Virgin Bride (20 page)

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Graeye meant to close her tired eyes only a moment—to give them a rest from the stitching that, with just a bit, more effort, would see the fine chemise finished ere it was time to withdraw to her chamber for the night. Leaning her head back against the chair, she was only vaguely aware of her hand losing its grip on the material, and did not even notice when k stole from her fingers, slithering off her lap and onto the floor.

The warmth of the hearth wooed her ever deeper into sleep, something she'd had too little of lately. Giving completely over to it, she curved a hand over her belly and went blissfully adrift.

It was how Gilbert found her less than an hour later, that great mangy dog of hers stretched out alongside the large chair mat swallowed her small frame. At his approach the animal raised its head from its paws and eyed him with suspicion, a low rumble of warning bubbling from deep in his throat.

Scowling at the beast, Gilbert walked around the back of Graeye's chair. The dog continued to glare at him, its muzzle quivering. If Gilbert hadn't been certain an altercation would likely ensue that would awaken Graeye, he would have dragged the animal from the hall, but it was simply not worth the chance. Shaking his head, he broke the eye contact and turned his attention upon the one he had come to see.

A fierce possessiveness stole over him as he stared down at Graeye's sleeping form, his eyes missing nothing—the bloom of color that enhanced the loveliness of her face, the lustrous sweep of her tawny hair where it fell over her shoulder, the burgeoning evidence of her motherhood and the way her hand rested thereon. In the sweet innocence of her sleep she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Though it had been less than a sennight since he had left her to pursue Charwyck following the burning of the village, he felt it had been much longer.

And still the old man had managed to elude him. Gilbert had finally concluded that the brigands had left his property, for there had been no more raids nor a single sighting since.

Feeling his anger begin to mount, he shook it off, re-focusing on the woman before him and forgetting that she was of any relation to the man he burned to put his blade through. Impulsively, he lifted a tress of that silken hair, touching it to his lips before letting it slide through his fingers.

Sir Lancelyn, who had accompanied Gilbert in the search for Charwyck, entered the hall, and Gilbert waved him away. Immediately, the man retreated, leaving the baron and his lady to their privacy.

His back to the fire, Gilbert kneaded his pained leg as he continued to watch Graeye sleep. Her lids flickered from time to time as if she might awaken, but with a soft sigh and a caress to her abdomen, she resumed her deep breathing.

It was the child disturbing her, he realized. Though he was sorely tempted to lay a hand to her that he might feel its movements for himself, he suppressed the urge for fear of awakening her. In anticipation of a long wait, he spread his legs wide and clasped his hands behind his back.

It was not the baby that awoke Graeye, but an unsettling sensation that persisted in disturbing her dream. Opening her eyes, she focused on the silhouetted form that stood over her and slowly assumed the shape of Gilbert.

Nay, she corrected herself, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, it was still the dream she was in. Sighing, she lowered her lids and allowed the darkness to enfold her once again in his comforting embrace.

"Graeye." His voice intruded upon her languid, downward spiral.

A frown creasing her brow, she opened her eyes again and stared at the figure that was now leaning over her. "Gilbert?" she said.

Was it truly he come home to Penforke? she wondered as she battled her drowsiness. Or was this merely a continuation of her dream? Blinking, she peered closer and saw the vivid hue of his eyes that no dream could have reproduced so accurately. Though she felt a momentary thrill, she quickly suppressed it.

"Aye," he confirmed, leaning nearer to slip an arm behind her back and one beneath her legs. " 'Tis time you were in bed."

Having witnessed the brief exchange with perked ears, Groan instantly sprang to life, thrusting his great head between his mistress and the man who meant to carry her away. Showing his sharp teeth, he let go a deep growl.

Before Gilbert could take matters into his own hands, Graeye reached out and laid a hand on the animal's head. " 'Tis all right," she murmured. "Go lie down."

Though he did so with great reluctance, Groan backed away and settled himself near the hearth.

Gilbert lifted Graeye high against his chest, gritting his teeth in blackening irritation at the animal's overprotectiveness. Though it still took little effort to bear her, he immediately noticed the difference in her weight, for she had not allowed him to come so near during the past months. She yawned, nestling her head against his shoulder and sliding a hand up around his neck as he carried her toward the stairs.

Gilbert was as surprised as Mellie when the two of them came face-to-face on the landing above.

"Milord!" she squealed, jumping back in surprise. "I—I was not told of your coming."

One eyebrow arched, Gilbert took in her rumpled garments, tousled hair, and the telltale bloom of color on her lips. " 'Tis obvious," he said derisively. "And what has kept you from tending to your mistress's needs?"

"Mellie, is that you?" Graeye asked before the maid could answer. Though still not fully alert, her exhaustion holding her back from too quickly gaining that advantage, she was more than aware of Gilbert's mood. Raising her head, she searched out the dimly lit corridor for the girl.

"Aye, milady." Nervously, Mellie smoothed her hands over her skirts.

Graeye was not uninformed as to Mellie's frequent trysts with a particular knight. In fact, viewing it as an avenue by which she could gain privacy for herself, she encouraged it by merely ignoring it. Though they never spoke about the trysts, the two women had come to a kind of understanding. "Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"What? Oh ... some." Mellie was slow to catch hold to the line her mistress was throwing her.

"Hmm," Graeye murmured, settling her cheek back to Gilbert's chest. "See that you get plenty of rest tonight."

Gilbert saw through the ruse, but kept his mouth closed as he edged past Mellie and made for Graeye's chamber. There would, after all, be plenty of time to reprimand the girl.

To his surprise the room was in readiness, but only tolerably so. A fire burned uncertainly in the brazier, barely keeping the chill from the room. Around the perimeter several candles had been lit, but not nearly enough. On a table beside the bed sat a basin of water, though it was missing a hand towel and looked to have grown cool. And the bedclothes were turned back from a bed that had been poorly made.

Nay, he would not go easy on Mellie, he decided. In fact, were he not so bone-weary, he would seek her out as soon as Graeye was settled. Shouldering the door closed against intruders—most especially that drooling beast—he crossed to the bed and sat Graeye upon the cool mattress.

Rubbing her eyes, Graeye rid herself of the last of her sleep, then dropped her hands into her lap. "Did you find him?" she asked, raising her gaze to Gilbert's.

He looked tired, she thought. An unwanted pang of compassion struck her as she took in the dark circles beneath his reddened eyes and the several days' growth of beard shadowing his jaw.

"Nay," he answered. Turning, he went to stoke the fire. "He has disappeared completely."

Eyes narrowed, Graeye watched his movements. His limp was worse than she'd ever seen it. "Think you he will return?"

Gilbert looked up. "Aye."

She dropped her gaze. Since word had first come of the discovery of Edward's camp, she had lived with a mixture of fear, dread, and relief. Following the burning of the village, Gilbert had returned only briefly to gather supplies to pursue the brigands. So briefly, in fact, that she had not had the chance to speak with him before he and his men had set off. This past week had been difficult.

Going to the washbasin, she plunged her hands into the tepid water and splashed handfuls of it over her face. Then, finding no towel, she stood indecisive a moment before settling upon her bliaut to wipe away the moisture. Even as she lifted its skirt, Gilbert's hand came around her and dangled a piece of linen before her. It was the covering from the small table across the room, she realized.

"Thank you," she murmured, stealing a quick glance at him as she wiped her hands and face.

He turned her around to face him. "I have missed you," he said, staring into her startled eyes.

"Me?" Blinking, she swallowed hard on the sudden ball of nervousness constricting her throat.

"Aye." He slid his hands down her arms, then inward to the laces of her bliaut.

Realizing his intent, she jumped away, placing the bed between them. "You forget yourself, my lord!" she protested, fumbling to draw the laces tight again.

"Come, Graeye," he coaxed. He extended a hand to her, though he did not move closer. "I only meant to help you prepare for bed."

"I do not think so," she said.

Wearily, he pushed a hand through his thick hair. "I will be sleeping in here tonight," he said, then reached to unfasten his sword.

Outraged by his audacity, and alarmed by the speed with which he was disrobing, Graeye gaped at him.

"What of your vow?" she demanded, even as the sight of his powerful chest warmed her as no fire possibly could. "Would—would you be so bold as to dismiss it with nary a prick of your conscience?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and began tugging off his boots. "Nay," he said, dropping one boot, then the other, to the floor before standing again. "I will abide by my vow not to force myself upon you."

"Then what do you think you are doing?" she squawked as he loosened his chausses.

At the first sight of those tapered hips, she whirled around and presented him with her back. Still, it was not simple modesty that bade her take such an action, but the need to hide her response from him.

Tossing the chausses over a bedpost, Gilbert sighed. "I am making ready for bed," he answered, then turned to use the washbasin.

"Your solar is down the corridor."

"Which I have yielded to Sir Royce."

Sir Royce? The king's man who had secured Medland for Gilbert all those months past? Stealing a glance over her shoulder, her eyes lit upon Gilbert's bare buttocks. Flushing, she looked away. "I—I did not know he had arrived. You've business with him?"

"Nay, he is only passing through. We met up with his party this afternoon."

She twisted her hands in her skirts. "He will be staying long?"

"Nay, just this night."

Then she could avoid him. Though she had adjusted well to Gilbert's people, the thought of meeting the king's man again unsettled her.

"You could sleep in the hall," she suggested.

"Aye, but you are here."

Silence followed, though the air was fraught with the tension of Graeye's futile search for a rejoinder.

Indifferent to his nudity, Gilbert moved about the room and snuffed all but one of the candles before returning to the bed. Grimacing at Graeye's stiff back, he lowered himself to the mattress and drew, the covers over his naked loins. Then, a hand behind his head, he stared at her rigidly held figure. How curious, he mused, that from behind she displayed no signs of pregnancy.

Reaching over, he turned the covers back. "Come to bed, Graeye. You need not fear I'll go back on my word."

Graeye was not convinced, especially as she was as distrustful of her own desires as she was of his. Biting her lip, she glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to find his eyes closed, his head angled away from her.

Aye, he would keep his vow not to force himself upon her. But what if he touched her again as he had in the garden?

Stubborn to the end in spite of her exhaustion, she held out until she heard his breathing turn deep. Then, letting the tension drain from her, she loosed her bliaut and drew it off.

A short time later, clad only in her chemise, she walked around the bed to where the last candle burned. Hesitating, she looked down at Gilbert's face and, for the first time, noticed how very long his lashes were where they rested upon his cheeks. As her gaze lingered over his features, it struck her she had never before observed him during sleep. And yet she had been so intimate with him as to create this child growing inside her.

If only things had been different, she lamented. If only she had grown up with the love of both parents and been allowed to choose which path her destiny would take. And how differently would Gilbert have perceived her had this all-consuming vengeance he harbored never been born? Would there have been a chance for them to make a life together? Could he have grown to love her as she loved him?

Tears pricking the backs of her eyes, she determinedly redirected her attention. Licking her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the wick of the candle, then turned to pick her way back around the bed, where she imagined she would cling to the edge throughout-the long night.

"Ow," she breathed when her foot came down on the rough sole of a boot he had left beside the bed. Wrinkling her nose, she made her next step more cautious than the last.