by Tessa Murran
‘Forgive me,’ Ramsay called back. ‘This Banan was a fiend, Lord, he had the rage of a mad dog. There was no reasoning with him. He threatened the women and my Lady Ravenna. He said he’d give them to his men as an amusement.’
Lyall rushed to his horse, but Cormac caught hold of his arm and flung him around.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Cormac.
‘Going to Urquhart.’
‘And what will you do when you get there? Barge into the middle of this and demand Banan gives her back. How will that go, now that he has the King’s trust and a mighty clan at his back?’
‘I cannot leave Giselle in his hands. She will be terrified. I must free her before it is too late.’
‘Brother, it is already too late. Whatever Banan would do to her, has been done by now.’
‘No.’
‘Face it, for it is a fact. My words are harsh, I know, but all you can hope for now, is that Giselle still lives.’
Lyall put his fingers in his hair and dug his nails in hard. ‘Cormac…’
‘I know. I know, brother. Bear your pain and think about how we can recover her.’
‘I need to find Banan,’ growled Lyall, ‘and I need to kill him.’
‘Good, and I swear if you don’t kill Banan, I will, but we must be clever about this.’
‘While you are being clever, Cormac, I am going to Urquhart, and you are not going to stop me.’
‘Oh, yes, I am.’
The fist came out of nowhere, and Lyall’s world turned black.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was an almost feminine face and, to a casual observer, it might even seem gentle. High cheekbones, lips as full as any woman’s. Most would have considered Banan to be attractive, with that square jaw, thick, straw-coloured hair and striking blue eyes, which, when he was smiling, were so compelling. Indeed, the women at court who had not suffered the misfortune of being the object of his affections gave him coy looks and tried to catch his attention. It had shocked Giselle, since they had arrived at Stirling, almost a week ago, how women could look on Banan and not recoil, as she did. But they had not really looked into those blue eyes, for, therein, lay the truth. They could have been an admirable feature but they were flat, like those of a fish.
Banan’s eyes saw, they stared, they coveted, but they did not feel.
Those eyes were watching her now, as she moved about the room. His gaze caused every nerve in her body to scream, run, run! But it would do no good to run, she had already learnt that, the hard way, these last weeks. Stay silent, appease him, submit – that was the only way to stay alive, if this could be called living.
From time to time, Giselle had tried to dull her senses with ale, to make everything less real, but her stupor angered him because Banan wanted her to feel each and every one of his petty cruelties. She had to feel them, or else they gave him no satisfaction.
This last month while she had been his prisoner, dragged here and there, to Urquhart, and then on to Stirling, Banan had flipped between snarling viciousness and pleading adoration. There was no way of knowing which it would be, and it had begun to dawn on Giselle that he didn’t know either. There was a black core of madness in Banan, oozing its poison into his heart and his mind, and slowly consuming him.
Giselle had been with him but a few weeks and yet it felt more like a year, for, with him, time became a slow drip of dread and fear. She could never rest, for she had to be alert to his danger. And the worst of it was that Banan knew he was twisted, his head full of writhing maggots, his heart full of worms. He knew it and was tortured by it. No one else saw his struggle with himself, but she was privy to all of it.
Today, Banan was in a good mood, which surely boded ill for someone. His face was alight with some mischief which he was longing to tell her.
‘You are to come with me for an audience with the King, Giselle,’ he said, smiling his cruel, wolf smile.
‘I…I should not be there…I cannot…please, Banan,’ she replied, forcing her lips into a conciliatory smile.
‘Of course, you must be there, for I want to show off my beautiful prize, before all at court. Let them drool over you, and see that I have what they cannot.’
He rushed across the room to her, and she winced when he touched her. ‘You will come, I command it. Are you not mine, to do with as I please, any time I please?’ His fingers bit into her arms.
Giselle swallowed hard. ‘If you want me to come, I will,’ she said, looking down at the floor.
He shook her like a dog shaking a rat. ‘Do you want to feel the back of my hand? Do you want me to beat you again?’
‘No, please, Banan, you are hurting me.’
‘Look happy, smile at me, like you want me. You should be honoured to come to court at my side, as my woman. I could have someone far wealthier than you, with a powerful family to further my ambitions. Instead, I choose you, and you are an ungrateful besom who defies me at every turn.’
‘I am sorry, Banan. I spoke out of turn. Of course, I will come with you.’
But he was in no mood to be appeased. ‘You know what I will do to him if you defy me,’ he said, grabbing a fistful of her hair, and forcing her down to her knees.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll do anything I say to protect that Buchanan wretch, won’t you? You will suffer any degradation for your love. Do you still long for him?’
Giselle scrabbled at his hand, but he just shook her head painfully, his grip tightening like a vice.
‘Have I not beaten that out of you yet? He grabbed her head and squeezed hard, fingers digging into her temples. ‘Should I crack open your pretty skull and spoon him out.’
Giselle closed her eyes. Stay still, don’t struggle, and his rage will pass sooner.
‘Look at me, woman. I will tear him out of your heart. I want him gone,’ he spat.
His eyes, cold, and cunning, even in his insanity, seemed to skewer hers. ‘I can always kill him, to make sure of it,’ he whispered.
There it was - the twist of the knife.
‘No.’ Always that word, no. It never made any difference to say it.
‘Do you hope he will rescue you, Giselle? Are you such a fool to think he would still want to? Now that I have claimed you, now you have my mark on you, Lyall Buchanan will think you are tainted. He will smell me on you and recoil, as he would from any low whore.’
Banan thrust her away from him and stalked about the room, working up to the inevitable. Giselle’s heart pounded, fit to burst her ribs, for there was something terrible about him today. Something had happened to throw his mind into turmoil. It was written on his face, now twisted with anguish.
‘You are a cold bitch, Giselle, like all women.’
‘Forgive me, Banan,’ she said, trying to speak in a soothing voice.
‘I give you everything, Giselle, and still, you cannot warm to me? I have tried to be kind and patient, and I could be good to you if only you would learn to be affectionate.’
‘I am trying, Banan it’s just that I don’t like it here at court, with all these strangers staring at me.’
He looked at her, and his face softened into a benign smile. ‘How could they not stare when you are so breathtaking.’ Banan crossed the room and took her in his arms like a tender lover. ‘You are all mine now.’
His hand stroking her hair made Giselle want to flinch, but she steeled herself not to. She had tried to fight back at first, shouting that she would rather die than lie with him, but it made no difference. Even when he put a knife to her throat, she had still resisted. But then he had told her what would happen to Lyall if she did not obey. His words were scorched into her heart.
‘I have the King’s ear and his favour. Cross me, and I will denounce Lyall Buchanan as a traitor. Someone gave warning to Wulversmeade that we were coming to take it. I can say it was him, and, trust me, I will be believed. Lord Douglas will gut him, along with his stinking family, all of them. You saw what happens to traitors.’
‘No, they won’t believe you,’ she had said, back then, when she thought she had a chance.
‘Do you want to wager with his life, Giselle? Make your choice. What is it to be? Let me have my way or send Lyall to the executioner’s block.’
‘Do what you will, but then take my life, for it is ruined.’
‘Because of your pride, it will be hard for you to surrender to me, but you will go on Giselle, mark me. Should you fall from my walls, or drive a knife into your own heart, it will have the same outcome for Buchanan. I will denounce him, and he will die.’
‘How can you do this? You are a monster, you have no soul.’
‘I am an eater of souls, and yours is mine. You will stay with me, and be happy with your lot.’
Now, all hope was gone. Every second with this man was a moment longing for death, and she couldn’t even risk that. She had to stay alive and endure Banan so that Lyall would be safe.
His mouth sought hers and Giselle took her mind away, as she always did. Just think of home, not Banan, not what he was doing, not his hands on her skin, his harsh voice in her ear, his lust, his fury.
She must not think of Lyall. Even his name, sliding through her mind, was torture. Giselle spent every day hoping he would not come and put himself in danger, hoping he would not come and see how far she had fallen, hoping he would not come and look on her with distaste. But still, Giselle longed to see his face. She would embrace death if she could just have that one, last thing.
Giselle squeezed her eyes tight shut and pictured Ravensworth, with its pale, stone walls. When the sun hit it, late in the day, it took on a warm glow, and, from a distance, it looked like a jewel nesting in that soft, green valley surrounded by wooded hills. She thought of the river, not fierce, running gently by, with the willow trees leaning over and brushing the surface. She tried to remember sunny days and going down there to fish with her best friend, Anne. The midges would bite late in the day, but the trout and perch loved to snap at them when they hit the surface of the water. She remembered hauling a slimy, slapping fish onto the bank and urging Anne to pick it up for her. The girl had touched it and then shrieked with revulsion. She shrieked and would not stop. Her shriek became a scream, turning the day to darkness and cold. Screaming, screaming.
Banan’s hand came over her mouth, and she realised it was not Anne screaming, but her, and no one to hear.
‘Every time I go inside you, Lyall Buchanan suffers it,’ he said softly. ‘It kills his pride day by day. I am eating his heart, one piece at a time.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stirling Castle sat atop its rocky perch, dominating the valley around it. After their victory at Bannockburn, it had been a haven, a mighty fortress where the Scots could take refuge and resist any attack by the English from the south.
Now, as Lyall craned his neck to look at it, a dizzying height above him, it seemed a place of doom and darkness, an impregnable stronghold screaming of death and destruction. His love, his life, was somewhere inside that cold edifice if Ramsay’s paid eyes and ears inside the castle were to be believed. The thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. Giselle would be frightened, she would be hurt, and, with each passing day, she would think he did not care for her.
As they wound their way along the steep road curling upwards to the castle gates, Lyall felt along his swollen jaw. It was tender, but there was no break. He was lucky, for being punched by Cormac was like being smashed in the face with an anvil, and, had his brother really meant that punch, his jaw would be in pieces.
‘Are you on the mend, brother?’ said Cormac, regarding him steadily.
‘Aye, with no thanks to you. You didn’t have to tie me up for days, either.’
‘It was necessary, to stop you behaving like the worst fool and rushing off to commit treason and get yourself killed. It gave me time to find out where Giselle was taken. Has your temper cooled sufficiently for you to think straight?’
‘Aye, it has.’
‘Good, then I can rely on you holding your tongue when we go before the King. We are here to lay our plans to attack Berwick, not to plead your cause to free Giselle. That, we will do by more subtle means. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. But when I see Banan, with the rage inside me, I don’t know what will stop me from ripping his head off his shoulders.’
‘The fact that Giselle’s life depends on you not doing that, the fact that mine does too. I have favour with the King, and I’ve had his trust in the past, but it has been some time since I was at court and things have changed. It was never wise to defy Robert, no matter what the cause. Trust me, Lyall, I have seen too many good men fall by the wayside when they did just that. So, I need your word.’
‘You have my word. I will not challenge Banan openly. I swear it.’
Lyall pulled his horse to a stop on the flat plateau of ground before the gates of Stirling. He sighed as he looked down to the valley below and the snow-capped mountains beyond. The wind was a little chill now that autumn was approaching, sucking the life out of the trees. The first leaves were falling, and swirled, gold and red, around his horse’s hooves.
If they were going to lay siege to Berwick, they had to do it soon, before winter set in, for men pressed into the service of their laird would need to return home to gather the harvest. It was either that or have their families starving come winter if crops were left to rot in the fields. A month or two, that was all the obligation they had to fight for their Lord, and their King. Mercenaries were too expensive and unreliable to fill the void left by clansmen who had returned home.
So, with every leaf that fell, their army would evaporate, and every day Giselle was in Banan’s grasp, was a day when she was hurt and frightened. Lyall felt his soul slowly withering under the burden of his grief and what he must yet face.
Time was running out for everyone.
***
Giselle stood in a corner in the throne room. The ale and wine were flowing, and the King seemed to be in a good mood as he tapped his foot along to minstrel’s music. From time to time, he would beckon men forwards to speak to him, and then wave them away. His nobles all fawned and bowed low. Giselle could scarce contain her hatred for King Robert the Bruce.
That man had handed her this awful fate without a thought of the pain he would cause, just because it served his purpose. To him, she was no more significant than a gnat. How ordinary he was in the flesh, this Scots warrior king, sickly looking, with jaundiced skin, stretched thin, over his face, and yet he had the power of life and death over so many.
Giselle glanced up at the vividly painted ceiling, emblazoned with carved flowers, edged with gilt. There were stunning tapestries gracing the walls, of mystical unicorns, hunting scenes, wild game and birds - all brought vividly to life. She had never seen anything so splendid. Around her was a bustling throng of richly dresses courtiers, servants in fine livery and the King’s personal guard, bristling with arms. It signified nothing. It was just a show of power and arrogance, all underpinned by cruelty.
Despite the chill outside, it was warm and bright in the hall with so many bodies pressed close together. Banan had already abandoned her in favour of toadying up to the many lairds and high courtiers with whom he hoped to curry favour. He was now in the middle of the throng, no doubt aggrandizing himself to his new allies. They did not respect him. They feared him, for what he had done to his father. How malevolent did you have to be to condemn your own flesh and blood to such a brutal end, they were surely thinking? Giselle knew what kind of fiend Banan was, but they could only guess.
Banan would ignore her amongst all these powerful people, for he saw her only as an ornament, not a person with feelings. It gave her some respite from his company, but she could feel other eyes on her. Men stole furtive glances at her, full of undisguised lust. Those who knew Banan a little better looked on her with pity. Others stared with contempt, so far was she beneath their notice. A few of the women were kind, and came to talk to her,
wafting over with a rustle of silk and the glint of jewellery, smelling of wealth and perfume of roses, graceful, refined and at ease. Giselle could think of nothing to say to them that did not sound trite and meaningless, given her situation, and they soon wandered off in search of more stimulating company. She wanted to scream at them to help her, but they could not. Giselle wore her misery as they wore their fine clothes and courtly manners, and she was shunned because of it.
A small commotion came from the back of the room, and Banan appeared at her side and took her hand.
The crowd before the King parted, and suddenly, there he was - tall, dark and fine. When Lyall’s eyes met hers, she saw her own infinite pain mirrored there.
There was no time to prepare herself. Giselle was sure her legs would not hold her. Banan stared at her intently, eager no doubt to gauge her reaction, then he squeezed her hand, almost tight enough to break bones, and hissed, ‘Steady now, don’t give yourself away, harlot. Don’t sign his death warrant.’
Giselle was vaguely aware of the King shouting a greeting, and Cormac coming forward to kneel, but she did not really see anyone but Lyall. He followed his brother and knelt, and, to keep herself from crying, she kept her eyes fixed on his dark head, bowed in supplication before the man who had shattered his life and hers.
Banan’s grip intensified, but she did not cry out in pain. She steeled herself to ignore it. He would not take this from her, this last chance to see her love. And love him she did, her heart swelled to bursting with it, her chest ached with longing, a dull, clinging pain, deep inside her. Giselle thought she might die from wanting him.
‘Rise, Buchanans. It has been a long time, Cormac,’ boomed the King in genuine delight as he came forward to grip Cormac’s hand, taking his forearm and pulling him close.
‘Too long, Your Grace, but I had word you are about to give the English another lesson in conquest, and I could not bear to miss it,’ said Cormac warmly. A murmur of approval spread around the room.
‘With you in my army, I have no doubt of victory. Your clansmen?’ asked the King.