Virgin Bride (10 page)

She saw Balmaine's angry face for a moment before it was replaced by another's. "Take her to the donjon," she heard him say; then he was gone.

Trying to make sense of her situation, she stared up at Sir Lancelyn with great bewilderment and saw him grimace.

She lifted her hand and touched her face. Her breath escaped in a painful hiss as her fingers found the swelling alongside one eye and the gash on the opposite cheek.

Of course. Lowering her hand to her lap, she turned her head from the knight's probing eyes and was horrified to discover the upper floor of the watchtower ablaze, smoke billowing forth like a great, avenging storm.

Had Gilbert gone back into that? she wondered as she watched people bearing pails of water.

The tower was suddenly swept from sight as Sir Lancelyn turned to carry her away. She had just resigned herself to the beckoning arms of unconsciousness again when she was shaken by a vision of the man she had struck senseless. Was he still within? Had he been discovered and pulled to safety?

"Nay!" she shouted, trying to twist free of the arms holding her. "The guard." Throwing a hand to the knight's chest, she attempted to gain leverage over his greater strength.

Sir Lancelyn halted and looked questioningly down at her. "Guard?" he repeated.

Trying to formulate a coherent explanation, she nodded. "Aye, he lies ... within." She struggled to tell him more, but was unable to. Her tongue felt thick and awkward, having stumbled over itself as it had formed those most inadequate words.

Still cradling her, Sir Lancelyn swung back around to face the fire. Then, with an angry exclamation, he set Graeye on her feet.

She grasped his arms to steady herself, sure that any moment she would collapse,

"Give me your vow you will stay here!" he commanded, the anger he held in check finally surfacing.

She nodded. "Aye, you've my word."

Though he knew he was taking a great risk in leaving her, the baron's wrath sure to fall upon his head should she disappear, Lancelyn could not dismiss the possibility that the guard might still be within. Prying Graeye's fingers loose from his arms, he stepped around her swaying figure and sprinted back to the watchtower.

Turning slowly around, Graeye caught sight of Sir Lancelyn just as he was swallowed by the smoke billowing out the door. A moment later she was on her hands and knees, fighting the blackness that yawned wide at her, and wondering at the insistent nudging against her side.

Struggling to a kneeling position, she lifted her head and looked into Groan's expectant eyes. When she attempted a reassuring smile for the mangy beast, she realized that the vision in her injured eye was fast narrowing. Draping an arm about the huge dog's body for support, she lightly touched the swollen flesh of her face and felt the heat rising about her eyelid. Within the hour her eye would be completely closed, she realized as she watched the growing number of people attempting to put out the fire. Unbeknown to her, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

Pressed to her side, Groan groaned loudly in acknowledgment of his mistress's distress and, lowering his head, flicked a wet tongue over her hand.

Shortly, a familiar figure closely followed by another emerged from the burning building and took shape as they moved toward Graeye. She blinked to bring them into focus, but not until they were nearly upon her did she realize one of the men was Sir Lancelyn, the unfortunate guard over his shoulder, and the other, Gilbert Balmaine.

Swaying on her knees, she stared up at that blackened face, noting the flecks of ash caught in his hair and beard. Eyes like cutting shards of ice, he looked down at her from his great height, his hands planted upon his hips.

The guard moaned, finally breaking the eye contact that hovered between them for an agonizing eternity. Having been lowered to the ground beside Graeye, he attempted to lift his head.

Graeye reached out to him, but felt her body falling as she leaned more heavily into Groan. Only a bare defense did she put up before giving in to the drape of dark that fell over her. It was a comfort she would not long know.

Chapter 8

W
hen Graeye next looked out at the world, the light of dawn had turned the oiled linen golden. She saw the evidence of an orange-streaked sky in the muted colors that filtered through the covering and glanced off the walls.

What was she doing in the refectory? she wondered, frowning as she shifted her gaze to a flickering lamp that was suspended to the right of the window. If discovered, Mistress Hermana would think it highly improper for her to have made her bed in a room reserved exclusively for the taking of meals. It would give the woman yet another excuse to assign Graeye additional duties and forbid her the gardens. Another excuse to lay her strap across Graeye's back.

Mayhap she could sneak back to her cell, Graeye thought; then her frown deepened. Aye, she might make it, but her absence from the first morning prayers would not go unnoticed.

Thinking it might go easier for her if she was at least presentable when she came face-to-face with that woman, she started to turn onto her side to raise herself up. However, with the movement her head rushed with pain.

Dropping back, she lifted both hands from beneath the covers and touched them to her face. She found a gash over her cheekbone and a tender swelling above her left eye, which she only now realized was closed.

It was not the refectory, she realized, but the chamber that had once been her father's. That same room in which she had tended the baron's wound—was it yesternoon?

Returned to the present, she lowered her hands and expelled a breath past a throat so raw and swollen, it was nearly closed.

" Twas more than you bargained for, eh?" A familiar, humorless voice spoke out of the silence. Standing alongside the bed, one hand resting on a front poster, the other draped nonchalantly upon a hip, the baron stood looking down at her from that great height of his.

It was not merely the man's unexpected presence that shook Graeye—though that would have been enough—but rather his state of undress seen clearly through the one eye she leveled on him. As if unaffected by the chill that hung in the morning air, he went without benefit of an undertunic, his powerful chest bare of all but a mat of dark, curling hair and the bandages she had secured over his shoulder. Indeed, his only clothing was a pair of loose breeches riding low upon his hips, the untied laces trailing as if he had only recently donned them, and in haste. For her benefit? she wondered.

She turned her head away, wincing at the pain, but comforted by the small measure of escape she gained. Though it crossed her mind she must look a horrible mess, it was not her vainglory that suffered when those probing eyes fell upon her, but the vulnerable depths of her soul that this man seemed intent upon delving into. Well she knew she must take steps to protect herself from further hurt, and the sooner she erected the barriers that would stave off that event, the better her chances of pulling through these terrible times.

Staring sightlessly to the left, she reflected upon the baron's words. Aye, it was all more than she had bargained for.

In the space of but a few weeks a wondrous future had been placed in her lap, and then, with utmost cruelty, snatched from her grasping fingers. Desperation— and something else she dared not put a name to—had driven her to give her body to this man, then had seen her exposed. And now her father had attempted to set her afire, hoping to return her to the devil whence he thought she came. He had finally crossed that fine line of sanity and gone completely mad.

Embittered by the next thought, Graeye nearly laughed. Nay, she admitted, not even the worst day at the abbey had been so cruel to her.

Though she felt the mattress sag beneath the baron's weight as he lowered himself beside her, she turned her head farther to the side and fixed her gaze upon the door.

Open, she silently implored the inanimate object. Deliver me from this one's hate, for I cannot bear any more. But none came to rescue her from the inevitable confrontation.

Despondently, she realized she would gain little by attempting to defend herself. No matter what this man faulted her with, it would be best if she could maintain the easy comfort of silence.

When a hand appeared to cup her chin, she did not resist its urging. Instead she moved her head back around to look at Gilbert Balmaine where he sat on the edge of the bed.

Meeting those unforgettable eyes, she was staggered as she glimpsed compassion in their cool depths. Even as she sternly told her heart to find cover lest it be torn asunder by such wild imaginings, she watched those same blue depths turn caustic again.

"You have discovered your father is a cruel man, hmm?" Gilbert said. His gaze narrowed on her swollen eye, then flicked back to the other to await her confirmation. It irked him when she did not give him one.

He brushed his fingers over her jaw. "Had it not been for that mangy dog of yours waking the entire donjon with its raucous bellowing, you would have burned as your father intended," he continued, then looked again to see what her reaction might be.

She tried to pull her chin out of his grasp, but he denied her retreat, his hold firm, yet not unkind. Her mouth tightening, she chose the next-best avenue of avoidance, lowering her gaze and staring across the foot of the bed.

Determined to gain her regard, Gilbert leaned into her line of sight.

"Why did he do this to you?" he asked.

She blinked, then lifted a hand and touched a finger to his chest. "You," she mouthed, no sound issuing from her lips, but her meaning clear.

Gilbert frowned. Had she spoken true of her father's ignorance of their tryst—that the old man had not set her to seduce him? Was this the reason Charwyck had tried to end her life?

Aye, his hate for the Balmaines was that great. But that she had acted alone ... He dredged up the explanation she had offered him in the chapel, but immediately set it aside. Nay, he would not believe that she'd given herself to a stranger merely to avoid taking vows. Still, her sad, ravaged face softened his anger.

Frowning, he looked to where the tip of her small finger grazed his skin. A thousand sparks of desire emanated to all parts of his body from that one point. In spite of the warmth flooding through him, he was suddenly furious with his lack of control over that traitorous bodily function. Not even the beautiful Lady Atrice had elicited such a ready response from him.

Lust, he assured himself. Pure animal lust that had nothing to do with the deeper emotions he had felt for that other woman who was now so far out of his reach, it made him ache with longing. He had never quite recovered from her untimely death only weeks before they were to have wed.

Hauling himself back to the present to shut out the pain, Gilbert leveled his gaze upon Graeye once more.

Seeing the gathering storm upon his brow, Graeye hurriedly dropped her hand back to her side, wondering at the wisdom of her disclosure. Was it yet another mistake she had so ingenuously fallen into?

Though her eyes were stinging with the need to cleanse themselves of the tears that were gathering, she refused to cry in front of this man.

Leaning nearer to her, Gilbert rested his other palm on the mattress beside her shoulder. "I tell you now, Lady Graeye," he said in a voice gone dangerously soft, "your father's offense will not go unpunished. Not until I have seen him join his son in hell will I rest."

As she looked into his face, Graeye was stunned by the vehemence with which he spoke, but even more so by the words he chose. Was it possible his anger stemmed from the harm done her?

Absurd, she told herself. It was the damage done to the castle that angered him, and most certainly the lives that she assumed had been lost putting out the fire. Had she been standing, her shoulders would surely have sagged with that burden.

"Nothing to say?" he asked.

Slowly, so she would not disturb again the pained contents of her thoughts, she shook her head.

His gaze grew hard as flint. "You are not even slightly curious as to the destruction wrought by your actions?"

Graeye closed her one functioning eye against his accusing visage. If she was to be denied the benefit of looking away from his penetrating stare, then she would block him from her sight altogether.

Nay, she did not want to know what her poor judgment had caused—could not bear to be told she was responsible for lost lives. Mayhap later she could face it, but God protect her from having to hear the details this moment—and from this man, whom the very sight of wrenched her heart.

"Graeye," he called to her, his deep voice turning soft and insistent.

Had she heard right, or was it imagined? she wondered. The unexpected use of her given name without title—a familiarity that was highly improper considering the impasse that stood between them—brought her eye open again.

Simply seeing his face had come nearer, his warm breath fanning her lips, sent her senses spiraling to a new height that made her temporarily forget her body's discomfort. With no small amount of mortification she realized that, almost more than life itself, she wanted to feel again the security of those arms around her.

As if he sensed her reaction to him, Gilbert drew back. "There were no deaths," he informed her.

Her one eye widened. "Truly?" she croaked, then winced at the searing pain with which that one word surged from her throat.

An unreadable expression flitted across Gilbert's eyes. Nodding, he released his hold on her and stood from the bed.

So relieved was Graeye, she did not attempt to prevent the tears that sprang to her eyes.

"The watchtower is destroyed," he went on, his voice oddly emotionless. "However, the fire was contained and the walls beyond salvaged." As he turned away, he drew a weary hand over his face. "Though 'twould truly have been of little consequence had it all gone up in flame," he muttered.

"I am sorry," Graeye said, her voice so low and strained she did not think he heard her. Whether or not he had, he did not acknowledge the apology, though she thought his broad, muscled back stiffened.

"There has been no sign of your father," he said, swinging back around to face her, his fists on his hips. "I would have you tell me where he has gone."

Surprised by his request, she shook her head.

In less than two strides Gilbert was at the foot of the bed. "For the love of God, woman, you owe him no loyalty. Not only did he beat you, but the bastard tried to set you afire. Do you so easily forget that?"

Of course she had not forgotten. How could she? It was not that she wouldn't tell him, but that she couldn't. Still, she was loath to ponder what her answer would be if she did know what he was asking.

"Nay," she finally managed, then had to swallow carefully on the searing fire in her throat before she could clarify herself.

Misinterpreting her denial, Gilbert's expression went from bad to worse, turning thunderous in the space of mere seconds. "Protect him you may," he ground out, "but he will still suffer my blade ere I send him straight to hell."

Graeye hugged her arms about her. "Don't know where he is," she whispered, hoping he would hear her over the rage beating through his head.

Before he could accuse her of yet another falsehood, she thought to appeal to his logic. "Think you he would tell me when he meant to ..." Her voice trailed off as her mind flitted ahead to the words that had nearly fallen from her mouth. It was one thing to hear another talk of what her father had tried to do, but quite a different matter for her to acknowledge it aloud. She simply could not.

Coming back around the side of the bed, Gilbert stared down at her. "Is it because you love him—your father—that you sought his release?"

"Love?" she breathed, incredulous. Aye, it was true she had wanted Edward's love, would have given hers had he allowed it, but he had not. "Nay," she whispered, meeting Gilbert's gaze. "A man like my father las no need for love. I only wanted to help him."

Was it relief she saw in Gilbert's face, softening his eyes and relaxing his mouth before, too soon, it was gone?

Shrugging off the foolish question, she turned her thoughts to a more pressing matter. What was to become of her now? Did the baron still intend to return her to the abbey, or would he find another way to mete out punishment for the foolish thing she had done?

Though it pained her to do so, she raised her voice. Its rough, gravelly tone grated upon her ears. "You have said you will not rest until you have seen my father in hell," she began slowly. "I, too, am a Charwyck. Will you strive for my death as well?"

His eyes narrowed upon her until they were mere slits. "Had I wanted your death, Lady Graeye," he said evenly, "I would not have seen it necessary to rescue you from the fire. Though 'tis true you are a Charwyck, and more than worthy of that name, 'twill satisfy me well enough to see you returned to the abbey."

It should have been of some comfort to her that he meant her no physical harm, but Graeye found little solace in his words. Attempting to hide the pain she knew would be reflected there, she turned her face to the wall.

Silence hung uncomfortably upon the air for long, interminable minutes; then she heard Gilbert move away. Even as she began to wonder what he was doing, the door opened, and after a brief pause, closed.

So quiet was Groan upon his padded feet, Graeye was not aware of his triumphant entry into the chamber forbidden to him; His tongue lolling, he trotted directly to the bed and propped his slavering chin upon the coverlet to regard his mistress with great, soulful eyes.