by Tessa Murran
The red dawn had given way to a hot and humid day, during which, he had been fully occupied, securing the castle and taking stock of their losses. There were men he had to bury, friends who would not be returning home to their families and to Scotland. This raid had cost them dear, and it had all been for nought.
He had eaten but a little, his stomach turned at the blood and violence of the previous night, and now he was dead on his feet. The day was drawing to a close, yet he could not find any ease. He had to be vigilant as he watched Banan MacGregor eyeing the girl from the other side of the hall. Lyall knew full well that she was not his to protect, but he was worried for her all the same. Banan was single-minded in the pursuit of his twisted and dark desires, and he had decided the girl was his to brutalise.
Lyall noticed that she was clinging to an older woman, a servant, most likely, for Giselle de Villers was much more richly dressed than her companion. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she was shaking, as were all the other women they had rounded up in the great hall. He cast a long, furtive glance at her again. Even covered with filth, she was bonnie, her fiery hair drawing the eye along with her fine, gentle eyes, which looked away each time they met his. He wondered what colour they were up close and then cursed himself for a weak fool and looked away.
Little resistance had been offered by the keep’s defenders once they had smashed the door in and threatened to set fire to it. Most of the blazes had been extinguished, though some smaller buildings had been lost. Already, the men were looting and dividing up the spoils, but the main prize did not seem to be there.
Their spies had informed them that Queen Isabella had travelled north with her husband, King Edward, and was staying at Wulversmeade. If she had been there, it would have been a glorious victory for Lord Douglas. What a hostage she would have made.
Lyall watched his Lord flinging down jug after jug of ale and brooding at the women. He had already walked amongst them, staring into their faces and then thrusting each one away in anger as he realised the Queen was not amongst them. His master hated to come away empty-handed, and now he was in a bad temper.
Sir Hugh had died of wounds sustained in the fight for his home, and none of the prisoners seemed to know anything about the whereabouts of Queen Isabella. They had been sorely misled by their spies. Whoever gave them the wrong information should be hanged for incompetence.
Having spent the afternoon beating information out of the male prisoners, Lord Douglas was about to start on Sir Hugh’s son and heir. Lyall had worked on the wretch for hours, but Edric de Mawpas insisted that he knew nothing of any value. He said little, other than to plead to be released, and Lyall had decided he was probably telling the truth.
‘So, Lord Edric, it appears you are now master of Wulversmeade, though I fear not for long,’ said Lord Douglas.
‘How…how do you mean?’ sputtered the hapless Edric.
‘When I string you up for not telling me what I want to know, you can’t be master of anything, can you?’
‘Surely you can’t mean to kill me? I am a Lord’s son. The laws of chivalry demand that I be released, or ransomed.’
‘I don’t live my life by the laws of chivalry, or any other laws, fool,’ said Lord Douglas. ‘Now tell me, where is Queen Isabella?’
‘As I have said repeatedly, under the pounding of that thug’s fists,’ said Edric, pointing at Lyall, ‘I have no idea what you mean. I can’t tell you something I don’t know.’
‘Then you are of no use to me.’ Lord Douglas gestured at Lyall. ‘He looks like a pig, shall we roast him. Build up the fire, Buchanan.’
‘No, please,’ snivelled Edric.
‘Very well. Bring a rope and sling it over that beam up there. We’ll see this one dance.’
‘No, no, please, show mercy,’ screeched Edric, his voice getting more and more shrill as they dragged him forwards and fastened a rope around his neck.
‘Do you have any final words, Lord Edric, before we hang you for a fool? Any last plea for the men, women and children under your care?’
‘Spare me, I beg you, I am no threat. Let me go south, to tell the King what you have done here, that you were merciful to the Lord of Wulversmeade. I give my word I will not return if you would only grant mercy.’
On and on the fool went and, with each grovelling word, Lyall thought him less of a man, especially when there was a wet, gushing sound and a dark stain spread over Edric’s braies.
‘Enough,’ shouted Lord Douglas. ‘I’ve had my fun, let this worm go. He has shamed his house and himself. If all the English were as weak as this one, we would rule this land in a heartbeat.’
Edric fell to his knees in relief and muttered his thanks. ‘God Bless you, Lord, for the mercy you have shown to me,’ he said. ‘I will take a horse and be gone.’
‘You will take nothing. You will walk back to your King with your tail between your legs, boy, and you will take your first step now or feel cold steel up your arse,’ shouted Lord Douglas.
Lyall stole another glance at Giselle de Villers. She was staring at Edric de Mawpas with naked disgust and, as he staggered past, her servant started to talk rapidly at her. He caught a fragment of their conversation.
‘Will he do nothing, make no plea for your release?’ hissed the older woman.
‘Let him go, we are better off without him,’ replied Giselle, shaking her head.
‘Better off! How can we be, left to fend for ourselves at the mercy of these Scots heathens? It is not right. Your father bid me care for your safety, and I will not stand for it.’
The servant rose to her feet.
‘Lord Edric, are you not forgetting something?’ she shouted. ‘What about my Lady Giselle?’ Everyone in the hall turned to look. ‘Will you not plead for her release, she is yours to protect by oath?’
Giselle de Villers looked up in horror at her servant, and then over at Edric, who had frozen in his exit from the hall. His lips curled in disgust and fear.
‘What are you ranting about, old woman,’ shouted Banan, from across the room. His jaw sported a bruise the size of an apple.
‘Agnes sit down. Be quiet,’ hissed the lass, but she was ignored. The old woman’s blood was up, and there seemed to be no stopping her. She turned to Banan.
‘Lord Edric was betrothed to my Lady Giselle de Villers. It is their wedding day. He must take her with him. He must keep her safe, for he swore a vow.’
Lyall peeled himself away from the wall where he had been leaning and took several long strides towards Edric. He grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck.
‘Is this true? Is this lass your betrothed?’
‘That wench is nothing to me. I care nothing for her, and I did not agree to the marriage.’
‘Marriage? Are you betrothed, or wed already?’ snarled Lyall.
‘Not wed, for it was to be today that I was to be dragged before the altar. It was my father’s arrangement and, now he is gone, I want none of it and I’ll not honour it. I just want to go, please.’
‘If the lass can’t have a wedding at least she can have a bedding,’ said Banan smugly, coming alongside Lyall.
Lyall shot him a look that could kill and turned back to Edric. ‘So you would leave her here and scurry away like a coward?’
Giselle de Villers rose to her feet. ‘Please, let him go. I would not go with this pitiful excuse of a man, even if he wanted me to.’
‘See,’ spat Edric, ‘she’s a shrewish little bitch. Keep her, hold her for ransom for her father is Guy De Villers, Baron of Ravensworth, and he’s filthy rich, with vast lands in the south.’
The girl gasped. Her betrothed had done the opposite of protecting her. He had let slip that she was a valuable hostage who could be ransomed for a high price.
Lyall shoved Edric hard in the shoulder, making him stagger backwards. He bore down on him and grabbed a handful of his tunic. ‘Listen to me, you fat toad, you can’t abandon her. Will you not fight for her? Is there no honour in
you?
‘Fight. I’ll not fight. I don’t want her, and I’ll not have her,’ screeched Edric, tearing himself free of Lyall’s grasp and, before anyone could stop him, running headlong from the hall.
‘Leaves more for the rest of us,’ said Banan, coming alongside Lyall and looking over at Giselle ominously, like a crow about to tear a worm from the grass.
Lyall narrowed his eyes. ‘You’ll not touch her,’ he said, with menace.
‘Oh, I’ll do so much more than touch her, Buchanan. I’ll spread her open under me and make her my whore.’
Rage took Lyall and, in an instant, he had Banan by the throat. The two men wrestled each other for supremacy before rolling over a table and landing, with a crash, at the feet of Lord Douglas. Strong hands grabbed hold of Lyall and tore him off the other man.
Owen hissed into his ear. ‘Stop, it’s not worth it over a woman. He will seek vengeance for this slight. You know who his father is. Don’t be a fool, Lyall.’
‘Hold Buchanan,’ shouted Lord Douglas. ‘Don’t kill Banan just yet, though I know you have long wanted to.’ He pulled Lyall aside and spoke quietly. ‘You saved me from an axe today, and I owe you a debt.’
‘There is no debt, Lord,’ said Lyall, chest heaving in anger.
‘I say there is, and I will reward you twofold. I am gifting you some land, in the north, at Corryvreckan. It is not rich, it is wild and desolate, mostly bogs and moors, but it is land, and a man makes his wealth through land. It is yours if you want it and can hold it. My reward includes this advice. Let this go. Take any other girl here, but let MacGregor have the red-head.’
‘No, Lord, I cannot, in all honour, do that.’
‘Honour? Have we not fought enough battles for you to have overcome your precious honour by now, Lyall Buchanan? Have I not told you that you must kill that side of you to become the warrior you were always meant to be, to do the task the King has set for us? Banan’s father has the ear of the King, he is a powerful man at court. Don’t make enemies of powerful men unless you want to lose your head.’
‘He’s an animal. I’ll not let him have the lass.’
‘I’ll own he likes to revenge himself on the English in all manner of ways, but, just for this one night, let him have her until his lust is spent, and then, tomorrow, if she still takes your fancy, I will gift her to you. You can indulge your pleasure and when you get bored, ransom the lass for a great price. Maybe send her back with a Scot in her belly, and her rich father can have two for the price of one, eh.’
‘With respect, Lord, my answer is no. I told her she would not be harmed, and I keep my promises. If I must choose, I will take the girl and forfeit the land.’
‘Only a fool chooses a woman over land.’
‘Fool it is then, Lord.’
‘I admire you, Buchanan, you are a good fighter. So I will not shame you by favouring Banan’s claim over yours, but his father is our ally. If you want the girl, you will have to win her, fair and square. Agreed?’
‘Aye.’
Lord Douglas turned to address his men, all eagerly awaiting the outcome of the quarrel.
‘It is time to end this rivalry once and for all. Banan MacGregor, Lyall Buchanan, if you both want this lass, we will decide the matter like men. You will fight. Winner takes the lass and any ransom she brings. Do you agree?’
‘Aye,’ snarled Banan. ‘I will beat him to a pulp, and when I take her, I will make him watch.’
‘Good,’ said Lord Douglas. He turned back to his men. ‘At last, something to entertain me on this fruitless day. We have a contest, men, a fight, for a beautiful prize.’
Chapter Five
‘You fight with fists only, no weapons.’
‘To the death?’ asked the awful Banan.
‘No idiot, until one man yields. You are here to kill the English, not each other, and here is the prize. Whoever wins, gets this woman to do with as he wants.’
A rough hand pushed her forwards, and many pairs of eyes regarded her with amusement. Giselle wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.
She watched helplessly as the two men squared up to each other. How brutish these Scots were, hairy and vicious and fighting over her like two dogs over a bitch. No one cared how she felt, no one had asked her if she wanted to be some man’s prize. Whichever Scot won, she was doomed regardless. Whatever happened to her this night, it was going to be awful. What a fool she had been to dread Edric’s caresses, for now, she would be in for so much worse.
She winced as Agnes’ fingers dug deep into her arm and she hissed in her ear. ‘Listen, Lady, for we do not have much time, and we may be parted.’
‘No, I won’t let them, Agnes.’
‘Hush now. I am too old for them to have any interest in me, and I am no threat. I will go south, find your sister. She will take me in, so there’s no need to fret for me.’
‘We can’t be separated. I won’t let these brutes part us.’
‘Whatever happens, Lady, never give up. You must stay alive and fight back. My father, he used to go to sea, and he always said to me, if your ship goes down you find any piece of flotsam and hang on to it. Keep paddling, no matter what. Lady, that is what you must do, stay alive by finding a strong man to shelter you. A woman cannot be alone and unprotected, so whichever of these brutes wins you, suffer his attentions, be meek and obedient, while you try to escape.’
‘I cannot. It is too awful to contemplate.’
Agnes gripped her hands painfully tight. ‘You don’t have a choice. Whichever man it is that wins you, if he drags you into his bed, stay in it – that is the only surety you have. Else they will pass you around, like a whore. Scots are barbarous, violent, barely civilised. They slaughter each other like dogs over the smallest slight and have feuds lasting for generations. It is a vicious life they lead, of blood and mayhem. And make no mistake, if you go with one of these men, if he takes you away into Scotland, it is rape or worse for you, if you don’t get him on your side.’
‘I would rather die than allow myself to be defiled like that. I will not bow down before these animals.’
‘No, you must not think like that. You have value, and not just because they want a ransom. Lady, you are far prettier than anything they are used to, and you have your wits in your favour. You will find a way to get out, I know it. You said you would make the best of marriage to Edric, and now you must make the best of this.’
‘But I have no ransom coming, Edric lied so that he could leave me behind, so that I would appear of value to them. How will I ever get free?’
‘You need time to find a way. I will try to get to your sister. She may be able to help.’
‘We both know Sabine will not care if I live or die. More likely, she will be happy to be rid of me.’
A shout went up from the Scots, making them both jump. The crowd of rough men had formed a loose circle around the two opponents. When Giselle looked up, Banan was staring at her with such intensity it made her shake. His face was tight with tension. Giselle felt as if his hand was on her again, squeezing her throat, his breath in her face. She prayed to God he would not win for, if he did, he’d crush her and hurt her and make her bleed. He could not be worked upon to be kind. If he won her, she feared she would not survive it.
The dark-haired man, Lyall, had tied his shoulder-length hair back off his face and had removed his mail and tunic. Giselle stared at him in horror but could not look away. His body was strapping and lean. He bounced on his feet and shook out his shoulders in anticipation of the fight beginning, making his muscles clench and twitch. There was a kind of animal grace about this Scot. He glanced over at her and nodded curtly, and it was as if some unspoken message had passed between them. Giselle lowered her eyes as her face grew hot. Was he trying to reassure her, or was he just arrogantly predicting a victory and what he would do to her later?
‘Fight, until your opponent yields,’ roared Black Douglas. ‘Don’t waste your time on chivalry, I’ll have none of tha
t. Once a man is beaten enough that he cannot get up and fight on, then that is the end of it. Agreed?’
‘Aye,’ shouted both men, and then they didn’t even bother sizing each other up, they merely came together like wolves, punching and grappling and gouging. It was so fast, and so utterly vicious that Giselle could not tell who was winning.
Each dull thud of fists connecting with flesh brought jeers from the Scots. They were enjoying the violence of it, their faces rapt and eager for more. A fierce right hook from Lyall cracked into Banan’s nose, sending him staggering backwards clutching his face. Surely that would put him down, and this would end. But no, he spat red onto the floor, and it seemed only to enrage him. He launched himself at Lyall, the momentum carrying them both into a wall, which seemed to wind Lyall enough to give Banan the advantage. He pummelled his fist time and time again into the other man’s belly with bruising ferocity, and when Lyall doubled over, Banan jumped back and brought his fist smashing down onto the side of his head.
A fine spray of blood flew out and hit Giselle’s face. She scrubbed it away with her sleeve, wanted to retch as she watched her rescuer, and her best chance of salvation, stagger sideways up against the wall of encircling Scots. He could barely stand, he was swaying on his feet, his body slick with blood and sweat. The Scots pushed him back into the fight.
He was about to drop. Banan was going to finish him.
Suddenly, he put his head down and ran at Banan and grabbed hold of him tightly. They twisted and turned and, for a moment, it seemed it could go either way. Then Lyall got hold of Banan around the back of the neck, bent him over and kneeing him in the stomach, again and again. Giselle thought she heard the crack of a rib going, and then Banan screamed and fell to the ground. It did not stop the other man, who carried on kicking him in a frenzy of hate.
‘I yield,’ she heard Banan slur, wetly. He sounded as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. ‘Stop, I yield.’
But the Scot did not seem to hear or care. Was he intent on killing this Banan?
Just as Giselle could bear it no more, a young man rushed forward and took hold of Lyall, dragging him backwards.
