Gisborne: Book of Pawns (15 page)

Chapter
Six

There are times in life when one just wants to fo
rget about concerns and cares – i
gnore the shouted
whisper of caution in the ear.
To believe that nothing could ever be wrong and that every dream or fantasy one has ever
had is about to be fulfilled.
This was such a time.

Gisborne
drew me along a passage to a large
room at the front of the inn. It glowed with light from cressets
and a fire popped an
d cracked in a modest hearth.
A few people sat at benches and trestles and the hubb
ub eased briefly as we entered - rising again as we sat. The innkeeper placed mugs and a flagon of ale
in front of us and I wat
ched Gisborne’s hand lift and pour.
Even such a simple movement had its effect and part of me sighed with such sadness that we were destined for something other tha
n what might have been.
I was unable to speak and the silence between us grew longer and l
onger. He
fiddled with the
mug
, looking around, never meeting my eyes.

He had kissed my hand so why this apparent indifference?

Ah but think, Ysabel. The kiss was like a butterfly wingb
eat.
Does th
at not mean so light as to be devoid of emotion?

I closed my eyes, realizing that I had made so
mething of nothing and to my own detriment. A
s
erving wench placed a rough platter
in front of me
,
filled with a meal from which the
most delicate fragrance arose.
On its edge sat chunks of steaming bread and
the juices of the stew had begu
n to soak
in, casting a fawn stain upon
the do
ugh.
The sauce was thick and glossy and I could see parsley, onion, and succulent pieces of rabbit
and my depression lifted as I took my first mouthful.
It was a gift from God. My eyes closed as I chewed, tasting the flavour on my
tongue, identifying garlic and thyme. When I opened them again after swallowing, I found Gisborne’s gaze upon me
.

‘Good?’

‘Mary Mother,
I had forgotten what
well-cooked food tastes like.’ I sipped the ale, lifting the bread
and tearing off a piece with my teeth.
‘I’m actually starving
.’

‘I did tell you we needed feeding,’ he said as he tore at the bread himself, d
ragging it through the fine sauce.

Be polite. Expect nothing
.

‘I confess you are right
.’ I said. ‘A
nd I think I shall sleep the better because of it.’

‘You should have
a good sleep tonight.
I cannot guarantee our comfort on the boat and th
e weather does not look good. I
t may be rough.’

‘I’m not worried. I a
m used to
sailing that stretch of water.
I did it every year as a child.’

H
e sipped the ale and topped up my mug.
‘And that was how many years ago?’

‘Eight.’

‘And you have not been aboard a boat since?’

‘No, but you are either seaworthy
or not and fortuitously I am.
It
will not be an issue for me.’
I loved the sea and I couldn’t wait to
prove it. ‘But Master Gisborne
, I would that we talked fo
r a moment on other things…
’

He had a habit
of turning his head slightly
to the side when he was perpl
exed or assessing a situation.
Hi
s brows would crease a little.
It was that same glance
that now met mine and I wondered if he disliked the title I gave him. But it was impossible for me to call him Guy. ‘Guy’ was a title reserved for a close friend. Whether he fascinated me and had fingers on my heart was immaterial; I could not call him my
close
friend because he had let Halsham go and it stood between us like giant hurdle. Nevertheless, there was a certain propriety to be observed, an etiquette.

‘I owe you thanks.
M
y clothes are quite beautiful.
Where did you get them.’

‘I
t is the charge laid upon me, Ysabel, t
o
keep you safe and comfortable.
Clothes are
a
part of that.’

‘But these are very expensive.’ I drew the fabric through my fingers, enjoying the softness of the wool, the fine weave. ‘
How have you paid?’

‘I have funds.’

His voice began to close down, a note to it that advised me to stop no
w, this instant.
I could see if I pursued it I was going to drive a
further
wedge between u
s and that was not my purpose. I was tired.
Tired of struggling with the depths of emotions that had stretched thin almost to breaking by circumstance these last weeks.
In many ways I knew it was Gisborne who
had kept me on an even keel on this
dreadful journey of realisations. If I looked beyond his arrogance, his misplaced ambition,
temper and moodiness, he had been
there when I needed support.
Which is why I did not pursue the issue of expense and tried another tack instead.

‘Well tell me then,
where
did you buy the clothes?
For this is quality, the
sort we would see in Aquitaine.’ I fingered the girdle.
‘This is Saracen
-made
and the gold thread
work is very fine.’

‘You are astute. It
is
a Saracen piece.
The goods all came from the me
rchants with whom we traveled.
They have warehouses here in Calais from whe
re they ship goods to England.
Your girdle came from Acre as a matter of fact and
the woolen fabric in the gown
was wo
ven and dyed in Bruges, the wool no doubt originally from England, the garment itself made here in Calais.
As to the chemise and
other things, I have no idea.
It was a ma
tter of moment to do business.
You needed a change of clothes, I could provide them.’

‘
Then it as I said, thank you.’

I spoke simply and
pressed his hand unconsciously. He froze, looking at it, then at the empty jug. Removing my fingers, he picked the jug
up and ask
ed the wench for more ale. It wasn’t a rebuttal b
ut it had a sense of removal
and I blushed with the stupid spontaneity of my action. I suspect
he sensed my discomfort
because he immediately asked a question that
diffuse
d
the moment.

‘How
are you after the journey aboard Monty?
Two days on a campaign horse…’

‘I k
now what you are going to say.
That it is hard enough
for a man let alone a woman. Well, truth?
God but I am so
re.
I swear I though
t I would fall down the stair.
But Monty was reliable beyond words and I can only think that whomever acquires him will be a lucky man.’

‘You did well.
None of the mercha
nts suspected you were a woman.
Indeed I would that you reverted to your disguise when we ar
e on the boat and in England.’

He fiddled with his knife, the one he had ta
ken from his belt when eating.
It had a bone handl
e that was intricately carved. Irish, I thought.

I must ask…

But hi
s words jumped
out at me.

Disguise?
Again?

I remembered
he had said that once before, a
s if it were important.

‘Why? For what reason?’

My
stomach began the slide that was becoming habitual. Gisborne
shook his head slightly and I assumed he was not goi
ng to be explicit so I pushed.

‘Please.
If this is something tha
t can affect me, you must say. Tell me.
Am I in danger?’

He sighed and shifted, his v
oice so low it rumbled.

‘Danger?
Not like the forest
where we lost Wilf and Harry.
A different sort of danger.’

‘What then?’

I was going to Engla
nd for God’s sake, to my home. What danger could there be?
I had no inheritance to speak of and was worth nothing to anyon
e.

‘
Halsham
told me that
De Courcey waits for you, Ysabel.
From my point of view it’s best I get you to England
and to your father unrecognized.
Aft
er that, it is not my concern.
But I will not let you fall into
De Courcey
’s hands.
Not until you have seen your father.
’

‘
Halsham
said? And you trust
him
?’ I scoffed.

The rapist? God help me
.

‘In this instance, y
es.
He had nothing to gain from telling me of
De Courcey. And even if it were
doubtful intelligence, I
would be a fool to ignore it.
Your safety is at stake.’

I shivered.
‘You scare me.’

He reached across and touched my arm, a small squeeze that he withdrew
as swiftly as it was offered.

‘I don’t mean to. Have you eaten enough?
I think we should retire
and rest while we can
.’

‘Yes,’ I stood, anxiety beginning to bite. ‘But you need to tell me more.
I need to know every single thing.’

He
placed his hand under my elbow.

‘
There is
not a great deal more to tell
.’

But I knew he told an untruth, almost as if he wished no one to hear us. I looked around the room.
Men sat drinking, apparentl
y uninterested in us and yet he
seemed concern
ed that we would be overheard.
He was an unnaturally cautious man, a characteristic no doubt birthed when he had be
en turned from his inheritance.

I gave him my hand and he led me from the chamber
, up the stair and to my room.
All the while my hear
t pattered as we walked
close, our bodies side by side,
his hand beneath mine.
He pushed open the door and we passed through, he moving to a chair by the window, m
e taking a seat by the hearth. I pulled the folds of the gown
from underneath my
feet and fiddled with the hem.

‘What else have you to say? Why did
you imply danger?’

He sat
in the shadows by the window.
I couldn’t see his expression, whereas I dare say he c
ould see every mood
flash across my
own face.

‘
De Courcey is a violent man, Ysabel. For some reason he wants you.
’

‘How violent?’

‘The kind that as a young boy would
probably have killed puppies. Ysabel, trust me.
In
this instance I do know best.’

He was just a dark voice in a corner of shadows.

‘Be specific, Gisborne.
How violent?’

‘God damn you, Ysabel.’

‘No,’
I
almost shouted as I stood up.
‘God damn you if you don’t tell me.’

He came toward me, a subtly
clad figure whose face I would remember all the
days of my life. ‘Ysabel…
’

‘Tell me.’ T
his time I yelled.

He was so close and I let his arms slide around me as he pulled me toward his chest, buf
fering me from his next words.
‘He would rape
you, Ysabel, if he wanted you. It is what he does.
He would kill your father if he wanted
to
and then attend a banquet immediately af
ter.’
I struggled
against him but he held tight. ‘It - is - what - he -
does.’