Sometimes it is small things, such as your aversion to needle and thread.”
She could see he did not like that, but he nodded for her to continue.
“Other times, big things, such as the greatest hope of uniting our two peoples—Saxon-Norman babes, and two in one womb.”
“Ever you are proved right?” he asked.
As he came first to mind, she hesitated, but he knew what she felt, even if he named it infatuation, just as she knew what he did not feel for her. “Not always. Recently, what I sensed was one thing proved another.” Seeing understanding in his eyes, she added, “Still, I was not entirely wrong since there is a degree of relation between love and desire, is there not?”
Without awaiting a response he would not likely give, she glanced at their spitted meal, stepped around him, and tossed over her shoulder, “I am grateful for the tidings. Now all we need is that which allows us to depart this wood.”
“There is more to tell, Nicola.”
She halted, then beseeching the Lord that what he had yet to speak would not make her cling faster to the good of Guarin and Hawisa’s blessing, turned. “I listen.”
“These tidings are of your cousin, Maël, and the Abbess of Lillefarne whom Prince Canute ransomed to Bishop Odo.”
Worry seeking to strangle joy, she waited.
“They were taken to Stern Castle, Sir Maël to make preparations to resume the task of capturing me and returning the mantle piece to William”—he glanced at the purse on his belt—“and Mary Sarah to be questioned in the expectation she will reveal where King Harold’s queen and infant son fled following his death at Hastings.”
She frowned. “How would she know?”
“’Tis said she, who I do not believe to be a holy woman in truth, served as keeper of the queen’s wardrobe ere the Battle of Hastings.”
Nicola hesitated, then said, “Though I did not know she served at court, it is true she only played an abbess. Her name is Mercia, and she is the illegitimate daughter of one of Countess Gytha’s sons, perhaps even King Harold.”
Vitalis considered that, nodded. “Now sense is made of the rest of the tidings. When she would not—or could not—tell the whereabouts of the queen and her babe, Odo ordered her to wed the son of your king’s companion, De Grandmesnil, who is little more than a youth.”
Then here evidence William knew what blood—albeit illegitimate—flowed in Mercia’s veins, Nicola concluded. Hence, he sought to ensure King Harold’s kin could never be used to rally further Saxon resistance.
“Did she wed him?” she asked, hopeful Mercia had not since there was another Norman to whom she would be better wed.
“Nay. When she rejected the boy ten years younger than she, Odo made a game of it, encouraging her to believe she could choose her husband providing he was Norman.” Vitalis’s eyebrows rose. “She chose Sir Maël.”
Another gasp, but the joy of it was short-lived since he said it was a game the bishop played.
“Although of no consequence,” Vitalis continued, “your cousin refused her.”
Of no consequence, but still Nicola hurt for Mercia being rejected by one who seemed determined to remain unhappy.
“Shortly after Sir Maël departed Stern Castle, Mary Sarah—rather, Mercia—escaped with the aid of—”
“She did?” Nicola gasped. “How?”
Annoyance clipped across Vitalis’s brow over joy that made her seem the girl when, had she behaved the woman, already she would have her answer. “Danes stole her from the castle, and it is said they put her on a ship to Denmark where she is to join King Harold’s exiled mother.”
Not as much joy in that as there would be had Maël also played a game and been the one to steal her away, especially as Mercia’s grandmother ill-treated her, but surely better the woman was subjected to kin who sought to make use of her rather than the enemy.
“Thus, not only do Daryl and Abbot Turold’s men search for me,” Vitalis said, “but once more your cousin. And that is a good thing.”
“Good?”
“I have you and the mantle piece, and I believe Sir Maël honorable enough to take both and give me time enough to distance myself while he returns his cousin to Stern Castle and evidence of his king’s shame to William. That is all I shall need to ensure Daryl works no revenge on me.”
To which he was far more vulnerable as long as he protected her, Nicola knew.
“Before I work mine on him,” Vitalis added.
“Then I have become your prisoner? Your hostage?”
“Non, Nicola,” once more he