by Amy Tolnitch
Giselle’s mouth dropped open. “My mother was a … a lady?”
Piers nodded. “Aye. I remember hearing the story. Your grandfather, the Earl of Kindlemere, was heartbroken over his daughter’s loss. He never stopped looking for her.” He pointed to the circle of dried wax. “This is his seal—a dragon rising from a lake.”
Giselle slowly pulled the chain she always wore from beneath her chemise. A gold ring hung from the end. “Like this,” she said.
Piers took the ring in his hand. “Aye, exactly like this.”
“Kindlemere,” Giselle said, her gaze fixed to Piers’s. “But that belongs to the Bishop.”
“No doubt persuaded the king to award it to him, given the apparent fact there were no blood heirs remaining,” the earl said.
Giselle’s hand went to her throat. “But … he knew …”
Piers’s gaze was cold. “Aye, he well knew who you were. ’Tis obvious he deliberately kept that fact to himself.” He barked a laugh. “He ‘gifted’ you with a cross that belonged to you all along.”
“I cannot believe it.” Giselle sprang to her feet and paced across the room. “All this time, I thought I was a simple orphan, fortunate to be able to claim Kerwick Abbey as a home.” Her eyes filled with tears. “My grandfather?”
She was so distraught she didn’t even flinch when Piers took her hands in his. “Dead, Giselle. I am sorry,” he told her, squeezing her hands gently.
Olive jumped up and down. “You must avenge your lady’s honor, Uncle Piers. Like Pendragon.”
Piers’s lips twitched. “Pendragon?”
“He is the hero in a story Lady Amice told me. When the evil wizard steals away the fair Sebille, Pendragon battles him in honor of his lady.”
Giselle gulped and waited for her husband to tell her he was far too busy wenching to take on such a task. She sucked in a breath when he turned to look at her, his golden brown eyes dark with purpose.
“Aye. You are right, Olive. ’Tis my duty and my honor to recover your birthright, my lady.”
Giselle gave him a wobbly smile. “The Bishop is a powerful, and, I have heard, ruthless man.”
“I am not without my own resources, my lady.”
“Uncle Piers will be your hero, Lady Giselle!” Olive cried out enthusiastically.
Giselle could scarce take in the notion of having a hero fight for her.
“We must petition the king on Giselle’s behalf,” the earl said, drumming his fingers on the table.
Piers nodded, his face set in fierce lines.
“What of Edward de Sauvin?” Giselle whispered.
Piers glanced at his brother, who shook his head. “Never heard of the man, nor of the Earl of Claybourne,” the earl said, his face thoughtful.
Giselle’s heart fell. For a moment, she’d allowed herself the fantasy she might have a true father out there somewhere. At the same time, she inwardly cringed. Her mother had clearly been unsure whether the man who sired her had been the Bishop or this Edward de Sauvin.
“Giselle,” Piers said, squeezing her hand once more. “I shall send a man to London to make inquiries. If Edward de Sauvin yet lives, we shall find him.”
Tears leaked from her eyes. “Thank you.” That he would undertake her cause so earnestly stunned her. She looked around the room and saw similar expressions on Olive’s and the earl’s faces. Unflagging support. Anger over the Bishop’s perfidy. Anger for her. Giselle could scarcely draw a breath she was so touched.
And then it occurred to her. If Kindlemere Castle did rightfully belong to her, then she was no longer dependent upon anyone. She gazed up into Piers’s eyes and saw the same thought mirrored within.
“Let us see what transpires, my lady,” he said quietly.
She nodded and pulled her hands free.
“Piers, what do you wish to do with the other information contained here?” the earl asked, his mouth turned down.
Initially, his question puzzled Giselle, and then she remembered her mother’s cryptic words. In the shock of discovering her true identity, she’d momentarily forgotten. Though she admonished herself to remain calm, rage ripped through her. “That … whoreson ravaged my mother,” she spat.
Piers blinked in obvious shock. “So it appears.”
“He should be the one exiled from the church,” she said, gritting her teeth, her mind filled with memories of her lovely mother, even dimmer memories of the small cottage in which they’d lived a solitary life. Her mother should have had so much more. She should have had so much more.
And it was all the fault of one deceitful man who was less in service to God than to his own avarice.
“I think, for now, we should keep that fact to ourselves,” Piers said. “Hold it back until we find out the Bishop’s response to Giselle’s claim.”
Revenge is not the way of the Lord, Giselle told herself over and over, to no avail. The need for vengeance burned in her blood. The theft of her inheritance, the concealment of her identity was one thing. The Bishop’s bloated face leapt into her mind. That he, a poor excuse for a man, had taken her mother, leaving her with no choice but to flee her husband in fear and shame could not be forgiven.
“ ’Tis a matter best handled discreetly,” the earl agreed.
“Giselle?” Piers lifted her chin. “Are you in agreement?”
For the second time, his behavior surprised her. He was actually asking her opinion? “I do not know.”
“I understand why you would wish to use this to ruin him,” Piers said. “ ’Tis a delicate matter, though. I would that we locate your father before revealing what we’ve learned of the Bishop’s crimes.”
“But I do not know who my father is.” Tears welled in her eyes once more.
“Do you resemble the Bishop?”
She shook her head vehemently.
“Not at all? Nothing?”
“Nay! Even he said I looked exactly like my mother.”
The earl coughed. “Assuming the marriage did indeed occur, you are legally the daughter of Edward de Sauvin.”
Giselle stared at him. “Even if he is not my true father?”
Piers and his brother exchanged a long look. When Piers turned back to her, his gaze held a curious knowledge. “The law presumes legitimacy.”
“I … I wish there was a way to know for certain.”
“Do not give up, Lady Giselle,” Olive urged. “Perhaps you shall find something in you that resembles de Sauvin.”
Giselle eyed her doubtfully, but didn’t want to disappoint the child. If not for Olive, she would never have discovered any of this. Along with the Bishop’s calculated choice of a “gift” for her. She blew out a breath. “Mayhap.”
Piers suddenly grinned, and Giselle felt the warmth of it flow through her body like a tempting sweet just out of reach. “Think on it, Giselle. At last, you know who you are.”
“Aye.” She smiled back at him. “I do.”
“And you have my word I shall do all in my power to ensure you receive what is due you,” he added.
“As will I,” the earl said.
As much as Giselle wanted to pursue her birthright, to in some small way avenge her mother, the convent part of her shied away from provoking the Bishop of Ravenswood. “The Bishop will not take kindly to having his rule challenged.”
“No doubt. From what I recall, Kindlemere is a wealthy estate.”
Giselle bit her lip.
“You need not fear him, Giselle,” Piers said. “You are under our protection now.” His voice was so passionate Giselle could only stare at him.
“I … thank you. Where is Kindlemere?”
“ ’Tis in the land of lakes, my lady,” Olive said.
Giselle cocked her head. “How do you know that?”
“ ’Tis where Lady Amice is from. She says ’Tis most beautiful.”
“Oh.”
The earl slapped a hand against his forehead. “Of course. Thank you, Olive. Perhaps Amice knows something of matters at
Kindlemere.”
“Where is she?” Piers asked abruptly.
The earl rolled his eyes. “Conferring with Gifford, I believe, in his workroom.”
“Come, my lady,” Piers said, taking Giselle’s hand. “Let us question her. Perhaps she knows something of this Edward de Sauvin.”
Giselle let herself be pulled along, dimly aware of the warm strength of Piers’s hand clasping hers. By the time they reached Gifford’s workroom, Giselle was nearly running, holding up her skirts with the hand not gripped by Piers. At the doorway, Piers banged a knock, then opened the door.
Lady Amice sat on a stool next to Gifford, a puzzled look on her face. She glanced at Piers and Giselle, and her gaze went at once to their clasped hands. Giselle told herself to pull free, but the simple fact was that the revelations of what she’d found were so startling she found herself needing to lean on Piers’s strength. Even liking the feel of his big hand around hers, she realized.
“Piers?” Lady Amice said, rising from her stool. “What is it?”
Gifford peered at Giselle. “You look a bit pale, my dear. Sit.” He pulled out a stool and pressed her onto it, filling a cup and setting it before her.
Reluctantly, Giselle eased out of Piers’s grip and sat.
Piers scowled. “We have just discovered the truth of Giselle’s identity.”
Lady Amice’s eyes widened. “How?”
“Documents hidden in the cross sent by the Bishop of Ravenswood.” He said the name as an epithet.
Giselle found herself incapable of speech, and took a sip of ale.
“Well, don’t dawdle, boy,” Gifford said. “Tell us who the girl is.”
“She is the daughter of Annora St. Germain and,” he paused, glancing at Giselle, “Edward de Sauvin.”
“St. Germain?” Lady Amice asked, her brow furrowed. “That sounds familiar.”
“The only child of the Earl of Kindlemere,” Piers spat.
“Oh! Oh, my!”
“Aye. That bastard stole Giselle’s inheritance from her.”
Gifford squeezed Giselle’s shoulder, his expression sympathetic. “Poor thing.” Then he grinned. “I always sensed you were a true lady.”
She managed to return his smile. “Thank you, my lord.”
“What do you know of Kindlemere?” Piers asked.
Lady Amice absently rubbed her belly, now sizably smaller. “I have never been there. My father did not encourage me to travel,” she continued in a sour tone. “But I do recall the Earl of Kindlemere visiting Wareham.” She smiled at Giselle. “I remember him as a kind man.”
Giselle tried very hard not to cry for the grandfather she’d never had the chance to know.
“Do you recall the story of his daughter’s marriage?”
“She married … I cannot recall the man’s name. And then she was gone,” Lady Amice finished in a hushed tone.
“Aye, I heard that much of the story,” Piers said, pacing the room. “What of her husband?”
Lady Amice shook her head. “I am sorry. I do not remember anything about him. Perhaps Rand would know more.”
“Rand?” Giselle asked.
“My brother. I shall write to him, if you like.”
Giselle splayed her hands on her skirt and nodded. “Please. I would know if my … father yet lives.”
“Of course.” Lady Amice looked at her with sympathy. “This must all be quite shocking for you.”
“That would be the least of it, my lady.” Giselle gripped the fabric of her bliaut to stop her hands from shaking. She felt the heat of Piers’s hand on her shoulder and instinctively leaned into it.
“Worry not, my lady,” he said. “We shall find out the remainder of your past, and persuade the king of your position.”
“I fear I cannot even conceive of myself having a ‘position,’” she said faintly.
Lady Amice rose. “Gifford, we shall continue this discussion anon.” She gave him a sharp look. “In private.”
Gifford cocked a brow and took a swig of ale. “As you wish, my dear. But, I tell you, I saw—”
“Cease.” Lady Amice cast a sideways look at Giselle.
“Well,” Gifford began.
The stern look in Lady Amice’s eyes stopped him short.
Giselle was too caught up in her own discoveries to even care they were clearly discussing Gifford’s claimed sighting of a ghost.
“Giselle, I shall write to my brother at once.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“I should be about my own part in this business,” Piers said. “Giselle?” He eyed her with clear concern.
“I shall be fine,” she said faintly.
Gifford stuck out his flat chest. “I shall keep the girl company. Perhaps I can teach her a thing or two.”
Piers quirked a grin. “Keep an eye on him, my lady. One never knows what mischief my uncle shall plunge himself into.”
“Hrmph.” Gifford waved a hand. “Go on, both of you. Our Giselle is safe in my hands.”
As Piers and Lady Amice left, Gifford’s words rang through Giselle’s half-numb mind. Our Giselle. She shook her head, trying to puzzle through everything that had just happened. It was simply too much to take in.
“Thought he wouldn’t aid you, eh?”
Giselle slowly gazed up at Gifford, who stared at her with one brow lifted. “I did not know what to expect.”
“If you can reclaim Kindlemere from that thieving Bishop, you could petition for an annulment. I assume.”
Giselle colored. “I suppose I could.”
“Be a mistake, though.”
Giselle swallowed a sip of ale, thoughts whirling though her mind too fast to comprehend.
“Likely, the king would just hand you off to one of his favorites. Some fawning sycophant, no doubt. You’d do better to stick with Piers.”
“He does not want me.” The words jumped out, an ugly truth Giselle had not intended to share with Gifford.
Gifford laughed. “I think you are mistaken, my lady.”
A hollowness settled into Giselle’s chest. “Perhaps he does, in the way he apparently wants just about any available woman.” Her mouth turned down. “But he does not want me for a wife, for myself.”
Gifford patted her hand. “I am not sure about that. But—”
“What?”
“Well, it is just that Piers is a complicated man. He is much more than appears on the surface.”
Giselle recalled the man who’d kissed her as if he never intended to stop, and shivered. “Aye.”
“Give him a chance, my lady.”
Giselle stood, suddenly needing to be outside the castle walls. “I can do no less for the man who would aid me in recovering my birthright,” she finally said.
Gifford gave her a contemplative look, and went back to mixing some kind of concoction in a pot.
And Giselle escaped into the morning sunshine, utterly at a loss as to what to do.
Chapter
XII
Lady Iosobal of Tunvegan Castle and the Isle of Parraba snuggled into her husband’s arms and studied the note sent by Piers Veuxfort.
Her husband, Lugh MacKeir, nibbled on her ear. “What does he say?”
“ ’Tis bad, Lugh. Very bad.”
“A woman turned him down finally?” Lugh asked, chuckling.
“Nay.” She turned and gave him a chiding look. It had no effect but to bring a grin to his face. If she were honest, she would admit she had never had any intimidating effect on Lugh MacKeir. Thank God.
“You are looking most fierce, lady wife.”
“I told you not to go into my cave.”
He raised a brow. “Aye, I ken you did not wish me to discover who you really were.”
She let out a breath. “ ‘Twas more than that. That cave … even I do not know how many chambers it holds, nor what may be hidden inside them.”
“What has this to do with Piers?”
“Read.” She handed him the piece of parchment an
d watched the color slowly leech from Lugh’s face.
“By the saints, what can be done?” Absently, he rubbed her arms. “Who is this Fin Man?”
Iosobal leaned against his broad chest, marveling yet again she had found a man so accepting of her unusual ancestry. “Some of the Fin Folk earned their fearsome reputations. Bringing storms upon unwary travelers. Kidnapping young women to keep in their hidden island homes. There is a tale of one, more powerful than most, whose rapacious appetites knew no bounds.”
“And this … thing has possessed Piers?”
“So it seems.” She shook her head. “It must be horrible for him.”
“We must aid him.” Lugh shot to his feet, his hands automatically reaching for his sword.
Iosobal had to smile at his typical ferocity. “Your blade will not vanquish a spirit.”
Lugh scowled at her, then slowly smiled. “ ’Tis my way.”
“Aye, and I love you for it, but we must think of other means in this instance.”
“Can you not just,” he waved a hand, “make this spirit go away?”
“I am not sure. I have never tried anything like that.”
“We must go to Falcon’s Craig.”
“Aye.” Iosobal worried her lower lip.
“What plagues you, my heart? Surely the Lady of Parraba is more powerful than one old Fin Man.”
She smiled. “Pray that I am.”
Lugh gave her a smug look. “I’ve no need of prayer. I know my wife.”
“We shall leave on the morrow. Einar can look after Ailie.”
“She will wish to come with us, you know.”
“Not this time. I would not expose her to this.”
“You are worried.”
“Aye. Very.”
Lugh sighed. “Then, we shall leave Ailie at home where she is safe. It will probably cost me one of Argante’s foals.”
Iosobal smiled, though her thoughts were grim. She had an idea, but it would be dangerous. Far more dangerous than anything she’d ever done. She stared down at the note, silently cursing Piers for his reckless curiosity.
Perhaps this was God’s way of forcing her to face the heritage she’d always hidden from.
“Iosobal?”
She realized Lugh was staring at her.
“I am going to parlay with our daughter.”