Father Henry held out his arm and Fayth placed her hand there, using a small bit of his strength to steady herself as she walked to Giles.
‘My lord,’ Father began, ‘would you like to use the chapel for your discussion? The presence of God can be most helpful in such situations.’ Before Lord Giles could answer, Father Henry walked off and pulled two chairs to the centre of the chapel. Setting them up to face each other, he nodded and smiled.
‘My lord,’ he said, pointing to one chair. ‘My lady,’ he said, helping her to sit on the other one.
Her stomach churned again as she sat and waited for him to speak. But it was Father Henry who interrupted first.
‘I could stay with you, if you’d like, my lord?’
She did smile then, for she knew, as Lord Giles and Father Henry did, that the priest was not asking him, but her, if she wished his presence.
‘Lady?’ Giles asked her softly. ‘Would you wish Father Henry to stay?’ He added an inflection to the priest’s name that made it sound more French than English.
‘Nay, my lord. I am certain he has other tasks to see to and would not detain him here.’
Father Henry bowed to them and then made his way to the altar where he spent a few moments in prayer before leaving. When she dared to look at her husband, she saw not the raging man but the one to whom she’d grown accustomed. When Father Henry had left, she heard Giles take a deep breath in and let it out loudly.
‘So, lady, would you like to know the truth about the man you have to husband?’
Chapter Ten
Giles looked at Fayth who looked certain about very little at this moment and whose face still wore its pale colour and whose eyes still filled with fear. And frightened she should be, for he had nearly lost control and raised his hand to her when she had insulted him in the hall. But for Brice’s timely intervention, Giles suspected he might have taken a step from which he could never return.
He had never raised a hand to any woman, nor servant, in his life, though he’d been on the receiving end of that many times. He did not shy away from the application of discipline when needed, but it was never done in anger. Now, trying to be calm and rational, he wondered what it was about her that made him lose control—of his anger this day, but of his lust last eventide and the night of their marriage. In the cold, glaring light of day, he made decisions and then, in the dark of night, when faced with the woman in his bed, he lost his mind.
‘Brice said that I cannot hold you responsible for an insult if you do not know how you did it,’ he said to begin.
‘I offered insult simply by voicing my accusations, my lord. That would be enough for most men to strike out.’ She sighed then and gazed at him with tear-filled eyes. ‘I feel like these last days have been a waking nightmare for me—one in which I’ve lost control and can do nothing right or well,’ she said.
Did she know she mirrored his own feelings? Although he suspected that his lack of control was in part due to her appeal to him, physically and for all that she offered him.
‘I think part of your fear is from not knowing what is happening outside our walls. Change has come to England on swift horses and it is stopping for no one.’
‘But you seem to embrace it, my lord,’ she said, leaning forward and meeting his gaze once more.
‘Ah, but I stand to benefit more than most from these changes, while you, you and your people, stand to lose the most.’
‘So, Father Henry said I should seek your counsel. Will these truths you mentioned aid me in ridding myself of fear or increase it?’
He stood then and walked a few steps away. ‘I am not certain if you will be comforted by what I have to say or if it will make things worse between us, lady.’
Giles watched as indecision flitted across her face. Father Henry had spoken of her courage and her strength of spirit, from her mother he’d said, but Giles waited to see it once more.
She drew in a ragged breath and nodded. ‘Tell me your truths, husband.’
‘I am not noble born, lady. Indeed, my birth was baseborn—my father is a vicomte and my mother a weaver serving on one of his father’s estates.’
‘So that is why you serve yourself?’ she asked.
‘Just so. A bastard makes his own way in the world and even servants look askance at his requests.’
‘And why you have no manservant to see to your needs.’
‘Also that. A knight needs no one to see to him except to care for his armour and his horses.’
‘And why you are not comfortable with everyone knowing your every move and word.’
‘I had no idea you were so observant, lady.’ Or had he been so obvious to everyone else? He began to pace around the chairs.
