by Tessa Murran
But Lyall could never know that. The only thing that mattered now was survival. She had to get away from this Scot as soon as may be, before he discovered the truth about her situation. Lyall Buchanan was as much her enemy as she was his.
It was cold on the hard ground, so Giselle wrapped her blanket around her and curled up into a ball listening to the rain falling.
At some point in the night, she must have fallen deeply asleep, for when she woke at dawn, the Scot was beside her, and she was covered in a blanket. She could feel Lyall’s warmth along her back, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in his sleep. His arm was thrown carelessly over her shoulder, his body was pressed to her back.
When she stirred, he leapt away and up, like a scalded cat. Dusting himself off, he looked out of the cave. ‘The skies have cleared up. We’ll press on to Beharra.’
Chapter Fourteen
As they crested the hill and looked down into the sweeping valley, Giselle’s heart sank. Before them, was a fortress, dwarfed by high mountains, windswept, remote and hostile. Once she entered its gates, would she ever come out again?
There was nothing remotely welcoming about Lyall’s home. Trees softened its soaring keep of dark walls somewhat, but all around it, lay open moorland, and, where the river slid away into the distance, it was swallowed by high mountains.
If she was not strong, this place would break her, she was sure of it. Giselle wondered what kind of people lived inside this stronghold. Her captivity had been bearable with just the two of them, but now there would be more Scots likely to despise and humiliate her. Would they lock her in a cage and throw away the key? Would they hurt her, or decide she was too much trouble to be worth the ransom that was never coming anyway?
There had been few words spoken between her and Lyall on the long day’s ride. Instead, resentment had tainted the journey, and Giselle feared that Lyall’s anger would only intensify once he was back home. Her captor was sure to want nothing more to do with her. It was likely that he would just go back to fighting for Black Douglas, leaving her behind, without a second thought.
Giselle’s throat tightened as they clattered over a stone bridge spanning the river, and approached the gates. Then they were inside Beharra, into the bustle of the yard, people stopped their work and stared, crowding around Lyall’s horse. The clang of the smithy, the shouting of women and children, the clucking of geese squabbling, a chorus of dogs barking - it was all too much after the vast solitude of the moors they had ridden over to get here.
Lyall was greeted with shouts of welcome and, when he dismounted, his clansmen grabbed hold of him, slapping his back in the rough way that men do. He took time to throw his arm around their shoulders, to draw them into a bear hug. The women smiled warmly at him, with some of the younger ones excitedly nudging each other and eyeing him from under their lashes.
Lyall’s people seemed to love him.
Giselle was left sitting on the horse, unsure what to do as many eyes slowly turned to her. She shifted uneasily in the saddle.
‘What’s this Lord,’ asked one man, gaunt and sour-faced, ‘do you return to us from years of war with a bride?’
‘Bride?’ shouted a big, dark man pushing through the throng. He was tall, with a fierce scowl on his handsome face. Two striking women pushed through behind him, but they hung back. One of them had a belly swollen with child.
The dark man stood before Lyall looking him up and down, and then his scowl melted into a beaming smile. ‘In one piece, I see. You could have sent word of your coming, brother.’ He pulled Lyall to him, and they clutched on to each other in a crushing embrace. ‘It has been too long. No visit in two years, and barely any word of your well-being, you bloody fool.’
Giselle feared bones might snap with the force of his joy. His hand came around the back of Lyall’s head, and he closed his eyes tight. When he opened them, the man’s eyes found hers. He let go of Lyall.
‘What’s this Ramsay says about a bride?’ he asked.
Lyall plucked Giselle off the horse and set her down. Her legs felt weak under the steady, black gaze of the man staring at her, and she was horribly aware of how dirty and dishevelled she looked.
‘Cormac, this is Giselle de Villers, and she is to be our…erm…guest.’
‘De Villers?’
‘Aye, she’s English.’
The man called Cormac sucked in a breath and his mouth set in a hard line. His gaze was intense and unwavering, so much so that Giselle lowered her eyes, and clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.
‘Your guest looks like she’s had a hard ride,’ he said, in a growl of a voice. ‘Best get her inside and explain yourself, Lyall.’
***
Lyall had looked forward to taking his ease back at Beharra. He imagined himself before the hearth, his brother’s wife, Ravenna, and his sister, Morna, fussing over him. He imagined tasty fare filling his belly, hunting and drinking with his clansmen, re-acquainting himself with several local lasses who had a fancy for him. He had longed for it, these last months, as he had anticipated returning home, because Lyall knew that, before long, the call to war would come again from Lord Douglas, and that he would answer, and be gone. But his restful stay at Beharra was not to be. Instead, he was in the middle of an interrogation, and his brother was relentless in his anger.
‘Did you change while you were away? Have you lost your mind, dragging back prisoners to my keep? That lass is clearly terrified.’
‘One prisoner, just one Cormac, and the only reason Giselle is terrified is because you didn’t exactly give her a warm welcome. All your barking at me, and shouting, and locking her up.’
‘What did you expect? England is our enemy, and she could be a spy. She is dangerous, so she will stay in that chamber until I know what you are about.’
‘She is no spy. I told you, we took Wulversmeade, she was inside, and I won her, fair and square. There’s a fat ransom coming. Her father is a rich baron, and he will pay well to get her back.’
‘Since when did you take women hostage, Lyall?’ said Ravenna.
‘Since she was in danger, and I had no other choice. It was either claim her for myself or leave her to be claimed by another man.’
‘What other man?’ she asked.
‘Banan MacGregor.’
Cormac banged his palm down on the table.
‘So, your rival for this girl’s affections is the son of one of the most powerful men in Scotland. The MacGregor’s are ruthless in their pursuit of power and led by a man whose conniving is only surpassed by his cruelty.’
Lyall was silent under his brother’s glare.
‘You will know that Banan’s father has the King’s ear? Old MacGregor whispers of plots and rebellions constantly, and the King listens.’
‘Then, the King is a fool to do it.’
‘No, he is wise to do it. His rule is still uncertain until it is recognised by Rome.’
‘I stopped at Farne Abbey on the way here and saw Abbot Aifric. The Pope still refuses to acknowledge Robert as King in Scotland,’ said Lyall.
‘Well, until he does, Robert is afraid for his future and, while he is afraid, he is capable of anything, his mind can be poisoned. What is he like, this Banan fellow?’
‘Banan is a mad dog, a raper, a butcher of innocents. He wanted to brutalize Giselle, and he could have killed her.’
‘So, this mad dog - you say that you beat him, you humiliated him before the other men, you stole the woman he desired. To make an enemy of such a man is dangerous, Lyall.’
‘He was my enemy well before this, for I detest him. Since he joined our ranks this last year, at the request of his father, he has been hostile to me, and I could tell Banan holds the Buchanan clan in no high regard. The things I have seen him do are terrible. And the things he does out of sight are, surely, even worse. Look Cormac, I did not want Giselle for a prize, but I fought for her because my gut told me to do it.’
‘Are you sure it w
as your gut and not some other part of you, brother?’
Lyall glowered at Cormac. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
‘I’ve got eyes in my head, haven’t I? Even filthy, that lass is as bonnie as any I’ve seen in a long while.’
‘Is she now?’ said Ravenna, giving her husband a hard stare. He swiftly changed the subject.
‘What about the girl?’ he said. ‘Did she come with you willingly, once you stepped in as her rescuer. Does she see you as her saviour, or her jailor, Lyall?’
‘A little of both, I would imagine. Giselle did not want to come along with me and truth be told, once I’d won the fight I did not quite know what to do with her. I would rather not have the burden of dragging her here.’
‘So why do it, you fool?’ snarled Cormac.
‘I couldn’t leave her behind without protection and no way of getting safely home. And Giselle is sweet and gentle, and she has had a sheltered life, I think. I sought to protect her that is all.’
Ravenna regarded him with a piercing gaze. ‘So Lyall,’ she said lightly, ‘is this Giselle de Villers your prisoner, or are you hers?’
‘It’s not like that,’ he replied, shifting in his chair.
His sister Morna, who had so far been silent, snorted back laughter at the other end of the table.
‘Do you have something you wish to say, Morna,’ said Lyall in exasperation at them all. He was impatient to be away and see if Giselle was alright.
‘They do say that redheads are of the Devil, and she’s English. That makes for twice the damnation, don’t you think? Will she murder us all in our beds this night?’
‘I thought you’d be on my side, Morna.’
‘Oh, I am, Lyall. I’ve missed you sorely, dear brother, for it’s so dull around here without you. I am glad you are back to scandalise us all with your English girl.’
‘If it is scandal you want, let us talk about a man we met on the road here, one who threatened us, one who knew our clan by all accounts, one who knew you, Morna.’
‘Who?’
‘A cutthroat, by the name of Willam O’Neill.’
Ravenna and Cormac exchanged glances as the colour rose in Morna’s face and spread down her neck. Her mouth hung open. Whoever this O’Neill was to his sister, Lyall had finally achieved the impossible, causing Morna to be lost for words.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
‘What did he say? Did he ask about me?’ squeaked Morna.
‘Aye, he was all questions, until I told him you were away from here and long since wed.’
‘Wed!’ she shouted, standing up with the scrape of a chair. ‘Why did you tell him that?’
‘He was talking of coming here and seeking you out. He lost interest when I told him you had a husband.’
‘Oh, how could you, Lyall?’
He shrugged. ‘T’was for the best, and it would be good if you did find a man to wed, though heaven knows where we will find one mad enough to take you.’
‘Oh, you are just like Cormac, that’s all he ever talks about, getting me married off. You are hateful, Lyall, and I am sorry you are back.’ With that, she sped out of the room in high dudgeon.
Cormac leaned his head back in his chair and clasped his hands over his chest. ‘William O’Neill. My God, I thought him dead these many years since. I always remember what he said to me at Bannockburn. ‘Remember my name, Cormac Buchanan, for I will be a great man someday.’ And was he?’
‘Not as far as I could see. O’Neill said he was an outlaw with a bad reputation. He was definitely a fighter and had the scars to prove it, and he was clever with his words. There were hard men at his back, men who looked to him as their leader. How does this O’Neill know so much about us?
‘Because he has taken the trouble of finding out. That, in itself, is dangerous. After Bannockburn, I sought information about this man. You and your lass had a lucky escape. William O’Neill is descended from the Bains on his mother’s side, a ruthless lot. They live outside God’s grace and are a law unto themselves, fighting like dogs for dominion over the Western Isles.’
‘You fear them?’
‘They do not overly concern me, for the most part, so long as they keep their murdering in their own lands. How they came to be this far south worries me though. I would know more about your encounter with O’Neill.’
‘I am weary, and it is too long a story, Cormac.’
‘Then Ravenna will fetch more ale, and you shall tell it.’
Chapter Fifteen
Giselle tried to get out of bed, but she was too listless. She had been in and out of sleep for a while but was reluctant to get up and face the Buchanan’s. Her mind sought rest and relief from worrying, if only for a few sweet moments. It was cosy in bed, with the blankets pulled up over her head. They smelled of lavender and pine, fresh out of the chest where they had been stored, no doubt. The sun was streaming in through the shutters. It must be late in the day. Soon, someone would come looking for her.
The chamber was small but clean, the rushes on the floor fragrant. A scrawny cat was hunched by the hearth, gulping down a plate of bread and cheese. Did they give her that last night, when they locked her up here? Who let the cat in? She could scarce remember. Where was Lyall? Did he now have no care for her welfare? Would he wait for her ransom to come or would he be gone soon, leaving her to her fate? Oh, it was all so uncertain.
Giselle was only sure of one thing. These Buchanans were hostile, and did not trust her, which was why they had put her out of the way. They were deciding what to do with her, and she was in danger again.
A key turned in the lock, and the door banged open and the dark-haired woman she had seen when they arrived, strode in. Giselle was once again struck by her rounded belly and striking looks. What a fiercely beautiful face she had, with her grey eyes and dark brows. Her skin had a glow to it, from her pregnancy no doubt. She looked forceful and proud, and not at all like the soft, delicate women Giselle had grown up with.
‘You are awake, good,’ she said briskly. ‘I am Ravenna, wife of Lyall’s brother Cormac.’
Giselle sat up, smoothing down her hair, and regarded the woman warily.
‘Was our fare not good enough for a baron’s daughter?’ said Ravenna, glancing at the cat. She aimed a kick at its bony haunches. It hissed and backed away.
‘I…I fell asleep before I could eat, and when I woke, the cat had got there first.’
Ravenna regarded her stonily and frowned.
Giselle tried hard not to be intimidated. ‘For your kindness in giving me food and a bed for the night, I thank you, Ravenna?’
‘Well, we weren’t about to let you starve, even if you are English. It has been agreed between Cormac and Lyall that your stay with us is to be more than one night, so this chamber will be yours, until your ransom is paid, and you go back home. As that may take some time, you should try and make the best of it.’
‘Yes, I will. Where is Lyall?’
‘Gone.’
‘Gone where?’ asked Giselle, with a sinking heart.
‘Hunting. Cormac has not seen his brother for two years and wants to welcome him home with a feast tonight if they manage to catch anything. They’ll not return for hours, and, before they do, you need a bath, for you are not fit to be seen.’
Humiliation gnawed at Giselle. ‘I wouldn’t look so bad if I hadn’t been attacked and kidnapped and dragged here against my will.’
‘No, I suppose that’s no fault of yours. Lyall hasn’t touched you, has he?’ asked Ravenna, narrowing her eyes.
‘No!’ said Giselle, trying hard to block out the memory of his searching hands all over her wet body.
‘Good, for if he had, I should have to take a stick to him,’ said Ravenna, to Giselle’s surprise. ‘Now come, let’s get the muck off you.’
Ravenna flung a blanket around Giselle’s shoulders and led her outside. Down in the yard, she had to run the gauntlet of stares all around her from the Clan Buchan
an. She noticed that the defences of Beharra were in good order, the palisade stout, well capable of holding off an attack. There were a good number of sturdy outbuildings dotted around and, from what she could see from a distance, the stables looked orderly and well-maintained. Not like Wulversmeade, with its crumbling walls and air of neglect.
Giselle risked speaking. ‘Lyall’s home, it’s a fine place.’
‘Did you expect us Scots to live in muddy hovels? Did you think us all savages who live like pigs, you English?’
‘I did not know what to think. I heard stories about Scots.’
‘Here,’ said Ravenna, entering a low building, humid with wet laundry hanging everywhere. There was a half-barrel full of water with steam coming off it, and a servant came running in with more water in a bucket.
‘Get in,’ said Ravenna.
‘With you here?’
‘Aye, unless you have a forked tail under your dress, you’ll have nothing I haven’t seen before.’
Giselle had no choice but to peel off her clothes and step into the barrel. Ravenna frowned at her naked body, so Giselle got into the water as quickly as possible, gasping at how hot it was. Her skin turned pink, but the water felt like heaven against her aching muscles.
The relaxation did not last, as Ravenna took hold of a rag, and started scrubbing her so hard she thought her skin might come off, all the while interrogating her.
‘Tell me about your family. Do you have brothers who will come looking for you?’
‘No, my father only sired girls. I have a half-sister, but she is much older than me, and long since wed and gone from home. We are not close.’
Ravenna rubbed soap into Giselle’s hair, lifting it off her neck to get underneath. Something she saw gave her pause.
‘Your mother?’ continued Ravenna. ‘What of her?’
‘She died when I was young, but my father took her place. He has always been very kind to me.’