“Do you think it still recognizable atop the abbey’s gate? Or has it been picked clean?”
Vitalis heard the pound of his heart, the drawing of breath through a throat so tight it nearly wheezed. Knowing the D’Argents prepared to drag him back, he told himself to think on Nicola and saw the instant she lost control as he dare not.
She launched off the rock around which her kin had gathered to ensure their privacy. Though it was Vitalis whom the D’Argents believed they would have to subdue, they knew Nicola well enough to watch her as well. Thus, she was allowed only the draw of her dagger—which likely would have been the sword had De Warenne not ordered it removed from her person—and three running strides before Maël lunged in front of her and Guarin caught her around the waist.
“Release me!” she screeched, one hand thrusting the dagger in Daryl’s direction, the other prying at her brother’s arm. “If any Saxon is evil, it is that one! He who should have fallen at Hastings and lost all. He who is of no credit to his people, no credit to Normans, above all, no credit to God. And those who associate with him…” She swept her dagger around, causing her cousin to lean back to evade its point. “All of you! Oui, every warrior here ought to be ashamed to keep company with a traitor, a liar, a thief, a murderer! And you, mighty earl, you given charge of the king’s son expose him to—”
She yelped when her cousin snatched the dagger from her and her brother ceased efforts to gain control without resorting to rough handling. Having further tightened his hold, he swung her away from Daryl and De Warenne whose expressions had shifted from amusement to narrow-eyed interest to ire.
Face flushed, eyes wild, Nicola sought to expand her lungs against the press of Guarin’s arm, but he jerked her closer and spoke in her ear words denied all others save her menfolk and Vitalis, “You are a D’Argent. You will behave a D’Argent. You will not repeat the mistakes you tell you rue. Oui, Nicola?”
Though she no longer strained to free herself, she did not respond. Likely, just as Vitalis sought to douse raging fires set by Daryl who, rather than further attack Nicola’s character, made entertainment of Zedekiah’s death, she did the same.
“If you will not do this for your family,” Guarin continued, “do it for Vitalis who benefits naught and may even be harmed by such a display.” He nodded at their captive who strained every muscle to remain seated. “And do it so you not become more the puppet that miscreant makes of you.”
Nicola’s eyes on Vitalis found focus, then the vixen in her took its leave, causing her to go lax.
It appeared she lost consciousness, but as if Guarin knew she merely needed support while she gathered herself back together, he did not swing her into his arms.
When her face began to pale, she raised her lids. Though she stared at Vitalis with ache and longing, a flickering in her eyes told she attended not only to what was before her but what was on all sides of her.
Fortunately for the knights, they did not behave as if unaware of De Warenne’s reaction to the insult dealt him. They enjoyed Daryl’s baiting of Nicola, but they contained mirth the earl might think directed at him, contenting themselves with murmurings.
Then there was Prince Richard whom Nicola was unable to look upon but Vitalis could. Now the youth stood near the one who fostered him. His brow a work of curiosity, he looked between the lady who had been a girl when last he gazed upon her whilst he was a boy, to the Saxon who had pulled him from the pit.
Did his eyes dance because he found desirable the one Daryl accused of being Vitalis’s harlot? Or was he entertained the same as the others?
“For him—and my family,” Nicola said in a voice graveled by her outburst, then straightened in anticipation of her release.
Guarin looked to Dougray and Eberhard on either side of their captive, then Vitalis.
Answering what was asked of him, Vitalis inclined his head. He was in control—for now—which granted Guarin some ease of mind in releasing his sister should she once more attempt to attack Daryl.
“Keep your word, Nicola,” he said and withdrew his arm and stepped back.
She breathed deep, stood taller, then turned and stalked in the direction of their horses.
“Lady Nicola!”
She