***
Kicking his horse’s ribs, Lyall urged it to gallop faster. He had to get as far away from Giselle as possible until his anger subsided, and not just anger, crushing disappointment. That she could lie, that behind that angelic face the lass could scheme and plot. How big a fool was he to think Giselle naive, innocent, perfect in every way? She was not. She had led him a merry dance, hadn’t she?
Lyall found himself at the top of the hill and looked down onto Beharra. These last weeks, he had felt at home again with his family, happy even. That was a strange feeling after so long away from home, fighting, killing, losing his soul, piece by piece. Being around Giselle was calming, comforting, and it was right in some way. He had thought himself her captor, at first, and had struggled with the shame of forcing her north with him. Then she had become something to protect, to prove there was still some decency in him. Lately, she had invaded his dreams and his heart and stirred an overwhelming fondness in him.
Last night, those feelings had spilt over into something far more serious and he had almost declared them, when he had thought Giselle might have some genuine feeling for him. Now that lay in the dust.
Lyall pulled his horse to a stop and hung his head and squeezed his eyes tight shut. ‘I should not have called her a whore,’ he said aloud to the horse, who bent to crop the dry grass with indifference to his plight. ‘Damn my anger. I am the world’s biggest fool.’
He flung his head back and stared up at the sky. How blue, how perfect it was, but his day was all darkness and confusion. To think, two nights ago he could have had Isla Gordon under him. He could have ridden her hard and come away, having had some small piece of joy in a grim reality.
But he couldn’t do it, could he? Because all the time he was looking at that buxom, blonde girl, all he could think of was Giselle. She was all he ever thought of these days. It was because she trusted him, or so he thought. He had imagined her looking past his brutality, and the darkness creeping into his soul and seeing the man he wanted to be.
Giselle should have told him the truth, as they grew closer. But how could she? There was no reason for her to trust in him, a big, rough Scot who took her freedom and seemed to want only coin and a quick tumble in the hay. All he’d done is treat her like a possession, when she needed kindness and reassurance.
The way he felt about Giselle now, why, the Abbot could have come with a promise of all the coin in the world, and he would not have traded her for it. It hit Lyall like a hammer to the head. He was drowning in love, like a callow youth with his first fancy for a lass.
Lyall laughed bitterly and shook his head. He had no choice but to forgive her the lie, did he? In a way, he admired her for it. Giselle was kind and trusting, but she had found a way to survive her misfortune. She was far stronger than she looked. But would she forgive him? And if he looked past the lie, what was beyond it? Did she care for him, or was her affection all an act, in the name of survival?
***
The Abbot Aifric found Giselle in a puddle of her own tears.
‘Ah, Giselle is it, and greatly distressed too, I am sorry to see?’
He approached her, but Giselle just wished this strange, twisted man would go away so that she could be alone with her misery. Instead, he insisted on forcing his conversation on her.
‘I was just about to ride out with Cormac and Lyall, for I do love to hunt. But Lyall, we cannot find. Do you know where he is?’
‘He’s gone.’ She sniffed and wiped her cheeks.
‘Did you quarrel?’
‘Of course, we did, after what you told him.’
‘Ah, well, I could hardly tell him otherwise, could I? Your father is gone, child, so the ruse is up, isn’t it? I suppose you did it for the right reasons, and I don’t blame you, my dear, no, not at all. If I were in your situation, I would have done the same, finding myself alone and deep in the glens of Scotland, with no way forward and no way back.’
‘I thought men of God never lied, and it was just us Jezebels.’
The Abbot smiled and had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘Forgive me, I have little acquaintance with women. It may gladden your heart to know that your servant Agnes is back at Ravensworth, working in the service of its new overlord. She is safe at least, and took my messenger to one side to tell him as much.’
‘I am thankful for it. That is such a relief, as I have feared for her safety.’
‘Agnes insisted this message be passed to you. ‘Stay strong, remember who you are and cling on tight to that flotsam. There is nothing here for you now.’ Those very words were spoken by her, according to my messenger, not that they mean much to me.’
Giselle sobbed. It was as if Agnes was beside her, supporting her.
‘Lyall will not stay angry,’ said the Abbot kindly, ‘though there is a part of that man that cannot be restrained when his anger consumes him. He is quick-tempered and impetuous, like all the Buchanans.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I have been coming to Beharra since he and Cormac were grubby, little lads brawling in the yard, and Lyall has always had a kindness about him, even back then. He has a big heart, though it has been bruised these past years by war, and he has never been one to nurse a grudge for long. His anger, though fearsome, is because he feels you betrayed his trust.’
‘I know, and he hates me now.’
‘And that vexes you. Why? Do you care for him?’
Giselle looked away as tears welled up in her eyes. She was not about to admit to that in front of this man.