Мериел Фуллер – Her Battle-Scarred Knight (страница 5)
‘But I would reach it … eventually,’ Brianna threw back, tilting her chin up with determination, ‘without your help.’ A rising anxiety fluttered in her chest at his proximity, clawing at her innards. He was like a solid, immovable wall, glittering, formidable. His hand fell from her arm and she clung to the post for support. She bit her lip, humiliated, furious at her own pathetic weakness, beset with a flooding sense of her own vulnerability.
Giseux sighed, folding his arms high across his chest. ‘I don’t understand you. For all you know, those men could be waiting for you in the next field over. Are you really that stupid?’
Lips set in a mutinous line, Brianna glared dully at the horizon, defeat clogging her heart. The man gave her no choice; she suspected he would dog her steps until he saw her to a place of safety. Then, and only then, would she be rid of him.
‘I live over there.’ She gestured vaguely towards the low roofs of the farm on the horizon, not trusting him with the truth. ‘It’s not far.’
‘Then let’s go.’ Giseux gathered up his shield from the spot where she had fallen, slinging the glossy black armour across his body, securing his helmet and cloak to the rump of his horse, before catching up the reins.
A shout from the field beyond forced Brianna to lift her head. Spotting the round, familiar figure of the farmer trotting alongside the hedge, hefting a heavy iron mace between his thick hands, she almost collapsed with relief. The sides of William’s leather jerkin flapped out from his hips as he jogged along, his normally jovial face red with exertion, his eyes wide with concern.
‘William!’ she called over to him. ‘Over here!’ Whirling around, she noted that the knight tracked the farmer’s advance with interest. ‘No need to escort me now.’ She expelled her pent-up breath in a long gasp, her relief evident in the sag of her body, the brightness of her features. ‘William can take me home.’
Granite eyes narrowed. ‘You know this man?’
She nodded. ‘He’s my father.’ The lie tripped easily from her tongue; she felt the need for some protection, however fictitious.
‘He needs to keep a closer eye on you.’ Swinging up into the saddle, a surprisingly lithe, efficient movement for such a big man, the stranger pulled up the reins, his stance relaxed, easy as the horse sidled beneath him.
‘Tell me, do you know where I can find Brianna of Sefanoc?’
Breath punched from her lungs at the astonishing question, toes curling in her boots as she glared blankly at the broad expanse of blue sky, patched by fluffy white clouds coasting along in the breeze. She edged her gaze around, unsure whether she had heard him correctly. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Do you know where I can find Brianna of Sefanoc?’ he repeated, slowly, witheringly, as if she were a halfwit.
Brianna’s mouth set in an open jeer. ‘You had better ask your friend, Count John. I’ve never heard of her.’ Moving towards William, she sucked in her breath at the painful stiffness developing in her body, keeping her frame rigid, stalking off in the opposite direction to Sefanoc, back to the farm. She didn’t look back.
‘Oh, mother of God, child, what in Heaven’s name happened to you?’ Alys emerged from the kitchen area that led off the entrance hall, wiping her hands on a linen cloth, as Brianna burst through the main door, shutting it firmly behind her, leaning her back against the solid oak panels, as if in confirmation of her actions.
‘They were waiting for me, Alys, Count John’s men! On the way back from the farm.’ The explanation emerged in a rush; reaching up, rising on the balls of her feet, she shot the top bolt into its hasp, then repeated the action with the middle and bottom bolts.
‘There.’ She turned triumphantly to Alys. ‘That should keep them out.’ And
The linen towel dropped to the stone floor, drifting noiselessly to the flagstones. ‘Your face, Brianna.’ Alys raised her palms to her own cheeks. ‘Your face.’ She moved forwards in the gloom of the entrance hall, backlit by the torchlight flaming from the kitchen, her arms outstretched in horror.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’ Her jaw throbbed persistently with a bruised heat as Brianna hung her cape on a wooden peg near the door. A slick of fear coated her veins. What would have happened today, if that man, that stranger in black and silver, hadn’t come along? Did those men have orders from Count John to finish her off, to remove her, believing Hugh would never return? With no other living relative, with no one to ask questions as to her whereabouts, Count John would be able to grab the rich pastures of Sefanoc for his own.
‘Sit down, let me put something on it. Come, I’ve lit the fire in the hall.’ Alys pushed aside the small door set in the wooden panelling that screened the great hall from the front entrance.
‘Nay, there’s no time. I must fetch my bow and check the windows are secure in the solar.’
‘Are they coming after you?’ Alys questioned, a note of rising panic in her voice.
‘They might …’ Brianna paused, as a pair of silver eyes shone in her memory ‘… and possibly with reinforcements.’ Had she misjudged the man who had tried to help her? With her mind befuddled from the attack, she had been so convinced he was an ally of Count John, sent to try a different tack to convince her to marry. And yet … he had asked for her by name. Her face warmed at the memory of his protective bulk at her side; she placed flat palms to her cheeks, seeking to cool the twin flags of heat.
‘Oh, God save us.’ Alys clutched at her chest. ‘I wish the Lord Hugh had returned, or … or that we had a man about the house to defend us.’
‘We can defend ourselves, Alys!’ Brianna’s eyes flashed determination. ‘I will not let these men bully us … bully me.’ She yanked open the door into the great hall, heading for the solar at the opposite end of the house, and her bedchamber. She sighed; how tempting it would be to curl up beneath the bed furs at this very moment and sleep, sleep a deep dreamless sleep. But she strode on, her lips set in a tight line; she had to make certain the manor house was secure.
Alys touched her arm, halting her stride. ‘Brianna … my lady … you can’t keep going on like this … It’s too hard for you to do alone.’
‘I prefer to be alone, Alys, you know that.’
Brianna dropped her eyes, a silky curl of burnished hair looping over her cheek. Why did Alys constantly allude to her solitary life, her single status? Surely she, of all people, knew that Brianna could never be with a man, never trust a man, ever again? She drew in a deep breath, willing the faint tightness of panic in her chest to leave, to dissolve. This attack had frightened her, reminding her of that past she craved to forget. Clasping her hands together, she turned around, pulling her features into an expression, she hoped, of supreme confidence. ‘Alys, if there’s one good thing that came out of that ill-fated marriage, it was the ability to defend myself!’ She picked her skirts up to continue striding in the direction of the solar.
Alys nodded dubiously, her face stricken. Brianna never talked about her short marriage to Walter of Brinslow; all she knew was that the kind, happy girl who had left Sefanoc to wed had returned just six months later as a broken woman. Five winters on and Brianna had sprung back to her old self, although the scars of whatever that man had done to her still lingered, in the shadows behind her eyes, in certain mannerisms. It was why she had insisted that Hugh, before he left on the crusade, had taught her how to defend herself. Her gaze touched on Brianna, now hefting her unwieldy crossbow from the solar, her brows drawn together in concentration, trying to remember how to use the weapon. Both women deluded themselves, both knew that Hugh’s tuition was not enough. It could never be enough against Count John’s men.
The fine silver arc of a new moon hung low in the sky as Giseux approached Sefanoc. At least he hoped it was Sefanoc. The directions from the local people in the nearby town of Merleberge had been hazy, reluctant to divulge too much information to a stranger. It was only when he told them the purpose of his visit that they opened up, nodding and smiling at Lady Brianna’s name. It seemed that Hugh of Sefanoc’s sister was something of a heroine in these parts.
Over to his right, amidst the rustlings and twitterings of a forest, a vixen shrieked. Trees threw jerky angles up against the reddish streaks of the western sky, daylight fading rapidly. Under the trees, the light grew so dim that he dismounted, leading his horse along the barely visible track. As the cold mud seeped through the chainmail covering his feet, he regretted the haste with which he’d travelled to Merleberge. He hadn’t given himself time to change into civilian clothes; his full armour was designed for riding, not for walking any great distance. The smell of smoke mingled with the chill evening air, the fresh scent of burning apple wood wafting over him; he could see lights in the windows up ahead, an encouraging sign, flooding down to reveal the stone steps leading up to the wide front door on the first floor.