Chapter Thirty-Three
A tepid sun lit the windows with a soft glow. An autumn storm was blowing in over the ocean, buffeting the abbey in loud gusts, and rattling the doors on their hinges.
Lyall glanced down at her and smiled. Giselle could feel the tension running through him as the Abbot bid them join hands. His shook a little, though he tried to hide it by clutching her fingers tightly.
This was wrong.
Why did he have to be such a good man? Why did he have to have such a stout, brave heart? In the weeks since their heart-wrenching goodbye, as he went off to war, Giselle had thought she would break in two with the pain of it. Down in those awful cellars at Stirling, she had seared his face into her mind so that she would never forget it. Now that he had survived, and returned to her, looking into his face was like looking into the sun. She could scarce believe he could still want her. That look in his green eyes, so warm, so hopeful. Was it out of love for her, or was she flattering herself? It was more likely he felt a duty to her, for how could anyone want her now, pathetic, broken thing that she had become?
Lyall’s cuts and bruises had scarcely had time to heal since Berwick. There was a wicked slash across his cheek, not deep, it would leave only a faint scar. His eye was still puffy and bruised, and he had a cut on his upper lip, yet still, he was handsome. Everything about him spoke of violence, but this beaten and bloodied man could be her salvation if only she would let him.
Today was supposed to be the first step in making him happy, as his wife, where she was beyond the reach of any other man, he’d said. It could have been perfect, but for the unease stirring in her belly.
When the Abbot declared them man and wife, Giselle almost winced. Lyall thought that the only obstacle to them being together was her fear of a man’s touch. In time, he believed that could be put right. But Lyall did not know that standing at an altar brought back terrible memories of her wedding to Banan, a day filled with terror, hate and hopelessness. Giselle was, by no means, free from her tormentor. Banan was part of her now, as were the memories of him. She had tried so hard to tear them out of her head, but there was no way to do that. The fight was over. She couldn’t lie to herself any more.
Tonight, when the sun set, it was their wedding night, and yet she hesitated to even let her husband touch her, or lean in for a kiss to seal their union. She wanted to turn to him and explain, tell him everything, but it was futile. He could not cut down memories, he could not slay demons. The damage was done, and between them lay an open wound that would not heal, not through kindness, nor anger, nor patience.
This was wrong.
‘You have my heartfelt good wishes, Lyall, a most worthy bride indeed,’ beamed Abbot Aifric, smiling benignly at Giselle, and clapping a hand on Lyall’s shoulder. ‘Now, I am sure you two wish to be alone, so I will take myself off to the kitchen to ensure Brother Tamhas has not been slurping down two mouthfuls of broth for every one he serves his brothers.’
As the Abbot’s footsteps faded away, Lyall smiled down at her.
‘Are you happy, wife? Only death can part us now.’ His words were a blade, sliding, cold and sure, into her heart.
This was wrong.
‘Yes, I am. But I am tired from our journey, and I think I will find my bed and lie down in it for a while.’ Giselle gave him a wan smile.
‘Shall I join you?’ he said.
‘I am tired, it is best I rest alone awhile if that is alright.’
‘Aye, of course, it is. I will go and find the Abbot, and see if he needs any help.’ His words were full of forced cheerfulness.
Giselle felt sick that she had rejected him. It was not her intention to wound him, but that did not change the fact that she had. She could feel Lyall watching her as she rushed away
It was easy to slip out of the abbey and take the cliff path, which wound downwards, along a thin strip of land, like an arm reaching out to the sea. The crash of waves below competed with the trickle of a waterfall, which poured over the side of the cliff to join the sea.
The wind had picked up, and it blew the falling water sideways and upwards, sending a cold mist into the air, chilling her to the bones. Giselle peered over at the drop below. Nausea and hopelessness overwhelmed her, and she started to cry.
‘What are you doing?’
Giselle took a step backwards and staggered a little.
‘Careful, you are close to the edge. Come here.’ Lyall held out his hand, and it hit her again. This was wrong.
‘Lyall,’ her voice was a sob, she could not help it. ‘I should not have wed you, it is not right, after what happened.’
‘We are wed, and it is right. Come away from the edge Giselle, it is growing cold, and we must get you inside. You have nothing to fear from me, now or ever, you must know that. I would not press you to lie with me, I would never do that.’
‘It is not that Lyall. Banan…he…’
‘Speak no more of him, please. I cannot bear the thought of it. We must forget him, put him behind us.’
‘I cannot, for he lives in me still.’
‘In time, those memories will fade.’