Gisborne: Book of Pawns by Prue Batten

Author:Prue Batten [Prue Batten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B007DJK8G2
Goodreads: 13502136
Publisher: Darlington Press
Published: 2012-02-23T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Loneliness is an uncomfortable thing. It burrows into one’s awareness like a tick, creating discomfort to begin with and then a larger and larger pain. I sat as the daylight strengthened, initially glad of the solitude. With Guy gone, I could drop my defenses. Cry if I wanted, reminisce, or better, think of nothing. The trouble is I could not think of nothing.

I wept for my mother and father and then for myself, but outside birds were chirping and forest creatures moved about. In the gloom of this crumpled hideaway, it was easy to allow the sorrows of the past to tunnel in further and so I moved to sit against the doorframe in a beam of weak sun, allowing its mediocre warmth to carry me to better places.

I set thoughts on my family and my loss aside, watching a small brown wren hopping across the glade and flirting with shadow. She chirruped and I dug into the small belt purse for the remains of the crust. I tossed the crumbs and she moved closer, bright-eyed and confident and I wanted to assume at least part of her joy of life.

‘Where is your partner, little wren?’ I asked. She gave no sign of having heard me, just bobbed here and there, scooping up the crumbs with dainty dexterity.

My partner has gone and left me, little bird. But he says he will return and it won’t be too soon, I confess.

Till now, Gisborne had eased my fears. I might have laid claim to a certain amount of bravado but in essence I was a coward; such a spoiled young woman who had suddenly been confronted with a destiny that terrified her and would not admit to her weakness, instead lashing out at others. I think he understood my fears because at some point he had experienced that same trepidation.

But there is a difference, Ysabel. He uses hate to propel him on. Shall you do the same?

Who could I hate, I wondered? I had forgiven my father, so that left De Courcey and Halsham but I could do nothing about either except flee. Perhaps it was hate that propelled me so earnestly but in a moment of bleak honesty I thought it was fear. I wondered what happened to Guy’s venomous hatred for his father now the man was dead. Who would he focus on?

That traitorous voice in my head whispered: For sure, it won’t be De Courcey and Halsham…

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