by Tessa Murran
‘I’m hard to kill, Abbot Aifric, for the Devil protects his own,’ Lyall replied, leaning down to kiss the man’s shiny tonsure
‘Hush with your talk of the Devil now, or I’ll not admit you to God’s house.’
The Abbot caught sight of Giselle and frowned as he took in her bedraggled state. She looked back with wide eyes, for the Abbot could be a jarring sight with his deformity, not to mention the expression of naked disapproval all over his face.
‘And who may I ask is this?’ he said as Giselle looked down at the ground in mortification.
‘Giselle de Villers is her name, and she is my hostage. She is accompanying me to Beharra, where she will remain until her father pays me a fat ransom for her return.’
‘Hostage, you say? De Villers? That is an English name?’
‘Aye, ‘tis, what of it?’
‘What on earth…’
Lyall leant in close to the Abbot’s ear. ‘We need to speak in private, Abbot, and the girl needs food and a warm bed for the night. Can that be arranged? ‘T’is best she is not privy to our conversation.’
‘I can’t have a woman in the abbey, and a comely one at that.’
‘But she is exhausted.’
‘Women are of the devil, Jezebel’s all, and she will turn the monks’ minds to base things, thoughts not in keeping with their holy orders and vows to God. Look at her, she has the face of a wee angel.’
‘All the more reason to give her sanctuary for the night, Abbot.’
‘Those are the worst kind of women. All innocence and temptation rolled into one cursed, little bundle. If she is currently warming your bed, I suggest you find another place to corrupt her.’
Lyall glanced at several monks, who had started to spill forth from the abbey’s mouth and were now gathering around Giselle, smiling shyly at her. Indeed, their heads seemed turned by her beauty already. They looked at her as if she were some exotic bird, something to lighten the tedium of a grinding and wretched existence, which reduced their manhood and urges to dust. Lyall found he did not like their eyes on her. But he had a matter to attend to, and Giselle needed to be made secure.
‘If you are frightened of her womanly charms, Abbot, then all I ask is that you feed the lass, give her the means to wash herself, and lock her up somewhere. I assume I can be assured of her safety from your monks? And in answer to your question, no, Abbot, she is not warming my bed, nor will she.’
The Abbot frowned up at Giselle, whose cheeks were beginning to burn under all the scrutiny.
‘She is shivering more with every moment spent out in this wind,’ said Lyall. ‘This lass needs your charity.’
‘Very well, she shall have it, as it would be unchristian of me to send her out into the night, though I dearly long to. I will send her off with Brother Tamhas. He is to be trusted around women. I’ll swear the poor wretch must be at least a hundred years old and can barely stand, let alone harbour lustful thoughts. As to her safety when she leaves this place, if she stays with you, of that, I am more doubtful.’
The Abbot barked orders at an ancient old monk who tottered forward, revealing a toothless, but kind, smile.
Lyall reached up and pulled Giselle gently down. Her legs were unsteady, and she fell against his chest. She looked up at him, brushing hair out of her eyes, which were full of confusion.
‘Go with this man, Giselle, he will take you to a place to rest for the night.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I must talk to the Abbot alone.’
‘About what?’
He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, hearing the Abbot tut loudly beside him. ‘That does not concern you, Giselle. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Say nothing, not one word to anyone. If you think you can use your womanly wiles to get these monks to set you free, you are wrong.’
‘I don’t have any womanly wiles.’
‘There, Giselle, you are quite wrong.’ He looked into her eyes and felt himself soften inside. He quickly recovered his wits. ‘Do not test me by trying to flee again. Now go.’
She clung to him and gave him a filthy look as he prised her fingers off his clothes. ‘Go, do as I command,’ he said in a cold voice, and she relented and followed the old monk inside. Pity choked his breast for a moment, and he took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come.
The minute she had gone, the Abbot turned gimlet eyes on him.
‘Come inside, before the altar and explain yourself, Lyall Buchanan, and this had better be good.’
As they approached the altar, Lyall marvelled at the myriad of colours jewelling the floor, as the dying sun streamed through the stained-glass windows facing the sea. There was Christ on the cross, his life’s blood oozing, scarlet, from a wound in his side. Another showed Christ as the shepherd, the protector, with a lamb at his feet. The Devil was there too, mouth pulled into a gaping, lustful grin. Was he that Devil, for what he had done?
‘From whence has that girl been taken,’ snapped the Abbot.
‘We besieged Wulversmeade Castle under the King’s orders and took it. A sad and sorry tale, which I will not bore you with. Suffice to say, Giselle was in danger of violation from a man there and I took it on myself to keep her from harm and gain some coin in the process. She is the spoils of war, and I won her fair and square.’
‘How?’
‘In a fight,’ said Lyall, pointing to his black eye and bruised jaw.
‘Words fail me,’ snapped the Abbot. ‘That girl is terrified and in a state, so what, pray, has been done to her?’
‘Nothing - not by me, anyway.’
‘Don’t lie in God’s house, Lyall Buchanan. You come here, dragging this poor defenceless girl along with you...’
‘The alternative was much worse, trust me, Abbot. We took Wulversmeade, and she was inside it. There were others with evil designs on Giselle, and I rescued her.’
‘Rescued her! Are you expecting some kind of salvation in taking a hostage? To drag her, in your wake, away from her family and into Scotland, is folly. You do know the girl is now ruined.’
‘Not by me, I’ve not laid a hand on her, nor will I.’ That was not entirely true so Lyall felt his lie reverberate around God’s house.
‘How very honourable of you,’ said the Abbot, dripping sarcasm. ‘But she is ruined, all the same, travelling alone with a man who is not her husband. Her family will assume the worst was done, that she has been dishonoured by a Scot, that you have whored her. They may refuse to pay a ransom to get the girl back, and, even if they do, what husband will take her, what prospects for a good marriage does she have, given her ruination?’
‘I claimed her as was my right of battle, and I did so only to save her from a worse fate, rape at the hands of one so evil that…’
‘She is worse off because of it,’ snapped Abbot Aifric. ‘Aye, she would have suffered men’s lust, but she would have been, in all likelihood, set free afterwards, sent back to her family. The shame could have been covered up and not spoken of. She could have been given to a good man as a wife, and none would know the difference. Her ordeal would have been brutal, but swiftly done with, whereas now, it is prolonged, with an uncertain outcome. By dragging her to Scotland with you alone, then folk will assume the worst of you, Lyall Buchanan, why should they otherwise?’
‘You would approve of rape, Abbot? You would have me leave her to that fate? Banan MacGregor would have used Giselle cruelly, for his own sick pleasure.’
‘MacGregor, you say?’
‘Aye, he is Domnhall MacGregor’s son.’
‘A powerful man to cross,’ said the Abbot, with a frown darkening his face. ‘So, you have confounded Banan’s desire for this girl. You have made an enemy of him.’
‘He was always my enemy. What I did for Giselle makes no difference. Banan is evil, Abbot, truly evil, and relentless in his cruelty.’
‘T’is a sad fact, Lyall, that some men are twisted, in all sorts of ways. With some, it is on the outside
, like me. Women have always recoiled in disgust at the sight of my affliction, and, had I been low born, I would have spent my life suffering ridicule and disdain. Taking holy orders and eschewing the pleasures of the flesh was easy for me. Then there are some men twisted on the inside, with withered minds, and hearts poisoned by lust - for money, for power or for women. Banan MacGregor sounds such a one, and perhaps his deformity is greater than mine and abides in his mind. And then there are men like you, Lyall, who have stout hearts and honourable intentions, but, like all men, you have a weakness. Women are drawn to that handsome face of yours. That innocent girl will be like dough in your hands, and you know it. Perhaps God has placed her under your power to test you in some way, as Eve tested Adam with the apple. I fear it is a test you are doomed to fail, for I have yet to meet a man whose conscience is more steadfast than the pull of his desires.’
‘In all honour, what would you have me do?’ sighed Lyall.
‘I know what men do in the name of war and conquest – I am not blind to their weakness. But I would have had you protect the girl for the night, Lyall, and then let her go free. That was a choice, was it not? Did that not occur to you?’ Abbot Aifric tutted and shook his head. ‘Honour be damned. I know exactly why you took her, and it had nothing to do with honour.’
‘Abbot, my intention, however misguided, was to keep her safe. It was meant as a kindness.’
‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’
‘I am well along the path to hell, Abbot, and I did not think that…’
‘No, you did not think. And what will your brother say about this girl when you drag her home to Beharra? Cormac hates the English, he won’t want one under his roof, no matter how pretty she is.’
‘Cormac can say what he likes, it will make no difference to me.’
‘Where will she sleep tomorrow when you are back on the road to Beharra, pray? What is to stop her warming your bed then?’
‘I’ll not have a bed, we will sleep in the open most likely,’ smirked Lyall.
‘Save me your insolence.’
‘I swore a vow to her, Abbot, on my honour.’
‘I not sure you have any, Lyall Buchanan.’
‘I need your help and your counsel, please.’
‘Oh, do you now? I have more pressing concerns than your lust for an English girl. I have just returned from a long and tiring sea voyage all the way to France, puking my guts out, to no avail.’
‘Does the Pope still refuse to recognise Robert’s legitimacy as King of Scotland?’
‘His holiness will not give way on the matter while the English press their cause. They paint us as villains and say that Robert is dividing Christendom with his demands for independence, that it is because of him that the crusade to the Holy Land cannot proceed. They say that he alone is to blame for this war continuing. Robert the Bruce has been excommunicated, Lyall.’
‘The King will burst with rage at this latest slight. He will wound England, and Edward, for this.’
‘Aye, so it is best to get your pretty hostage well clear of it. Send her back home as soon as may be.’
‘Will you despatch a letter to her home and demand a ransom? It is a place called Ravensworth, in Derbyshire.’
‘That will take some weeks, so you will have to be patient and, of course, the lass must remain unmolested, which will surely test your honour, Lyall.’
‘Well, I can hardly ride into Ravensworth and declare myself before the Baron as his daughter’s captor, can I?
‘No. I will have the letter drawn up at once, and despatch a messenger at first light.’
‘I thank you, Abbot. Now, I will go to see to Giselle’s welfare.’
‘You will do no such thing. You will find a bed with the monks, and try to take on some of their chaste ways, instead of foisting your charms onto a naive and frightened, young woman in my care. Be off with you, to your own bed, and move on at first light. Your hostage is far too bonnie for her own good, so she can’t stay here.’
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Lyall made ready to set off. He had not gone near Giselle all night at the Abbot’s orders, and she was obviously offended by it, as she refused to speak to him or meet his eye.
Lyall tried to ignore Abbot Aifric as he mounted his horse. The man was buzzing in his ear like a bee, lecturing him on his spiritual wellbeing and the benefits of abstinence. He was about to beckon Giselle to get up behind him when Brother Tamhas tottered over to her and handed her something, wrapped in sackcloth. As he pressed it into Giselle’s hands, Lyall noticed his bony claws lingered a little too long on her skin.
Was the toothless, old fool trying to flirt?
The monk reached into his pocket and drew out a crude, wooden cross on a leather string. ‘To deliver you from evil, child, and keep safe your innocence,’ he croaked as he placed it around her neck, with a bitter glance at Lyall. He managed to stroke his fingers down Giselle’s hair, and spent a little too long, positioning the cross between her breasts where they pushed against her tunic.
So much for Brother Tamhas being harmless, the slimy old bugger.
Giselle smiled back at the monk and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, making Tamhas beam and redden.
Something in Lyall snapped. ‘Giselle, come, make haste, we have a way to go before nightfall,’ he snarled. She came over to him, and he hauled her up in front of him, putting a possessive hand around her waist.
They rode out along the path at the cliff’s edge, waved off by a relieved Abbot Aifric and a crestfallen Brother Tamhas.
‘Will you not wish me good morning, Giselle?’ he said, leaning forward to put his cheek to hers. ‘Tis a fine day for a ride.’
‘It would be a fine day only if we were riding south and to my home, not into some dark wilderness, and I will speak to you no more, Scot.’ She moved her head aside.
‘My name is Lyall, will you not call me that.’
‘I could call you jailor if that would suit you, or master, as that would better stroke your pride and arrogance.’
‘Aye, master will do nicely, shall I call you slave?’
She turned and glowered at him, her mouth thrust into a perfect pout.
‘Forgive me for leaving you last night, Giselle. It was on the Abbot’s orders. He was concerned that I would find your charms irresistible.’
‘And did you explain to him that the only lure I hold for you is coin to fill your pockets?’
‘Well, no, because that would be a lie now wouldn’t it, a terrible thing in God’s house?’ He winked at her, and she reddened and looked away. He should not play with her feelings by teasing her, but he couldn’t help it, she was so easy to discomfort.
Giselle seethed at her captor. She had spent a cold, frightening night in a bare cell of a room, where the solitary candle and pitifully small fire did little to comfort her, instead, casting eerie shadows across the damp-riddled walls. The scratchy habit given her by the monks was like a hair shirt against her skin. She had tried to wash the salt of the sea off, with the bowl of water and a rag given to her, but still, it clung all over, and the sand in her hair set her scalp to itching. Giselle had never been so dirty and disgusting in her life. So much for seducing the Scot into letting her go.
Come morning, the decrepit, old monk had presented her with her dress, cleanish, but slightly damp, with a hint of the sea still clinging to it. It was a small kindness for which she thanked him, repeatedly. Giselle was so angry with Lyall at having abandoned her the night before that it was many miles before she spoke again. He did not address her either, seeming to withdraw from his earlier ease and good humour. She didn’t like this cold, angry Scot pressing into her back. He made her a little fearful.
‘The Abbot, how do you know him?’ she said when the tense silence between them grew too great. ‘You two seemed very cosy together, and his welcome was warm.’
‘Farne Abbey sits right on the border with England and, because of tha
t, it has suffered English tyranny for years, raiding and stealing, carrying off of livestock and such like. But the Abbot is a wily man, and he plays both sides. He cosies up to the English when they hold sway, and then switches allegiance when they do not. The Abbot has had to call on King Robert and his troops for protection during this time of war. In return, he acts as Robert’s eyes and ears at the border and pleads his case with the Pope.’
‘He seems to have enriched himself in the process. The abbey was well appointed.’
‘You don’t miss much do you? I can see I shall have to be careful with you. Aye, the abbey prospers under his stewardship, and the Abbot dines lavishly to be sure. He is the son of nobility and given to enjoying his worldly pursuits, well most of them, as he has taken a vow of celibacy. I think he chafes against that one.’
Giselle frowned. ‘Is that why he did not like me?’
‘It’s not that he does not like you, it is merely that he sees you as a double threat. Being English and comely, you are dangerous, in all sorts of ways. He probably thinks you are a spy.’
‘But now you have told me about him, are you not afraid I will go back to England, and betray him?’
‘Perhaps you won’t go back.’
Her face paled.
‘Hah, I didn’t mean anything sinister, Giselle. You will come to no harm with me. I see I have gone too far in taunting you. What I meant is that you may come to like Scotland.’
‘No, never.’
‘No matter. Even if you do go back and spill your secrets, it would make no difference to the Abbot. It is an open secret that, over the years, he has played both sides, and is well rewarded for it too. His fisheries, his gardens, his crops, they are not scoured by invading armies on either side. Farne Abbey sits unmolested, no matter who holds sway in Scotland. Currently, the Abbot gives his loyalty to fight the King’s cause with the Pope. He strives with the rest of the church to support Robert’s claim for legitimacy, to rightfully call himself King. But that can change.’
