Meriel Fuller - Her Battle-Scarred Knight

‘Tell me! Tell me how Hugh is, please!’ Brianna rested one hand on the stone mantel to steady herself. She wanted to lay her head against the carved stone and weep tears of sheer gratitude, but she would be damned if she showed any further weakness before this dark stranger. Why, oh, why did it have to be him to bring the news? The man who had witnessed her humiliation by Count John’s men, who had moved too close in his efforts to help her; even now, she could feel the burning imprint of his fingers from this morning. Her heart skittered.

Giseux sprawled back in the chair, stretching out his legs, his toes almost touching Brianna’s hem. The dancing flames from the torchlight turned the brilliant colour of her hair to burnished gold. A wry smile crooked his lips as she twitched her skirts away from his encroaching feet, her nose crinkling a little in distaste at his nearness.

‘Hugh is at my parents’ castle, near Winchester,’ Giseux explained. ‘His sickness began as we waited for the ships to bring us back to England. He is very ill, sometimes delirious with fever, but always, always, asking for you.’

Brianna placed her palms flat over her face, physically trying to stop the tears from running down, emotion clawing in her belly. If only she’d known this morning, she would be with Hugh by now. ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’ she blurted out, her voice holding the sting of accusation, ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were this morning, why you were here?’ She flung herself into the chair opposite him, perching on the edge, scuffed leather boots poking out from beneath her sagging hemline.

‘If I remember rightly, it was you who denied all knowledge of Brianna of Sefanoc,’ he replied scornfully. ‘If you hadn’t, we would be with him now.’

‘Then let’s go!’ She sprang out of the seat, headed towards the solar. ‘All I need is my cloak.’

Giseux’s deep voice halted her nimble stride. ‘Lady, if you think I’m travelling anywhere tonight, then think again. I need food and I need some sleep before I climb into that saddle once more.’

‘But Hugh …?’

‘… is in safe hands,’ he finished the sentence for her. He was reluctant to point out that if Hugh were dead now, then one night would make no difference. ‘We’ll ride on the morrow, in daylight. It’ll be safer and we’ll be able to see our way, which will make the journey quicker.’

Brianna frowned, spinning back on the ball of one foot to face him, bridling beneath his authoritative manner, his swift decision-making. ‘That may be so, my lord, but I wish to see my brother now.’ Who did he think he was, to give her orders so? She was used to making up her own mind, forging her own decisions; after her marriage to Walter, she had promised herself that, at least. ‘I thank you, my lord, for bringing the message about my brother; you are welcome to some food and to spend the night here.’ Her tone was formal, dismissive. ‘I will fetch you something to eat right now.’

‘Hold.’ As she passed his chair, he snagged her hand in one large chainmail glove. The creased leather on the underside pressed into her palm.

‘Let me go.’ Brianna made an effort to deliver the words calmly, waiting for the familiar crawl of fear in her chest, bracing her body against the inevitable sickening panic she experienced when any man came too close. Her pulse skipped, her heart rate accelerating, but not in any way she remembered. She frowned; something was not right.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked. His voice had a lilting, liquid quality.

‘I told you, to fetch some food.’ She tugged at her hand; his strong fingers tightened. Annoyed, she pressed her lips together, staring steadfastly away from his penetrating gaze.

‘You feed me lies, my lady, I can see it in your face,’ his silky tones accused her. ‘You’re planning to go to him, aren’t you? Whether I agree to accompany you or

not.’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘It is my business to deliver you safely. Do you think Hugh would ever forgive me if some harm came to you on the journey? He asked me to escort you and escort you I will.’ He dropped her hand.

‘Then go with me now.’ She cradled her released fingers, missing the warmth of his touch. What was the matter with her?

‘It’s not possible,’ Giseux replied firmly, steel threading his voice. Since when had women become so outspoken? He could travel if he wanted to; he could ride for days on an empty stomach with little sleep, but something in her manner made him want to resist, to squash her a little.

‘All right, we’ll leave tomorrow,’ she replied huffily, flouncing off to the kitchen. Leaning back in the chair, Giseux smiled. He suspected that he would have a battle on his hands, a battle that he would inevitably win. Oddly, he relished the thought.

‘Oh, my lady, what in Heaven’s name are we going to feed him?’ Alys knotted her fingers together endlessly, running helpless eyes along the wide empty shelves lining the kitchen.

‘Nothing, if I had my way.’ Brianna braced her hands flat against the well-scrubbed planks of the kitchen table, trying to assemble her angry, scattered thoughts. Her eyes snapped over to Alys, fiery blue. ‘The man’s a complete oaf! Did you hear what he said to me? Hugh’s alive and he refuses to take me to him! He wants to wait … wait until tomorrow morning. Can you believe it?’

Alys hurried over to her, plucked at Brianna’s sleeve. ‘Keep your voice down, he’ll hear you!’ The thin skin of her face stretched over high cheekbones, mottled pink. She darted a nervous glance towards the open kitchen door.

‘What do I care?’ Brianna pushed her body upright, whipping around to face the door, wanting Giseux to burst through, wanting to challenge him. ‘He knows what I think.’

‘My lady, calm down,’ Alys pleaded, patting feebly at Brianna’s arm. ‘Come, let’s fetch him some food—what about the stew?’

Alys’s question forced her mind to concentrate. She considered the stew that she and her maidservant had been eking out for the last week: tough chicken legs occasionally enlivened with a few chewy winter greens. ‘Nay, too good for him,’ she pronounced, instead extracting a dry heel of bread from an earthenware pot, plonking it on a pewter plate. ‘There, that should

do.’

‘He’s a lord, Brianna,’ Alys whispered, ‘a nobleman. We can’t feed him on stale bread.’

‘I suppose he could have some cheese,’ Brianna conceded, grudgingly. She unwrapped a long piece of damp muslin from a round of soft cheese, fresh and crumbly.

‘And some mead.’ Alys dipped a pewter tankard into an iron-girded cask of the amber liquid, setting it down on the tray next to the plate.

‘Shall I take it?’ the maidservant offered reluctantly.

Brianna smiled. ‘Nay, let me. And he’d better appreciate it.’

Alys raised her eyes to Heaven.

Shouldering her way awkwardly back through the door to the great hall, carrying the tray, Brianna decided her main aim was to encourage Giseux, after he had eaten, to retire for the night. Alys had already prepared the guest chamber, accessed by a spiral flight of stairs from the entrance hall. Once he was asleep, it would leave the way clear for her to saddle up her horse and ride to Winchester.

Giseux’s legs gleamed in their metallic skin, his bulging calf muscles clearly visible beneath the chainmail as Brianna advanced towards the chair. He’d removed his chainmail gloves and they lay on the floor. She crashed the tray down ungratefully on the rickety, three-legged table at his elbow. ‘Here you are, my lord.’ Her bravado quailed as his eyes, midnight-fringed, devoured her with a single sweep.