The look Lyall gave her made her heart thump in her breast, it was so intense and tortured. Giselle turned away for she did not want him to see the blush that heated her cheeks. She did not want him to see how he affected her. What kind of fool wanted that kind of look, and those words of admiration, from her captor? When Giselle glanced back, Lyall had gone on ahead, though he turned back around to give her a hard look.
A short time later, they ended up at the crossroads. Two roads snaked away from it, one north and one to the east, where, in the distance, Giselle could just make out a small gash of sunlit ocean, visible between the hills.
Lyall and his master, Black Douglas, began talking intently, and they glanced over at her as they did. Were they talking about her? To them, she was nothing, a woman and English, the lowest of the low, in their eyes.
She saw Black Douglas smile and turn back to Lyall, taking hold of his forearm and clapping a hand on his shoulder. The respect between them was apparent as the older man turned and rode onwards. The men started to follow him and melt away down the north road. Giselle heaved a sigh of relief. He was terrifying that man, a mindless killer in her estimation, and she would have more chance of getting away from Lyall with him and his men out of the way. Her mind was made up, she was going to try and escape south, back to her sister. She would be a burden and live a life of poverty, but at least she was not wed to Edric. Somehow, even in the midst of her danger and uncertainty, she still found that a small comfort.
But there was still Banan MacGregor to worry about. He lingered as the other men filed past him, and his horse stamped and fidgeted, eager to follow. He gave her a cold smile, brought his fingers to his lips, kissed them and pointed them at her. The gesture made her feel sick, but she could not turn away from his glare.
Lyall came over and took hold of her horse’s bridle. He sighed and glanced back at Banan.
‘We go on alone from here,’ he said.
Giselle could not take her eyes off Banan. ‘Is that safe?’
‘He’ll not bother us if that is what you are worried about.’
‘But what about others - brigands, pirates along the coast? Scotland is a lawless place, and we’ll have no protection.’
Lyall laughed. ‘How fearful you are, you English. We are but a day’s ride away from the Firth, the gateway to Scotland, my country, my home. No one will challenge me there. You are safe with me, well, as safe as any frightened, little mouse can be in the company of a murderous, wolf of a Scot. We can travel much faster alone. There is an abbey, some miles hence, and I have business there, so we’ll stop for the night.’
***
Many miles further on, they reached a village, or what was left of it, deserted, except for a few chickens running around, scratching the ground with indifference as they rode in. The sun had risen high and burnt away the rain clouds from earlier, and the humidity was making Giselle’s dress stick to her back. The air was heavy and still.
Evidence of recent violence was everywhere, from the blackened walls of the cottages to the burnt thatch fallen inwards. The charred smell was terrible, as was the buzz of flies, hovering in the air over the corpse of a pig, bloated with decay. It was the only sound rising above a deathly quiet.
She heard the scrape of Lyall’s sword being unsheathed it from its scabbard. His face was hard as he shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare with his hand and surveyed the scene before him.
Belongings were scattered everywhere, an upturned cook pot, clothes, simple furniture, smashed and abandoned. There were no bodies, that was a blessing at least, but not a soul remained. The villagers had either heard of the oncoming Scots and fled, or had been their victims, as they made their way south to Wulversmeade.
‘We should press on,’ said the Scot.
‘Should we not see if there are any survivors?
‘There is no one here.’
‘There may be dead lying around who need burial.’
‘No, there is no one here who is in need of our help, and the dead are beyond it. To tarry here alone would be folly.’
Anger rose in her breast.
‘Did you Scots do this? Is that why you don’t need to look?’
‘No, this was not us. As I said, we will press on.’
‘But you can’t just…’
‘Quiet, and do as you are told.’ There was a muscle going in Lyall’s cheek, and his gaze was flinty.
Giselle quaked a little at it, and then did as she was told.