Gisborne: Book of Pawns (37 page)

Pers
tinted, its shade and texture raised memories that threatened to crush me. I held the fold of velvet in my hand. Thicker than the wool of Gisborne’s gown, it nevertheless felt as soft. The hem was padded and the sleeves were tight – a beautiful blue
bliaut,
but I didn’t care.

This was the gown I must wear to dine with our guests because De Courcey wanted everyone to see that his future wife wore the colour of faith and love.
I
would have moved heaven and earth never to wear a
pers
tint again.

The noise from the Hall was more ordered, a deep resonance, the occasional burst of masculine laughter but what I called a sophisticated sound. I stood rather in awe of these guests who had wrought such change in so short a space of time. I had already decided they must be some of Richard’s finest and that they had been sent by their monarch to mark this occasion rather than coming of their own volition.

I would be interested to see how they engaged with my questionable husband-to-be. This perhaps, was Richard’s gift to a man with a private army … to sweeten him by giving him the respect he craved. The only thing that could have made more of a mark was the King’s own presence but he was deep in the construction of his kingship in London.

Cecilia tugged at my folds and patted down loose curls.

‘The blue suits you, it echoes your eyes but I worry that you knotted your hair instead of plaiting it. And the veil, do you not think the baron might be angered when you arrive with your head uncovered?’

‘Let him be angry. I do not care. And let others see that Ysabel Moncrieff has her own mind.’

Ceci ‘tsked’ and I knew she thought I pushed my boat too far and probably into muddy waters. But it mattered little to me because it was difficult enough to attend this function, let alone wear the blue gown and present myself as the precious ‘bride’. After tomorrow, I should be obliged by convention to wear veils and wimples like a nun in a convent, so why not taste freedom whilst I could?

‘You do realize that your condition is placing a bloom upon you that many might see as the excitement of love and marriage, my dear. It is ironic that another man’s child should make you look so perfect for the man who professes to make you his wife on the morrow.’

We had almost reached the Hall and I swung to Cecilia.

‘If I bloom then I could almost hate the babe for making it so and yet the babe itself is the only thing that makes my future worthwhile and so I shall love it instead.’

I gave her a small smile that barely curled my lips and reached forward and kissed her smooth cheek, letting my lips linger with affection and gratitude in a gesture I doubted De Courcey would allow me to make later. She held me hard in her arms for a tiny moment only and then gave me a smart push to Brother John’s side so he could escort me to the table.

The Hall quieted as we entered and I walked on, glancing at no one, seeing my chair waiting for me. I knew I was being assessed and measured and I wondered if they approved of the future partnership. Could they see in the rigidity of my body and the stiffness of my face that I despised the man who stood as I walked closer?

His auburn hair sat on a thick rolled collar and a long blue velvet tunic fell away to his toes. A gilded girdle hung low on his hips and he emanated vivacity. His eyes sparkled with ownership and he glanced quickly away to calculate the effect of my arrival. In that moment, I noticed Halsham stand and bow his head with much irony in his stance. He moved slightly to allow the guest on his other side to push his own chair back and stand and my gaze shifted to the tall man who towered over him.

Now I understood his irony.

Clad in black velvet and with no jewelry and cold eyes, Gisborne watched me approach.

It was like walking toward the devil.

Chapter Thirteen

It takes a moment to place one foot in front of another and in that time I studied every loved and hated detail of his face, the minutae of his surcoat which was edged in even darker ebony embroidery so thick it weighted the garment against his frame. His gaze caught mine and burned into my soul.

One step only and all that happened in the blink of an eye.

I flushed, the heat of it warming my cheeks. Quickly I glanced back to the Baron to see if he had noticed my attention engaged far from him but he was only just turning his head back. Worse was the look that Halsham gave me. A satanic grin and then a wink.

One day…

‘My lords,’ if the Baron had been a rooster he would have crowed. ‘May I present my betrothed, the Lady Ysabel Moncrieff, god-daughter of Queen Eleanor, god-sister of King Richard. May I also present the Lady Cecilia Fineux, ladywife of the late Sir Hugh Fineux and chatelaine of Upton.’

What liberties you take with the noble names, sir.

Hate roared through the blood vessels.

The assembled guests stood and a polite round of applause greeted Ceci and I as we were seated, the high backed chairs shifted so as we were comfortable.

‘Whilst you are standing my lords, may I ask you to toast my future bride.’ The Baron raised a wrought pewter goblet. ‘The Lady Ysabel.’

My name echoed around the Hall and emptied goblets were placed on the tables as the noise of pulled seats filled the space. A hand movement from De Courcey indicated that food be brought to the tables.

Nausea filled my gullet. I could barely stand the sight of the rich courses of game that were placed in front of us. I sat between my future husband and Halsham; Cecilia sat on the other side of the Baron with Brother John at the very end of the head table.

A happy little family
.

Only one person, Halsham, sat between my babe’s father and myself and that gentleman an insult to the word ‘knight’. If there were a tangible connection between the infant’s father and me, I imagined it would feel like touching a vibrating metal thread. Something that could drill into the core of one’s very being.

I played with dish after dish.

‘My Lady Moncrieff, you do not eat?’

Halsham leaned toward me whilst the Baron called across Ceci to one of the distinguished guests.

‘Perhaps it is the excitement of your forthcoming nuptials.’

‘Perhaps it is, Halsham.’ I spoke between gritted teeth.

‘Isn’t it fortuitous that I met up with my cuz in London and that he could be persuaded to attend your wedding?’

‘I am surprised he wanted to.’ At that point, I lifted my eyes to Gisborne, daring him to ignore me. ‘But no doubt he assumed it worth his while.’

Gisborne said nothing, but his expression iced over and his shoulders angled away as if he were bored.

‘You
are
a sharp little thing, aren’t you, my lady? Of
course
, it’s worth his while.’ Halsham slapped the blade of his dagger against Gisborne’s arm. ‘Isn’t it, cuz? Look around. Half the men who mean anything in Richard’s court are here.’

‘Then if the other half are in London, sir, surely as much would have been gained by staying there, without the inevitable discomfort of travel.’

Gisborne spoke then and his voice sent a thrill through me and I wished I could throw myself onto his memory and mercy.

‘You do not wish me to attend your nuptials, Lady Ysabel?’

No.

‘I have no say in who attends, sir. It is entirely up to my lord baron who shall attend. Obviously he wishes you to be here.’

To rub your nose in his doings. To make you realize he is my husband, my liege-lord, my owner.

How unnecessary it all was. Surely even De Courcey could see that a man who sold my whereabouts cared little for me at all.

And then something jumped out and winded me. I coughed on my wine.

‘What ails you, my love?’

De Courcey was so honey sweet it should have galled me but I just shook my head, gasping as I lifted the wine to my mouth again.

For what had sucked the breath from my body was Gisborne’s face.

There was no injury. No scar. No mark to show that I had hit him with a flagon and wounded him enough for a great blood-letting when I woke to find him in the Lady Chamber two weeks before.

‘Ysabel?’

Cecilia called out and broke me from my trance. I raised my eyebrows and quirked my lips almost as if all was right with the world. But it was not. Not really. I had no doubt dreamed that ugly confrontation and confusion filled my head with aches and tension as I wondered if it really mattered.

But why would it? Because tomorrow I marry the man to whom I was sold.

It would never have been a normal wedding, even if my father had been alive to place my hand in my future husband’s. The day was hardly a normal summer’s day – the sky so low it touched the flagpole now resplendent with De Courcey’s flapping colours. The wind whined around the stones of Moncrieff and small white wavelets snapped at the breeze as it bullied its way across the surface of the lake.

The swan flotilla had disappeared and there was something of bitterness in the air – a reminder that in six more weeks, autumn would turn the world to russet and bronze. Jesu, how De Courcey would love it. I wished he would don his autumnal colour and get irredeemably lost in the falling leaves.

The rose damask cascaded to the ground and Cecilia laced it. It made a shivering sound as I moved, as if it were telling me things I should know about being the wife in the marriage bed. But I ignored it because it spoke out of turn, instead giving my attention to my hair. I should have let the curls and strands fall in an unbound swathe, glorying in its unfettered status for the last time. Instead, I had Ceci plait a long tight braid that hung down my back. The rose veil lay atop with my mother’s twisted filet holding it in place. Like the damask, the veil spoke – a whispering admonition to behave and make my betrothed proud.

I couldn’t bear Cecilia to say a word. Not
‘Courage’
or
‘I love you, my dear’
or even
‘I shall say my farewells now’
. I held my fingers up, shook my head and in this silent mode, walked on the longest yet shortest journey of my life to the church of Saint Agatha outside the walls of the castle as the bells rang for Tierce. Or perhaps they rang to celebrate marriage, except that Brother John knew my state of mind and I doubt he would wish to underline my agony.

Cecilia walked behind me holding up the dragging hem of the gown. I could hear her praying to the Virgin Mother, asking for protection for me. The villagers had gathered to cheer, calling blessings. Obviously their liege-lord had declared a holiday in order to honour the marriage but I doubted they approved of the nuptials – not the villagers I remembered.

The church was filled with rows of men. A smell hung low underneath the arched beams of the modest building – of leather and candle, incense and body odour. Nothing had been done to soften and improve the church’s harsh interior and its dour stone merely glowered.

Finish this. Have it done!

Inside, my soul shrieked.

I do not want this.

As I paced forward, I searched for Gisborne’s face, wanting not to find him and yet relieved when he turned as I passed. He looked but did not see.

Help me,
cried my soul.

I hate you,
condemned my mind.

I cannot remember the form of prayer, the actions of Brother John, my responses nor those of my husband. A torpour pervaded as I placed myself far from the situation. Far from what could hurt me – a place of little sensation and no thought.

It was only as a door clicked that my actual being clicked in response.

The nuptials were over. I was wedded. Without me being aware, the Baron De Courcey and his lady had walked back through the crowd of cheering villagers, had walked across the causeway, under the portcullis, through the bailey and into the Hall. From there, Cecilia had guided me into the Lady Chamber and she had quietly shut the door.

I turned at that clicking sound.

‘It is done then.’

‘Well yes, my dear, though you were like the walking dead. I am glad you are back with us. Such an odd thing but then you never would do things in the accepted manner.’

Odd? Perhaps. Convenient? Of course.

‘I put myself in a better place, Cecilia. It made it easier to bear.’

‘You are such an unusual girl and yet I can imagine following the same path myself if I had to marry such a man. Honestly, one wonders what sort of conscience the King really has. That said; the Baron seemed barely to notice your abstraction so you are lucky. Only those of us who know and love you would have seen any difference. Jesu, De Courcey is so full of himself … so arrogant. He struts like a cock. And my girl, they wait to begin the festivity. Do you intend to put yourself in your faraway place or do you plan to join them?’

Sadness tinged Cecilia’s comment as she, like me, counted the moments until her mount was saddled and she and her small retinue left for Upton – a definitive dismissal by my husband. I hugged her.