as it was hoped Vitalis would not refuse to don the garments, so it was hoped he would bathe thoroughly and permit the chamber maid proficient with scissors and razors to put order to his hair and beard. That last seemed less likely, but Maël assured her Vitalis was thinking right, and that he knew prideful, vengeful words would be of no benefit to him nor his people if they gained him the grave. Too, he refused to be baited by his jailers no matter the slurs they flung at him.
No different from Guarin when he was a captive, he wants to live, Nicola, Maël had told her days past. As you know, my supervision of him ensures he is not abused as your brother was before Hawisa learned some of her rebels mistreated Guarin and set Vitalis to watch over him.
Nicola did know that, but just as her eldest brother had nearly died when he fell into the hands of those who betrayed Hawisa, now Vitalis would find death just as near if not nearer when he passed into William’s hands. Vitalis had saved Guarin by stealing him from those who would have killed him with one more beating, but who would be Vitalis to the man Nicola loved? Guarin? Dougray? Maël? Prince Richard? Pieces of each to make a whole that would cause William not only to spare his life but grant him freedom?
You wish for things beyond the moon, she silently chided.
“Now we follow,” Guarin said.
She jumped a little at finding herself staring after the king, his son, and half a dozen knights who would ride nearer the donjon than the rest of the entourage who were to stable their horses in the outer bailey before continuing on foot to the inner bailey, else camp outside the castle’s walls.
Nicola looked up at Guarin and was comforted by his adoption of the Saxon style of grooming. His silvered dark hair was so long it had to be bound at the nape to neaten his appearance among Normans who yet clung to the close-cropped style. His beard, beginning with the mustache, curved down around his lips and covered his chin and jaw up toward his ears. Sooner Dougray had adopted the style, both his hair and beard nearly as thick as Vitalis’s. And Maël… Were he not merely remiss of late, he moved that direction as well.
“Nicola?” Guarin prompted.
She smiled sorrowfully, and finding her hand on Vitalis’s brooch pinned to her bodice, lowered it. “I know I will not die if the worst is decided this day, but it feels I shall.”
“We understand that struggle,” Dougray said as they started forward, “just as we know you will be strong for him as you must be.”
Leave it to us, he was telling her. In this world of men and weapons where the mightiest prevail in the absence of wisdom, leave it to good men to right the wrongs.
Since she had such righters of wrong on her side, she could not resent that, but how she wished she could as effectively overpower William as she had Daryl.
Reminded of the miscreant as she walked between her brothers, she searched him out ahead and wondered what William would think of Abbot Turold giving charge of his knights to one whose own charge had been given to Maël. Perhaps acceptable had Daryl been the one to deliver Vitalis, but would it be enough that he could claim responsibility for slaying Zedekiah?
Pray not, she silently pleaded. Send him away, William. Far away.
As if Daryl heard, he looked around. There was a smile on his lips as of one anticipating justice would soon be given. She herself smiled to see again the side of his face sliced by her blade that prevented his mouth from achieving a balanced curve. Perhaps it would when it healed entirely, but until then it would keep him exceedingly close in thought to the woman who humiliated him. Dangerous for her, but she would have it no other way.
“Let us hope William relieves that traitor of the knights he should never have been given charge of and sends him away,” Guarin said as if following her gaze.
“You think he will?” she asked as they passed into the inner bailey.
“I do, though likely William will let the matter lie whilst it is a source of amusement.”
“Puppeteer,” she hissed, feeling a jerk as of strings pinned to her flesh and catching on her soul. “Had William been trained by our sire and uncle—”
“He