Chapter Five
‘You fight with fists only, no weapons.’
‘To the death?’ asked the awful Banan.
‘No idiot, until one man yields. You are here to kill the English, not each other, and here is the prize. Whoever wins, gets this woman to do with as he wants.’
A rough hand pushed her forwards, and many pairs of eyes regarded her with amusement. Giselle wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.
She watched helplessly as the two men squared up to each other. How brutish these Scots were, hairy and vicious and fighting over her like two dogs over a bitch. No one cared how she felt, no one had asked her if she wanted to be some man’s prize. Whichever Scot won, she was doomed regardless. Whatever happened to her this night, it was going to be awful. What a fool she had been to dread Edric’s caresses, for now, she would be in for so much worse.
She winced as Agnes’ fingers dug deep into her arm and she hissed in her ear. ‘Listen, Lady, for we do not have much time, and we may be parted.’
‘No, I won’t let them, Agnes.’
‘Hush now. I am too old for them to have any interest in me, and I am no threat. I will go south, find your sister. She will take me in, so there’s no need to fret for me.’
‘We can’t be separated. I won’t let these brutes part us.’
‘Whatever happens, Lady, never give up. You must stay alive and fight back. My father, he used to go to sea, and he always said to me, if your ship goes down you find any piece of flotsam and hang on to it. Keep paddling, no matter what. Lady, that is what you must do, stay alive by finding a strong man to shelter you. A woman cannot be alone and unprotected, so whichever of these brutes wins you, suffer his attentions, be meek and obedient, while you try to escape.’
‘I cannot. It is too awful to contemplate.’
Agnes gripped her hands painfully tight. ‘You don’t have a choice. Whichever man it is that wins you, if he drags you into his bed, stay in it – that is the only surety you have. Else they will pass you around, like a whore. Scots are barbarous, violent, barely civilised. They slaughter each other like dogs over the smallest slight and have feuds lasting for generations. It is a vicious life they lead, of blood and mayhem. And make no mistake, if you go with one of these men, if he takes you away into Scotland, it is rape or worse for you, if you don’t get him on your side.’
‘I would rather die than allow myself to be defiled like that. I will not bow down before these animals.’
‘No, you must not think like that. You have value, and not just because they want a ransom. Lady, you are far prettier than anything they are used to, and you have your wits in your favour. You will find a way to get out, I know it. You said you would make the best of marriage to Edric, and now you must make the best of this.’
‘But I have no ransom coming, Edric lied so that he could leave me behind, so that I would appear of value to them. How will I ever get free?’
‘You need time to find a way. I will try to get to your sister. She may be able to help.’
‘We both know Sabine will not care if I live or die. More likely, she will be happy to be rid of me.’
A shout went up from the Scots, making them both jump. The crowd of rough men had formed a loose circle around the two opponents. When Giselle looked up, Banan was staring at her with such intensity it made her shake. His face was tight with tension. Giselle felt as if his hand was on her again, squeezing her throat, his breath in her face. She prayed to God he would not win for, if he did, he’d crush her and hurt her and make her bleed. He could not be worked upon to be kind. If he won her, she feared she would not survive it.
The dark-haired man, Lyall, had tied his shoulder-length hair back off his face and had removed his mail and tunic. Giselle stared at him in horror but could not look away. His body was strapping and lean. He bounced on his feet and shook out his shoulders in anticipation of the fight beginning, making his muscles clench and twitch. There was a kind of animal grace about this Scot. He glanced over at her and nodded curtly, and it was as if some unspoken message had passed between them. Giselle lowered her eyes as her face grew hot. Was he trying to reassure her, or was he just arrogantly predicting a victory and what he would do to her later?
‘Fight, until your opponent yields,’ roared Black Douglas. ‘Don’t waste your time on chivalry, I’ll have none of that. Once a man is beaten enough that he cannot get up and fight on, then that is the end of it. Agreed?’
‘Aye,’ shouted both men, and then they didn’t even bother sizing each other up, they merely came together like wolves, punching and grappling and gouging. It was so fast, and so utterly vicious that Giselle could not tell who was winning.
Each dull thud of fists connecting with flesh brought jeers from the Scots. They were enjoying the violence of it, their faces rapt and eager for more. A fierce right hook from Lyall cracked into Banan’s nose, sending him staggering backwards clutching his face. Surely that would put him down, and this would end. But no, he spat red onto the floor, and it seemed only to enrage him. He launched himself at Lyall, the momentum carrying them both into a wall, which seemed to wind Lyall enough to give Banan the advantage. He pummelled his fist time and time again into the other man’s belly with bruising ferocity, and when Lyall doubled over, Banan jumped back and brought his fist smashing down onto the side of his head.
A fine spray of blood flew out and hit Giselle’s face. She scrubbed it away with her sleeve, wanted to retch as she watched her rescuer, and her best chance of salvation, stagger sideways up against the wall of encircling Scots. He could barely stand, he was swaying on his feet, his body slick with blood and sweat. The Scots pushed him back into the fight.
He was about to drop. Banan was going to finish him.
Suddenly, he put his head down and ran at Banan and grabbed hold of him tightly. They twisted and turned and, for a moment, it seemed it could go either way. Then Lyall got hold of Banan around the back of the neck, bent him over and kneeing him in the stomach, again and again. Giselle thought she heard the crack of a rib going, and then Banan screamed and fell to the ground. It did not stop the other man, who carried on kicking him in a frenzy of hate.
‘I yield,’ she heard Banan slur, wetly. He sounded as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. ‘Stop, I yield.’
But the Scot did not seem to hear or care. Was he intent on killing this Banan?
Just as Giselle could bear it no more, a young man rushed forward and took hold of Lyall, dragging him backwards.
‘Stop, before you kill him,’ he shouted. ‘It’s not worth it.’