Gisborne: Book of Pawns (9 page)

‘But
let you not forget what I said, Gisborne.
Secrets can be dangerous.’

Chapter Four

I prattled away the next day, my voice a counterpoint to the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the creaking of the saddlery. At one point I
chatted so much
about Moncrieff and my memories of the place, it was many leagues before
I realized Gisborne had said nothing – just quietly allowed my words to drown him. But a
s my monologue on my memories of Moncrieff drew to a close, he spoke up.

‘Moncrieff may not be what you remember, Ysabel.’

I straightened my gown
where it had rucked at the top of the stirrup leathers, the creases biting into the flesh o
f my thighs.

‘How so?’

He eased his horse to a h
alt and I pulled up beside him.
‘Eight years is a very
long time to have been absent.
I have no doubt that when you left for
Cazenay
, Moncrieff was the absolute epitome of grandeur.’

‘It was, a
s I told you.’

My brow tightened. As though I were
ab
out to hear something awkward. His
face had
such a dark look about it … not anger, not that. No –
solemn
was a more apt description, almost as if
he had news of a death to impart.
I rubbed at my temple.

‘T
hree years
ago
your mother became ill fo
r the first time.
What you don’t know i
s that she remained bed-ridden, never regaining
her health.’

‘How do you know this?’

The g
rief that I had pushed aw
ay on my own account began to creep forth again.
No one had told me my mother h
ad stayed frail. She
had only
ever
written to me with
her usual sweetness.
My father ce
rtainly hadn’t seen fit to enlighten me. If I had known
I would have trav
eled back home with undue haste to nurse her.
The kind of thing ex
pected from a loving daughter; t
he kind of thing that
might have
eased the band of guilt
girthed
around my chest.

‘Come,’ said Guy. ‘I think we should eat, drink and rest the horses. Rouen is not too far but
we shall make be
tter time if we are refreshed.
I shall tell you while we sit.’

I went about settling Khazia
and sitting on the grass by the roa
d but it was a habitual thing and I barely noticed.
Not when my mind filled with images of my glorious mother as a faded, ill woman.
The previous night’s damp still lay upon the verge, the odd dewdrop sparkling as it caught the daylight. Moisture crept through the folds of my gown, chilling me more than I wished.

‘She barely l
eft the Lady Chamber,’ Guy continued. ‘I know this from Cecilia of Upton…
’

‘Cecilia! Cecilia is my mother’s friend and one of my own godmothers. She has written to me whilst I have been away and said nothing…
’

‘Your own mother’s very good and trusted friend who was prevailed upon by the Lady Alaïs to reveal nothing of any weakness. It was your mother’s way of showing her deep love that she didn’t want to worry you. Cecilia is still at Moncrieff.
Out of loyalty to
your mother’s memory she stays to keep your father company as best she can and to wait for you
. She told me how your mother was the life of the place, how she was loved by all, how she
threw herself into everything before she became ill. But mostly she told me h
ow she was your father’s backbone.’

Ah, such truths I knew, but as Guy spoke
something cold and unpleasant began to crawl down my spine.

‘As Lady Alaïs
became more frai
l, your father lost direction.
His bailiff struggled on but your father weaken
ed in tandem with your mother. When I was employed as the Baron’s steward
three months before your mother d
ied, Moncrieff had slid badly.
Fields had been left un
-till
ed, those that ha
d been harrowed were unseeded. Sheep flocks were untended. No wool was gathered for sale. Food crops were reduced. Cecilia
had
kept as much as she could from yo
ur ailing mother in order to spare her
but she was a prescient woma
n, Lady Alaïs,
and it was she who urged
your father to hire a steward. She had heard of me
through Cecilia
and must have though
t that along with the bailiff, we
could keep your father on the straight and narrow.’

‘I can hardly believe you.’
I jumped up and began to pace,
parts of my gown still hitched into my girdle.
‘Father would never allow Mon
crieff to fall into disrepair.
He lived for the glory of the est
ate, was proud beyond belief.’

But in truth I knew that my father was a weak, disingenuous fool whom everyone lo
ved. As in many
marriages, someone like my father was improved by liv
ing with the love of his life, that person giving strength where there could conceivably be none.

‘He grieves. That is all.
When I am come, it
will make all the difference.’

There wa
s an imploring note to my voice
when perhaps there should have been an
assertive tone and I suspect Gisborne
understood, because he took my hands in his own and I forced myself to look into his face
.

‘Oh Mary Mother,’ I uttered.
‘There is more?’

‘I have worked with the ba
iliff to put things to rights.’ He held my hands firmly. ‘
The l
and is as it should be.
The forests are managed,
the hunting stock controlled.
The domesti
c stock is farmed as expected.
The castl
e itself has been thoroughly re-
organised and interior and
exterior inventories taken
.’

‘But…’ M
y voice
was hollow and I
refused
the
food
Gisborne handed me
.

‘Three years of disorganization
has meant three years of drawing on your father’s coffers.’

‘He is a rich man, one of the Greater Barons. I…
’

‘
Was
a rich
man.’ Gisborne’s voice was so definite
that any hope I might have had vanished completely.

‘Was?’
I whispered.

‘Ysabel, there is little left.
The staff of Moncrieff has had to be whittled down considerably.
Moncrieff just pays its dues and that is all.
’

‘But the villagers, how are the villagers surviving?
’
A knot of panic began
to twist.
I was
not going home to my memories.
So much for the contentment I imagined in the reign of Richard.

‘We, that is the bailiff and myself, make sure that no one starves.’

‘Is there enough to pay
you
?’
A new note entered my voice, a
bitterness resonating with the life that Guy had lived in his time.

‘Enough.
You need not fret,
those that are there are paid. But Ysabel, the Baron
need
s someone strong to guide him.
Your homecoming is vital.’

I suspected he was not telling me c
rucial information on my father.
Something was missing
but I found myself unwilling t
o unveil any more truths. I was not ready.
Instead I asked something else, something that flashed into my mind in an instant and articulated itsel
f before I could hold it back.

‘Did my father ask you to fetch me back?’

As I asked, I dared him
with the intensity of my gaze.
He looked at me long but then
scrutinized our joined hands.
I felt tears gathering, one rolling down my cheek as he began to answer.

‘No.
No,
it was Cecilia’s idea. I agreed with it.
Simply, if you do not return then Moncrieff is lost.’

My face must have crump
led, I can’t recall, because he took me in his a
rms and held me while I cried. As the storm passed I stayed still,
feeling th
e warmth and comfort
.

And something else.

His lips grazed my temple.

I moved my
face and my cheek touched his. An infinitesimal move
that sent shocks coursing through my body.

I turned my head slightly so that his mouth brushed the corner of my own and
then I tipped my lips to his. We barely met. Air passed between us.
But then by mutual consent, more pressure was broug
ht to bear and we kissed long.
I kept my eyes closed,
pushing
Moncr
ieff
to the outer edges of recall by what I did and what I was feeling.

His mouth slid down my neck whilst his hands lifted my hair and I knew, as sure as I knew that my father and Moncrieff would be changed f
orever, that changes were being wrought in me at the same time.
But in the far off reaches of rationality,
I wondered just how deep those changes would run.

I hated our time in Rouen.

Khazia
tripped in a rabbit hole
a league before the tow
n, a ligament in her foreleg damaged and her leg swollen and hot. I was forced to lead her and
thus we arrived, b
oth of us, footsore and tired. Gisborne offered me his rouncey but I would
n
’t ride. The mare
had carried me unstintingly for eight years, it was the least
I could do to walk beside her whilst she suffered so. Gisborne
joined me leading
his
horse, a petty cavalcade, and we barely spoke although
each time his arm rubbed against mine butterflies danced in my belly.

But t
ry as I might to regain the feeling of light and life I had held fleetingly in my heart back down the road, the issue of Moncrieff and
my father subsumed everything.
For me it felt as if the sun had gone from the world and that a g
rey pall hung over me.
I felt it would not change until I could see Moncrieff for myself.

We took the horses to a livery and I spent time grooming Khazia
and making sure the straw
she stood on w
as thick and cushioned her legs
from further
problems.

‘No foot, no ‘oss,’ I whispered as
I gave her t
he last of the apple-core saved from a windfall Gisborne
had scrumped on the road.

‘She’s a beautiful mare, Ysabel.’
Guy stood behind me as I tightened the linen holding a poultice to her leg.

‘She is.’ I rubbed her between the ears. ‘Papa
arra
nged for her to be waiting for me at Cazenay.
She’s of Barbary bl
ood, fast and fleet and she’s only twelve.
She would be a goo
d broodmare. Maybe back at Moncrieff. She needs time to mend, Gisborne. I need to poultice her daily.’

‘Ysabel, we have no time, you know this.’

‘But…’

‘We need to rest now. And I shall make sure that Khazia is tended, but you need to realize that this is truly a disaster…’

‘I think you make too much of it. Disaster for Khazia surely, but us?’

Guy took me by
the arm and led me to an inn.
I thought it was a step forward that he didn’t just deposit me with more good Sisters for a day and a night of
prayers and the confessional.
But the fact we had rooms side by side at the hostelry meant little as I went over and over the si
tuation that Guy had revealed earlier. My home was under threat.
My father’s ines
timable wealth had diminished.
Guy implied it was because my father grieved for my lady mother but his words lack
ed conviction and I wondered at the real truth
.