and the lives of others, or releasing it upon an enemy to save his own life and the lives of others. But what to do with this anger?
Though he did not think he could suppress it, he knew he should not loose it. He did not need to know exactly what happened in the alley to verify Nicola had meant his man no harm, nor did he wish to move her to tears as she had moved herself on the night past, but she was responsible for what could prove the death of Zedekiah. Forgivable, especially for how well she tended the fallen warrior without complaint or need for direction, but not forgivable in this moment as Vitalis watched his friend.
The lightening sky verified Zedekiah’s pallor, and the cold air puffing white from quivering nostrils and parted lips verified the smithy who had become a warrior did not breathe well. Would he die, forcing Vitalis to bury him in unhallowed ground the sooner to fulfill his promise to Hawisa?
“Live,” Vitalis rasped. “Live so you can be free of the ill I brought down upon you, my friend.”
Seeing the blanket shift, he looked to Nicola whose silvered hair covered the side of her face turned away from him.
Her sharply drawn breath evidenced the moment she realized she was not on an herb-scented, feather-stuffed mattress. Then like a cornered fox, she sprang to sitting against the opposite bench. Having taken much of the blanket with her, it slid off her shoulder and down around her waist as she landed her eyes on Vitalis.
He was not surprised blood streaked her fouled gown. What surprised was seeing it on her face—dried rivulets and specks the same as warriors sported when very near an enemy whose blood they had drawn. Doubtless, much of what was on her bodice was from tending Zedekiah, but her face…
She had to have been near when blood spilled between Zedekiah and those determined to keep hold of her.
Nicola blinked and looked around at the fairly clear water upon which the boat bobbed on the narrow waterway Vitalis had turned into. “Why have we stopped?”
He straightened his aching back. “I am one man rowing a boat burdened by three through the night, often over currents that wish to return us to Ely—and this after carrying my half-dead friend a great distance over treacherous ground.” He glanced at Zedekiah. “Surely you would not begrudge me drink, food, and rest?”
“Of course not. It is just…too suddenly I am up out of sleep.” As if dreading how these past hours had dealt with Zedekiah, slowly she turned her face to him.
“He lives,” Vitalis said.
A sigh became a cloud before her face. “When he told me where to find the boat and ordered me to run, there were so many Danes coming for him