by Amy Tolnitch
She rode behind Padruig, feeling much as if she were riding to the gallows. As they neared the clearing where she’d been attacked, she began trembling from head to foot, suddenly unable to force the horrifying images from her mind. The horse danced beneath her, and Padruig turned. She couldn’t keep the fear from her eyes.
“You wilnae come to harm, lass,” he said, understanding the source of her alarm.
The rumble of his voice calmed her, and she took a deep breath. But just as she managed to shove the memories to the back of her mind, she looked ahead and saw a sight that brought a new shiver of trepidation into her veins.
“They wear the blue and silver of Falcon’s Craig,” Padruig said over his shoulder.
Giselle just stared. In the center of a group of guards, Piers sat atop his horse, his sword drawn, and his expression hard. “Who goes there?” he called out.
“A friend,” Padruig yelled back. He stopped his horse with a murmured command and turned in the saddle. “Who is that?”
Giselle’s lips were so dry she could barely speak. “Piers Veuxfort. My betrothed.”
Padruig grinned. “I told you he would be looking for you.”
“But, why?”
“Perhaps you should ask him.” Padruig turned and urged his horse forward. When they reached the group from Falcon’s Craig, Padruig moved his horse aside, and Giselle found herself looking into Piers’s surprised gaze.
For a moment, no one spoke. Relief slowly spilled over Piers’s face and the warmth in his gaze held Giselle fast. She licked her lips and his eyes dropped to her mouth in a way that brought a tingling to her body.
“Lady Giselle, thank the Lord we found you,” Gifford called out. “Are you well?”
The spell broken, Giselle turned to Gifford. She couldn’t help but smile at his appearance. Wearing a coat of mail clearly designed for a man much larger, his white hair in spiky disarray around his smiling face, he held a sword in one hand and a jug in the other. “Aye,” she said, and nodded at Padruig. “Thanks to Padruig.”
Piers frowned, though he sheathed his sword. He ran his gaze over Padruig, suspicion stamped on his features. “Who are you?”
“As the lady said, I am called Padruig.” He gestured toward the clearing. “I came across the lass when she was in need.”
“You are the one who killed those men?”
“Aye.”
Piers nodded. “You have my thanks. If you would accompany me to Falcon’s Craig, I shall see you rewarded.”
He had yet to address a word to her, and Giselle felt her annoyance rise.
“I need no reward.” Padruig glanced at Giselle and gave her a supportive look. “ ‘Twas my honor to aid the lass.”
“You are a Scot?”
“Aye.”
“Of which clan?”
Giselle saw Padruig stiffen. “I have no clan.” His voice was harsh and cold.
Piers studied him for a moment, then apparently decided to let the matter alone. Giselle was puzzled. From what she knew of the Scots, which was admittedly very little, she thought their clans were all-important, how they defined themselves.
“Giselle.” Piers looked at her, but the warmth was gone. “Are you able to ride to Falcon’s Craig?”
Why? she wanted to yell. What difference does it make to you where I go? But years of suppressing her emotions made her lower her eyes and nod. “Yes.”
“Then, let us go. I have no wish to linger further in these woods.”
Padruig sidled his horse close to hers. “Do you wish me to accompany you back to the castle?” The reluctance on his face was visible.
Giselle swallowed. Over the past day, she had come to view the big, scarred man as her protector. “I … that would please me.”
He grunted. “Very well, lass.”
“To Falcon’s Craig,” Piers called and urged his horse ahead. He did not look back once at Giselle.
She gritted her teeth, half tempted to stay where she was to see how long it would take for him to notice she didn’t follow in his wake. Guinevere yipped and bounded ahead.
“Giselle?” Padruig asked.
She sighed and urged her horse on. Some of the guards fell in behind them, and the horses picked up speed. Giselle focused on remaining atop her mount, trying to ignore the ache that settled firmly in her bottom and legs. Piers rode ahead, laughing with Gifford as if he were on a task no more important than exercising his horse.
What did you expect? she asked herself. You put conditions on the marriage that you knew he could not accept. You fled from him. Her mood darkened, and she considered what he might do with her now. Send her away, no doubt. She tried to tell herself that would be for the best, but the moment of warmth in his gaze refused to leave her.
Remember Rule Number Twelve, she reminded herself. You must resist temptation, for it is the work of the devil.
And even Giselle in her innocence recognized that, for her, temptation came in the unlikely form of Piers Veuxfort.
The Bishop of Ravenswood glared at the man he’d sent to Falcon’s Craig. “What do you mean, the wench is not yet wed?”
“There has been no marriage.” The man eyed Aldrik’s ewer of wine and licked his lips, but Aldrik ignored him.
“Why?”
The man shrugged. “The servants say the girl still seeks a nunnery.”
Aldrik frowned. “I know that much. But I have seen to it that she shall not find one. Is there a problem with this Piers Veuxfort?”
“Not that I could ascertain.” The man chuckled. “He is quite popular with the wenches in the castle.”
That brought a smile to Aldrik’s face. Perfect, he thought. A husband to use Giselle well. But first, he needed to marry the girl. He crossed to a table and scrawled a letter. “Return to Falcon’s Craig. Remind the earl that I expect the marriage to take place at once. I sent the girl to Falcon’s Craig to be wed, by God, and that is what shall occur.”
“I will see to it, your grace.”
“Good. Bring word to me when the deed is done.”
The man nodded and turned to leave.
“Joseph.”
Joseph turned back. “When I say done, I mean completely,” Aldrik said. He scowled and went over to a locked trunk. “I would not be surprised if Giselle tried to avoid the marriage bed. Do whatever you can to ensure Piers Veuxfort takes her. I do not want to have to deal with the girl again.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Aldrik unlocked the trunk and reached around the bottom until he located a small vial of powder. He pressed it into Joseph’s hands. “Put this in the girl’s drink on her wedding day.” He slowly smiled. “She will be like a bitch in heat.”
“What is it?” Joseph’s gaze was alight with interest.
“Something very rare. Aldrik pulled another cloth-wrapped object from the trunk and thrust it into Joseph’s hands. “Take this as a gift to the newly wedded couple. ‘Twill give you an innocent reason to visit Falcon’s Craig.” Asides, the gift amused him. It had once graced a prominent place within Kindlemere Castle before he’d replaced it as he had many things that once belonged to the St. Germain family.
“Now, go.” Aldrik dismissed Joseph with a wave of his hand.
After Joseph left, Aldrik poured himself a cup of wine and stared at the burning fire. Memories crept into his mind, long buried memories that even after all these years had the power to bring him shame over his weakness.
He remembered vividly the day he’d spotted Giselle at Kerwick Abbey. It had been like gazing upon a ghost of his past, a horrific reminder of a time he wished he could erase from his memory. There she stood in the garden, her face the very picture of young, beautiful innocence, yet her lush body so similar to the one who’d brought about his fall from grace.
He swallowed some wine. It didn’t matter anymore, he told himself. Giselle was gone, as was her mother, a true daughter of Eve if ever there was one. Just like her daughter, she had resembled an angel, but with
in dwelled a foul temptress.
His hand shook as he set down his cup. His manhood throbbed, but he would do nothing to ease it. Instead, he embraced the discomfort, turned it into strength. He was a man of God, above his flesh.
And he had well reaped the worldly rewards for such devotion.
Upon their arrival at Falcon’s Craig, Giselle murmured something about a headache and fled to her chamber. Piers barely acknowledged her. Throughout the ride back to the castle, he’d been much the same, ignoring her but for an occasional glance. If not for the solid presence of Padruig riding beside her, Giselle wasn’t sure how she would have withstood it.
When she entered her chamber, she found Nona waiting for her. “Oh, my lady, thank God you have returned. We were all so worried for you.” She drew Giselle down onto the window seat, clucking at the dirt stains on Giselle’s bliaut.
“It was not the journey I had envisioned,” Giselle said wearily.
“Poor thing,” Nona said as she unplaited Giselle’s hair. “I’ve called for a bath for you.”
“Thank you, Nona.”
“Who is that fearsome looking man who accompanied you?” Nona whispered. She shivered. “Hawis said his face was so terrible, it hurt to look at it.”
How odd, Giselle thought. She felt the same at first, but she barely noticed the scars any more. “He is called Padruig. He saved me from horrible men who …” She couldn’t bear to say it.
Nona clapped a hand to her chest, her eyes wide. “Well, you are safely returned.” At a knock at the door, she opened it and ushered in a troop of servants carting a bathing tub and buckets of steaming water.
Giselle closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stone wall. She felt Nona shake her shoulder, and realized she’d fallen asleep. “Let’s get you into the bath, my lady. Then you can rest.”
Giselle was too tired to protest when Nona propped her up and stripped off her clothing. She stumbled to the tub, and sank into the water, letting out a hum of pleasure as the warm water seeped into her aching limbs.
By the time Nona rinsed her hair, Giselle was blinking hard to keep her eyes open. Nona wrapped her in drying cloths and sat her in front of the fire. “Are you hungry, my lady?” she asked.
“Nay. I am too weary to be hungry.” She stared into the fire wondering what would happen to her now that she was back at Falcon’s Craig.
Nona put a hand on her shoulder. “Rest, my lady. I shall have the tub removed later.”
“Thank you, Nona.”
“It will be all right, you shall see. Once you marry, everything will be better.”
Giselle didn’t bother correcting her as she slid into bed. She turned toward the wall and closed her eyes.
“Lady Amice?”
Amice looked up to find the man called Padruig. She set aside the stack of linens she was counting. “Padruig, I have not had the chance to thank you for your service to Giselle.” It struck her that the man reminded her a bit of Lugh MacKeir, though his face was so marked it was difficult to note anything else.
“ ‘Twas my pleasure.” His face darkened. “That band meant the poor lass ill.”
“But you stopped them.”
“Aye.”
Amice let out a sigh. She’d not wanted to ask, but feared Giselle had not emerged unscathed from the attack. “Is there aught I can do for you?”
He shifted his feet. “ ’Tis a matter of some … delicacy I wish to speak with you about.”
Oh, no, Amice thought. Surely, he is not going to ask for Giselle. “Pray, go on,” she said.
“It concerns the Lady Giselle.”
“She is betrothed to Piers.”
His gaze froze for a moment, then he smiled. “I am not after Giselle for myself, my lady.” “Oh.”
“While she was at my home, we talked of the matter of her marriage.”
Was that a flush she saw on Padruig’s face? “I know Giselle is not eager for marriage. Her life in the nunnery has not prepared her well for a woman’s life outside of one.”
“Aye. She is a tender lass. I thought as the lady of the castle, you might speak to her, reassure her.”
Gradually, it dawned on her what the man was saying. “You are referring to—”
“The bedding, aye.” He gave her an uncomfortable look. “She is mighty frightened of the act, my lady.”
“I see.” Amice folded a piece of linen. “ ’Tis not a surprise, given her past. I shall talk with her about it.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
It was obvious this big, scarred man cared for Giselle. Amice found herself wondering just what had transpired between them. She could not have envisioned a more unlikely pair to so quickly have formed a bond. “What else did she tell you? Giselle has not been with us for long, and has been very reticent to talk of herself.”
Padruig appeared to consider her question. “Naught of import, my lady. She does not wish to marry, but I imagine you are aware of that.”
“Aye.” Amice shook her head. “Her arrival was as much a shock to us as it was to her.”
“Is the lad willing to marry her?”
A good question, Amice thought. She once would have said yes without reservation, but Piers’s behavior of late had become more unpredictable. “I believe so,” she finally said. “Do not worry for Giselle. The earl will see that she is provided for.”
“Good.” He turned to go.
“Will you stay and have supper with us?”
“Nay, my lady. I’d best be on my way afore darkness falls.”
“You are welcome to stay the night.”
“My thanks, but I have matters to attend to at home.”
Amice studied him. Padruig was a mystery, appearing out of nowhere to, thankfully, save Giselle. A Scot, by his accent, but according to Piers, one who claimed no clan, no roots. “Where do you live?”
“Beyond the forest.”
“You are a Scot.”
“Aye. I was born in the Highlands.”
“Have you family there?”
Padruig’s eyes flickered, but his expression remained blank. “No. I have no one.” He bowed. “I shall take my leave, my lady. Please give Lady Giselle my farewell.”
Amice watched him go, wondering yet again who the man really was. The babe kicked hard in her belly and she put her hand over the spot, forgetting about the mystery of Padruig at the prospect of soon holding her child. “Soon, little one. Soon I shall hold you in my arms.” She smiled. Sometimes, she could scarcely believe how perfect her life had become. She had Cain, who had finally learned to shed his demons for love of her, a rarely boring family surrounding her, and very soon a child to love.
Aye, life could not be more perfect.
Chapter
VII
Much later in the afternoon, Giselle slowly woke. Guinevere lay sprawled on the bed beside her snoring softly, her legs twitching in a dream chase. For a moment, Giselle just lay there watching the sunlight pick up dust motes in the air.
If only she could fly away that easily, she thought. Fly to a distant place of peace and serenity, where each day blended into the next with ease.
And without an infuriating, confusing man to whom, it appeared, she had no choice but to marry.
The door swung open and Nona bounced in, a bright smile on her face. “Oh good, my lady. You are awake.”
Guinevere lifted her head, and her tail thumped on the bed.
“Aye.” Giselle climbed out of bed and winced at the ache in her legs.
Nona set down a jug and a cup. “Would you care for something to drink?”
Why not? Giselle thought as she curled onto the window seat. “Thank you.”
After Nona handed her a cup of wine, she passed her a folded piece of parchment. “The Scot asked me to give this to you before he left.”
“Padruig is gone?”
“Aye, my lady.” Nona shivered. “Such a … strange looking man. You must have been terribly worried to be alone with him.”
Giselle took a sip of wine and looked up at her, struck by the realization that she had never been in any fear of Padruig at all. “He was very kind to me.”
“Well, I know he saw to your welfare, but I cannot say I am sorry he is gone.”
But, I am, Giselle thought with a hollow twinge. Something about Padruig was so solid, so clearly evincing an inner strength that, for a brief time, his presence gave her the illusory sense of being safe and secure. She unfolded the parchment.
Lady Giselle, he wrote. I cannot stay at Falcon’s Craig, but know that I would offer you what aid I can. If you have need of me, send word. Your friend and ally. Padruig.
Giselle felt tears sting her eyes. Would that God had seen fit to betroth her to a man with Padruig’s understanding, his easy acceptance. Even as her mind completed the thought, she realized its lie. The tiny part of her heart that didn’t belong to the Lord still craved love, and she knew she would never feel that way toward Padruig. Unfortunately, she couldn’t imagine developing those feelings for Piers either. She sighed and gazed out her window at the sea.
“May I help you dress for supper?” Nona asked.
“I would prefer to stay in my chamber this eve,” Giselle murmured.
Nona clucked and patted her shoulder. “Of course. You must rest and regain your strength. You will want to appear your best for the wedding.”
“Wedding?” Giselle snapped a look at her.
“Well, aye. Now that you are back, you will be wedding the young lord.” Nona beamed her a smile. “A fortunate girl you are, indeed.”
Giselle just stared at her blankly.
“Poor thing, you are weary. I shall see food is sent to you anon.”
Giselle couldn’t summon a single sound of thanks. The word wedding sunk into her mind like a large, cold chunk of granite. She laid her head against the stone, staring out at the placid, glittering water and seeing nothing but that instant of warmth in Piers’s gaze, wishing she could have captured the moment.
But it was clear she would never be more than an unwanted burden to him.
Perhaps it was all someone like her deserved.
