by Amy Tolnitch
She splayed a hand across her stomach. “I vow, I feel like an overgrown sow these days. One with a very active child in my belly.”
“Perhaps the babe shall come soon.”
“I hope so.”
The door crashed open, and Gifford barreled in, followed closely by Olive. “Cain,” his uncle shouted.
“What is it?” Cain frowned at the interruption.
“The girl is gone.”
Amice straightened and swung her feet onto the floor. “Giselle?”
Olive hopped up and down. “She left. I saw it myself.”
Cain exchanged a glance with his wife. “Unaccompanied?”
“Aye,” Olive said, her small face crinkled with worry. “I tried to tell her not to go, but she would not listen.”
“We’d better find Piers,” Cain said as he rose.
They found his brother in the hall, swilling wine, with Clarise hovering nearby. At their entry, Piers lifted his cup. “Join me!” he called. “I am celebrating my freedom.”
“Freedom?” Cain asked, surprised to find Piers well on his way to becoming sotted.
“Aye.” Piers grinned. “Lady Giselle has released me from the betrothal.” He tossed back a long drink of wine. “I am a free man.”
“What did you say to her?” Amice asked, her voiced edged with concern.
“ ’Told the girl I would marry her. Couldn’t think of anything else to do.” Piers shook his head. “She wants no part of a real marriage.”
Cain considered his words. “Ah, I understand.”
Gifford swiped Piers’s jug and took a drink. “Could have given the girl time.”
Piers shrugged. “She was most adamant about her feelings on the matter. And about me.”
“She is gone, Piers,” Cain told him.
“Gone?” Piers blinked up at him.
“Aye.”
“Well, that did not take long,” Piers muttered.
“Alone,” Cain added.
“But, that is foolish.”
“Go after her,” Gifford urged.
Piers stared at Gifford as if he were mad, then his mouth turned down. “ ‘Twas the lady’s decision to refuse me and leave.”
“She is an innocent,” Gifford argued.
“Damn,” Piers said, with a sideways glance at Clarise. “A man cannot even get sotted in peace.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “You must go right away, Piers. The girl cannot have gotten too far on foot.”
“I shall go after the reckless little nun, do not worry. But I say Godspeed to the woman.”
For the first time in her life, Giselle found herself alone. It was both a strange and heady feeling. She walked on a path for a time, then veered off toward some woods, avoiding the village. She felt as if she embarked on a grand quest, and reminded herself over and over again that God would protect her, show her the way.
As she walked, she came up with a plan. After she put some distance between her and Falcon’s Craig, she would seek out a village and inquire about the nearest abbey. No one knew her. Other than her brief visit to Falcon’s Craig, she had not been outside Kerwick Abbey since she was a child.
She would simply give the Abbess a different name and come up with a story to explain her lack of possessions. She would be a widow, she decided. One on a pilgrimage.
Thou shall not lie. The thought of doing just that made her cringe, but what else could she do? Surely God could forgive her this once.
As she walked into the dense growth of trees, she considered how she might persuade an abbey to take her in. She had no coin, but she did possess some skills. Would her tapestries expose her? Surely not. Many women had such talents.
She kept walking throughout the day, considering how she might find a place in an abbey. Most women paid well for the sanctuary an abbey offered. Even widows. She should have demanded that Piers give her coin, she thought in disgust. But she’d been far too angry to bear his presence for a moment longer. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize for a moment that she’d entered a clearing.
“What have we here?” a man’s voice asked.
Giselle stopped and met a flat brown gaze. She looked around and saw four men, all gazing at her with open interest. They were roughly dressed, their mounts tethered nearby. The one who had addressed her gave her a big grin and rose to his feet. He was huge, towering over her as he ran his narrowed gaze over her body.
She took a step back and eyed the horses, her heart sinking. Even if she could free one, her skills at riding were so poor the men could easily catch up with her. “I am on my way to a nunnery,” she said.
The man laughed. “There is no nunnery in these parts, girl.”
Before she could think what to do, the men circled her. One tugged off her wimple and touched her hair. Giselle pulled free and glared at him. “Do not touch me.”
He gave her a look that sent a cold shiver of terror down her spine.
Dear Lord, aid me, she silently prayed. She turned to the man who had first spoken. “I shall be on my way now.”
“Oh, no. Stay for a bit.” He pointed to a fire, over which roasted a fat hare. “Surely, you are hungry.”
In fact, she was far past hungry, but as good as the hare smelled, it did not tempt her. “I recently ate,” she lied, wincing as she did so.
The man picked at his teeth. “I really must insist,” he told her. He nodded at one of his companions, who immediately seized Giselle’s arm in a hard grip.
She tried to yank free, but it was like pulling against iron. “Let me go!”
“Not just yet.”
Another of the man grabbed her other arm, and within a few horrible moments, Giselle found herself on the ground, gazing up at a man’s leering face. She was so terrified she could barely take it in. The man pulled up his tunic and unbelted his braies.
“No!” she screamed, her heart thumping in her chest. “Release me! I am a nun!” She heaved against the hands holding her down, but it was no use. They were too strong and there were too many of them. “Let me go!”
In response, the man shoved up her skirts and dropped his braies, giving Giselle her first look at a man’s member. She gagged at the sight, whimpering in fear.
Dear God, save me, she prayed. Save me!
The man gave her a cold smile and said, “I have never taken a nun.”
Oh, God, he was going to put that thing … Giselle’s vision blurred, and she closed her eyes, praying with everything within her.
“Leave the girl be,” a man’s voice suddenly shouted.
Giselle cracked her eyes open. She gasped in shock. The man striding into the clearing made the others look short and scrawny. His face drew her astonished gaze. Scars marred his bold features, and his eyes blazed blue flame. He held a long, shining sword in one large hand.
The men holding her arms released her and rushed toward him, their daggers drawn. Giselle couldn’t move, frozen in horror and disbelief as the new arrival calmly dispatched two men, leaving them crumpled on the ground in a wash of blood. Within moments, the two others met the same fate, leaving Giselle staring at her savior over the fallen bodies.
“Are you all right, lass?” he asked in a rumbling voice.
Giselle let out a shriek and pulled her skirts down. She tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey and she landed hard on the ground.
“Do not be afraid,” he said, drawing closer. “I will not hurt you.” He reached down a hand.
Giselle looked up into his scarred face, then down at the big, calloused hand reaching for hers. The same hand that had just sent four men to their deaths without a qualm. No, not men, she told herself. Foul, would be ravagers of an innocent woman. She slowly put her hand in his, and he lifted her to her feet. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Those men, they …”
“I ken what they were about.” He scowled, drawing his visage into a fearsome mask.
Giselle swayed, but managed to catch herself.
“You are safe now. You sh
ould return to your home.”
Giselle started to shake, and before she could stop it, tears spilled from her eyes. “I do not have one.”
He peered at her gown, and tilted his head, studying her. “Those are not the garments of a peasant. Where did you come from?”
Sobs choked her and she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
The man let out a long sigh. “Come with me.” He turned, then stopped and returned his gaze to hers. “I am called Padruig.”
“Gi … Giselle,” she sputtered. She forced herself to look away as they passed the bodies of her attackers. Padruig stopped before a massive black horse. “You can ride one of the others.”
Ride? She could barely walk. Giselle eyed the other horses.
“Can you ride?”
A fragment of courage rallied inside her and Giselle nodded. “Not well though.”
He inspected the horses and drew one forward. “Get on this one. I will hold the reins.”
Giselle shot him a thankful look, then tried to mount. Her legs felt boneless, and she was trembling so badly it took her four tries, but eventually she made it onto the horse’s back. “My … my bag,” she said, remembering she’d left it on the ground.
Padruig fetched it and tied it on the saddle behind her. He untethered the other horses.
“What of them?” she asked.
“They shall follow.” He leapt onto his mount, and took hold of her reins.
Giselle closed her eyes and prayed.
Piers stood in the bailey nursing a throbbing head and wondering how in the world he’d allowed his uncle to talk him into this. In fact, it had taken Gifford very little effort. Piers had not yet drunk enough to forget all sense of responsibility.
Damn the girl, he thought. What had she been thinking to set off on her own? She knew nothing of the world, he reminded himself. Nothing of the dangers that lay outside the walls of Kerwick Abbey and Falcon’s Craig.
She was thinking of escaping you and your evil twin, his inner voice reminded him. He frowned.
Olive walked toward him across the bailey, pulling on the hand of a young boy. Piers knew him. The boy worked in the stables; Milo was his name. “Uncle Piers!” Olive called out.
He softened his expression. It was a fortunate day for all of them when Cain found Olive and brought her back to Falcon’s Craig. The child could soften a heart of granite with her sweet smile.
She hopped to a stop before him, hauling the boy to stand next to her. “I have exactly who you need to find Lady Giselle,” she announced.
The boy shuffled his feet.
“Milo? How can you aid me?”
“He can track anything, Uncle Piers. Tell him, Milo.”
Milo’s face reddened, but he nodded. “ ’Tis true, my lord. My sire taught me.”
Piers rocked back on his heels. “Well, then, I suppose you must come along.”
Olive beamed her approval.
“Find yourself a horse. We leave soon.”
Milo nodded and scampered off toward the stables.
“You will bring her back, won’t you?” Olive asked.
He tousled her hair. “Aye.”
Gifford emerged into the bailey, wearing a coat of mail that was far too big for him and clutching a jug of ale. A scabbard slapped against his thigh, and Gifford marched along as if he were the king himself deigning to pay Falcon’s Craig a visit. Saraid walked behind him, wearing her common expression of bemusement mixed with affection. Gifford barreled to a stop next to Piers and grinned.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Going with you, boy.”
“Gifford, ’Tis not necessary.” Piers looked closer. “Where did you get that mail?”
Gifford waved a hand and took a swig of ale. “Doesn’t matter. I am ready to go.”
Behind him, Saraid rolled her eyes.
Without turning, Gifford reached back and took her hand. “I saw that, my sweet.”
“Do not bother trying to talk him out of it,” Saraid advised Piers as she came to Gifford’s side. The old fool is convinced he is the only one to look after Lady Giselle once you find her.”
“I can see to the lady.”
“With the charm you seem to have lost of late?” Gifford asked. “Nay, I shall go.”
Wonderful, Piers thought. Now, he had a young boy and his uncle to contend with as he searched for his wayward betrothed. What next?
She should be punished for fleeing you. ‘Twill not take much effort to bring the timid wench to heel. She is yours to do with as you please. Eikki hissed, and an image bloomed in Piers’s mind—one of Giselle, naked andtrembling, her head bowed, her silvery hair cloaking her body in silken strands.
“Piers,” Gifford said, frowning at him. “Did you not hear me?”
Piers shook off Eikki’s thoughts and put his mind to the task at hand. By Saint George’s sword, he must find a way to rid himself of this increasingly invasive companion. “I am sorry, Uncle. I was thinking of how best to find Lady Giselle.”
“Humph,” Gifford snorted.
Piers stared toward the stables from where Milo led a horse, followed by another stable hand leading Piers’s mount. “If we are lucky, Milo can find her trail.” He looked down, and saw that the dog, Guinevere, sat on his other side, staring up at him as if she actually knew what they were about. “You too?” he asked.
The dog thumped her tail on the ground.
“Let us be away. I would find Lady Giselle afore the sun sets.”
Gifford grunted and toddled off to the stable, hollering, “Halden! I need a horse, man!”
Saraid let out a sigh. “See that he does not come to any harm.”
Piers patted her shoulder. “I shall. Do not worry, my lady. We are taking a score of guards with us.”
She stared after Gifford, currently being heaved atop a horse with Halden’s aid. “He fancies himself some kind of romantic hero, you know.” “Aye.” He smiled at her. “And he is, would you not agree?”
Saraid’s expression turned soft. “Aye, that he is.”
“We shall return anon, my lady.”
“What shall you do with the girl when you find her?”
A damn good question, Piers thought. Giselle’s words curled through his mind. I will submit to you once. He scowled. Submit, as if he were some kind of conqueror come to demand his spoils. Could he change her mind? He’d certainly been with enough women to learn how to bring them their own pleasure, in fact prided himself on the fact. Still, he could only envision Giselle cowering from him. She would do everything in her power to deny herself pleasure if only to prove to herself she was still worthy of being a nun.
“I do not know,” he finally said to Saraid. “I do not know.”
Giselle periodically opened her eyes as they traveled, but could see little in the deepening shadows but the solid form of her rescuer’s back and the pale glint of his blond hair. She felt as if they had ridden for days, her bottom sore and her legs cramped and achy.
Images of her attack whirled through her mind over and over again, and she barely suppressed a sob. If not for the massive warrior leading her, she would have been at the men’s mercy. Her throat closed and she found it hard to draw a breath.
She’d never even imagined men like that existed. She could still see the leer on the man’s face as he dropped his braies and shoved her legs apart. Dear Lord, thank you, she prayed. Thank you for sending Padruig to me in time.
But who was the man leading her? She shivered in the cooling air, wondering what she’d fallen into this time. At least she was gone from Falcon’s Craig and the overbearing knave she’d been nearly trapped into marrying.
No doubt he had not even noted her absence.
Gradually, out of the shadows she made out a low, stone dwelling. Padruig’s horse snorted and quickened his pace. They emerged into a small valley, rimmed by thick growths of trees. No one else appeared, and the place was dark.
“Is this your home?” Giselle m
anaged to ask. Her throat was so dry she rasped the question.
“Aye,” Padruig replied without turning around. He led them to a long structure and dismounted.
Giselle tried to get off the horse, but felt herself falling instead. Strong arms caught her just before she hit the ground. She jolted at the contact, but Padruig said nothing. He grunted and carried her into his dwelling. “Thank you,” she said and deposited her onto a chair.
He bent and stirred some embers to life, then added more wood until a good fire burned. “Be at ease, my lady. I must see to the horses.”
Giselle sat and stared into the fire. Absolute quiet enveloped her. She scooted a little closer to the flames, craving their warmth, and listened for Padruig’s returning footsteps. Dear Lord, she felt as if every bone in her body ached. What she wouldn’t give for a warm bath, she thought, then chided herself. The luxury of Falcon’s Craig was behind her, she told herself as she straightened her shoulders. She was responsible for her own destiny. The very idea brought tears of fear to her eyes.
Lost in her efforts to shore up her flagging courage, she started when Padruig asked, “Are you hungry?”
He loomed over her, and Giselle had to remind herself that the man had saved her. “Aye.”
She heard movements, then the glow of candlelight filled the room.
Padruig thrust a cup into her hand. Hesitantly, Giselle took it and cautioned a sip. She blinked. Even with her small experience, she realized the wine was a fine one, even better than that at Falcon’s Craig. Who is this man? she wondered as she looked about his home.
“You’ve a fine dwelling,” she said, taking it in. She sat in a surprisingly large chamber, the living area occupying one side, a kitchen nestled on the other side, separated by a long, oak table.
“Thank you,” Padruig replied as he lit another fire in the kitchen. Both fireplaces vented to the outside, leaving the interior clear of smoke.
Another chair rested on the wooden floor next to her, with a tapestry spread over the floor beneath. Trunks and pegs lined one wall and a set of stone steps climbed up another wall. Hung tapestries of hunting and battle scenes kept the chill air from seeping in through the stone walls. It was so comfortable and warm Giselle found herself simply sitting in the chair, sipping wine and gazing into the fire.
