Chapter Six
Giselle tried pulling free of Lyall Buchanan’s hand, but his grip was firm, and besides, where was she to run, back to the hall where that awful Banan still lurked? Though she was in danger, she was better off with this Scot than the other. The lesser of two evils, he had said.
He dragged her into one of the upper chambers of the keep, well-appointed and somewhat grand, in an austere, manly, kind of way. He let go of her and slammed and bolted the door behind him. Giselle scurried away, with a fearful glance at the huge bed dominating the chamber. The glow of sunset pouring through the shutters turned everything blood red.
‘What you just did was a singular piece of stupidity,’ hissed the Scot. ‘You could have taken us both over the edge. You’d best not give me any further trouble, lass, for I am not in the best of moods.’
He looked at her intently for a moment, and she looked back in horror at what Banan’s ferocity had wreaked on him. His eyebrow and his jaw were swelling, his knuckles raw, oozing blood. When he spoke, it was in savage, slurred words.
‘I believe this is Lord Edric’s chamber, where you were to spend your wedding night, no doubt enjoying his attentions.’
He felt along his jawline and then took a step closer to her.
‘Don’t you touch me,’ she squealed.
The Scot sighed. ‘I have no intention of touching you, unless you want me to, that is?’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘We could pass a pleasant night together, and you could make me forget how much everything hurts.’ He flexed his bloody knuckles.
‘No,’ said Giselle, emphatically.
‘Shame. Perhaps I could have taken your mind off your heartbreak at losing your beloved.’
Giselle gathered her courage. ‘Do you enjoy mocking those who are at your mercy? Does it make you feel powerful?’
‘I don’t mock, lass. I can see full well that you are terrified, and I’ve no wish to torture you further. It’s just that you seemed happy to be rid of your betrothed, and I wondered why. Did you not love him?’
‘You saw him for yourself, what do you think?’
‘I think he was a fat, cowardly toad, not unlike most English men. I say you are well rid of him. Lucky for you, I am much better company.’ The Scot smiled wickedly and Giselle was struck by how it softened his face, in spite of the violence written all over it in his wounds. He did not look quite so intimidating when he smiled, for it lit up his eyes, which were green and compelling. She was on her guard, however, as this man was probably just working up to doing something unspeakable. He was a nasty Scot after all.
He took another step closer. ‘My name is Lyall Buchanan of the Clan Buchanan, and whenever you are ready, you can thank me.’
‘For what?’
‘Fighting for you, saving you from that brute, Banan.’
‘That fight was a disgusting spectacle. I wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for you Scots attacking this castle. You are all animals, and I hope you die horribly when an English army comes to take back this castle.’
‘We’ll be long gone by then, back over the border to Scotland.’
‘Of course, now you have wreaked havoc, you will run away like cowards because you don’t have enough men to hold this castle.’
He frowned. ‘What the hell would you know about holding a castle?’
‘Get him on your side,’ Agnes had said. She had to find a way.
‘My father, Guy de Villers, was named a hero of the crusades for defending Acre from the infidel. He talked of it often. He told me stories of sieges and war machines and such, how they would undermine the foundations, poison wells, how they would hurl bodies over the walls to spread disease. I know plenty about taking and holding a castle.’
‘Your father talked of war and butchery to a soft girl?’
‘He had no sons so, yes, he talked to me, and come anywhere near me, and you will find that I am not soft at all.’ she said, with false bravado.
‘In that case, I’ll keep my distance.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Your father can’t have been that much of a knight, Giselle.’ On his lips, her name sounded sinful as if he put a caress in it. ‘Acre fell to the Mamluk hoards, as I recall.’
‘But my father did not. He survived that awful siege, as I will survive you.’ She squared her shoulders to hide her fear.
‘I don’t doubt it, lass.’ He smiled at her. ‘And you are right. We do not have enough men to hold Wulversmeade, but that was never our intention. We’ll be heading north, tomorrow, most likely, back over the border into Scotland.’
Giselle swallowed hard. ‘And…and what becomes of me? Will you let me go when you leave?’