Gisborne: Book of Pawns by Prue Batten Read Free Book Online Page A

guests in the dorter had risen and left by the time I woke and dragged on my filthy clothes to make haste to the refectory. The portress of the p riory handed me a message and as I ate a slice of fresh bread, I read Gisborne’s words. He wrote with a good hand and I add ed it to his other attributes. T here were stories that even some kings could not read a nd write but my father’s steward appeared to do both.
    He asked that we delay our meeting till midday and that he would co llect me from the priory to purchase fresh clothes and supplies. But w hilst heavy of leg and low in energy, I had no int ention of watching the Sisters follow their daily devotion to God. Such placid, quiet rhythms might have been sustaining but instead I asked for directions to the marketp lace .
    ‘Should you venture alone?’ The portress asked. ‘You are a Lady, it is not seemly.’
    ‘I have no choice, Sister.’
    ‘Two of our Sisters are going to the market to sell our honey. You could go with them.’
    ‘I thank you then. If they would not mind my company perhaps it might be best.’ I hastened to the gate to meet my companions.
     
    Th e town still smelled of food, of smoke, of many bodies moving about daily life. Of cats, dogs and horses. Here and t here was evidence of Henry’s flame and fire , but with the resilience of all great places, the market continued and the townsfolk found evident joy in it, shouting and laughing … a meeting place to ease the angst of days past.
    The Sisters accompanied m e as I went from stall to stall. I doubted I would find any clothes ready made for my purpose as bolt upon bolt of fabric lined the more expensive end of the market but then the Sisters plucked at my sleeve and showed me a fine stall on which lay folded garments.
    I pulled out a woolen bliaut . Like the chemise I found, none would be as good as those that were tailored to my size but the fabric was of decent quality and a serviceable cloak wrapped around the bundle; a ll that was functi onal and suited to my journey. The Sisters and I finished our business and they escorted me to the head of the st reet in which stood Guy’s inn. I thought to w ait for him, surprise him even, and bid the Sisters adieu with thanks. I would return to the p riory anon , I said .
     
    The st reet was crammed with stone bui ldings and paved with cobbles that wove and bent away around corners – b ut not deftly enough to hide two men leaning in toward each other. One was tall, the other unremarkable.
    One was Guy of Gisborne.
    I pulled back against the wall because there was something about the way t hey spoke that implied secrets. Gisborne shook his head and the other man gra bbed his arm and spoke with unguarded intensity. The midday light caught on a heavy silvered chain hanging around the man’s neck, a badge of sorts.
    I could see that he had finally snagged Gisborne ’s attention as he continued to press whatever was his case. Gisborne showed no reaction, merely listened intently, but whe n the other man stopped talking Guy looked up and saw me.
    He frowned and spoke to his companion and then waved his arm and I had no option but to walk forward.
    ‘Lady Ysabel.’ He bowed. ‘On your own a gain?’
    ‘Good day.’ Some instinct ma de me want to show the other man there was nothing but a servant-mistres s relationship between myself and Guy of Gisborne. ‘The Sisters saw me to the top of the street. They hel ped me make market purchases.’
    My eyes swung meaningfully to the shorter man who eyed me with interest.
    ‘Lady Ysab el,’ Gisborne said. ‘May I present Sir Robert Halsham .’
    ‘My lady.’ The silver chain flashed as the man bent over my fingers and the hairs on my neck prickled. He reeked of something untoward.
    ‘I have he ard of your father, of course,’ he said.
    He held onto my hand moments longer than was decent and I withdr ew it to grasp the clothes bundle tighter to my chest and looked beyond him.
    ‘We have business,