Gisborne: Book of Pawns (43 page)

‘Take care, take no risks.’

Brother John’s words snapped at my heels.

That first
night
I
was so exhaus
ted I could barely find a bed.
I removed myself as far from
Guy of Gisborne’s staff
as I could and found a warm corner in a stall in th
e stables, pilfering a heavy caparison in which to
wrap myself
for warmth and to protect my b
ody from the scratching straw.
But in truth I was so
strung out
it wouldn’t have mattered if I had sl
ept naked in a field of stubble as I went over and over the reasons why I should leave and over again why I wanted to stay.

For a week
I avoided him, speaking to no one if I could help it, inviting no questions and asking none.

A week, Ysabel. Foolish girl!

Always reason chanted in my head but what is reason next to emotion? It stood no chance.

I
earned my food and keep, if you
could call my lodgings ‘keep’.
The food was often th
e gravy, crusts and remains of Gisborne’s table
and I decided it was no wonder the
kitchen maid ate the pigswill.
But fo
od and keep was not enough, I needed
coin becaus
e I knew I must leave and soonest. Finally that voice had shouted loud enough to be heard.

Gisborne is part of
De Courcey’s circle, Ysabel. Part of the K
ing’s circle. How tight do you want the
executioner’s hands to be
?

The day had been windy and I washed everything I could lay my chafed hands upon, manhandling
bulk onto a line I had o
ne of the black clad men-at-arms hang for me.
As the linen
s
flicked and flacked, I noticed a tear i
n a fine shirt. Sewing above all
gave me peace and comfort
in times of loss, even though my water-roughened
skin caught on the fabric with a rip-like sound as I pushed folds aroun
d.
Despite the fact it could be considered work, I took pleasure in mundane mending and had no doubt the men of this manor were surprised when they found only two armholes in a chemise and not three.

This evening, I had the torn
shirt with me to
mend by the light of a candle.
The work I did was meticulous, the stitching tiny and I was careful to fold it and blow out the flame before I settled for the night, sleep descending on me like an avalanche of stone.

I vaguely heard a voice
later, a voice which became an ugly growl.

‘Wake up!’

Something was grabbed from near my head and then there w
as another explosion of sound.

‘
Thief!’

The caparison was whipped away, leaving me lying in my own ragged
linen with its scuffed edge.
I jumped up, wrapping my hands around with desperate modesty.

‘Y
ou!’

His e
yes drifted over my form.

I sighed, reaching for the brown
bliaut
and holding it against me.

‘Yes, my lord.’

I pulled the garment on
and was glad it slid to my toes
as I grabbed the loose girdle.
Tying it, I
scrabbled at rough-cut hair, letting it fall close to my face and forehead, my head hanging.

‘Sir, I sleep in the stables
as far from the rabble that is your staff as I can
,
and I did not steal your shirt. I mended it.
It had a fray in the seam under the arm.’

A quick glance revealed
disc
omfort but he retorted anyway.

‘
As I remember,
you
are part o
f the staff you call a rabble.
And what would you know of good or bad staff anyway?’

‘Enough.’

I tur
ned away and picked up my cloak
for I doubted I’d be working here at dawn.

‘So you have been in noble
houses?’

‘I have.’

‘Is that how you managed to s
ecure a chemise of good linen
?’

Damn Frida’s shift.

‘A gift from my previous employer.’

He grinned and
with a sarcastic edge, asked, ‘
For services rendered?’

I knew that tone of voice. It was the one that had frightened me, as if he would explode and leave me by the side of an Angevin road.

‘In fact, yes. I ran the household for the mistress and was given such things
.’

‘You say,’ he drawled. ‘
And where is this
fine
house?’

‘Far away sir
, and belongs to an
other now and I return to my family as my husband is dead.’

True enough.

He stroked the n
eck of the horse in the stall.
The animal had been my only friend and companion since I took up residence
in this dangerous house
.
She was a quiet old mare whos
e time was no doubt running out. A
s was mine.

‘
What are you called?
’

‘Linette, sir. Linette…’

Gisborne’s
eyes did not so much graze over my face, they positively ploughed every line as tho
ugh he searched for something.

‘You are well spoken and I believe there is a history behind yo
u that you are loathe to tell. I should ask you more about your husband, your family, but I shall not. Nobles are accompanying
Prince
John to this estate in a week for some hunting.
I need someone to org
anise the domestic issues within my
house as my bailiff has littl
e idea.
If you do it, I shall forget your transgressions this night.’

My
transgressions
? I who ran a castle an
d served meals to nobles
?
If onl
y you knew. Ah yes, I know of
your lineage and your rep
utation but you shall never know mine.
Not now.

‘To satisfy your curiosity sir, I have no home and no money because my husband was a drunkard, and am returning to family in the northwest. As to your house, I shall do it…’

Ysabel!

‘… a
s long as you make it
clear to your staff
that I am working to your orders.’

He was sour in reply.

‘
What a way you have, Linette from who knows where.
Quite
the
Lady High and Mighty, aren’t you?’

Guy
elevated me to a position of m
ild authority in a heartbeart.
That he had no thought for anyone’s inte
rests but his own was a surety –
son of a Crusader, a noble whose heritage
was subsumed by greedier men. This was a bitter man t
ied t
o the apron strings of the Realm. And for what?

Elevation, estates and entitlement; all in a year.

I knew I should not be near him; that there was too much history and I could not believe he did not recognise me. My fingers crept to the wimple and touched the scar.

Am I so changed and disfigured?

In days I knew I would have to find someone to remove Brother John’s embroideries and then I wondered what Gisborne might see.

I had known him
when he was on
an
upward path
through life whereas I had done the reverse.
I had not meant to find wor
k near him, let alone
for
him. And yet
the Fates played other games.
To work for him was to risk my life. He and Halsham were close and I knew I was a marked woman and yet to get to Wales I needed his monies and a pathetic part of me craved his nearness. Or perhaps it craved revenge. I
was
a craven woman.

I ordered his house the
first day in my new po
sition.
I walked the interior,
noting dirt and dust,
tapestri
es and carpets to be beaten, pewter to be polished,
linens to be washed and folded with fresh herbs and
beds prepared.
I left the kitchen management to the bailiff, the ordering o
f food, wines and ale.
Interesting that he should ask my advice on the feasts to be served an
d which he did with ill grace. But I told him it was
his c
hoice, he knew his master better than I.
I sensed an enemy to be mad
e if I played the game wrong.
But I had
no intention of staying and hoped to make few ripples as the pennies filled the purse at my waist. I wanted that money. It was all I could offer a babe of less than a year who waited for his mother.
T
he chance must be taken.

The first day of my new position passed
and my list was long, but already the wood was cut and stacked and the line
s were full of ever more washing
,
fires being laid in chambers.
Baskets of lavender were trimmed from the surprisingly well-stocked potager and I placed large bunches under bedding and hanging from the rafters in the one gar
de-robe that graced the manor.
I
saw nothing of Gisborne
which was fortuitous as I found myself discommoded by his
presence.
I wasn’t scared of what he had become
and what he might say,
but I was afraid of
what he had been in his past and w
hat he had been in mine.

Late in the evening
I entered the stable and spoke to the mare that nickered in welcome, nosing my han
d as I offered her an apple. Briefly, very briefly, I thought back to Khazia and wondered whether she was happy. But it was pointless rumination, so I looked at the caparison
hanging from the rafters a
nd moved
to pull it down for my bedding.

‘If you take it again, I would have to charge you with theft.’

My heart stopped and my mouth dried. I spoke without turning.

‘Then it would be your loss, Sir Guy.’

I heard a chuckle.

‘I
believe it would be, Linette.
Already my household quails at your lists.’

‘Your ma
nor will be the better for it.
Now sir, I
have a big day on the morrow.
I would appreciate it if you left me alone with the mare so that I may sleep.’

‘Sleep you will, but not here.
There is a small chamber on the first floor you may use.’

‘The
first floor is for family…
’

‘I have no family,’ he snapped ‘and I
am
lord of the manor and can give sleeping quart
ers to whom I want when I want.
Don’t be churlish.’

Me churlish?
I turned and dropped a curtsy.

‘My apologies, Sir Guy.’

I spoke to the floor.

‘Say it again.’

‘My apol…
’

‘Not that …
my name.’

I looked up then and
his dark blue eyes had frozen, fists clenched at his sides.
Even the mare had l
aid her ears back and snorted.

Don’t remember.

‘Again,’ he said, threateningly soft.

I lifted my voice an octave. ‘Sir Guy.’

I couldn
’t bear to look at him in case a key
t
urned in the lock of his memory. He was
silent
and still but
then he moved close, gra
sping my arm and pulling
me behind.

I followed in hi
s long strides.
Four of
mine to one of his.
Strides th
at seemed impelled with anger.
We met n
o one awake in the H
all and he pulled me up the stair
, caring little if I stumbled – along the passage, past cressets
where flame jumped in our
wake.
He thrust a door open and pushed me through it and I stood and stared, sensing his body behind me, close to my back, my arm still thro
bbing where he had grasped it.
I kn
ew if I leaned back even a fraction, our bodies would touch.
Instead I focus
ed on what the miniscule room contained.
There was a cot, blankets, and a candl
e lit so the tiny space glowed. Across the cot lay a gown… a
bliaut
o
f deepest sapphire.