Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Lyall made ready to set off. He had not gone near Giselle all night at the Abbot’s orders, and she was obviously offended by it, as she refused to speak to him or meet his eye.
Lyall tried to ignore Abbot Aifric as he mounted his horse. The man was buzzing in his ear like a bee, lecturing him on his spiritual wellbeing and the benefits of abstinence. He was about to beckon Giselle to get up behind him when Brother Tamhas tottered over to her and handed her something, wrapped in sackcloth. As he pressed it into Giselle’s hands, Lyall noticed his bony claws lingered a little too long on her skin.
Was the toothless, old fool trying to flirt?
The monk reached into his pocket and drew out a crude, wooden cross on a leather string. ‘To deliver you from evil, child, and keep safe your innocence,’ he croaked as he placed it around her neck, with a bitter glance at Lyall. He managed to stroke his fingers down Giselle’s hair, and spent a little too long, positioning the cross between her breasts where they pushed against her tunic.
So much for Brother Tamhas being harmless, the slimy old bugger.
Giselle smiled back at the monk and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, making Tamhas beam and redden.
Something in Lyall snapped. ‘Giselle, come, make haste, we have a way to go before nightfall,’ he snarled. She came over to him, and he hauled her up in front of him, putting a possessive hand around her waist.
They rode out along the path at the cliff’s edge, waved off by a relieved Abbot Aifric and a crestfallen Brother Tamhas.
‘Will you not wish me good morning, Giselle?’ he said, leaning forward to put his cheek to hers. ‘Tis a fine day for a ride.’
‘It would be a fine day only if we were riding south and to my home, not into some dark wilderness, and I will speak to you no more, Scot.’ She moved her head aside.
‘My name is Lyall, will you not call me that.’
‘I could call you jailor if that would suit you, or master, as that would better stroke your pride and arrogance.’
‘Aye, master will do nicely, shall I call you slave?’
She turned and glowered at him, her mouth thrust into a perfect pout.
‘Forgive me for leaving you last night, Giselle. It was on the Abbot’s orders. He was concerned that I would find your charms irresistible.’
‘And did you explain to him that the only lure I hold for you is coin to fill your pockets?’
‘Well, no, because that would be a lie now wouldn’t it, a terrible thing in God’s house?’ He winked at her, and she reddened and looked away. He should not play with her feelings by teasing her, but he couldn’t help it, she was so easy to discomfort.
Giselle seethed at her captor. She had spent a cold, frightening night in a bare cell of a room, where the solitary candle and pitifully small fire did little to comfort her, instead, casting eerie shadows across the damp-riddled walls. The scratchy habit given her by the monks was like a hair shirt against her skin. She had tried to wash the salt of the sea off, with the bowl of water and a rag given to her, but still, it clung all over, and the sand in her hair set her scalp to itching. Giselle had never been so dirty and disgusting in her life. So much for seducing the Scot into letting her go.
Come morning, the decrepit, old monk had presented her with her dress, cleanish, but slightly damp, with a hint of the sea still clinging to it. It was a small kindness for which she thanked him, repeatedly. Giselle was so angry with Lyall at having abandoned her the night before that it was many miles before she spoke again. He did not address her either, seeming to withdraw from his earlier ease and good humour. She didn’t like this cold, angry Scot pressing into her back. He made her a little fearful.
‘The Abbot, how do you know him?’ she said when the tense silence between them grew too great. ‘You two seemed very cosy together, and his welcome was warm.’
‘Farne Abbey sits right on the border with England and, because of that, it has suffered English tyranny for years, raiding and stealing, carrying off of livestock and such like. But the Abbot is a wily man, and he plays both sides. He cosies up to the English when they hold sway, and then switches allegiance when they do not. The Abbot has had to call on King Robert and his troops for protection during this time of war. In return, he acts as Robert’s eyes and ears at the border and pleads his case with the Pope.’
‘He seems to have enriched himself in the process. The abbey was well appointed.’
‘You don’t miss much do you? I can see I shall have to be careful with you. Aye, the abbey prospers under his stewardship, and the Abbot dines lavishly to be sure. He is the son of nobility and given to enjoying his worldly pursuits, well most of them, as he has taken a vow of celibacy. I think he chafes against that one.’
Giselle frowned. ‘Is that why he did not like me?’
‘It’s not that he does not like you, it is merely that he sees you as a double threat. Being English and comely, you are dangerous, in all sorts of ways. He probably thinks you are a spy.’
‘But now you have told me about him, are you not afraid I will go back to England, and betray him?’
‘Perhaps you won’t go back.’
Her face paled.
‘Hah, I didn’t mean anything sinister, Giselle. You will come to no harm with me. I see I have gone too far in taunting you. What I meant is that you may come to like Scotland.’