Gisborne… cont’d
‘Ghosts,’ I murmured.
‘Your pardon?’
Guy turned away from surveying the sea to focus on me. As I observed the state of his hair, his beard and his clothes, I wondered how close to vagabonds we seemed.
‘Ghosts,’ I murmured.
‘Your pardon?’
Guy turned away from surveying the sea to focus on me. As I observed the state of his hair, his beard and his clothes, I wondered how close to vagabonds we seemed.
Okay folks, time for some lessons in pronunciation. I need your help.
How do you pronounce Gisborne?
Is it Gisborne as in ‘Borne’?
or
Is it Gisborne as in ‘Gisbn’?
Over to you as Guy’s too amused by it all.
Something warmed my back and as I stretched, my shoulder was gently shaken. Through sleepy lids I could see the sun streaming into the chamber. Guy’s voice spoke just loud enough to push the last threads of slumber from my consciousness. ‘Ysabel, wake you. It’s time to dress and break your fast. The boat leaves in an hour.’
Sometime ago, way back in October 2010, I wrote a quick post about it being . . . ‘almost summer.’ I love the song by Billy Thorpe and I swore it would become my anthem.
Well it did indeed become my song! Here I am at the little beachside cottage and I’m revelling in the sun and the sound of waves and walking through the water with the dogs. Tonight we’re having a BBQ with friends who also live by the beach and we contributing all the fresh stuff we’ve grown from the garden: snowpeas, fresh peas, Kipfler potatoes, mint, baby carrots. We’ll throw red and white wine into the basket, and beer and shall sit around their wood-fired BBQ into the darkling hours and chat about this and that.
(This next part of The Sheriff’s Collector is especially dedicated to MG, from Fly High, without whose friendship my love of all the series of Robin Hood would have been much less fun.)
The pain I felt as my ruined life rattled around me like a thunderstorm was stupendous, but Guy was there . . . as he had been every step of the way, and once again I let him take the pain away. I lifted my right hand to his and covered it as it lay on my jaw-line. There are times in life when one just wants to forget about concerns and cares. To ignore the shouted whisper of caution in the ear . . .
I can’t thank you enough for sticking with Mesmered over the last year. Your responses to my blogs, your willingness to engage with someone you don’t know from Adam, the way we have found so many things in common have been, for me, the stuff of legend!
There are times in life when one just wants to forget about concerns and cares. To ignore the shouted whisper of caution in the ear. To believe that nothing could ever be wrong and that every dream or fantasy one has ever had is about to be fulfilled. This was such a time.
Guy reached over my shoulder the next day and hoisted my saddle onto Monty’s back and I pulled the girth under the belly and cinched it up. Seeing that Guy had saddled his own mount and was even now amongst the merchants holding the animal by the reins, I took the opportunity to find a boulder on which I could place my foot and then stretch to the stirrup and climb aboard. All without attracting undue attention.
And still we traveled. Monty’s coat was slick with sweat despite our midday rest. He had astonishing stamina and as I looked between his ears, I marveled at the war-horses in front of me. I could only imagine the courage and steadfastness that rushed through their veins.