Read Online Gisborne: Book of Pawns by Prue Batten - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Prue Batten
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long sin ce melted to stubs and the brazier had burned to embers which cracked, s parked and occasionally flared - testament to the breeze that slid under t he door from the hallway .
I could barely think of Father. Anger smouldered inside me like the remaining coals of the fire – i t would take little to fan it and cause a conflagration.
‘My M other,’ I whispered to the dark, a clear vision of her in my mind; honey gold hair bound in pleats and with a filet of twisted silver and gold arou nd her head. She was as bea utiful as Eleanor of Aquitaine and m y father was lost to her the moment he met her, just as he was now lost without her.
‘What do you t hink of this fool man, Lady Mother? Without you he is a oarless ship, a lost sheep.’ My voice became louder and my fingers twisted on the covers. ‘I trusted him to keep me, to keep you . I trusted him to keep Moncrieff and now it seems I might be without home or name. He gave no thought to his own flesh and blood, his daughter. Help me, Mama. ’
I prayed and thought how ironic it was that the one time Gisborne didn’t place me in a religious house for the night was the one night I really needed spiritual support.
‘Dear Lord, k eep Moncrieff from the hand s of the greedy. Let me find my home as I remember it when I re turn.’ M y voice crept into the corners of the room and I crossed myself. I wished that I could see my mother sitting in the chair , that she would answer me. But the shadows were ambiguous and I was alone .
Khazia !
A phantom-like silver coat appeared in my mind, white mane blowing back like a bannerol in an Occitán wind. My equine friend and confidante of eight years. Many a time I had ridden out on my own and told her th ings I would tell no one else, lambasting the quality of proposed husbands, denying the concept of marriage.
E ven on this journey I had chatted to her a bout Guy of Gisborne. I trusted her far more than I trusted Marais and at least Khazia would not gossip. She knew my soul had begun to stir in response to Guy’s tinkering, that I fancied myself as a little more than his employer’s daughter.
Paramour ? The voice that whispered such things lay deep within me and I shuddered. But then why should I not al low him into my deepest heart? I had lost almost everything and had nought but a feckless , untrustworthy father to whom I must return and maybe a home that was no longer mine.
The tears slipp ed from the corners of my eyes. Gisborne a nd I had much in common. He had nothing and no one. Neither did I, for what was my father worth? Guy and I should be kindred spirits, un ited in our travails .
It appears you may have no dowry, Ysabel.
For a man who thinks that status is powe r, what good would you be ?
‘Be silent!’ I hissed this last to the soul-deep voice. I did not want to know because since my feelings for Gis borne had begun to stir I had cherished this obscure idea, one I only shared with Khazia, that maybe I could give him status.
As t he daughter of the moneyed Baron Joffrey of Moncrieff , I could give him wealth a nd a title. My mother and godmother thought well enough of him to encourage his employment. He was considered ed ucated and steady. Why else would he be trusted at my father’s shoulder? Despite his apparent emotional state my father would surely see Gisborne as the capable son he never had. Perhaps marriage could be within my grasp after all.
Thus I had daydrea med to my horse and her ears twitched and I remembered now that she snorted loudly.
Derision. That’s what she thought .
W hat man with ambition would want to tie him self to a damsel with nothing? If my father had lost Moncrieff, I would be penniless. Landless. I would no longer be Lady Ysabel of Moncrie ff but just plain Ysabel.
‘Oh God help me,’ I moaned as a likely future stared across the room at me.
I could not bear the thought of Khazia being sold. The horse was the last part of a past life to vanish and it
I could barely think of Father. Anger smouldered inside me like the remaining coals of the fire – i t would take little to fan it and cause a conflagration.
‘My M other,’ I whispered to the dark, a clear vision of her in my mind; honey gold hair bound in pleats and with a filet of twisted silver and gold arou nd her head. She was as bea utiful as Eleanor of Aquitaine and m y father was lost to her the moment he met her, just as he was now lost without her.
‘What do you t hink of this fool man, Lady Mother? Without you he is a oarless ship, a lost sheep.’ My voice became louder and my fingers twisted on the covers. ‘I trusted him to keep me, to keep you . I trusted him to keep Moncrieff and now it seems I might be without home or name. He gave no thought to his own flesh and blood, his daughter. Help me, Mama. ’
I prayed and thought how ironic it was that the one time Gisborne didn’t place me in a religious house for the night was the one night I really needed spiritual support.
‘Dear Lord, k eep Moncrieff from the hand s of the greedy. Let me find my home as I remember it when I re turn.’ M y voice crept into the corners of the room and I crossed myself. I wished that I could see my mother sitting in the chair , that she would answer me. But the shadows were ambiguous and I was alone .
Khazia !
A phantom-like silver coat appeared in my mind, white mane blowing back like a bannerol in an Occitán wind. My equine friend and confidante of eight years. Many a time I had ridden out on my own and told her th ings I would tell no one else, lambasting the quality of proposed husbands, denying the concept of marriage.
E ven on this journey I had chatted to her a bout Guy of Gisborne. I trusted her far more than I trusted Marais and at least Khazia would not gossip. She knew my soul had begun to stir in response to Guy’s tinkering, that I fancied myself as a little more than his employer’s daughter.
Paramour ? The voice that whispered such things lay deep within me and I shuddered. But then why should I not al low him into my deepest heart? I had lost almost everything and had nought but a feckless , untrustworthy father to whom I must return and maybe a home that was no longer mine.
The tears slipp ed from the corners of my eyes. Gisborne a nd I had much in common. He had nothing and no one. Neither did I, for what was my father worth? Guy and I should be kindred spirits, un ited in our travails .
It appears you may have no dowry, Ysabel.
For a man who thinks that status is powe r, what good would you be ?
‘Be silent!’ I hissed this last to the soul-deep voice. I did not want to know because since my feelings for Gis borne had begun to stir I had cherished this obscure idea, one I only shared with Khazia, that maybe I could give him status.
As t he daughter of the moneyed Baron Joffrey of Moncrieff , I could give him wealth a nd a title. My mother and godmother thought well enough of him to encourage his employment. He was considered ed ucated and steady. Why else would he be trusted at my father’s shoulder? Despite his apparent emotional state my father would surely see Gisborne as the capable son he never had. Perhaps marriage could be within my grasp after all.
Thus I had daydrea med to my horse and her ears twitched and I remembered now that she snorted loudly.
Derision. That’s what she thought .
W hat man with ambition would want to tie him self to a damsel with nothing? If my father had lost Moncrieff, I would be penniless. Landless. I would no longer be Lady Ysabel of Moncrie ff but just plain Ysabel.
‘Oh God help me,’ I moaned as a likely future stared across the room at me.
I could not bear the thought of Khazia being sold. The horse was the last part of a past life to vanish and it
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