Her Battle-Scarred Knight

by Meriel Fuller

  He needed to move her away from her brother, though. She lay too close to him, breathing the same air as him, breathing in his sickness. For a moment he considered shaking her awake, forcing her to walk the few steps to the pallet, but one look at the deep hollows beneath her eyes made him reassess his decision. Brianna was exhausted. Wedging his hands beneath her, beneath the bulk of clothes that she wore, he lifted her supple weight with ease, shifting one hand around to support her upper back and one hand around her hips as he braced her against his chest. She mumbled softly with the movement, her head lolling into his shoulder; his heart kicked up a beat. The pure, fresh scent of lavender lifted from her heated skin, the spun sunshine of her flaming hair. Turning to the low bed in the corner, he bent over, kneeling on the elm floorboards to place her carefully, but speedily, on the bed. The thin, straw-filled pillow rustled as she moved her head uneasily, strands of brilliant amber snagging on the fine linen pillowcase. Her cheeks were bright red; without waking, her fingers tugged fitfully at the neck of her cloak, the scarlet colour of her material vying with the colour of her face. She was far too hot.

  His hands trembled as he fumbled with the cord securing her cloak; he cursed the unfamiliar fastening. Two metal bosses, shaped like flowers, were attached to either side of the cloak, a cord passing through metal rings at the back. But where was the knot? He was damned if he could see it! His fingers felt too big, too ungainly to be performing such a fiddling maidservant’s task.

  ‘What in Heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?’ A pair of azure eyes pierced into him, outraged, annoyed. Brianna slapped his hand away, pushing herself upwards sharply, brain still fuddled with sleep. ‘How dare you?’ She brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her cheek.

  Giseux sprang to his feet, moving away to the middle of the room, scowling. ‘You fell asleep with your cloak on,’ he explained gruffly. ‘The chamber is boiling; I thought to remove it.’

  ‘You had no right,’ she flung at him, voice quavering at the violation. ‘No right at all.’ She swung her stocking-covered feet to the floor, hugging her arms about her body, defensive, wary.

  Silver-grey eyes assessed her. ‘I was only removing your cloak, Brianna, nothing else.’ By God, the way she was reacting it was as if he had been about to remove all her clothes!

  ‘And why am I here, on this bed? Did I move myself, or—’ she glanced at him suspiciously ‘—did you move me?’

  The little chit had the temerity to speak to him as if he were a stripling! ‘Listen, my lady,’ he growled down at her, ‘I was doing you a favour. Your brother’s burning up with a fever; lying next to him as you were, there’s a good chance you could catch his illness.’

  ‘That’s for me to decide, not you.’

  ‘You were asleep.’

  ‘You should have woken me up. I don’t like the thought of you carrying me when…when I’m asleep.’ Brianna flushed, a vivid image of the two of them together hurtling into her mind. She hated the thought of being vulnerable, exposed to this man, to any man. Heat pulsed through her limbs; she tugged irritably at the fastening of her cloak, releasing the strings. The enveloping material fell back, folds gathering on the bed behind her.

  Without his armour, he seemed bigger, she thought suddenly. His intimidating presence filled the room, vital, powerful, his arms crossed high over the blue wool of his tunic. Long, muscular legs were encased in fustian leggings, cross-gartered with leather over the calves, before they disappeared into his stout leather boots.

  ‘Go away. I can take care of Hugh.’ Her voice was curt, snappish. She concentrated on tracing the whorls of a huge knot in the polished wooden floorboards, willing him to go, wanting to hear the door click behind him.

  ‘Do you speak to all men in this manner, or have you singled me out for special treatment?’ Giseux drawled. If anything, he had moved closer.

  ‘I speak to all men in the same manner, if I have to speak to them at all.’

  The hard iron of his iridescent eyes trailed over her forlorn figure. ‘What happened to you, Brianna? What happened to you to make you like this, shunning all masculine contact? You assume all men are the same, that we’re all bad.’

  A rush of tears filled her eyes at the unforeseen sympathy in his tone. She drew a deep, raggedy breath, fingers digging into the piled softness of her cloak at her side, winding the fastening cord around her middle finger.

  ‘I don’t…’ But even as the words of protest emerged, she knew she lied. She tried again. ‘Hugh is a man…I don’t think he’s bad.’

  Giseux laughed drily. ‘Hugh is your brother, Brianna. That’s a totally different thing. Are you telling me that he’s the only man you would trust? What about romance, love, a husband?

  ‘I’ve already had a husband,’ she explained, turning her huge, limpid eyes upon him. ‘And believe me, it’s an experience I have no wish to repeat.’

  Chapter Five

  Brianna scowled at the door as it closed with a sharp click behind Giseux. Since when had she started blurting out her intimate secrets? Giseux’s questioning had torn a strip away from her tough outer skin, revealing a piece of herself that she had no wish to show. But he had seen it all, seen into the very being of her with the incisive intelligence of his gunmetal eyes. Being so close to a man was a singular experience for her, especially one as physically attractive as Giseux. His powerful presence unnerved her, dominated her, sending her thoughts along muddled, unexpected routes, making every nerve ending in her body dance with…Was it pleasure?

  ‘Brianna?’ A husk of a whisper penetrated the silence.

  Heart lifting, she whipped around. ‘Hugh?’ She flew to the bed, to her brother’s side. Hugh’s eyes were open, red-rimmed, bloodshot, but, aye, he was awake.

  ‘Hugh! Thank God!’ Brianna gathered his hands in hers, grasping his hot, clammy fingers. She smoothed back his tousled auburn hair, damp with sweat, leaning down to hug him.

  ‘I knew Giseux would find you,’ Hugh spoke slowly, as if having difficulty finding the words. ‘I told him it was important.’

  ‘I came as fast as I could,’ she murmured, thinking of Giseux’s stubborn horse refusing to budge beneath her command. ‘I will take you home, as soon as you feel able, back to Sefanoc.’

  Hugh nodded vaguely; he seemed barely able to hear her words. His fingers fretted at her sleeve, clutching at the threadbare material. ‘Brianna, there’s something you must do for me. I don’t know how much longer I have…’ His blue eyes, a perfect match to her own, constantly shifted, roved about the chamber, as if unable to focus on any one thing.

  ‘Shh!’ Brianna interrupted him, placing a finger to his lips. ‘I forbid you to talk like this. You will recover.’

  Hugh shook his head against the pillow, the pulse in his throat beating rapidly, too fast. ‘I might not.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘It’s a lot to ask, Brianna. I was going to ask Lord Giseux for his help once more—’

  ‘No!’ she replied a little too vehemently. ‘Whatever it is, Hugh, I am sure I can perform the task quite adequately on my own.’

  ‘He’s a good man, Brianna. He brought me back to England, but we only knew each other by sight from the crusade. I scarcely know him. While we waited on the beach for the ships, he offered to bring me home when he realised how close his parents’ estates were to Sefanoc.’

  ‘It was good of him to come and fetch me then.’ A wave of guilt passed over Brianna as she recalled her churlish behaviour towards Giseux. ‘Even so, I am used to doing things on my own now…You’ve been away a long time.’

  Hugh squeezed her hand; she winced at the tightness of his fingers. ‘You always were so independent. Still the same Brianna.’ A faint smile stretched painfully at his chapped lips.

  She caught the criticism in his tone and tried to pull her hand out of his sweaty grasp. In his long absence, she had forgotten how Hugh could be—how he attempted, after the death of their parents, to wield his
sibling power, expecting her to do his bidding, to follow his orders. He had often remonstrated with her over her wayward behaviour, but gently, so she had never paid much heed to his concerns, but now, now he seemed different.

  Held fast within his grip, Hugh jogged her hand against the bedcovers, agitated, bringing her attention back to him.’ Listen to me, Brianna, this is important. Before I left for the Crusades, there was a maid, her name was…is…Matilda. We were in love; unfortunately, her father did not approve of the liaison.’ A derisive sneer pulled at Hugh’s mouth. ‘He had another richer, more powerful husband in mind. We had to meet in secret.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, sapped by the amount of energy needed merely to speak.

  Hugh had been in love? Surprise bolted through her—why had Hugh never told her of this? As children, they had been close, sharing everything, but, with the loss of their parents, with Hugh taking on the heavy responsibilities of Sefanoc, her brother had changed, becoming more distant, detached. Most of the time, he had paid little heed to her daily activities, and she missed the intimate closeness of their earlier days. Now, the character elements she disliked the most from that time after their parents had died seemed exacerbated in illness: the arrogance, the high-handedness. Reaching down, she retrieved a linen washcloth from a bowl of water on the floor. The sopping material trickled water over her wrists as she wrung it out, then placed it on her brother’s burning forehead. He was so ill, it was bound to make him behave differently; soon he would be back to his old self.

  ‘Ah!’ He made a small sound of appreciation. ‘I’m sorry, Brianna, I know you are shocked, but there’s more. Matilda had a child, Brianna, a boy…my son.’

  ‘Hugh…’ Stunned by the revelation, Brianna stumbled to speak. ‘Hugh…why did you never tell me?’

  ‘The child was born just before I left on the crusade…he was barely a few weeks old. Brianna, I’m sorry, I believed that the fewer people who knew about Matilda, the less danger there would be…for them, and for you.’ With supreme effort, he forced himself to lift off the pillow, one elbow supporting his weak, ravaged frame. A white crusty film covered his lips, his red-rimmed eyes running over her. ‘Find them, Brianna, bring them to me so we can be married, so I can make the boy legally mine in the eyes of this country.’

  ‘The boy will be your heir.’

  Hugh sagged back against the pillow. ‘Sefanoc is mine, Brianna. I want it to stay that way.’

  His words stung her and she bit her lip, trying to ignore the pang of hurt that crawled in her chest. Sefanoc is mine, too, she thought. And I have worked, and worked, and fought to keep it safe for you.

  Hugh’s eyelids, thin and papery, fluttered down over his eyes. ‘I am so tired, Brianna, so tired. I want you to promise me, promise me now, that you will fetch Matilda, and the boy. Before I die.’

  Her hands shook slightly as she bent to place the washcloth back in the bowl, folding it carefully over the earthenware lip. ‘You’re not going to die, Hugh. I’ll make sure of it.’

  His eyes sprung open, intent on her face. ‘Promise me, Brianna.’

  ‘I promise.’ She chewed her lip doubtfully at the wildness in his eyes, the sweat beading on his forehead. ‘But I don’t want to leave you like this. I’ll take you back to Sefanoc—Alys and I will take care of you.’ Her brain forged ahead, making plans; her brother was home, and alive, and that was all that mattered. She sprang from the bed, catching up her cloak from where it lay at the foot of the pallet. ‘I must find Giseux’s parents, talk to them about a litter to carry you home.’

  He shook his head violently against the pillow. ‘Nay, Brianna, ‘tis imperative that you fetch Matilda. I am in good hands here. You must go.’

  A pair of silver eyes flashed through her mind. They couldn’t stay here, she couldn’t bear to beholden to anyone; this family had already done enough for both of them. Hugh was simply not thinking straight. She would take him back to Sefanoc, first, and then continue on her journey to find Matilda.

  ‘Brianna, there’s one thing you must know. And although it’s been a long time since your marriage ended, you may still be affected by what I have to tell you. Matilda’s father is Walter of Brinslow.’

  The cloak to the floor in a heap.

  * * *

  A bitter north-east wind stung Brianna’s skin as she flew down the steps, out of the castle. She walked quickly, purposefully, as if she knew her direction, but in reality her mind filled again and again with the details of what her brother had told her, her eyes unseeing, oblivious to her surroundings. A door in the thick stone wall that circled the inner bailey presented itself; she twisted the heavy round handle and pushed through into some gardens. A blackbird, startled by her sudden entrance, squawked away in panic, flying low under a holly hedge, sharp leaves glossy. She pressed the door shut, leaning for a moment against the wooden planks, heart racing. How could this be happening to her? Hugh had placed her in an impossible situation, asking her to find his love, the daughter of the man who had made her own life a living hell.

  Voices rose up from the inner bailey; she spun her gaze sharply around her surroundings for the first time—she wanted to be alone. The gardens had been set out formally, a row of clipped holly trees lining the uneven flagstone path that ran down the centre of two enormous rose beds. At the far end, the shining curve of a river was bounded by drooping willows, their naked branches sweeping the smooth surface of the water, trailing like hair. Brianna spied a bank of snowdrops alongside the river, white heads nodding in the light shade of a spindly hawthorn hedge. She headed for the drift of white, seeking sanctuary, some time to think.

  ‘She looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders,’ Lady Mary remarked as she followed the girl’s progress from the vantage point of her solar, three floors up in the west tower. Giseux moved to stand behind his mother, pinning his eyes on the solitary figure.

  ‘No doubt,’ he responded drily. ‘She certainly goes out of her way to attract trouble.’

  ‘She didn’t ask for her brother to become ill, Giseux.’ His mother’s green eyes flashed a reprimand. ‘That was pure bad luck.’

  Giseux rested one hip on the high stone windowsill, crossing his arms over his chest, the blue wool of his tunic pulling taut across his shoulders. ‘Aye, you’re right. But she’s so stubborn, insisting that she does everything, and I mean everything, for herself.’

  ‘She has such a sweet face.’ Lady Mary smiled at her son. ‘I’m sure she has her reasons for behaving as she does.’

  Giseux raised his eyebrows, idly tracking Brianna’s progress, her determined gait across the gardens. ‘You’re too forgiving, Mother. I’ve only known the chit one day and that has been long enough.’

  ‘What has she ever done to you?’ Lady Mary moved away from the chilly draught sneaking through the window and resumed her seat in the chair by the crackling fire. Picking up her needle, she selected a length of blue tapestry wool from the willow basket at her side, scrunching up her eyes to thread one end through the tiny eye of the white-bone needle.

  Giseux watched his mother perform the delicate manoeuvre with practised skill before she leaned over the large tapestry frame set up before her and began to sew. ‘She stole my horse.’

  His mother’s needle paused halfway into the tiny-holed canvas. ‘I beg your pardon?’ Her fair head turned back to Giseux, eyebrows raised in question.

  ‘She stole my horse, and that was after she shot at me.’

  Lady Mary’s merry laughter rang out across the solar. ‘Oh, Giseux, that is so funny! When I think of your reputation, your prowess on the battlefield, your years of training. She dared to shoot at you! She certainly has courage, that maid.’ His mother’s voice contained a note of admiration.

  ‘Maybe, or stupidity.’ Giseux scanned the gardens once more, searching for the diminutive figure in the thin green gown. Where had she vanished to?

  ‘I noticed she wasn’t wearing a cloak and it’s freezing out there. Would you ta
ke her one of mine?’ Lady Mary asked softly as she took one careful stitch, then another. Was it wishful thinking, or did she imagine the hard, intractable lines on her son’s face softening when he spoke of the girl, despite his derogatory words?

  Shoving one big shoulder against the stone wall, Giseux propelled himself away from the window. ‘If I didn’t know you better, Mother, I’d say you were trying to send me after Lady Brianna on false pretences.’

  ‘Would I do such a thing?’ Lady Mary drove her needle in and out of the canvas to secure the thread, a teasing smile tilting her lips.

  Giseux grinned. In truth, he found himself wondering what had sent Brianna speeding off in the direction of the river. Hefting the weighty velvet of his mother’s cloak from the oak coffer beside the fireplace, he left.

  Lady Mary’s fingers touched her needle as if to start work once more, but seemed to change her mind, moving across to the window to watch her son stride out into the cool morning. A small smile played about her lips.

  * * *

  A narrow path led up the bank through a gap in the hawthorn hedge; Brianna pushed through, twigs snagging at her veil, catching at the fragile white silk. The sound of the river was louder here, closer, the repetitive burbling soothing her frayed nerves, her troubled thoughts. Lifting her head, she gasped. A glade of trees spread out before her on a flat piece of river bank, and, beneath the light shade of the trees, vast tracts of snowdrops. Their inverted heart-shaped heads trembled in the breeze, a dab of brilliant green centred between each snow-white set of petals. A lopsided bench, constructed from rough-hewn pieces of timber on to which the bark still clung, nestled beneath a vigorous ash, brilliant orange fungus sprouting out from one of the rotting supports. She would pick a bunch of these beautiful flowers for Hugh and carry them back to his festering sickroom, but now she headed for the bench and sat down, turning her pale, tear-streaked face up towards the faint sunlight filtering through the fretwork of bare branches.