Gisborne: Book of Pawns (16 page)

I sucked in my breath and a little sob follo
wed but I had no tears as I reflect
ed
on
how much my life had collap
sed in a few weeks.

‘God…’

He
eased me away from his chest.
He was infinitely gentle, lifting my face so that I had to look at him, hi
s hands either side of my jaw.
The pain I felt as my ruined life rattled around me like a thunderstorm was stup
endous, but he was there …
as he had been every step of the way, and once agai
n, I let him take the pain away. I
lifted my right hand to his and c
overed it as it lay on my jaw.

There are times in life when one just wants to forget about concerns and cares. To ignore the shouted whi
sper of caution in the ear…

I tilted my head, closing
my eyes.
I want to feel every sensation and the inte
nsity sharpened without sight.
I said nothing because I was afraid sound would shatter the moment, would make him
think twice about what he did.

I tried not to think at all.

His lips moved to my neck and I lifted my shoulder as
the delicate touch stirred me.
His stubble rubbed at my skin and it should have been uncomforta
ble but it was a sublime touch – rough and smooth. His hands
slid to my shoulders and then down to my arms and I felt the pressure of his fingers as he
pulled me harder against him.
I turned my
head and kissed his chin … only lightly
as I was afraid of being too forward.

I need not have worried. He met me halfway, his hands retracing
their journey,
leaving a trail of echoes in their wake, cupping
the rounded edges of my shoulders in his palms, his thumbs circling before easing away
to I knew not where. My eyes remained closed and I could feel the proximity
of his body to mine as for a moment there was no sound but for our breathing, the crack of the burning wood in the hearth and the softest creak of leather as Guy moved.

And then he spoke.

‘Ysabel,’ his voice stroked my backb
one, the words so soft. ‘Ysabel
.’

I dared to open my eyes and as I did, my fingers lifted and touched smooth muscle
and bare, warm skin
and I knew at once there was no going back.

The hours
passed and I confess to
not one feeling of profligacy.
I would carry the mem
ory of this night to my grave.
He would leave me, of that there was no doubt and it was as it must be, but I meanwhile had a treasury of emotion and sensation to draw on whenever life look
ed as if it would bankrupt me.

As the moon passed across the heavens outside, the trees made
intricate designs
on the walls of the chamber and still we were silent, our breathing the only
sign we were alive and aware. His fingers traced ancient
patterns down to the well at the base of my spine and
I tried to decipher them
as if they were
runes that spelled my future.
Vaguely I
remembered his Irish knife and his love of the Irish
ballad and it all fitted together around me so that I stretched with la
nguid ease as he slid over me.

They say the
lovers’ knot has an unbroken shape
in Ireland
, that it simply winds in and out, over and under in perpetuity, and that is forever how I remember the intertwining shape of this night of nights as Guy of Gisborne and I, Ysabel of Moncrieff, made love.

Later, as we curled into each ot
her’s bodies, I dared to speak.
‘I would ask only one thing, Sir Guy.’

‘I am not Sir Guy,’ his voice rumbled through his chest as I lay my head on it.

‘It is semantics,’ I replied.
‘Knightly
behaviour
can
occur with or without a title.
In any case, it’s
a discussion for another time.
But as I said,’ I rubbed m
y cheek against his damp skin. ‘I would ask only one thing.’
He said nothin
g and so I presumed he waited.
I swallowed and left my head lying still as I did n
ot want to look into his eyes.
I was afraid of what I might see and so I launched into
a simple plea.
‘Don’t regret this.’

Once again he did not speak, nothing in reply for so long that my
stomach sank to my naked toes.
But then his hand stroked the top of my head a
nd all he said was ‘Ysabel…’ in a faintly chiding way.

I couldn’t ask
for more. I had no right to.
I was a willing particip
ant.

Besides
, I thought I knew which way the game would go
.

Something warmed my back and as I stretched,
my shoulder was gently shaken.
Through sleepy lids I could see the sun stream
ing into the chamber.
Guy’s voice spoke just loud enough to push the last threads o
f sleep from my consciousness.

‘Ysabel, wake you.
It’s time
to dress and break your fast.
The boat leaves in an hour.’

I sat up quickly
, dragging the covers over me.
To
be sure
it hardly mattered because he had se
en every part of me overnight.
But something about daylight and the resumption of our journey made me more coy than
I had been in hours past.

‘Y
ou should have woken me earlier,’
I said.

‘You were tired a
nd needed to rest.
I would that you had your wits about you.’

‘Meaning I haven’t till now? I am sure you jest
.’

His mouth gave the smalles
t hint of a smile as he turned.

‘I shall leave you to dress
and meet you down the stair.’

Dressing in men’s clothes is a quick business apart from
the need to bind my breasts tightly.
My hair, more sweat-filled than ever, smoothed easily into a tight knot that I thr
ust under the hood.
I folded the coveted lady’s apparel into a neat bundle and placed it in
a
sac
k
t
hat slung from the shoulder, wrapping the cloak around me because the cold of concern had started to make itself felt and yet it seemed a fine spring morning beyond the walls. Heading
for the stair,
I clopped
down
as would any youth of my age
.
I had every intention of being anything but a woman.

Gisborne
waited outside, pas
sing me some bread and dried figs. ‘This’ll have to do.
We need to get aboard the boat
immediately.’

‘Why?’ I asked, noting t
he bread was fresh and
that
I was ragingly hungry after last night.

‘
De Courcey
’s men are in the town.’

Any lightness
of heart disappeared in a moment
and my predicament once again stood la
rger than life in front of me.

‘You say? How do you know?’

I stuffed the
bread and figs into the small leather purse that hung from my waist and
licked lips that had become dry
in an instant
.

‘Halsham.’

His reply was uncompromising and he looked away up the street, his eyes forever roaming shadowy corners as if danger lurked in every crevice. ‘He ate with De Courcey
last night.’

There was so much I wanted
to say about snakes
, traitors and more but I de
sisted and followed hard on hi
s heels as we sped down the darker alleys, winding in and out of shadow, twisting ourselves in amongst the ordi
nary folk of Calais.

The
towns
people moved toward the wharves like w
ater going down a drain
, as if all the business of Cal
ais was to be done by the sea. This was a town of trade, of diplomacy and secrets and patently it suited Gisborne
, this ready-made camouflag
e of the populace as we fled to the waterside.
I had no time to think, to rationalize and had to rely entirely on his assessment of the situation and as we sped around a corner, he grabbed me, pulling me into a doorway, shoving me b
ehind his darkly
clad body so that we were just a deeper shadow amongst many.

‘What…
’

‘Don’t speak!’

He reached behind with one hand, gr
asping my arm, squeezing hard and
I sneaked a look around him and saw a small squad of liveried men jog past in formation, following a man
mounted on a chestnut gelding.
They moved swiftly, too swiftly for me to see the face of the
man that led them, but I recalled Halsham’s livery. Black with a
b
lood red shield
.

Halsham
is
De Courcey’s man.

‘Guy,’ I whispered, the unsuitability of using his name forgotten. ‘Is...
’

‘
De Courcey
.’

My head flung round as I t
ried to glimpse more of this person
who must surely be my nemesis.
All I could see were broad shoulders and russet hair on
a man who sat his horse well.
All I could
feel
was the back of an enigmatic
man who had loved me
last night
and whom I had loved back.

The troupe passed from sight, turning a corner,
and Gisborne stepped from the shadows.

‘Quickly, we must get to the boat and away be
fore he realizes you are gone.
If I am right, he makes haste to our inn.
Leave your sack behind.
’

‘But it is the gown and girdle.’

‘Life matters more.’

The response was curt as he began to run and
I puffed beside him.

‘Does it occur to you tha
t Halsham has betrayed us, Guy?’

But h
e didn’t answer.

The wharf was less than two hundred
y
ards down a steep, cobbled way.

‘The
nef
–
the
Marolingian
,’ he pointed.

She was moored alongsi
de the wharf,
a
mast poking
into the midday sky like a marker and from its tip a white pennant fluttered as if to remind one that the breeze waited impatiently to propel
the vessel through the water.
Th
e crowd had burgeoned even more;
perhaps they enjoyed fa
rewelling a departing vessel.

In so many ways
the mass of people was much to our advantage.
In so many others it signified nuisance as it slo
wed our escape from the alley. Gisborne
set off again
, running with speed, dipping and dodging as I sprinted to keep up.

I tried valiantly to tread i
n his footsteps but the
swirling folk pushed and shoved as t
hey went about their business.
Soon he was out o
f sight and my heart hammered.
All I could do was set my feet doggedly
somewhere
in the direction
of the docks
.
Looking above the crowd, I could see the penna
nt and I swear it waved to me. A
s if the devil were behind, I
shouldered and bullied, calling, ‘Let me through. Aside you.
Out of the way.’

Sweaty and disheveled, folds of the cloak muddied at the hem
, I finally stoo
d quayside. Gisborne
was on board scanning the crowd and as he went to yell again, his eyes met mine
and I
swear
I saw relief.
His eyes closed for less than a second
,
then he was
shouting.
‘Come
on
!’