She cast a nervous glance at the door. The thought of stepping out into the darkness by herself sent a chill of fear across her scalp. She wondered if she should awaken Luc. Not that she’d expect him to hold her hand as she relieved herself, but it would be reassuring to know he was, at least, nearby.
Yet it seemed a pity to disturb him. He looked utterly exhausted. Little wonder, considering all he had endured. Besides, surely there was naught to fear out there. The island appeared to be uninhabited, except, perhaps, for the mysterious, absent owner of the cottage.
“Leave the door open,” Luc muttered, making her jump. “Do not go far and do not linger out there a moment more than necessary.”
“Christ save us, I thought you were asleep.” Giselle pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”
“I was, and I didn’t mean to scare you.” He opened his eyes and raised a brow. “Does it amuse you to watch a man sleep?”
“I wasn’t watching you.” Another flush of heat warmed her cheeks. “I was simply wondering whether or not to wake you. I admit to being a little afraid. It’s so dark out there.”
“I doubt there’s anything to fear. Something tells me we’re alone here, for now at least.” He sat up with a stifled grunt and scratched his chin. “Talk to me, mistress.”
“Talk to you?” Giselle shook her head. “About what?”
“Anything you like.” He gestured to the door. “As I said, leave it open, don’t go too far, and talk to me while you’re out there. You’ll forget your fear.”
Talk while I…? Is he mad?
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Do you lose your ability to speak while seeing to your needs?”
“Nay, of course not. It just seems… I don’t know, improper, somehow.”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, an utterly endearing gesture that caused Giselle’s heart to throw out an extra beat.
“Lady, whether we like it or not, we’re stuck with each other on this island till only God knows when. The usual boundaries of propriety are not relevant here. You just spent a night in my arms wearing naught but that flimsy shift and, if we’re stuck here, you’re likely to spend many more sleeping in my company. An unfortunate breach of decorum, but for now unavoidable. Improper does not apply. However, if you prefer, I’ll happily escort you to your chosen spot and stand guard while you—”
“No! No, I’ll talk to you.” Giselle turned for the door, pausing at the threshold. “I wonder where the owner is, though. I find it rather strange that he hasn’t yet returned.”
Luc grunted. “As do I.”
The cold breeze stung and Giselle regretted leaving her warm cover on the bed. Shivering, she squatted down by the corner of the house, keeping an eye on the soft spill of firelight from the open door. What should she talk about?
“Um, it’s cold out here,” she said, raising her voice. “But the sky is quite beautiful. Full of stars. It’s really very pretty. I can hear waves hitting the shore, too. Not that I care if I ever see another wave as long as I live.” She grabbed a handful of grass to wipe herself. “Also, please don’t call me ‘mistress’ anymore. I don’t like it. It makes me feel old. And I’m hungry. I don’t suppose you happened to find any food while I was—?”
A distant sound, like that of a man clearing his throat, slid out of the night. Eyes wide and heart racing, Giselle stared in its direction, seeing nothing but blackness. What in God’s name…?
“Giselle?” Concern edged Luc’s voice. “Are you all right?”
“Um, yes.” She rose to her feet. “But I thought I heard—”
It came again, closer this time. Not a man. Some kind of beast, grunting. Growling? Giselle let out a squeal and ran for the door, colliding with Luc, sword in hand, on the threshold.
“Easy,” Luc murmured, moving her to his side.
“But there’s something out there. I heard it. A beast of some kind.”
Eyes narrowed, he gazed into the darkness. “I don’t think it’s anything to fear.”
“How do you know? I definitely heard a growl.”
“I heard it, too.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it was a growl, though.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not certain, but I hope…” He blew a soft, low whistle. “I pray to God I’m right.”
Bewildered, Giselle looked up at him. “Right about what?”
“That,” he said, leaning his sword against the wall as he stepped forward. “God be praised, ’tis a miracle.”
A great, black horse emerged from the dark, neck arched, nostrils flared. At the sight of Luc, it tossed its long mane and snorted in apparent recognition. Then, without hesitation, it approached him, lowered its head, and released a soft nicker.
“Christ save us,” Giselle whispered. “Minstrel.”
The stallion’s head jerked upwards as Luc tried to touch him.
“Whoa, steady. Steady now.” Luc placed his hand on the horse’s cheek. “That’s right. Ah, my brave friend. What kind of hell have you gone through?”
In answer, the horse went to the trough, sank his nose into the water and drank with obvious relish.
“Aye, I know how that feels.” Luc stroked the horse’s neck. “Ah, Minstrel. ’Tis beyond good to see you.”
The rasp of emotion in Luc’s voice brought tears to Giselle’s eyes as she moved to his side. “You’re right. It’s a miracle,” she said. At the sound of her voice Minstrel raised his head, ears pricked and muzzle dripping. “Oh, but he’s hurt!”
Dried blood crusted a sizable gash above the stallion’s left eye. Luc squinted at it.
“It’s not a trivial wound, but it doesn’t look too deep,” he said. “It’s difficult to see properly in this light. I’ll take a closer look in the morning. It’s a little odd, though.”
Giselle frowned. “Why?”
“I’m wondering what might have caused it and why he still has blood on his face. If the injury happened on board, the sea water would have washed it clean.”
She pondered his response. “Unless it was still bleeding when he came ashore.”
He looked doubtful. “It’s possible.”
“Well, he’s alive and seems otherwise hearty.” Giselle laid a hand on Luc’s arm, feeling the muscle tense beneath her touch. “I’m truly happy for you, Sir Luc. And for him.”
“My thanks. I need to make sure he’s not hurt anywhere else, though.” He bent to examine the animal’s legs. “It’s cold out here, my lady. Go back inside. Leave the door open if you prefer. I’ll be in shortly.”
Somewhat of a curt dismissal, Giselle thought, irritated by a brief twinge of rejection beneath her ribs. Although, in truth, what did she expect? To be fawned over constantly? Fussed over? Unreasonable, Giselle. The folly of a woman.
Besides, his observation had merit. It was cold. Teeth chattering, she left him to his ministrations and returned to the warmth of the cottage. Ignoring the growls from her stomach, she sat down on the small bed and drew the cover around her. It was a woolen cloak, she realized, wondering where he’d found it. Obviously, it belonged to the absent occupant. Her eyes drifted to the chest and curiosity stirred, a response that offered relief from her persistent and foolish sense of dejection.
Still wrapped in the cloak, she padded over to the chest, knelt, and lifted the lid. The sweet smell of pine blended with a hint of camphor invaded her nostrils. Undeterred by a mild twinge of guilt, she peered inside. These personal items, after all, belonged to someone else. A man, without doubt, his identity still a mystery. Perhaps the chest contained clues, however. The reasoning appeased her guilt and Giselle leaned in further, squinting at the shadowed contents.
A neat pile of men’s clothing. A pair of well-worn leather boots. A leather bag that seemed to be empty and a small wooden box, its lid intricately carved. Intrigued, Giselle took the box out and lifted the lid, her eyes widening at the contents.
Several gold coins winked at her, their burnished faces c
atching the firelight. A quill nestled atop them, its gray and white stripes perfectly spaced, the tip sharpened to a fine point. A clay seal was tucked into a corner, its emblem unclear.
But of all the items, one in particular snared Giselle’s attention.
She drew a breath, set the box down, and lifted the comb from it. Made of polished bone, it had little monetary worth, but for Giselle, at that moment, it was a discovered treasure. She pulled a thick strand of hair over her shoulder and examined it. Salt water, sand, and wind had taken their toll. No doubt, she looked utterly bedraggled. She certainly felt that way.
With the comb grasped in one hand, she replaced the box, closed the chest, and settled herself on the edge of the bed. She pulled a thick strand of hair over her shoulder and began to work the comb through it. The elements had wreaked their havoc and the comb’s teeth met with some worthy resistance. As Giselle tugged at a knot, a voice rang out from the past.
“Always start at the ends of your hair and work up, my lady. The tangles come out more easily that way.”
Her throat tightened and she blinked away tears. “Oh, Anna,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I miss you so much.”
She sensed Luc rather than heard him and looked up to see him standing in the doorway, staring at her. For a moment, she thought she saw something other than the usual composure in his gaze. Something akin to tenderness. An illusion, no doubt. Or wishful thinking, perhaps. Had he seen her tears? Heard her whisper? Her cheeks warmed.
“I hope our elusive resident won’t mind.” She managed a smile and waved the comb at him. “I’ll put it back once I’m done. Um, other than his eye, is Minstrel uninjured?”
“He’s fine.” He closed the door and took a bowl from atop the table. “Here. You said you were hungry.”
Giselle peered into the bowl and released a soft gasp. “Eggs!”
Luc nodded. “Boiled and ready to eat. There’s also some dried meat and dried fruit in the barrel over there. Some salted fish in the other one. And oats in the burlap sack.”
“But what of you? Have you eaten?”
“I have, my lady. While you slept.” He nodded toward the small table. “And your robe is over there. It should be dry by now.”
“Thank you. I’m very grateful.” She smiled again, set the comb aside and picked up an egg. “My hair can wait. My stomach cannot.”
Luc took the comb and sat beside her. “Turn sideways. I’ll comb your hair while you eat. Unless you have an objection, of course.”
“Um, no. Not at all.” Stunned, she did as he requested, suppressing an excited shiver as he took a length of her hair in his hands. “It’s horribly knotted, though. It’ll be easier if you—”
“Start at the ends of the hair and work up. Aye, I know.” He cleared his throat. “When I was a child, my sister, God rest her soul, used to make me comb her hair.”
“Oh!” She fidgeted. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sir Luc.”
He shrugged. “My memories of Jeanne go no further than my seventh year, when I was fostered out. She died of fever two years later, in her seventeenth winter, so I never saw her again.”
Giselle set about peeling her egg, silently cursing her trembling fingers. Since her stomach had now tied itself in knots, her appetite had all but vanished. The knots in her hair, meanwhile, were being painlessly untangled. Luc de Warenne had a gentle touch. His mood seemed to have mellowed, she acknowledged, likely due to Minstrel’s miraculous survival.
“How very sad.” She nibbled at her egg. “Do you have any other siblings?”
There came a moment of silence. “I have no family at all,” he said, his voice void of emotion.
“Ah.” She drew a soft breath. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I beg to differ,” he replied. “Prying is exactly what you intended. You wish to know about the man who shares your space.”
Giselle decided to meet his bluntness with her own. “Well, yes, actually, I am curious about you. Given our circumstances, my desire for such knowledge is hardly unreasonable.”
Luc’s fingers brushed the back of her neck as he lifted a new strand of hair from her shoulders. A sweet tingle filled the space between her shoulder blades and her breath caught.
“There is little to tell, my lady,” he said. “I am a landless knight who is pledged to serve your uncle. I gave him my oath you’d be delivered safely to your father’s hands. I fully intend to make good on that oath but, since circumstances have changed, I have yet to ascertain how it might be done.”
Giselle set her half-eaten egg down. “Well, eventually, we’ll be missed. Poor Henri. He’ll be beyond solace. Hopefully, he’ll not presume us lost at sea, but think to conduct a search.”
“I don’t know where he’d begin such a search. As far as he knows, we could have been wrecked anywhere between here and France.” Luc’s hand paused in its task. “Besides, he won’t be expecting my return for some time, so he’s not likely to be worried for a while.”
“Maybe someone on the mainland saw the ship burning. They might be searching for survivors as we speak.”
“I pray your optimism has merit, my lady.” He resumed his ministrations. “I intend to conduct my own search tomorrow.”
“Looking for what?”
“A boat.” He sighed. “The owner of this house.”
Giselle frowned. “Yes. His disappearance is odd. I mean, he’s obviously been here recently, with the fire being warm, and all.”
“Indeed. That being the case, what, do you suppose, might have drawn him away from his home?”
She sensed an undertone and turned to look at him. “I gather you have a theory, Sir Luc.”
He grunted. “I can’t stop thinking about the light we saw. Its source. The reason for it. He must have had something to do with it.”
Giselle fingered the cloak. “Do you think he saw the burning ship?”
“It’s possible.”
“And somehow created the light as… as a beacon?”
“An explanation not without merit.”
“So, perhaps he went looking for…”
“Survivors.”
“The blankets,” she murmured. “He took the blankets to warm the survivors.”
Luc pulled the comb across her scalp. “That’s what I’m inclined to believe, aye. It’s certainly plausible.”
“Mmm.” Giselle closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure as the comb’s teeth massaged her scalp. “So why, then, have we not seen him? Why has he not returned?”
He handed her the comb. “Because he can’t.”
“Why not?”
“There can only be two reasons, my lady. The man is either injured. Or dead.”
Chapter 9
“You can’t leave me here alone!” Hands on hips, Giselle glared at Luc. “If the man is lying injured somewhere, you might need my help. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” Luc looped a makeshift rope bridle over Minstrel’s nose. “I’d rather not be unnecessarily burdened. Besides, should he need to, Minstrel can only carry two people, not three.”
“Burdened?” Giselle all but squeaked out her response. “Is that what I am to you, then? A burden?”
Luc’s expression darkened. “Do not put your words into my mouth, my lady.”
Giselle flinched inwardly. She’d hoped for an outright denial. A contradiction. A declaration that she actually meant something to him. But Luc de Warenne wore his chivalry like an impenetrable shield. It was merely part of his armor, part of his knighthood. Outwardly, it served his purpose, while protecting whatever mortal strengths and weaknesses lay within.
The previous night, he’d lowered his shield for a time and allowed Giselle to glimpse the man behind it. He’d sat beside her, combed her hair, and shared, albeit briefly, a memory from childhood. They had also shared ideas about the missing man. They had talked.
Then, all at once, it seemed a light in his eyes went out. He’d bid her a curt goodnight, set
tled himself by the fire, and turned his back. Giselle had lain awake for a good while, wondering if she’d said something to offend him, knowing she hadn’t. The disparity of his behavior confused her.
She watched him fuss over Minstrel, whose wound already looked better. The man had obviously prepared for his outing. He’d donned his tunic, buckled his sword belt around his hips, and slung a water flask over one shoulder. The water needed no explanation. But the sword?
“Why are you armed?” she asked. “Do you expect trouble?”
“No.” He threw the primitive reins over Minstrel’s head. “I’m simply more comfortable with a weapon at hand.”
“And equally comfortable leaving me here unprotected, mindless of your oath to my uncle.” An impetuous, petulant retort, she knew, but made without regret.
Luc cast her a disdainful glance. “You test me, lady. If I believed you to be in danger, I wouldn’t leave your side, as I’ve already proven. I’ve little doubt you’ll be quite safe here, unless, of course, you choose to get into trouble. The owner of this house saw no cause to place a lock on his door. That tells me much. You know where the food is, so you’ll not starve. If you wish to be of use, and are able to do so, yonder female goat is in dire need of milking. She’s trailing her teats on the ground.”
His drawn-out admonishment drew unwanted tears to the back of Giselle’s eyes. She turned away, unwilling to let him witness her fragility. Arguing, she realized, would serve no purpose. She guessed Luc de Warenne’s willfulness surpassed her own. It struck her how unpredictable life could be. By now, she should have been on her way to meet her father, with Anna at her side and Luc de Warenne as her surly protector. A single, tragic night had changed everything. Fate, or the hand of God, had decided to place her here, on this secluded patch of earth, miles from the coast.
Darkness had drawn back to reveal gray skies and solemn seas. The mainland lay hidden behind a distant wall of mist. The wisp of a breeze brushed past, carrying the endless mournful cries of gulls that soared overhead. From the shore below came the hiss and thud of waves against rock. In the distance, the ancient stone circle stood watch. Consumed by a sudden sense of isolation, Giselle voiced another fear, one that refused to remain silent.
Isolated Hearts (Legends of Love Book 2) Page 9