Self-pity overwhelmed her. ‘No, but I’ve got sand everywhere,’ she sniffed.
‘Chafe’s a bit, does it, on your soft parts?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t fash yourself, we’ve not far to go.’
‘I never saw the sea before. I didn’t expect it to be so horrible and so vicious.’
‘How old are you, Giselle?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘Nineteen and you never sighted the ocean? How can that be?’
‘My home, Ravensworth, was inland, far from the sea, in Derbyshire. My father always said that it was the safest place to be, where we were far out of reach of invading armies attacking from the coast, and pirates and such.’
‘He was probably right.’
‘No, he wasn’t, for no one is ever safe, not those villagers back there, living in such a defenceless place, nor Sir Hugh behind his castle walls. And I’m not safe now, am I?’
The Scot was silent for a time, and then he turned a little in the saddle. ‘So you led a sheltered life Giselle, safe in your father’s castle at, what was it called?’
‘Ravensworth.’
‘Did you never travel further abroad from it?’
‘No, my father kept me close to home. My half-sister is older than me and, when she wed and went away, I think he was lonely, and so he held on to me. My mother died suddenly, you see, and the shock of it made him a little fearful.
‘How did she die, your mother?’
‘In childbirth, when I was young - a baby, too late in her life, still trying to give my father the son he so longed for.’
‘I am sorry for you.’ He sighed. ‘So you have little knowledge of the world beyond Ravensworth, and no mother to guide you. Your father has kept you ignorant.’
‘He tried to keep me safe. He loved me.’
‘Loved you? Then why did he send you to the far North to face a terrible marriage to a loathsome man?’
‘That is a harsh way to look at it. My marriage was a long-standing arrangement between Sir Hugh and my father, who has done his best for me, I am sure. But from what I have seen of the wider world these last days, well, I wish I was still ignorant and kept safe at home.’
‘That is no way to go through life, Giselle. You must toughen up and face life’s brutalities, or they will crush you.’
‘Is that what you have done, with all your killing and lawlessness?’
‘Aye, I’ve had my share of brutality, but know this, I would not unleash it on you.’
‘As long as I am meek and ignorant and do as I am told?’
‘Aye, lass. Your protective father will pay the ransom, and you will be back at Ravensworth and away from me, soon enough. We will be at Farne Abbey in no time. There, you can wash yourself, dry your clothes and find a bed for the night.’
‘I’ve never been this dirty in my life. What will they think of me? I must look like the worst slattern.’
Lyall turned, and the expression in his green eyes was strangely warm. Was it pity or admiration? Giselle’s eyes were drawn to his lips, full and beautiful for a man. As his eyes held hers, the heat of the day seemed to intensify.
He reached back and found her leg and patted it. The contact was unexpected and shocking, and a strange thrill surged up in her, warming her heart.
‘You look well enough to me,’ he said softly.
They emerged from the trees, and he turned away from her.
‘The Firth,’ he said. ‘A mile or so further along this estuary, and we are in Scotland.’
Giselle stared out at the windswept sweep of silty, brown water. Along its edge spread a teeming patchwork of green vegetation, dotted with still, black pools, and stretching for miles up the coast. Wading birds high-stepped in and out of the foliage, watchful and twitching, as seagulls and terns spun and cawed overhead.
‘However do we cross?’ asked Giselle.
‘We don’t cross, we follow it inland and around. But we need to steer clear of the edge. Salt marshes. Treacherous.’
Everything about the land seemed treacherous to Giselle, including her companion. When they were moving, she felt a degree of safety, but she feared for when they would stop. This man held her life and her virtue in his hands, and he was the only person she knew in the Highlands. The way he had just looked at her made her fearful.
Crossing the Firth was like crossing into another world, one that was bleak and wild. It was the point of no return. Once this Scot had her in his country, she was powerless. Giselle longed to turn the horse’s head for home and Ravensworth. But she was nothing but a prisoner, Lyall Buchanan’s property, for now, at least. When he tired of her, oh but she could not stand to think on that. Sooner or later, he would realise that no ransom was going to be paid, and that she was worthless. What then?