“It makes little sense, I know.” Henri grimaced. “She said something about his ancestors’ longevity. I confess, there’s much about this entire situation that bothers me, but I gave my word. If I were able, I’d escort her myself but, curse my aging bones, I cannot. I need a capable protector for my niece. Someone who is trustworthy and discreet. That’s why I chose you for this mission. Insulted, you say? If it helps to smooth out the dent in your balls, Luc de Warenne, I chose you because there is not another man alive in whom I place more faith. I know Giselle will be safe with you, that you’ll honor and protect her. And should MacRoth and his remote pile of Scottish rocks turn out to be less than suitable, you’ll bring my niece back to France. No matter what. Is that clear?”
“Quite clear, my lord.”
“Now, about your compensation.” Henri pulled a scroll from the inside of his tunic and held it out. “This is a copy of the deed to the manor I mentioned earlier. Giselle’s childhood home. Providing you deliver my niece, whole and unharmed to her sire, Manoir Dieudonné will be your reward.”
“An estate?” Luc’s heart thudded against his ribs. All he had ever wanted, at his fingertips. “I cannot fathom… My lord, your generosity is beyond words.”
“Ha! The mission has suddenly developed some appeal, methinks.” Henri gave a scornful laugh. “After all is said and done, you’re no different than other men, de Warenne. We all have ambitions and we each have our price. Here. See for yourself. You do know how to read, I take it?”
Luc nodded and unfurled the scroll. Hardly daring to believe his good fortune, he cast his eyes over the details. It was a modest, but well established estate. With the exception of God and king, Luc would need answer to no one but himself.
“No longer landless,” he muttered, swallowing over a lump in his throat.
Henri sniffed. “Only on completion of your mission, de Warenne. For now, you’re still my vassal, under oath. You’ll speak to no one of this, either, until you return. No one. Understand?”
“I do,” he replied. “Set your disappointment aside, my lord. I will not fail you.”
Henri shook his head. “My niece, de Warenne. You will not fail my niece.”
Chapter 4
Two days later, at the break of dawn, Luc sat in silence atop his horse and watched Henri bid his niece farewell.
“May God bless and keep you,” Henri said, hugging Giselle with undisguised emotion. “If you should discover Scotland is not to your liking, Sir Luc has orders to bring you back. He will not leave you until he is assured of your safety and happiness.”
Giselle disentangled herself from Henri’s embrace and glanced at Luc, her hooded face appearing ghostlike in the gray light of dawn. She smiled up at him.
“I have every confidence in your choice of escort, Uncle Henri,” she said, holding Luc’s gaze. “I’m also certain all will be well in Scotland. Mama would not have wished this adventure upon me otherwise. I’ll send a letter back with Sir Luc and tell you all about it.”
Luc, eager to begin the journey, responded by raising a nonchalant brow. Giselle’s smile faded as she turned back to Henri and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And may God keep you also, my lord.”
Then she clambered aboard the modest carriage, which was already occupied by her elderly maid.
Henri placed a hand on Luc’s booted foot and looked up at him. “Guard her with your life, de Warenne.”
Luc placed a hand over his heart. “I will, my lord. Have no fear.”
Despite harboring some resentment – merited or not – towards his charge, he also felt a tingle of excitement. This quest might not be the most distinguished undertaking for a knight of his caliber, but the rewards far outweighed his grievances. With a final nod to Henri and a signal to the wagon driver, Luc led the way. Soon, the noble walls of Chateau Courtois shrank into the distance.
“How long till we reach Beauvais, Sir Luc?” Giselle’s enthused voice drifted into his ear.
Luc tangled with a thrust of impatience. They had barely travelled a mile yet.
“Before nightfall,” he replied, glancing back to see his charge leaning out of the small carriage window.
“Oh,” she said, frowning. Then, “Have you been there before?”
“Aye.” He turned his gaze back to the road ahead.
“So, you must have seen the cathedral recently built. I understand it is quite beautiful.”
“It is, my lady.”
“I look forward to seeing it,” she said. “I have only ever seen one other great basilica, that being Notre Dame when Uncle Henri brought me to Paris. ’Tis truly a wonder to behold. I cannot begin to fathom the intricacies of building such a thing.”
Luc suppressed a sigh and pretended to bat a fly from his ear. He had no desire to chit chat, telling himself it was a distraction. He needed to stay alert and aware of their surroundings. He opened his mouth to say as much, but heard murmuring behind him and realized the two women were now speaking between themselves.
As the miles passed, the girl made one or two more fruitless attempts to entice Luc into conversation. Otherwise, the remainder of the journey that day proved to be uneventful and, fortunately, blessed with agreeable weather. The inn in Beauvais, while not luxurious, was adequate. Luc did his duty and made sure the women were safely ensconced in their chamber before settling into the adjoining room.
He heard Giselle’s laughter in the night, no doubt as she shared some anecdote with her maid. A small part of him could not help but warm to her unabashed enthusiasm, but he quenched the feeling. He had a duty to perform and it did not include keeping the silly girl entertained. He’d protect her, see her safely to her father’s stronghold, and bid her farewell.
Giselle de Courtenay, however, seemed oblivious to Luc’s aloofness. Indeed, her undaunted enthusiasm continued the next morning as they skirted by the cathedral on their way out of Beauvais.
“It’s magnificent,” she said, leaning out of the carriage window, eyes wide. “Look, Anna. Is it not a thing of wonder? How long till we reach Amiens, Sir Luc?”
Luc sighed and slowed his horse’s stride to bring the animal alongside the carriage. He gave her what he hoped was a stern glance. “My answer is the same as yesterday, my lady. Before nightfall, all being well.”
“Ah.” She blinked at him. “Forgive my exuberance. My experience of the world thus far has been gleaned almost entirely from books and the second-hand word of others, so I confess to being somewhat stimulated by the reality of our adventure. Have you ever been to Scotland?”
Shifting his gaze to the road ahead, Luc cleared his throat. “Nay, my lady, I have not.”
She gave a soft, little grunt. “I hear it is beautiful, also, especially in the northern parts, with high mountains and deep lakes. I’ve never been on a ship, either. Have you?”
“Aye.”
“Then you know what to expect.” She chuckled. “Whereas I have never even seen the sea.”
“You will see it tomorrow afternoon, my lady.” Luc frowned, irritated by an unwelcome desire to converse further with the girl. He had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that her innocent enthusiasm had a certain charm. He cleared his throat. “For the time being, if you need to stop, please let me know. Otherwise, forgive me, but I must give my full attention to our road and our surroundings.”
*
Giselle placed her hand in Luc de Warenne’s proffered one and stepped down from the covered wagon.
“My thanks,” she said, wrinkling her nose against Boulogne’s portside atmosphere. It presented her with an airborne bouquet of fish, blended with mysterious exotic fragrances and repugnant odors of animal and human excretions. Despite the assault on her nose, or perhaps because of it, all Giselle’s senses stirred and sharpened. She had never witnessed such a scene and hardly knew where to look first.
Gulls, fighting over discarded scraps, ducked and dived as they shrieked their excitement. Men bustled about as they worked, their voices a chorus of un
intelligible communication as orders were given and acknowledged. Several ships of various sizes stood dockside, being either loaded or unloaded. Others, anchored offshore, rocked in rhythmic motion on the waves.
The Narrow Sea.
Heart quickening, Giselle rose up on tiptoes, trying to see the far horizon. “England is over there?”
“It is,” Luc replied, helping Anna down from the wagon.
“Uncle Henri said I’d be able to see the white cliffs.”
“Only on a clear day.”
“Oh.” Indeed, the gray skies seemed to bend down and touch the water. Giselle felt a twinge of disappointment. “A pity. I should like to have seen them.”
She looked up at her escort. Standing beside his great black horse, Luc de Warenne was an imposing man, tall and broad-shouldered. His dark mane matched that of his steed and framed a neatly-stubbled face that almost always wore a serious expression.
Indeed, one could not look at Luc de Warenne and wonder at his vocation. His military standing was unquestionable, a warrior who wielded knighthood without ever having to draw his sword.
Unfortunately, Giselle had decided, the responsibility of playing escort had the same effect as having an iron rod shoved up his arse. The knight had not exactly been rude or disrespectful, but maintained an unrelenting air of aloofness toward herself and Anna.
The day she’d been introduced to the knight in her uncle’s chambers, she’d seen – and felt – Luc de Warenne’s dismay. Obviously, Henri had misled the man as to the nature of the mission. Or perhaps the man had misread Henri’s words. She did not doubt the knight’s competence, however. Henri would not have chosen him otherwise.
In any case, during the three days since they’d left Paris, all Giselle’s attempts to befriend the man, engage him in some kind of civilized dialogue, had failed. He spoke only when spoken to or when otherwise necessary. Cordial by nature, Giselle found the knight’s manner puzzling at first.
Puzzlement soon turned to irritation, and now Giselle thrust that aside, too. She had more important things to consider than a surly knight. This incredible and dramatic journey, for one thing. She’d seen little of the world beyond her childhood home. Now, she was about to embark on a voyage to a mysterious northern land and meet a father she’d never known.
She realized her mother’s stories about Hamish MacRoth were likely exaggerated. Nevertheless, she happily held on to the fabricated image of her wild, Scottish sire. A man who followed his own creed, who lived a wild life in the mountains. The enigmatic laird of a dark and mysterious castle, who had no idea he had a child.
It had prompted her to ask a valid question of her mother. What if Hamish MacRoth refused to acknowledge her as his? Turned her away from his door? Her fears had been allayed to some degree. The proof of who she was apparently existed in the form of a gold ring, one given to her mother by Hamish MacRoth. It would, apparently, serve to introduce Giselle and guarantee her acceptance into his Highland fold. Luc de Warenne had been given charge of the ring and had it squirreled away somewhere.
Giselle swept an enquiring gaze over the various ships.
“Which one is ours, Sir Luc?”
“The Marguerite.” Luc gestured to a ship docked nearby while summoning one of the crewmen lingering about dockside.
Giselle eyed the vessel with some trepidation. “It looks rather small,” she murmured. “’Tis fortunate I have few belongings.”
“I’m sure we’ll be comfortable enough, my lady.” Anna brushed a hand across Giselle’s cloaked shoulders, removing whatever invasive specks had caught her eye. “Your uncle arranged everything. You know how meticulous he is. Don’t worry yourself.”
“I trust Anna and I will at least have our own cabin,” Giselle said, her comment aimed at Luc, who appeared not to hear it. Instead, he turned his attention to the crewman. The apparent snub sent a flush of heat to Giselle’s face.
Anna chuckled. “It’s going to be an interesting voyage.”
Giselle huffed. “He’s impossible.”
Apparently satisfied, de Warenne handed his horse over to the crewman and turned to Giselle. Unflinching, she met his cool gaze, raising her chin as she did so.
“Now that you’ve seen to your beloved horse, Sir Luc, perhaps you can spare a moment for the two women you are pledged to protect.”
The skin around his eyes tightened. “My apologies, Lady Giselle. You now have my full attention. We’ll be boarding shortly, although the ship isn’t due to sail till dawn. You have been afforded a cabin in the aft castle. I strongly suggest you remain in it for the duration of the voyage.”
Giselle gasped. “And why, pray tell, must we do that?”
“Because you’re women.” He gave a sardonic smile. “And therefore trouble.”
“Trouble,” she repeated, returning the knight’s smile with a derisive one of her own.
“Women are believed to bring misfortune to ships.” Smile gone, Luc bent his head toward her and hardened his voice. “They are also a temptation to men with questionable morality. Do I make myself clear?”
Giselle’s indignation wavered. “But… surely the crew would not dare harm us.”
“Since Lord de Courtenay commissioned the vessel specifically for this voyage, I doubt there’s any serious risk.” Luc straightened. “But open water offers no refuge to those who might seek it, my lady. Once the ship sets sail, you are, in effect, a captive on board. So, I’d rather you stayed out of the sight and minds of the men. Heed my words and remain in your cabin. I’ll make sure you want for nothing.”
“Except our freedom,” Giselle murmured, eyeing the small ship with less enthusiasm than before.
“Tis only for a few days,” Anna said, linking her arm with Giselle’s. “We’ll manage.”
Giselle cast a glance at her maid. Despite Anna’s advancing years, the woman was still spritely enough. Perhaps, though, it had been selfish to bring the elderly servant on such a far-flung voyage. Then again, leaving her behind would likely have broken the woman’s heart.
Wrestling with a slight twinge of guilt, Giselle pressed a kiss to Anna’s veiled head. “Yes,” she said. “We’ll manage.”
*
Giselle had forgotten what it felt like to be possessed of a stomach able to take food and hold on to it. And what a blessing it would be, she thought, to sleep in a bed without fear of being thrown from it during the night. Or to cross a floor in a sober fashion, rather than staggering around like an inebriated soul. Such was life aboard ship or, at least, it had been for the past two days.
At first, the voyage had been quite bearable, albeit something of an emotional wrench, leaving the coast of France behind. The seas had been relatively calm, allowing Giselle and Anna to become accustomed to the gentle roll of the ship without too much discomfort. The cabin had a small window, barely big enough to toss out the contents of the piss-pot and allow some much-needed air to circulate through the cramped quarters. True to his word, Luc de Warenne made sure the women were appropriately fed and watered. Much like his horse, Giselle mused with some animosity.
Until recently, he’d also kept them apprised of the ship’s location as it followed a course along and around the southern coast of England before pointing its bow north. Fortunately, the small window lay on the starboard side, so Giselle spent much of the day peering out, watching as the distant English and then Welsh coastline slid by.
Then, on the fifth day, as the small ship began to skirt the Scottish coast, conditions deteriorated. A snappy west wind churned the waves into a frenzy. The window had to be closed. And both women – Anna especially – had been stricken with seasickness.
Enclosed within the drab walls of the cabin, barely able to discern night from day, Giselle struggled, not only with nausea, but with a growing sense of suffocation. She felt trapped to the point of panic.
“Where is he?” she muttered through gritted teeth. “He hasn’t been near us all day.”
Anna, curled up on her bu
nk, let out a quiet moan. “Occupied, I should think, my lady,” she said. “’Tis quite the storm, this. He’s likely helping the crew.”
Giselle blew out a breath. “Yes, but we could be dying of hunger in here.”
Anna grunted. “I think Sir Luc knows full well food is the last thing we need right now.”
“I don’t know why you always defend him.” Giselle stood and steadied herself with one hand propped against the cabin wall. “Besides, it’s the principle of it. I want to know where we are and how much longer we’re likely to be on this accursed ship.”
She grabbed her cloak and wove an unsteady path toward the door.
Anna propped herself up on an elbow. “Where are you going, my lady?”
“In search of our elusive escort.” Giselle pulled the door open, flinching at the sudden blast of damp air. “Stay where you are, Anna. I won’t be long.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “But, Sir Luc said we should remain here and—”
“I don’t give a fig what Sir Luc said.” Giselle tugged her cloak around her shoulders and lifted her hood. “I asked him to keep me informed of our position, yet I’ve heard nothing since dawn. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m even on board.”
She stumbled out into a small, darkened passageway, using the wall to steady herself as the ship pitched. The doorway to the deck lay ahead, rattling on its hinges as if some mad creature on the other side was trying to break it down. Light, gray and insipid, leached through the gap beneath, as did a telltale puddle of water.
“This ship is surely cursed,” Giselle muttered, gritting her teeth. In what seemed like a mocking response, the ship pitched again, throwing her against the wall. For a moment, she paused, wondering if she should return to her cabin. But stubbornness prevailed. Giselle lurched forward, reached for the door latch, and pulled the door open.
Nature, in all its raging fury, gave her a fine welcome. The wind snatched at her cloak, tore the hood from her head, and spat salty spray in her eyes. With equal vigor, it tugged at her hair and ripped her chestnut curls free from their feeble pins.
Isolated Hearts (Legends of Love Book 2) Page 4