Chapter Nineteen
Cormac had been relentless on the long ride home, to the point where Lyall longed to punch him just to make him shut his mouth. Now they were in sight of Beharra, he had decided to bring the whole mortifying affair up again.
‘Shall I tell the women when we get back to Beharra about Isla Gordon? How they will howl with laughter at the thought of you fighting for your virtue.’
‘That’s not how it was, and you know it.’
‘Well, you were certainly not fighting for hers, by the sound of it. Not like you to turn down a tumble though. Perhaps your interest lies elsewhere, Lyall?’
‘It was a trap, as I said, Cormac, now let it lie.’
‘Maybe Isla was driven mad with lust at your pretty face, brother. I always said it is possible to be too handsome for your own good. I had to forsake a warm bed and ale for the sake of your blushes.’
‘You were lucky I dragged you out of there before one of his other daughters tried her luck with you.’
‘She’d have none, for I am happy and wed. Have you stopped to consider the notion, Lyall?’
‘I have but one mistress, and she is Scotland. I will be back fighting soon enough, my life is one long round of blood and death. I’ll not find happiness in any woman’s arms, not for long anyway. Why leave some poor lass a widow with bairns clinging to her skirts, and me dead on some battlefield somewhere.’
‘Such darkness, Lyall. Take some advice from one who has been alongside you on those battlefields. You must first live before you die, and you, brother, seem to have but half a life. I know there is something you want, and you should take it, while it is in your grasp.’
‘And what is it I want, Cormac?’
His brother just smiled. ‘Last night, there was a reason you spurned Isla, and we both know that reason bides at Beharra and has hair like fire.’
Lyall spurred his horse forward in a fury and into a gallop. His brother’s words angered him because there was truth in them. He flew on down the hill and thundered through Beharra’s gates, barely stopping long enough to throw the reins to Ramsay as he rushed to greet him.
‘Where is Giselle?’ he said
‘In the wash house, working.’
Lyall shot him a hard glance and stormed over to the low building nearby. He barged in, all fury and rush, and stopped dead in his tracks.
Giselle was wringing out laundry over a barrel, singing to herself in a gentle voice. Her cheeks were red, and she reached up to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. So far away was she, that Lyall could stand, unseen, and just take in the sight of her.
Lyall felt his heart settle from its rush. He felt quiet push out the noise filling his head. He had missed Giselle. He could not deny it. This quiet English girl with her gentle eyes and sweet face had invaded his thoughts in the same way that her countrymen had invaded Scotland, and she was just as difficult to dislodge.
This soft violence that stirred his soul, this thing which felt like love, could not be. He would not allow it, for it would turn him into a hopeless slave. But if he took Giselle, as he longed to do, he could cut out the weakness before it took hold. Once he had assuaged his lust for her, it would all be over, and he would be free of this spell. A few words of love whispered, a few strokes of his hands, a deep look into her eyes and she would fall into his bed like a ripe apple from a tree. It was such a simple thing for him to do.
‘Giselle,’ he said.
She turned in surprise, and her face lit up in an unguarded way. That smile, oh that smile was light, entering the dark places of his heart.
‘I am back from my travels.’
‘So I see,’ she said, the smile fading as he came closer.
‘How do you fare? Did you miss me?’ Lyall’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. He sounded like a pathetic, needy fool.
‘I am hale, I thank you,’ she replied. ‘When did you return?’
‘Just now. We rode hard to get home before sunset. The skies were kind to us, and the weather held thank goodness. We have slept in the open many nights, and I am sore from being in the saddle day after day. So it gladdens me to be back home.’
Gods, any minute now, he would literally bore her to death. Giselle stood there, not saying anything, and so Lyall shifted awkwardly under her gaze.
‘Why are you in here? Have they been putting you to work? I shall have words with Ravenna about this.’ He rushed up and took her hand in his, feeling callouses on her palm. ‘They had no right to do this. I didn’t leave orders for you to become her servant.’
‘No, Lyall, it is my choice. I wanted to work. I cannot be idle all day, and I feel better if I earn my keep.’