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?