‘No such luck!’ Brianna retorted smartly. She surveyed her brother warily; there was an unsettling, volatile look in his eyes, a look she had never seen before. His movements were jerky, agitated; he seemed excited, his cheeks florid, unusually red.
‘That’s good, good!’ He clapped his hands together. ‘I wouldn’t want you flying the nest, especially when we have a double wedding to prepare!’
‘Wh-what?’ Deflated, Brianna plopped down on the stool next to Matilda. She had been so sure, so sure, that Giseux would succeed. What, in Heaven’s name, had happened?
‘I said, ‘we have a double wedding to prepare’.’ Hugh smiled nastily. ‘Why did you think Giseux would manage to talk me around? Think again, sister.’
‘Hugh, you cannot do this. Why make both of us unhappy? Matilda loves another and I…I…’ Her speech floundered. She had been about to say that she never wanted to marry again, but the vivid image of a rippling torso stormed her brain, catching her unawares, depriving her of words.
‘You want to marry Giseux,’ Hugh finished for her, brushing at an imaginary fleck on his sleeve. Brianna half-rose from her seat, a subconscious gesture of protest, but Hugh held his hand up, silencing any argument. ‘Please, spare me the maidenly outrage. It’s perfectly obvious for everyone to see.’ He scoffed at her, a dry brittle laugh emerging from his cracked lips.
* * *
‘Your pathetic simperings, your flirting, the mawkish way you look at him—truly, sister, it’s quite revolting.’ Despite his command of the situation, Hugh’s illness had left him with sickly cast, a yellowish-grey pallor that suffused the hollow pits beneath his eyes.
‘It’s not true,’ Brianna croaked. How dare her brother rip apart something she held so dear? It was if he trampled on her heart.
‘But it is, my poor, misguided fool. Do you believe a man like that would ever marry?’ A snarl pulled at his mouth, full of contempt. ‘Giseux is incapable of forming any sort of relationship again; he is a shell, empty of feeling.’
Brianna shook her head, her fingers touching his sleeve, rustling against the cloth. ‘Hugh, is this really you?’
‘Of course it’s me,’ he snapped, but the vacant, glazed look in his eyes told her otherwise.
‘Where is he? Where is Giseux?’ she whispered.
‘How sweet.’ Hugh threw her a secretive misshapen smile. The expression clawed into her, coiling ripples of fear in her belly. ‘Did I not say?’
‘Where is he?’ she whispered.
‘Gone. Left. He claimed he had other business to attend to. In truth, Brianna, I think he was relieved to be rid of you. The poor man couldn’t wait to leave.’
The cruel words hacked into her, gouging her already fragile spirit. Giseux had asked her to trust him and she had. She had been certain that he would stay here for her, fight for her—could she had been mistaken?
‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered. Giseux had gone nowhere and in the tight and secure place around her heart, she knew it.
The smug, set smile plastered on Hugh’s face slipped; for a moment, he appeared completely lost. He wore a pale blue tunic, the slash at the neck decorated with a band of gold braid…and something else. Her gaze honed in on the tiny marks covering the fabric over Hugh’s chest, no bigger than a pinhead. He began to talk again, recovering his equilibrium, aiming to plough through her doubt, to pummel her into submission with words. And yet, as he burbled onwards, arms spread open, gesticulating demonstratively, his voice rising to a hysterical squeak in an attempt to gain her attention, Brianna’s heart flipped, skipped a beat. The flecks covering Hugh’s tunic were red: minuscule spots of blood.
Something had happened to Giseux.
Brianna paid little attention to Hugh as he continued to talk, although she was careful to keep her expression neutral, to avoid raising her brother’s suspicions that she had guessed anything. But beneath her blank features, her mind worked feverishly. All that she wanted was for Hugh to leave, to leave them in peace so she could think. Despite the icy temperature in the chamber, a heat spread through her body, a wild frustration at the unfairness of the situation, at her imprisonment. Giseux needed her help, of that she was certain, and her toes jiggled within her leather boots, eager to bolt past Hugh and sprint down the corridor as she called out Giseux’s name. But such a hurried, desperate action would be curbed before she even started, with a burly soldier standing sentry outside the door. Nay, she needed to think and plan. At last, after what seemed like ages, Hugh spluttered to a halt, muttering something about speaking with Walter.
Brianna waited a few moments after the door closed behind her brother, listening intently as the sound of his footsteps gradually faded along the corridor. Spinning around, she snared Matilda’s brown-velvet gaze, her own features stricken. A weight pressed down on her chest, staunching her breath, constricting her throat with a rabid dryness.
‘I know,’ Matilda announced miserably, pushing her thumbnail into a crack, warped with age, on the tabletop. ‘It seems we must go through with these marriages. There is no other option.’
‘It’s not that,’ Brianna replied in a tremulous voice, her whole body vibrating with trepidation, a sense of apprehension. ‘It’s Giseux.’
Matilda smiled weakly. ‘Not quite the knight in shining armour, after all, methinks.’
‘He wouldn’t leave me,’ Brianna stated with conviction. ‘Something’s happened to him…there were specks of blood on the front of Hugh’s tunic; Giseux is hurt…or worse!’ A hysterical sob threatened to break from her throat; she quelled it swiftly. To lose her head now would not help Giseux.
Matilda rose to her feet, the movement graceful, precise. ‘Brianna, I know you care for the man, that is plain for all to see, but truly, those marks on the front of Hugh’s tunic could be anything. What makes you so sure?’
The colour in Brianna’s eyes deepened to midnight blue. ‘He’s in danger, Matilda. I know it. And I feel it, here.’ She thrust a fist against her chest, against her heart, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. ‘He asked me to trust him and I did. I still do. I have to find him.’
‘How?’ Matilda swung her arms out, a gesture of futility. ‘Hugh will no doubt keep us locked up until we are marched forcibly into the chapel.’
‘You need to help me.’ Brianna’s gaze lit on the small stool vacated recently by Matilda. ‘Move that stool near to the grate while I fetch the guard. I think it’s time he helped us light the fire.’
The thickset soldier positioned outside the women’s solar was only too pleased to be asked to help the ladies within. He had witnessed the scenes in the great hall earlier, and, despite being in Lord Walter’s employ, had a certain amount of sympathy for the two maids. After listening to their request, he locked the door again before trotting off eagerly to fetch one of the burning brands slung into iron brackets to illuminate the corridor. Tapping at the door, he listened politely for their acquiescence, before letting himself in, locking the door and hooking the key back on to his belt. Both Brianna and Matilda stood together, beside the fireplace, smiling demurely. The flaring brightness from the brand highlighted the liquid quality of their skin, enhancing its beauty. The soldier returned their smiles, his whole day lifting with the sight of such bewitching company. He crouched down at the fireplace, the bones in his knees cracking as he knelt on the cold hearthstone and shoved the flaming brand into the mess of brittle sticks, stacked like a bird’s nest over a bundle of dry, wispy grass. Pain slammed into the back of his head; his mouth jolted open, gaping with shock, before he pitched sideways, crumpling to an unconscious heap on the floorboards.
‘Hurry, Matilda! He might not be out for that long!’ Brianna promptly detached the key from the soldier’s belt, checking him anxiously for any signs of consciousness. But his eyes were firmly closed, his short, stubby arms and hefty legs sprawled in ungainly fashion across the floor. She hoped she hadn’t hit him too hard with the stool; it hadn’t appeared heavy until she had he
fted it up by one leg. Still, it had made an effective cosh, and would hopefully give them enough time to both escape the castle.
‘Matilda, you must go, leave this place now and find your man!’ Brianna spoke rapidly, her voice muted, as she locked the soldier into the chamber that had been their prison. ‘Do you think you can leave without being seen?’
Matilda nodded, throwing her arms around Brianna, eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. ‘Thank you, so much, for all that you have done, Brianna. I hope we meet again, in better circumstances.’
‘I’m so sorry about Hugh,’ Brianna admitted. ‘I had no idea he was capable of such behaviour. It’s as if…as if he’s gone mad.’ A dull, cold sensation pitted her chest. She should have known, could have predicted this outcome; his behaviour at Sambourne had been unusual, but she had attributed his wild look, his jerky mannerisms to the illness and not to anything more deep-seated.
‘Stop apologising and go.’
For a moment, Brianna followed Matilda’s tripping gait along the corridor until she vanished in a flap of pale cloth. Gladness bundled in her heart, a surge of pleasure at the prospect of the girl’s happiness. But the image of Giseux lying injured barged violently back into her mind, dislodging all other thoughts. Whirling about, she headed for the spiral staircase that twisted its way down one of the corner turrets. She had no time to visit Giseux’s chamber; her better option was to go to the stables to see if his destrier was still there. Cautiously, she made her way down, the folds of her dress lapping the rough wall, her leather soles quiet on the damp stone. She moved like a ghost, treading on the outer edges of her feet, as her brother had taught her in the forests of their childhood. A peculiar pain gripped at her: the pain of betrayal, of disbelief that her own brother could behave in such a way towards her.
Relief seeped through her as her hand touched the hard metal ring of the outside door; she plunged outside, grateful for the freezing air against her skin. The cold gave her clarity, focused her thoughts after the chaotic events of the day; the ice in the air touched against her tongue, clean-tasting, robbing her of breath. Over to the west, above the regimented silhouette of the high curtain walls, the sky held the last vestiges of sun: streaks of reddish gold painted across the dark-blue velvet. The faint light was enough to see her way.
Flicking her gaze hurriedly across the inner bailey, making certain nobody was about, she scampered across the cobbles, heading for the stables, praying that no one had spied her from the upstairs windows of the castle. Who knew how long her brother would sit in conversation with Walter, who knew how long it would be before the guard became conscious and would start to yell in outrage at his own imprisonment? Her time was short; she only hoped that the stables would yield some clue, some hint, as to Giseux’s whereabouts.
The smell of horses pervaded the stables, pungent, acrid. Ducking neatly inside the double-width open doorway, making sure she was hidden from view, Brianna hesitated, one hand supporting herself against one of the square-cut oak pillars that supported the lintel. Doubt scissored up her spine. What if she were mistaken about Giseux? What if, after having no success in talking to Hugh, he had simply taken his leave? Brianna shook her head, the flaming silk of her hair shining in the darkness, endeavouring to divest herself of such unwelcome thoughts. Hold on to that silver promise in his eyes, she told herself, that glittering look as he had led Hugh from the great hall. It was all she had, but it was enough.
‘My lady?’ Her fingers flew upwards, knotting around her throat, clutching in shock at the little voice, while her eyes raked the shadows for the source of the sound. Her leg muscles faltered, skewering her to the spot; she had been so certain that the stables were empty!
She sighed with relief as a boy emerged from one of the vacant stalls, blinking, the whites of his eyes glistening in the strange half-light. A stable boy, by the looks of him, dressed in ragged braies, a torn tunic. His feet were bare, shins smeared with dirt; his hair stuck up at odd angles, as if he’d been sleeping.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ Brianna stretched out her hand towards him. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you. I’m looking for something…someone.’
‘Mayhap I could help?’ the boy offered, a spark of excitement in his eyes. His grin was impish.
Brianna moved forwards, her boots sinking into the piles of straw that spilled over the cobbled walkway from each stall. ‘I’m looking for a man, a…a friend. I think something bad may have happened to him.’ Her eyes swept along the stable, searching for the black, shining rump of Giseux’s destrier.
The boy tracked her worried gaze. ‘His horse isn’t here. They loaded him onto it, led him out.’
Her head whipped round and she grabbed at the boy’s shoulders. ‘What happened?’ she rapped out, her voice deepened with urgency. ‘What did you see?’
The boy smirked. ‘They didn’t know I was here,’ he stated proudly. ‘I saw everything. He came in with two of Lord Walter’s soldiers; they told him something was wrong with his horse’s hind leg. When he bent down to have a look…well, they bashed him.’
Brianna’s stomach plunged with fright, with a dreadful loss. ‘Tall, light brown hair, black tunic?’ In her panic, she fought to remember the details.
‘Aye, that’s him! This was left behind.’ Fear gripped Brianna’s heart as the boy retrieved a spill of cloth hanging over one of the stalls. A cloak. Giseux’s cloak.
‘I have to find him. Which way did they go?’
‘North, I think. The soldiers were talking about the forest, which lies in that direction. I can show you, if you like.’ The boy’s expression was eager.
‘Nay, thank you. But there is one way you could help me.’ She assessed the boy; they were the same height, roughly the same size.
The boy nodded. ‘What is it?’
‘You can lend me your clothes. I’m too conspicuous like this.’ She swept a disparaging hand over the voluminous fabric of her gown. ‘And too hampered.’
Consternation crossed his face. ‘But…my lady…’ he flushed with embarrassment ‘.I only have another tunic that is clean, some ragged braies and a short cloak.’
‘That’s ideal,’ Brianna reassured him. ‘Go, go now and fetch them for me.’
His face brightened; he scampered over to a wooden ladder, leading up through a dark, square hole in the planked ceiling. ‘I sleep up here, normally,’ he explained as he climbed upwards. His upper body disappeared for a moment, before reappearing, his hands clutching a bundle of clothes. ‘But tonight it was just too cold.’
‘Thank you.’ Brianna tore the bundle from his hands.
‘I’ll change at the back here. You keep watch for me, let me know if you see anyone.’
In the deep recesses of the stall, Brianna ripped off her gown and her chemise, hiding both garments under a heap of straw in the corner. She had to remove her boots in order to haul on the braies, but they fitted well, if a little snug about the hips. She flexed her toes, mindful of her healing foot, before pulling her boots back on. The tunic was wide-necked, a rectangular shape that simply dropped over her head and fell to mid-thigh. Her knife-belt gathered the fabric in, the knife in its scabbard resting on her thigh. The boy had thoughtfully supplied a hat, wide-brimmed, felted, which she jammed on her head to cover her hair. Swinging the short cloak about her, her fingers fumbled and slipped on the leather laces; she stopped, filling her lungs with air. Mindless panic will not help you, she admonished herself. Keep calm, think logically. Only that way will you be able to find him.
‘My lady,’ the boy whispered. He was bent over, holding on to the collar of a dog, a huge bloodhound, darker patches of black mottling its tan fur. ‘This dog will help you find him. Let him smell the man’s cloak, he’ll find him for certain. The dog is trained to stay with the horse, you don’t need to worry about him.’
‘Clever boy,’ Brianna replied in hushed tones. Even as she presented the bundle to the dog’s excited nose, she could hear, through the sifting night air, the sound
s of doors slamming, of shouts and running feet.
‘They know,’ she murmured.
‘How will you get through the gatehouse? The guards will be on alert now.’
‘We’ll ride double,’ she explained. ‘Hopefully they will think we’re just two boys, larking about. Fetch me a horse, a fast one.’
‘I’ll saddle one for you.’
‘No saddle. No time.’
‘At least take my water bottle—it may be a long ride.’ Holding the leather flagon, the boy boosted her onto the back of the mare that he insisted she should take, then sprang up behind her, perched gingerly. The hound was excited, tail constantly wagging, damp nose moving almost continuously a spare half-inch across the ground.
‘You’ll have to hold on to me,’ Brianna told him. ‘This is going to be fast.’
Bunching the flowing mane between both hands, the heavy weight of Giseux’s cloak bundled against her stomach like a talisman, she pressed her knees into the horse’s flanks, urging the animal into a trot, then a canter. By the time they reached the gatehouse, the animal was moving at a respectable speed, the dog gambolling easily at its side. The lad played his part admirably, raising a hand to the guards standing sentry, grinning broadly. The soldiers smiled back, remembering their own youthful exuberance, as the horse clattered through the gates and over the drawbridge. Brianna rode hurriedly away from the castle, the boy clinging to her waist, nimbly keeping his seat behind her, and headed for a small copse of trees. Under cover of the branches, she slowed up to let the boy slip off.
‘Not too far to walk,’ she whispered down to him. ‘I cannot thank you enough for all that you’ve done.’
The boy eyed the dog, sniffing about in the undergrowth. ‘The dog is a good one, mistress, well-trained. He’ll pick up the trail soon enough. You must trust his instinct.’ He squinted up at her, raising a hand in farewell. ‘I hope you find your man.’
‘So do I.’
Her Battle-Scarred Knight Page 18
