Gisborne: Book of Pawns (6 page)

‘Here’s Wilf,’ Guy bent down and rolle
d the near naked soldier over.

Thanks
be to God his eyes were closed
and it was obvious he had died i
nstantly from a pierced heart.
I cut his hair as well,
because they had taken the iron
wristlet he wore wit
h his family’s names engraved. I remember he had taken that
wristlet to the priest at Moncrieff,
Brother John,
a man of letters, and asked him to scratch
the names of his family on it.
The priest, only used to a goosequill, had done a remarkabl
e job with the tip of a dagger
and Wilf had been so proud, showing it often to any who would look.

‘Who has taken everything?’ I looked around, my eyes focus
ing on nothing but leaf and tree
,
as if that would sustain me.

‘The cut-
throat ban
d to whom these others belong.
They have taken our baggage horse as well,
and the men’s rounceys and weapons.
If we are lucky they will be long gone to whatever he
ll-hole they call home.’
Guy placed his hands under Wilf’s armpits and lifted him across his shoulder, laying him
over the saddle of his own rouncey
.

He tied
him on and I could only watch.

‘We s
hall bury them away from here.
We passed a stream on the way back and its sides were sandy and
we can dig graves more easily.
Besides, I think if we are to do this, it is best away from their murderers.’

He was right
and I should have thought of it
but my mind was sluggish and all I could
do
onc
e Harry had been tied on board was take the reins of Khazia
and lead her

It took us till dusk to bury them, cover
ing them with dirt and stones.
We left the graves unmarked for fear they would be opened by greedy passers-by and I
was
pleased that Guy had settled on a spot below the roots of birches
that stood skirted by ferns.
The burials barely showed and we were silent as we looked one last time be
fore heading into the gloaming.

‘Guy?’
I could barely see him as we rode, but he answered.

‘Yes
?’

‘Thank you.’

‘I owe
you a debt,’ he replied.

‘Yo
u owe me nothing of any sort.’
I sen
sed him slipping away from me.

Don’t go
.

‘A life debt is just that, and can only be paid up when I h
ave saved your life in return. Until then I am most completely at your service.’

He invited no argument and yet I would not be dissuaded
.

‘I wish you would forget it,
’
I argued, but he moved the conversation to other things.

‘You shoot as well as any o
f the men.
Where did you learn?’

‘I hunted at Cazenay.
It was the only way one could have a littl
e excitement in a mundane lady
’
s life and I became rather good at it.
’
A brief image of my disgruntled suitors danced through the macabre events of the day.

‘And the Saracen bow?’

‘Like the tongue, learned when the Saracen
travellers were at Cazenay.
I like the bow.
It’s small and light, b
et
ter for someone short like me. The long bow i
s too unwieldy, the crossbow too heavy.
Sadly the little bow has a shorter lifespan in our damp climates and doesn’t hold together as well as English bows. I like the power in such a small weapon. It could almost be called a woman’s bow.
’

I heard a chuckle
.

‘My little archer,’ he said softly.

A smile crept onto my own face.

‘Where do we go?’
I asked.

‘We need shelter for t
his night.
Le Mans is too far but if we ride all day tomorrow, by dusk we shall be inside the walls.’

I was glad to think of defensive
walls and heavy gates
,
for today I felt as vulnerable as a fawn amongst wolves.

‘There!’

Gisborne’s horse
moved
to my right and Khazia
followed withou
t me even twitching the reins. A
forester’s hut lay in shambles before us, providing a wall and a piece of timber
under which we could shelter. I
slid from the mare, clutching her mane
for support and within moments
we had hobbled our mounts so they could graze within reach, a s
mall puddle of water close by. Gisborne
would not light a fire in case we attracted interest and I, who already trembled with cold, wrapped my cloak tight around me and nibbled at the stale che
ese and bread he passed me.
I sipped the w
ater from my flask and then placed
a
weary
head that ached
upon my saddle.
My heart lay heavy in
my chest, its beats marked,
limbs knotted ben
eath
as I drew myself into a huddle
. A
s I turned my back against the world, I felt a tear sneaking from my eye, my body shaking as if I froze.

Guy’s ar
m sneaked over my side.

‘It is exhaustion and shock, just brea
the deep and steady.’

He curled himself around me
like a drake’s tail-feather, his own warmth
seeping into my anxious frame and
I found m
y breath slowing to match his.
As I grew more comfortable, my eyes became heavy and it was only as I finally sank into sleep that I realised my hands lay under his and that his thumb stroked over and over across my knuckles.

It was
the first time I, Ysabel the virgin, slept with Guy of Gisborne, a chaste event that left me as intact as Marais could have hoped.

Chapter Three

Sometimes when one wakes
it’s as if ice has
been dropped down one’s spine
but I woke as if I
were wrapped in silk and wool.
Warm, loose, remembering onl
y the stroking of my knuckles.
As I arched my body, I knew he ha
d left me but I felt no fear.
Not immediat
ely … and then, like the aforesaid winterfreeze
, cold crept over me
as I recalled death;
Wil
fred’s, Harold’s, my mother’s.
I sat up with a rush.

‘Lady Ysabel, you’re awake.’
Guy strode into
the clearing with the horses.
‘I took them to the str
eam and they drank their fill.’

My breath gushed out. I hadn’t realised I held it.
But his presence eased the distrait of my memories
and I clambered up, folding the cloak
he’d laid over me
, straightening my gown
and re-plaiting my hair in a rough braid.

‘Here,’ he held out a palm filled with redcurrants. ‘They might be a little tart but there is nothing else other than the water. At least
that
is clear and sweet-smelling.
’

‘Do w
e leave immediately?’

‘As soon as we are saddled.’
He shouldered our gear and began tacking the horses.

‘I’ll be bac
k momentarily,’ I muttered
and dashed to the stream,
taking care of nature, washing my face and hands.
When I returned he was mounted and passed my reins over
with no comment
and I leaped
aboard, no leg-up, quite able.
But he’d already pushed his own horse on and missed my agility.

Alone.
Just he an
d I. Riding abreast. Silent.
I could only think he regretted holding me last night and yet I was so grateful.

‘Guy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you
for comforting me last night. I was cold and…
’ I hesitated, ‘so very cold.’

‘It is best b
odies lie close when it’s cold
.
One body warms the other.
’

‘Of course.’
Hu
h, of course, I thought wryly.
‘Where shall we put up in Le Mans?’

‘There is a priory.’

‘Fo
r me no doubt,’ I replied with the
taste of
tart redcurrant on my tongue.
‘And you?’

‘An inn close by.’

‘I could stay at the inn as well.’

‘I think not, L
ady.’

Lady? Mary Mother
! After yesterday?

I was too tired to argue.
All at o
nce I wanted to bathe, find
clothes, eat.

‘How long from Le Mans to the coast?’

‘Another few days.’

His
mood had become more removed.
Truly a woman w
ould be mad to bother further.
I
’ve always disliked sulky men as it implies
an arrogant indi
vidual used to being indulged. But
this man next to me had not been spoiled.

How did I know when he had told me nothing?

Simply, h
e was my father’s s
teward
.

If he’d led a truly
privileged life he would
ne
ver have been a mere servant.
And yet I knew he was of noble birth,
so
why then such a
humble position by comparison?
I knew I could secure answers at Moncrieff but I have ever been impatient.

I chose my time.

We had been riding by a small rivulet and sto
pped a few miles from Le Mans.
As I dismounted, my foot twisted on a stone
and I
wrenched my ankle so that it swelled dramatically.

‘What have you done?’

Gisborne bent to check my foot, my gown folds still hooked up for riding.
Without my leave, he scooped me up to carry me to the wate
r, stripping my hose and boot.

‘Place your foot
in the water.
The chill will ease the swelling.’

I st
ood with him holding my elbow, embarrassed, conscious of the value of nuisance.

‘Truly, there is no pain. May we ride on?
I wish to get to Le Mans as soon as we can.’

‘Can you walk?’

I limped slightly.
‘Enough to get me to my mount.’

He sighed as if I were so much trouble, lifted me up
and hoisted me back on Khazia, slipping the
hose up my leg and placing the boot bac
k on with infinite gentleness. I reached to his hand.

‘I’m sorry.
T
his is such a fraught journey.
I apologise for being such t
rouble.’

His attention focussed on placing my foot in the stirrup as if I hadn’t even spoken. My father had given him orders … to mind me like a nursemaid. He should be accompanying my father on social occasions and official domain business. Even royal progresses because as a noble of greater ranking, my father had his place at Court. But instead this man smoothed folds and minded a precocious woman.

‘Please accept my apologies.’
I offered.

‘You needn’t apologise.
Not when you shoot a bow like a trained archer and when
you speak the Saracen tongue.’ His mouth tipped up.
‘You are quite an enigma, Lady Ysabel.’

Me an enigma?

I laughed.
‘I shall assume that to be a
compliment.
Can we go?’

The mood had lightened in the blink of an eye, a
nd as we rode mo
re peaceably I took a breath.

‘Guy, why are you my
father’s steward
?’

He rode along without
saying anything and then, ‘W
hy are you interested?’