Hearing those words was like a blow to her gut, a sickening roll of nausea washing over her. “You were there?” she hissed. “You saw it?”
The young man nodded, wiping at his face. “Lord Alary… he was calm at first,” he sniffled. “He wanted to know why you were following him. He asked the man but the man did not know.”
“You mean he asked the knight why I was following him?”
“Aye, my lady. But the man could not tell him.”
“So he… he cut off his finger?”
The messenger nodded unsteadily. “The man fought against Lord Alary but in the end, he was subdued. Alary cut the finger himself.”
Ghislaine wanted to vomit. Little by little, the situation was becoming clear and she was aghast beyond words. Gunnora’s well-meaning gesture had ended up in a man losing part of a finger. She could hardly believe what she was hearing, now terrified for Gunnora when Gaetan found out what she’d done.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. She hadn’t told Gaetan yet about Alary having been at Westerham two nights past. They’d moved out of Westerham in the darkness of pre-dawn and she’d not even seen Gaetan until they began traveling on the road and the sun was rising. But the most tragic part of all was that she’d briefly forgotten about telling him because she’s been so swept up in the fact that Gaetan and his knights were warming to her, making her feel as if they were not entirely opposed to her presence, that Alary’s visit to Westerham had completely slipped her mind.
She’d been a fool.
“God in heaven,” she breathed. “What has she done? What has she –?”
“Lady Ghislaine!”
It was Gaetan. He saw her speaking with the rider and was making his way over towards her with Téo and Luc in tow. When Ghislaine turned to him, startled, she could see the fury and desperation in his eyes. Selfishly, she wasn’t only worried for Gunnora now; she was worried for herself, fearful of what these knights would now think of her. She had no idea how this situation could possibly be salvageable.
“My lord,” she said, feeling incredibly nervous as she spoke. “This messenger is not from Alary. He is from Westerham.”
Pale and slightly wild-eyed, Gaetan looked between Ghislaine and the messenger. “Westerham?” he repeated. “I do not understand.”
Ghislaine took a deep breath, praying that Gaetan wouldn’t strike her down where she stood when he found out what had happened. She had no choice but to tell him everything.
“Last night at the feast, Lady Gunnora told me that Alary had visited Westerham the previous night,” she said, watching his eyebrows lift in surprise. “I… I was going to tell you, as I knew you would want to know, but you… you seemed to be enjoying yourself so much during the meal that I did not want to ruin your mood. Jathan said that it was very rare when you were able to relax and we thought it best to tell you this morning. You could not do anything about the information last night even if I had told you. I thought….”
Gaetan didn’t let her finish. He was on her in a flash, looming over her, those bronze eyes flashing with rage.
“You sought to withhold this information from me?” he snarled. “By what right do you make a decision like that?”
“It was my fault, my lord.”
Jathan, who had been praying over the severed finger, had heard Gaetan’s rage and came to Ghislaine’s rescue. He quickly came alongside Ghislaine as he saw his lord was close to breathing fire upon her. He knew Gaetan’s moods and what he was seeing wasn’t good; the man had been known to strike out for lesser things. But something like this, something involving one of his men, could set him off to new levels of anger.
Nay, this wasn’t a good thing in the least.
“She wanted to tell you but I told her to wait, my lord,” he said calmly, quickly. “It is not her fault. It is mine. Even now, she did not put the blame on me as she explained why she had not told you, but the truth was that it was my fault entirely. You must not blame her. You and your men were enjoying a rare evening of relaxation and I told her it would be acceptable to tell you on the morrow, as you could not do anything about it last night.”
Gaetan was still enraged, his focus completely on Ghislaine as a hunter would stalk prey. He wasn’t even blinking as he stared at her. Ghislaine stared back at him, trying desperately to remain strong, but the truth was that she was terrified. The was Warwolfe, the Duke of Normandy’s greatest knight, and he had not achieved such fame by being weak.
He achieved that fame by being deadly.
Truth was, Gaetan was struggling with shock and revulsion such as he’d never experienced. Kristoph’s partial finger was bad enough, but in hearing that Ghislaine had known something about her brother she’d not confided in him – even if she’d wanted to but was discouraged by Jathan – told him that she was still not to be trusted. He wasn’t sure he could forgive her for the oversight.
In truth, there was an odd measure of disappointment and hurt mixed up in his outrage. Disappointment in Ghislaine, in himself, and hurt because he was coming to like the woman, just in the slightest. Last night when she’d bested de Russe, he’d found himself drawn to her more than he’d even been drawn to any woman he’d ever known. He’d spent all night seeing her in his dreams and when he’d awoken, he’d even had her ride near him as the army moved northward simply because he wanted her nearby. He didn’t even want to speak with her, as conversation was not usual on a battle march. He had simply wanted her nearby for the comfort it had given him.
Now, that comfort had been damaged.
“My lord?” Jathan said when Gaetan didn’t reply to his explanation. “Did you hear me? It was not the lady’s fault. It was mine. Punish me if you will, but do not blame her.”
Gaetan was still staring at Ghislaine, unblinking, and she was doing the same. But as he watched, he could see tears filling her eyes. She suddenly blinked, quickly, to chase them away, but they returned, playing on his sympathies no matter how hard he tried to resist. He didn’t want to feel compassion for her. He didn’t want to feel anything for her.
But he was.
Damnation… he was.