by Tessa Murran
When Giselle pulled back and smiled up at him, her heart was hammering, and her knees were shaking. Lyall smiled at her in confusion, with no idea what it had cost her to do such a simple thing.
‘Are you alright?’ he said.
‘Yes, or at least, I think I might be, in time.’
Giselle took his hand and glanced around her. Ravenna had gone. She was a good woman, with a big heart, and she would miss her when they had gone off to Corryvreckan to start their new life.
‘Come Lyall. Let us go inside, it is cold out here.’
He hung back. ‘You are different today, Giselle. What has changed in you? Do I need to be concerned?’
‘No, you do not have to worry for me anymore.’ His hand was warm in hers as she brought it to her lips and kissed it. ‘I will be well again, I swear Lyall, if you would be patient with me.’
‘You know I will.’
‘Then you must know that I love you, and I would not see you worry for me all the time. I want to live and bring my child into the world.’
‘I told you it will be our child.’ His mouth set into a grim line, and Giselle almost winced at the expression on his face.
‘I know you did, and you are a good man to stand by me,’ she replied. ‘I don’t deserve you, Lyall Buchanan.’
‘No, indeed, you deserve someone with a kinder heart and a more forgiving nature. I fear my own is cursed with resentment and bitterness.’
‘And yet, I love you to distraction.’
He laughed and squeezed her hand tight. ‘And I you.’
‘Then you are stuck with me, Lyall Buchanan, for as long as may be.’
Epilogue
The journey back to Corryvreckan was slow, his horse’s hooves clattering over tracks frozen hard by the bitter frost. Winter’s deathly grip on the land had not yet relented, but it would soon soften to a late spring, and yield to new life as the sun warmed the land.
The air was much colder now that he was but a mile from the castle, and in range of the sea winds, gusting up the coast. His meeting with Abbot Aifric at Farne Abbey preyed on his mind. Why he had ridden there was a mystery to him? It was as if God had reached out a hand and guided him there.
As his horse plodded on, Lyall sank his neck into the furs around his shoulders. He had knelt at the altar on the freezing flagstones with the Abbot, hoping to find peace by spilling his guts before God, but his heart had not stopped racing. Now it shamed him to recall his words.
‘Perhaps if the bairn was a girl it would be easier.’
‘Easier for you to accept, Lyall?’
‘Aye.’
‘But it is not’
His jaw clenched at the very thought of it.
‘I am lost, Abbot. I do not know what to do. If the child grows to look like him, if I cannot be kind to it, then I will be visiting the most awful cruelty on Giselle. She cannot help but care for it, no matter what Banan did to her, for her heart is full of love, where mine is all darkness and bitterness.’
‘Lyall, you made a promise to her on that cliff, to stop her committing the most grievous of sins, ending her own life.’
‘Words are easy to say, but hard to live up to. I have accepted that I must bring up Banan’s child, and I do so in recompense for the agonising death I gave him. I was of the Devil when I did it. It haunts me, that red death, as his child will haunt me.’
‘All this talk of haunting. You killed a man who wronged you in the worst possible way. Banan struck at your heart, your love for Giselle. Make no mistake, he intended that blow to be mortal. As a man of God, I should tell you to turn the other cheek, but not in this case. It was kill, or be killed. Banan is gone to hell, where he belongs, so it is your conscience pricking at you, not some ghost. You torture yourself into a frenzy because you fear Giselle’s son.’
‘I do not fear a bairn. I fear I cannot accept it.’
‘But that is what you promised. If you do this thing, it cannot be for just a month or a year. That child will grow, and one day stand before you, as a man. If every time you look at him, you see Banan staring back, it will test your love for the bairn and for your wife.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Be a man, Lyall, and live with it. We all have our cross to bear. The bairn is innocent and needs your protection. If you do nothing else in this life that is good and selfless, do this one thing.’
‘You’ll own it is not an easy thing, Abbot.’
‘I do. This might be the bravest thing you will ever do in this life, but do it you must. You know, my parents could have shunned me at birth, because I was broken and bent, like a tree in the wind. I could have been stunted by their shame. Instead, they embraced me, and I grew up in the light of love, and under God’s grace. I was twisted on the outside, but not on the inside. Do this much for Giselle’s bairn, no matter how hard it is. It is the only way you will set down the burden of guilt. This boy will look to you for guidance, you can shape him as he grows, to be a good man, to carry the Buchanan name proudly.’
Lyall was jolted out of his musings by a pheasant breaking cover in a flash of vivid orange feathers, making his horse rear up. He brought it back under control and his mind with it, as Corryvreckan’s stout walls came into view, silhouetted, black and menacing, against the fading afternoon light. They screamed impregnability to strangers passing by. The mournful cawing of seagulls, foraging inland, echoed over the loch as it seeped out to meet the sea.
Lyall hoped Giselle would not be angry for his leaving her. If she were, she would not show it. His wife would be kind and pleasing and do everything she could to make him happy. How he hated that she did that, always trying to make up for her sin in being a victim of that black dog, Banan. Always seeking his forgiveness, when he should be seeking hers.
***
Lyall strode into his hall in a foul mood. As ever, it smelled fresh, and Giselle had laid out a pitcher of rosemary over the hearth, which sent a pleasant fragrance out into the hot air rising from the burning logs. All was neat and in order. She had proved herself to be an excellent keeper of his home. She was tireless in her wifely duties, apart from one.
Perhaps that would change, now that the bairn had come. A man could hope, couldn’t he? God, when he looked at her these days, it stirred up such longing in his soul. She was fairer now than she had ever been, rounded and lushly beautiful, a glow to her skin and hair, and such an expression on her face, when she held her child, it would put angels to shame. He wanted her, and it disgusted him that he did. To Giselle he was a repulsive, selfish thing, driven by his base desires, one who wished to force his body on her. So it made him feel ashamed to be aroused by the sight of her.
Around him, she was affectionate, doing everything she could to please him, except that one thing that would bring them back together – share his bed. But how could she, when she had the bairn to care for, and he could not be near it? Always, she watched him, as if searching for some feeling on his face that he could not give. When the bairn cried, she would whisk it away, out of sight, so that he would not be angered by it. That was the worst of it, the very worst of it. Try as he might, he could no more touch that boy than Giselle could bear for him to touch her.
As if his thoughts had conjured it, he heard a thin wail from the fireplace. The bairn was in its cradle. He had not noticed it was there. The wailing went on and on, clawing at his piece of mind. No one came to tend to it. He shouted for a servant as the bairn screamed louder. Was it hurt in some way?
Lyall walked over on feet of lead and stared down at the pink bundle of outraged flesh. Its mouth was a yawning gape, shrill shrieks echoing around the hall.
Where was Giselle? She should be here to take care of the bairn.
‘Hush,’ he barked at the strange, unreal thing, wriggling in its cradle. There was such confusion in his head that he wanted to scream.
Still, the bairn shrieked.
Lyall took a deep breath and bent down and took hold of it. He lifted it up and held it t
o him. The bairn squirmed, pale arms reaching, head lolling on its soft neck, bumping and jerking against his chest. It wasn’t repulsive, just pitiful.
How strange it smelled, like milk and oats, and something sweet which he could not name. He brought his nose down to its hair and breathed in the scent of it. Slowly, the cries died down to a gurgle and a sniff, as it clung to him with tiny, determined fingers. It was a pale, scrap of a thing.
Lyall looked down and it stared back up at him. The boy had blue eyes, a deep colour, like his mother’s. But they were not cold, they were huge and warm and bright with tears. What little hair he had was flaxen, not red and not gold, but somewhere in between. Lyall put his hand to it and it was incredibly soft, like goose down, and fine, so fine, in fact, that it was almost nothing under his hand.
He was about to put the boy back down into his cradle when the bairn’s mouth stretched into a smile, and suddenly, he was all dimpled cheeks, huge eyes and a mouth of pink, puckered gums. Lyall felt tears prick the back of his eyes, hot, unwanted. They started and would not stop, rolling down his cheeks, making his chest ache, and his hands shake.
He’d better sit down, he was so tired.
***
When Giselle walked into the hall, she saw Lyall, sitting before the fire with the bairn, motionless in his arms. For a moment she thought he had done something terrible. But then he looked up at her, with tears streaming down his cheeks.
‘The boy was greatly distressed and crying fit to wake the dead, so I took him up,’ he said. He calmed in my arms, and he’s alright now.’
As she took a step closer Lyall’s hand came up around her babe’s head with a strange possessiveness. It was as steady as a rock.
Giselle held her breath.
‘Everything is alright now,’ he said again.
‘I thought you could never…I thought…’
‘That I could never love him because he is Banan’s?’
Giselle swallowed hard, and her lip trembled. ‘Don’t say his name, please,’ she whispered.
‘His name no longer has the power to wound us, my love. I was lost, and now I have found my way. There is love in my heart for this child, but it has been buried under my anger. It seems I have no choice in this matter. I love you Giselle, so how can I not love your child?’ He looked down at the bairn clinging to him. ‘Our child,’ he said, and caught her eyes with his.
‘I can take him now, if you are tired from your journey, Lyall,’ she said, her throat thick with tears held back.
She went to take the babe away from him, but Lyall held him close.
‘No, he must know me and I, him. I would hold him a while longer if that is alright with you.’
She went over to him and knelt at his feet and placed her head on his knees. Lyall began to stroke her hair.
‘We must find a name for our son,’ he said softly.
‘Do you have anything in mind?’
‘I would name him for my father, Fearghas,’ he said.
Giselle squeezed her eyes shut to stop from sobbing with joy. She took a deep breath. ‘I like it. A good, strong name. It will suit him, I think.’
‘Then Fearghas he shall be.’
Giselle found his hand in her hair and held on to it, tight.
‘Thank you, Lyall,’ she said. ‘From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.’
***
A week later, Giselle stood on Corryvreckan’s battlements, staring out at the cold loch, crusted with frost at its edges. A flurry of birds on the water was a good sign. Soon, they would be nesting amongst the long grasses and bullrushes, and their young would thrive and grow fat, as did her son. Spring was finally on its way.
Lyall came to stand beside her. He looked tired.
‘Owen has come to see us,’ he said. ‘He arrived late last night, and we stayed up all night taking far too much ale.’
‘You should have woken me so that I could greet him.’
‘You were sleeping, like the dead, Giselle, it would have been unkind.’
‘How long does he intend to stay with us?’
‘As long as it takes for him to get up his courage. He is to go back to Beharra and declare his feelings for Morna.’
‘That might take a great deal of courage, for she is fearsome,’ she laughed.
‘So is Cormac. Owen must seek his permission to court her openly. I hesitate to say it aloud, but I think marriage might be in the offing.’
‘Does Owen’s regard run that deep, then?’
‘Apparently, though I am not counting my chickens just yet. I can scarce believe our good fortune in finding a man who will take Morna on.’
‘Owen will be lucky to get her. She is very lovely, and you know it.’
‘Aye, but she is also a great deal of trouble, like all women.’
‘Do you think she loves him, Lyall?’
‘She likes Owen well enough, beyond that, I know nothing of my sister’s feelings. Women guard their secrets well, don’t they?’
Lyall looked out over the loch and frowned. It gave Giselle a chance to stare at him. She wondered if he was aware of her doing it. The wind ruffled his dark hair against his face, which was shadowed with stubble. Goodness, what a fine face he had. The light in his eyes softened them to a pale emerald, and they were so beautiful as to make her breath catch in her throat. Lyall tugged his hair back behind his ear, something he did when he was discomfited. It drew Giselle’s eye to his broad hands, and she imagined them sliding over her, gentle and rough all at the same time. Shockingly, the thought drew a pulse of desire from deep inside her.
Could she want her husband? Had she managed to push through the mire of her awful memories, the pain of childbirth, the exhaustion of her son’s demands on her? Was she able to desire again, and want to be desired in return?
Giselle took a deep breath before her courage failed her.
‘Lyall, since Owen is here, perhaps it is best we do not sleep in separate chambers.’
He did not turn to look at her. ‘You are concerned what he might think if he discovered it? You don’t need to spare my blushes by pretending, Giselle.’
‘I am not. I just think it is time we shared a bed again, don’t you?’
‘If that is what you want,’ he said, still staring out over the loch.
‘Yes, it is. I will get one of the servants to mind Fearghas. Shall I come to you tonight?’
He turned and looked deep into her eyes, and her knees almost gave way. His look was scorching in its intensity.
‘Tonight it is then.’
She turned and hurried away.
‘Courage now, there’s no turning back,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Do what you have to do for his sake and yours, before it is too late.’
***
Lyall barged in as Giselle was changing from her working clothes. Twilight was creeping in across the dark water outside, and a chill draught rushed in behind him. He banged the door shut and pulled the bolt across it.
‘The bairn, where is he?’
‘Downstairs with Joan. She is tending him for me.’
Lyall strode up and down in his agitation. He turned to her. ‘I could not wait until tonight.’
‘Good,’ she said, but her voice sounded small.
Curse it. Were they to talk as strangers in this awkward way, all night long?
‘Do you mind me being here, Giselle?’
‘No, for you come at my invitation.’ She smiled, which encouraged him a little.
‘If you cannot bear me to touch you, I will not come again. I will not bring fear on one I love. So, tell me, Giselle, why offer to share my bed now?’ he said.
‘Because I find I still want you, and I thought I had lost that feeling forever.’
Her words hung in the air between them. He could not approach Giselle. It had to be her desire, not his.
Giselle came over to him and put her hand up to his cheek. In an instant, he grabbed her and kissed her. As she clutched at his chest, he growled,
and moved his hands slowly over her body, over every curve and hollow that had been denied him.
Still fearing rejection, Lyall pulled up her skirts. She gasped and clung tighter, but she did not stop him, indeed, she began kissing him back, hard. His fingers made their way up her thigh, parting her legs. This could not be, she would not let him. But she did, and when his fingers found her, she cried out.
‘Lyall, I want you, but I am a little frightened.’
‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.’
‘Then let me love you, as you deserve to be loved. I’ve wanted us to be like this for so long.’
‘Go slowly, please.’
‘Slowly is always the best way,’ he said.
Lyall could feel her smile against his mouth as she kissed him. He lay her down on the bed and sank into her embrace and he did go slowly, so that he could remember her smell and her taste and what it was like to be at one with her. So that love could come back into their hearts, and drive out fear.
By the time they had finished, the fire had died down to its embers, and night was creeping in across the loch. They lay quietly in the gathering darkness, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
Lyall heard Giselle stifle a sob. He hesitated to ask, but he had to.
‘Was it awful for you?’
‘Quite the opposite. Oh, Lyall, it was glorious.’
He turned his head to look at her. ‘Then why are you crying?’
‘Because my soul was in a cage and now you have freed it. I am so happy. Forgive me for spurning you for so long.’
His hand found hers, and clutched it tight.
‘Nothing to forgive, and you were worth the wait,’ he said, bumping their joined hands against her hip. ‘You were worth everything I had to do, to win you.’
‘I want so much to make you happy,’ she whispered.
‘Well, as to that,’ he said, as he leant in and pressed his mouth to hers.
