Chapter Thirty-Two
Lyall rode through the gates of Stirling Castle buoyed up by a sense of hope. How strange it was to feel the opposite of what he had felt some weeks before. Today, he was riding in at the head of a victorious army, with a great prize won. It was not Berwick, and its strategic port and great wealth, not a step closer to recognition for Scotland as a country free of tyranny, and not glory in the field of battle. His great prize was vengeance, washing clean his heart and his soul from the rage and humiliation which had besmirched them. Already, Banan’s blood-soaked death was fading from his mind. He had put down a mad dog, that was all. It was as it should be, and now, she would be his again. Beautiful, kind Giselle would be his. He lived and breathed for that.
Lord James Douglas had proclaimed him a hero of the assault on Berwick and had assured him of the King’s good graces. He had also hinted that a reward was in the offing.
When they swept into the throne room, with their clothes still muddy from the road, the King rushed forwards in great haste to welcome them. He was keen to praise their victory and, of course, to crow over another English defeat. Lyall felt a prick of anxiety, for Giselle was nowhere to be seen, and he could not leave and go and find her with the King before him.
For hours, he was forced to stand, as the King basked in his success, greeting all his worthy nobles and clansmen of Scotland, as they knelt before him to hear what reward was coming to them, what lands and fortune they would get for their service. Waiting was torture.
‘Lyall Buchanan,’ the King boomed at last, and Lyall stepped forward and knelt at his feet.
‘I hear you fought like a man possessed at Berwick. To hear my Lord Douglas here tell it, you were almost berserk with your eagerness to kill Englishmen.’
‘It was an honour to fight for my clan, my country and for you, Your Grace,’ said Lyall steadily.
‘I am honoured to have such a man as you champion my cause. The Buchanans have a long and distinguished history of loyalty to Scotland. I applaud your part in this great victory. My Lord Douglas feels you should be rewarded, and I value his wise counsel. So, Buchanan, you shall have the stewardship of Corryvreckan Castle. It is on the edge of my influence, and the clans thereabouts are a rowdy, quarrelsome, thieving lot. They will need a firm hand but, since Berwick, well, your reputation will go before you. It is your task to unify them, settle their petty quarrels and bring them into the fold. When I call on you, I expect men and arms and, when I am not calling on you, I expect you to bring peace and safety to the folk there. Villages along that coast are prey to attacks by sea, as are our ships, which trade along that coastline.’
‘I can be relied upon, Your Grace.’
‘Excellent.’
The King waved him away, but Lyall remained on his knee.
‘Your Grace, forgive me, but there is something more I would ask of you.’ He held his breath. This was risky, but he could not delay.
The King laughed in pretend outrage. ‘What is this? The insolent dog is not satisfied with his land and wealth, he would squeeze me to my pips for an extra reward. A true Scot is he not?’
The whole court laughed along with the King.
‘Stand, Buchanan, and face me with your demands, if you must.’
Lyall rose and looked into Robert’s eyes - shrewd, calculating, flinty.
‘You have secured my wealth with this great honour. I humbly beseech you to also secure my future happiness. With great respect, Your Grace, I ask that the Lady Giselle, who is now widowed, be given unto my care. I would take her as my wife.’
The King frowned. ‘Take her as anything you like, Buchanan. As the daughter of a disgraced, English baron, she brings less than nothing to a marriage. I don’t see a line of worthy suitors beating a path to her door. But, see here, you could do better my friend. As a reward for your bravery, I can gift you any one of a score of women, worthy daughters of rich and powerful men.’
‘I am honoured, Your Grace, but I feel that I should take Banan’s widow, given that he laid down his life for Scotland. It would surely ease his soul in its rest to know that she is well cared for. It would honour his sacrifice.’
‘Aye, his sacrifice was great, indeed. A terrible end at the hands of those English butchers. They tell me his corpse was torn apart and barely recognisable, almost not worth the burial. Such is the blind rage our enemies bring against us.’
How effortlessly Lyall had lied to his King, neither of them fooling the other. Robert knew full well that he had killed Banan. There were few secrets between the King and his good friend, Lord Douglas.
An image slid into Lyall’s mind, of rivers of blood, reaching across the ground and dripping over the edge of a wharf, turning the water to a cloud of red.
The King pondered his request for the longest time, while people craned their necks to hear his answer. There were plenty of rumours at court about Banan’s death, but none voiced them aloud.
‘Banan’s sacrifice was great indeed,’ said the King, ‘and his death at the hands of those English barbarians most grievous. Take his widow then, though I hear she is a quiet, broken thing. Banan’s death must have placed a great burden of grief on her, for she seems to ail. Take her with you to Corryvreckan, and perhaps you can restore her good spirits. I applaud your great sacrifice on Banan’s behalf. It is indeed honourable of you, Buchanan.’
It was nothing of the sort, but Lyall had what he wanted. Giselle would be his wife before the week was out, he would make sure of that.
Once he had excused himself, he rushed off to Giselle. As he left the throne room, he caught the eye of Lord Douglas. His master nodded his head slowly, and Lyall nodded back. They understood each other perfectly.
***
Lyall ran to Giselle’s chamber, taking stairs two at a time in his haste. When he burst in, she was standing before a window and turned pale when she saw him. She looked a deal thinner than the last time he had seen her.
‘You heard I was back safe. My messenger brought word?’