was trained by those who sought to make a puppet of the boy he was when his father’s death made a duke of a misbegotten son,” her brother reminded in a voice shared only between the three of them. “That does not excuse him for the things to which he is disposed. It informs us of who lies behind those eyes. And there is safety and power in that.”
Another reminder—and with little subtlety—to attend to her behavior. She nodded and began ascending the donjon steps.
Now to brace for what lay ahead, which would be decided by the one behind those eyes.
Maddening! Completely, utterly, maddening!
Were Vitalis to receive the cruelest punishment, of course she did not want it decided and done this day. But were he to be granted clemency, she wanted it done the moment Red Castle became William’s by the mere fall of his foot upon its ground.
Does that mean I have greater hope for the latter than dread of the former? Nicola wondered as she stared at the king who had finished his dinner two hours past.
Boasting the privilege and confidence of one whose head is not bent beneath the weight of what may be a death sentence, William sat back in the Lord’s high seat at the table. Behind him stood Sir Guy who had assumed the responsibility of overseeing the protection of England’s king when Maël was tasked with capturing Vitalis and retrieving the mantle piece. On one side of William was De Warenne with whom he conversed, laughed, and slapped or pounded the table to emphasize some point he believed important, on the other side, Richard.
The prince seemed no longer fearful, though surely because William mostly ignored his son. Now he looked bored, and from the tremor of his upper body, Nicola guessed beneath the long tablecloth he tapped a foot or bounced a knee.
How wonderful to be bored in these circumstances, she silently scorned and remembered when the worst about her days was when she suffered the same.
Momentarily, she longed to be that girl again, her greatest worry and frustration being how to make the hours pass quickly the sooner to engage mind and body in something more stimulating—no matter how greatly she disappointed those who saw her first as a female, lastly a D’Argent greatly influenced by that family’s relatively large male population.
I am no longer a girl, she told herself. I am a woman, and though it is harder and more painful than believed possible, I would not wish to be oblivious again.
“There is Maël,” Guarin murmured, and she nearly shot off the bench shared with Ardith who ceaselessly braided and unbraided the hair on the left side of Nicola’s head.
It was not the first time her cousin had appeared in the hall since the king’s arrival, but as yet the most Nicola and her brothers had from him were nods of assurance. All was as well as possible in the cellar—until William roused from the stupor of food, drink, and conversation to descend the stairs.
If he descended them. As the King of England, men came to him, especially were they prisoners.
Maël approached the dais and William motioned him nearer.
The captain of his guard went around the backside of the table, and when the king crooked a finger, Maël spoke something in his liege’s ear.
It remained a guessing game as to what was told and what was William’s response with his expression shifting between interest, displeasure, and apathy. He had to know by now that though Vitalis was in his possession, proof of his shaming was not. What he could not know was that it was well within reach.
Nicola shifted her gaze to the prince and silently entreated, Be of good courage. Seek a private audience with your sire, deliver the cloth with the tale of its getting, and impress on him the debt of gratitude owed Vitalis. And the king himself! He is here, alive and whole, and will sit in judgment of another because a worthy warrior did not resort to murder to end the conqueror’s tyranny.
William said something, waved a hand, and returned his attention to De Warenne.
“I will speak with Maël,” Guarin said.
“I thank you,” Nicola breathed.
He rose and started toward the stairs ahead of Maël’s descent of the dais. His intentions were discreet to all but any who watched for the D’Argents to seek to learn the reason Vitalis remained imprisoned when already the king should have had him chained, dragged to the hall, and dropped at