Chapter Twenty-Three
The river slid idly by, as Giselle wandered along its bank. Beharra was well out of sight, in the trees behind her. The sun was fierce on her cheeks and seemed to have brought out a host of butterflies, whose haphazard flight followed her along her journey. They flitted in and out of the long grass, which flanked the water, stretching back to glowing fields of wheat, ripening in summer’s last rays.
A plop from the far bank announced the presence of an otter. Giselle watched it for some time, slipping in and out of its muddy burrow. It must have kits to feed. How frantic it was, never stopping or resting, just rushing. Giselle realised that, for weeks, she had not stopped to think or make sense of her feelings. She was a jumble of fearful thoughts, a thumping heart and a whirling mind.
She glanced away from the river, and there he was, standing in the long grass, watching her, making her heart leap with fear and longing.
Now was not the time to be still, or safe, so Giselle walked towards Lyall on shaking legs. When she reached him, his face was hard.
‘You may sit with me if you want to,’ he said.
They both sat on the grass in silence, their shoulders touching, watching the river, with their secrets hanging in the air between them, like the butterflies. Lyall chewed on a stalk of grass, fidgeting with it now and again, picking off the seeds one by one.
‘I owe you the truth,’ she said.
Lyall was silent.
‘My father got very sick a year ago, a wasting disease. With no sons surviving to adulthood, he could not cope, and the men around him, who had sworn loyalty to him, they let him down. When the King demanded he send his vassals to fight, to pay his dues, he could not do so. The King turned on him, as he does with everyone, and, while my father lay dying, news came that he was to forfeit his land and title. Edward granted Ravensworth to his favourite - Hugh le Despenser.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Lyall quietly. ‘A covetous man, who has been raised far higher than he deserves, and by evil means.’
‘When my father found out he was coming to take our lands, he sent word to an old friend and ally, Sir Hugh de Mawpas, beseeching him to make good on a promise.’
‘A promise?’
‘My father saved Hugh’s life, at Acre, years ago, and Hugh pledged that our families would forever be joined through marriage, that their two bloodlines would merge. They had a great bond, they were like brothers.’
‘Did your father know what kind of man Edric was?’
‘I don’t think so. He had not seen Hugh for several years, and Edric, not since he was a boy. King Edward kept quiet about what he was doing to my father. His favouritism towards Le Despenser has long angered his nobles, and there was talk of rebellion. He did not want to stoke that fire by openly giving my father’s estates to the man. I think the King hoped my father would die quickly, and that any objections would die with him. So, when my father succumbed to his illness we buried him in secret and pretended he was too ill to see anyone. Some weeks later, Sir Hugh sent back word that I could wed his son, and I travelled north to do so before anyone found out that my father had passed.’
‘So your father never told Hugh de Mawpas what had occurred, what the King had done? Is that why he honoured the agreement?’
‘Yes,’ she said, hanging her head. ‘It killed my father’s pride to even ask for a favour, let alone confess how far he had fallen. He feared that if he told Hugh everything, that his lands were to be forfeit, then the pledge would not be honoured. As it was, Hugh would have guessed my father was in dire straits, to call in a favour like that. But he did not know the whole sorry tale, and my father made me swear to tell no one and to go through with the marriage to Edric. It was his dying wish.’
‘So you kept up the pretence that your father was alive?’
‘Yes, I headed north to Wulversmeade, grieving for my father, who died in shame and disgrace, and hoping no one would find out about his death before I was wed and safe from destitution.’
‘If we had not attacked Wulversmeade you would have been.’
‘Yes, I would have been Edric’s wife, and it would all have been done on a lie. He would have been angry, and I would have paid dearly for the deception once it was uncovered. What a miserable union it would have been. I do not regret your taking me, Lyall, but I do regret not telling you the truth sooner. I tried to.’
Lyall looked at her intently and Giselle felt the need to unburden herself of her pain.
‘In the wave of a King’s hand and on the whim of his lover, everything my father had built was taken away from him. For weeks afterwards, I had to hide my grief and paste a smile on my face, as if nothing had happened. It has been so hard.’
‘Giselle, I am sorry for your loss,’ he said.
She had to be brave now, and so she turned to Lyall and placed her hand on his arm. He looked down at it in silence.
‘Can you forgive my lie?’
‘Already forgiven,’ he said, placing his hand over hers.
She smiled in relief.
‘God, Giselle.’