by Tessa Murran
‘How can that be? I’ve scarce said two words to that wretch in my whole life,’ spat Morna.
‘I don’t think he is basing his affection on the wit of your conversation, sister,’ said Lyall.
‘Nor the sweetness of her tongue,’ laughed Cormac.
‘Oh, you two are just as bad as each other, trying to foist a husband onto me.’
‘As laird here, and your brother, it is my duty to see you settled, and with the protection of a man,’ said Cormac. ‘If that poor fool Ian is brave enough to want to court you, then I have no objection. He’s a decent enough fellow.’
‘Aye,’ said Lyall, ‘strong sword arm, good with his fists, too. I fought alongside him once at Roxburgh, and the lad has a certain belligerence about him. He is more than a match for our sister.’
‘Shut up, the both of you.’ Morna narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips, which was a sign that a storm was about to break. ‘Why don’t I save you all this trouble, Cormac? Why don’t I just wed the next fool of a man that rides into Beharra, whoever he may be, and then I will be off your hands for good.’
‘Aye, please do for that, for it would suit me very well.’
Lyall turned back to staring at Giselle, trying to blot out all their noise. She needs a man’s protection, he thought.
‘Lyall, there’s a rider coming,’ shouted Cormac.
‘Where?’ squeaked Morna.
Seconds later, a tall, and very grubby, man galloped through the gates on an enormous black stallion and skidded to a halt in front of them.
‘Lyall Buchanan. It has been too long, my friend,’ he shouted out.
Lyall grinned as Owen Sutherland flung his leg over his horse’s neck and jumped lithely off the great beast. He came forward, beating dust off his clothes, arms flung wide in greeting. It really was quite an entrance.
‘I am fearfully dirty from the road. When will this devilish heat abate? I am on my way to see my family, and so I must beg food and a bed for the night,’ he said, surveying with interest several pretty girls who were pointing and staring. His eyes found Morna, standing open-mouthed next to Cormac. ‘I don’t care where you put me. House me in the stables if you will,’ he said, distractedly, smirking back in her direction.
Lyall took him into a bear hug. ‘I will tell Ravenna to make a huge supper. You look to have quite the appetite, my friend.’
‘Don’t I always,’ Owen replied, still staring at Morna.
Across the yard, Lyall noticed Giselle, who stood, frozen, her face pale. Owen had been part of the attack at Wulversmeade, so she would be frightened of him. He wanted to go and reassure her, but she would not want him to.
He wondered at his friend’s visit. If Owen was on his way home, then Beharra was well out of his way. Lyall had never known Owen to do anything without a purpose, and he wondered what it was.
Hours later, he was still wondering, as Owen ingratiated himself with the Buchanans. They had dined well on a roast piglet, and now Morna was amusing herself by flirting shamelessly.
‘Owen, do tell me more of your battles for King Robert. How brave you must be to suffer it. Goodness, I am sure I could scarce lift a sword, let alone wield it,’ she said, breathlessly.
Lyall almost choked on his ale at the absurdity of her words. Not only could she wield a sword well enough, but she could also handle a bow almost as well as he could, ride a horse like a fury, and his sister had a mouth on her that would make a dockside whore blush.
‘Oh ‘tis nothing I would not gladly do again for my country, and my King,’ replied Owen, chest puffed up with pride. His head was clearly turned by Morna, and he was not doing a very good job of hiding his attraction from Cormac, who glowered darkly at him from the head of the table.
Morna was obviously flirting with Owen to get back at Cormac, which would normally have amused Lyall beyond measure, but he was too distracted by Giselle to care. She sat pale and lonely, at the end of the table. He was about to go over to her when Cormac interrupted Morna’s sport.
‘Morna, go and help Ravenna settle Ross for the night.’
Morna went off with a sour look at her brother, and Giselle moved away to the other end of the hall. She must have realised the men wanted to talk alone.
‘Come, Owen, tell us the mood at court,’ asked Cormac. ‘How fares the King, now his adventures in Ireland have come to nought?’
‘Ah, the mood at Stirling is grim, Cormac, for the King grows impatient with the Pope and bids he recognise the legitimacy of his rule. But of course, King Edward still turns the screws on Rome, and will not stand for them conceding to Robert’s demands.’
‘And the English still have the stomach to fight on, no matter how we wound them by striking at the North?’
‘My Lord Douglas’ raids have weakened them, to be sure, though castles such as Wulversmeade were easy pickings, were they not, Lyall?’ said Owen.
Giselle’s looked over at him, so his response was measured.
‘Aye, ‘tis true, it was not well-defended and fell easily. Hugh de Mawpas had grown too sure of himself under King Edward’s protection. The fool should have done the sensible thing and surrendered. He could have spared his people a good deal of suffering, had he done so.’
He glanced at Giselle with an apology in his eyes, but she turned away, mortification pinking her cheeks.
‘Aye, he was arrogant, like all those English bastards, and now he knows the meaning of Scots justice,’ said Owen. ‘The English know what is in store for them and, be assured, Robert will give them no respite from his raids. We will be busy men these coming months, Lyall. The northerners urge Edward to admit defeat, sue for peace, but he cares little for his lands so far removed from London. He digs in his heels and declares he will take back Scotland.’
‘He has no choice,’ said Cormac. ‘His nobles make him do it. If Edward is seen to be weak, they will take his throne. There are rumours of plots against him.’
‘Aye, the Earl of Lancaster for one, his own cousin no less,’ said Owen.
‘The fool certainly does not inspire loyalty,’ said Lyall. ‘but these rumours are no more than that for the present. If they were true, and Lancaster overthrew Edward, it would save us a deal of trouble.’
Cormac leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘Or he may be replaced by someone worse, someone who has a backbone and knows how to wage war. Edward’s weakness in commanding men in the field has worked in our favour, so far. That might not always be so. Don’t forget that there are rumours of plots against King Robert, too.’
It was a sobering thought, and they fell silent, staring into their cups of ale. Lyall noticed that Giselle had moved out of earshot and stood alone before the fireplace.
‘There is a deal of talk about Berwick,’ whispered Owen. ‘Robert will make an assault on it as soon as may be.’
‘Aye, there have been rumours for some time,’ said Cormac. ‘It’s a prize alright, taken from us at great cost in lives and blood all those years ago, and the English squat in it, feeling safe behind their walls. But those walls are not as high as they should be, and such a large town is difficult to hold against a determined siege. Robert can take his time over it, while the English lords bicker with each other.’
‘I believe it is a certainty that, before this year is out, we will be massing for an all-out siege,’ said Lyall, with a glance at Giselle.
What would become of her when he went back off to war? Was her father’s land far enough south, out of reach of Robert’s raiding? He turned back to the others.
‘If we take Berwick, we will regain control of the Marches, and have a harbour through which to trade, and strike back at English ships who would prey on us from the sea,’ said Lyall.
‘Aye, Berwick is the key, and if Robert takes it hostage, he can use it to put the boot to Edward’s throat,’ replied Cormac. ‘Imagine the humiliation of the English King when he has to face his nobles and declare he has lost the largest town in Scotland.’
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sp; Morna burst noisily back into the hall and into their conversation. ‘What are you talking of with such gloomy faces, all huddled together like old women? Owen, come and tell me more about your travels. I want to know everything about you.’
Lyall sighed. Owen seemed to melt under Morna’s smile. She had always had plenty of charm, a way of making a person feel as though they were the most important thing in the world to her. Now Owen was basking in her adoration, the poor fool. He had a moment of unease that perhaps Morna did genuinely like Owen, a man who would soon be facing great violence and a swift and bloody end in the next stage of the King’s road to absolute power in Scotland. He did not want to see his lively sister give her heart, only to have it shattered.
He would spare Giselle that pain too, not that he had her heart, or could ever win it. Why should he even care if the lass liked him or loathed him? She was English, his hated enemy. He owed them nothing, not honour, nor kindness, nor forgiveness. And she was one of them.
‘Lyall, Lyall, you are not listening?’
Cormac’s irritation cut through his thoughts.
‘We must make plans to travel to Stirling to meet with the King.’
‘Aye, if you like, but not tonight.’ Lyall got up from the table.
‘Lyall,’
‘I said not now, Cormac.’
Lyall made his way over to stand by the fireplace, next to Giselle. She looked up at him, blue eyes soft and questioning. They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, in silence. The bitterness in his heart towards the English receded, and calm settled over him as he soaked up her presence. It was good to be close to her. Christ, she was lovely, the sort of loveliness that defeated the stoutest of hearts and brought the strongest of men to their knees. Lyall suddenly found himself at a loss for what to say.
‘I think that Owen is quite taken with your sister,’ she said, breaking the silence abruptly.
‘Then he is a fool. To Morna, he is merely a whetstone on which she sharpens her powers of seduction.’
‘Oh, I thought she liked him.’
‘She likes him well enough, but he is an amusement, that is all.’
‘She is just playing with him then?’ she said.
Was she talking about Morna, or was it a barb at him?
‘I don’t know, for women’s hearts are a mystery to me.’
‘Is she not happy here at Beharra?’
‘She longs to be away from here, having adventures.’
‘You pay a high price for adventure,’ Giselle replied sadly.
‘Aye, you do,’ he said. ‘Cormac and I keep urging her to find a husband, a good man, who will offer her protection.’
‘If it is protection she wants, she should stay away from men. Lyall, that one over there, why has he come?’
‘Owen? He is my friend, and he is harmless, well, unless you are an English soldier that is. He is visiting his family further north and stopped here to break the journey. He has been at Stirling Castle these last weeks, and has news to pass on.’
She blanched. Was she thinking of Banan at Stirling?
‘Lyall, he knows what happened at Wulversmeade. He knows how you fought over me. He must assume that we…what I mean is, we were alone together all night. What must he think of me?’
‘Do you care what he thinks of you?’
‘Yes,’ she hissed.
‘Well, don’t fash yourself. Owen trusts my word, and I told him I would behave myself, and so I did, though, looking at you now, I don’t know how I managed it.’
He reached out and entwined his fingers in hers with the briefest of touches. It was a gesture meant to comfort her but it was as though his hand burst into flames.
Giselle’s face reddened, and she locked eyes with him, questioning, uncertain, fearful. Those eyes of hers were as wide as the ocean, bright with unshed tears. Giselle was frightened of him. She was miles from home and amongst strangers. He should be thinking only of easing her burden. So why was he thinking of something else entirely, of leading her into sin? Did he imagine a kind of yearning in her eyes, or did he delude himself that his attentions were welcome because of the lust burning in his belly.
‘Giselle, Cormac would skin me alive for saying this. Meet me later, outside the keep, so that we can talk properly. I would come to your chamber, but Cormac is close by, and he will be vigilant, now Owen is showing interest in Morna. He has ears like a bat, my brother.’
‘No, I can’t. Your family already think the worst of me, I am sure of it.’
‘To hell with them. Come to me. I will not punish you for it. Giselle, I can’t stop thinking about you. Risk it, please, for my sake? There are words I have to say.’
He heard the scrape of a chair. Owen was on his feet and staring at them intently.
‘Meet me in the stables at midnight,’ said Lyall. ‘I will wait all night if I have to.’
Giselle glanced over at the others and back to him.
‘Say yes,’ he hissed.
‘Yes,’ she whispered and swiftly moved away from him.
He should not ask this of her, he knew that, but he could not help himself. All night his eyes had feasted on Giselle. This young woman drew him in, she had some power over him. Lyall recognised it as lust, and he’d never been any good at controlling his appetites in that regard. But there was something else as well. Away from Beharra, he had missed her, in a strange way. He had missed having Giselle to protect. He had missed her soft defiance and the sight of that lovely face. And he had missed his power over her.
Lyall wanted her, badly. If Giselle came to the stables to meet him, he could convince her to do anything, he was sure of it.
Owen came over to him, watching Giselle across the room.
‘She’s different.’
‘Aye, she’s clean.’
‘No, I meant she’s different with you, softer. She looks at you often. Have you finally exercised your rights and forsaken your honour, Lyall.’
‘No, I have not, for I am heartily sick of the English, so enough talk of them. Why have you come? Are we to raid again, are we off to war?’
‘I think the call will come soon enough, but I have other news.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Lord Douglas wants you back at Stirling, and you should go, and soon, for your name is being blackened there.’
‘By whom?’
‘Who do you think? Banan has not forgotten his grievance against you, or that you stole a woman right out from under him.’ Owen glanced again at Giselle.
‘What is he saying?’
‘That you cannot be trusted, that you are not loyal. Banan questions why you turned down land and chose her instead, an English lass, who means nothing to anyone. He is even saying Giselle might be a spy.’
‘That is ridiculous. Surely Lord Douglas gives no credence to his lies.’
‘The Douglas thinks what he thinks. I am not privy to his opinion of Banan, and he would not give it freely anyway, as he wants the Clan MacGregor on Robert’s side. Very cosy they all are too, and you have made powerful enemies over that girl.’
Lyall stared over at Giselle. Was she worth it, all this strife? It didn’t really matter, he and Banan hated each other, it would always have ended this way.
‘When will Lord Douglas attack Berwick?’
‘Within the month. We have to make plans. I leave at first light, and I will press on for home and my family. Once this thing starts, who knows when I will see them again? What will you do with your English beauty if the ransom does not come by the time you go back off to war?’
‘She will remain here, as long as it takes for Baron de Villers to pay up, and I am sure he will.’
‘Aye, she is a valuable asset, bonnie and well-bred. She’ll fetch a good price on the marriage market, end up gracing the bed of some noble or other from a grand house.’
The very thought of it sickened Lyall, but he hid it from Owen. ‘Aye, and I will make sure the English pay a great price to get back such a treasure.’
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��And will you want to give her up?’
‘Of course, Giselle is nought but a burden. I will be happy to be rid of her,’ he said casually, squirming a little under Owen’s steady gaze. He was sure he was fooling no one, especially his friend, who could read him well. Best change the subject to one less dangerous.
‘I am glad you have come, Owen, as is my sister it would seem.’
‘She is a bonnie lass with lots of spirit. Why is she not betrothed, or married already?’
‘Because we haven’t found anyone brave enough, or fool enough, to take her.’
‘Surely you jest. She is sweet and kind and so very lovely,’ sighed Owen smiling over at Morna
‘My sister is nothing of the kind, and I would be very careful there, my friend.’
‘Best take your own advice, and steer clear of dangerous lasses too, Lyall.’
Lyall stole a glance at Giselle. Part of him hoped her father would not pay the ransom, and he would not be forced to send her away, back to some noble with soft hands and polished manners. Damn him for a fool. He shouldn’t be alone with her, as there was a dangerous desire taking hold of him. Every time Giselle locked eyes with him, she blushed, and he got a deal of satisfaction from making her do it.
Meeting her was the wrong thing to do, but Lyall was going to be damned and do it anyway.
Chapter Twenty-One
It must be midnight by now. Giselle paced up and down her chamber, ears straining to hear any sound. All was quiet, Beharra was sleeping, and she had a choice before her. All through supper, she had felt Lyall’s eyes on her, and all night it had thrilled her. Now she had a perfect opportunity to get him on her side, to make him care for her a little, while keeping him at arm’s length. To what end?
Even if she got him to care for her, sooner or later, he would find out that she was penniless. Lyall would discover that she had no prospects, no money and no ransom coming. Marriage to Edric had been her last hope, and now it was gone. If she ran away, and, by some miracle, made it back home, what then? Her half-sister would extend her charity with a resentful hand. No doubt she would force her into marriage, a low, hurried match to a man she did not want any more than she had wanted Edric.
