Chapter Twenty-Six
It was an almost feminine face and, to a casual observer, it might even seem gentle. High cheekbones, lips as full as any woman’s. Most would have considered Banan to be attractive, with that square jaw, thick, straw-coloured hair and striking blue eyes, which, when he was smiling, were so compelling. Indeed, the women at court who had not suffered the misfortune of being the object of his affections gave him coy looks and tried to catch his attention. It had shocked Giselle, since they had arrived at Stirling, almost a week ago, how women could look on Banan and not recoil, as she did. But they had not really looked into those blue eyes, for, therein, lay the truth. They could have been an admirable feature but they were flat, like those of a fish.
Banan’s eyes saw, they stared, they coveted, but they did not feel.
Those eyes were watching her now, as she moved about the room. His gaze caused every nerve in her body to scream, run, run! But it would do no good to run, she had already learnt that, the hard way, these last weeks. Stay silent, appease him, submit – that was the only way to stay alive, if this could be called living.
From time to time, Giselle had tried to dull her senses with ale, to make everything less real, but her stupor angered him because Banan wanted her to feel each and every one of his petty cruelties. She had to feel them, or else they gave him no satisfaction.
This last month while she had been his prisoner, dragged here and there, to Urquhart, and then on to Stirling, Banan had flipped between snarling viciousness and pleading adoration. There was no way of knowing which it would be, and it had begun to dawn on Giselle that he didn’t know either. There was a black core of madness in Banan, oozing its poison into his heart and his mind, and slowly consuming him.
Giselle had been with him but a few weeks and yet it felt more like a year, for, with him, time became a slow drip of dread and fear. She could never rest, for she had to be alert to his danger. And the worst of it was that Banan knew he was twisted, his head full of writhing maggots, his heart full of worms. He knew it and was tortured by it. No one else saw his struggle with himself, but she was privy to all of it.
Today, Banan was in a good mood, which surely boded ill for someone. His face was alight with some mischief which he was longing to tell her.
‘You are to come with me for an audience with the King, Giselle,’ he said, smiling his cruel, wolf smile.
‘I…I should not be there…I cannot…please, Banan,’ she replied, forcing her lips into a conciliatory smile.
‘Of course, you must be there, for I want to show off my beautiful prize, before all at court. Let them drool over you, and see that I have what they cannot.’
He rushed across the room to her, and she winced when he touched her. ‘You will come, I command it. Are you not mine, to do with as I please, any time I please?’ His fingers bit into her arms.
Giselle swallowed hard. ‘If you want me to come, I will,’ she said, looking down at the floor.
He shook her like a dog shaking a rat. ‘Do you want to feel the back of my hand? Do you want me to beat you again?’
‘No, please, Banan, you are hurting me.’
‘Look happy, smile at me, like you want me. You should be honoured to come to court at my side, as my woman. I could have someone far wealthier than you, with a powerful family to further my ambitions. Instead, I choose you, and you are an ungrateful besom who defies me at every turn.’
‘I am sorry, Banan. I spoke out of turn. Of course, I will come with you.’
But he was in no mood to be appeased. ‘You know what I will do to him if you defy me,’ he said, grabbing a fistful of her hair, and forcing her down to her knees.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll do anything I say to protect that Buchanan wretch, won’t you? You will suffer any degradation for your love. Do you still long for him?’
Giselle scrabbled at his hand, but he just shook her head painfully, his grip tightening like a vice.
‘Have I not beaten that out of you yet? He grabbed her head and squeezed hard, fingers digging into her temples. ‘Should I crack open your pretty skull and spoon him out.’
Giselle closed her eyes. Stay still, don’t struggle, and his rage will pass sooner.
‘Look at me, woman. I will tear him out of your heart. I want him gone,’ he spat.
His eyes, cold, and cunning, even in his insanity, seemed to skewer hers. ‘I can always kill him, to make sure of it,’ he whispered.
There it was - the twist of the knife.
‘No.’ Always that word, no. It never made any difference to say it.
‘Do you hope he will rescue you, Giselle? Are you such a fool to think he would still want to? Now that I have claimed you, now you have my mark on you, Lyall Buchanan will think you are tainted. He will smell me on you and recoil, as he would from any low whore.’
Banan thrust her away from him and stalked about the room, working up to the inevitable. Giselle’s heart pounded, fit to burst her ribs, for there was something terrible about him today. Something had happened to throw his mind into turmoil. It was written on his face, now twisted with anguish.
‘You are a cold bitch, Giselle, like all women.’