Virgin Bride (6 page)

Graeye pulled herself back to the present. Her mouth having gone suddenly dry, it was some moments before she was able to answer him. "I am—"

"Ah. So you can speak, after all."

Yet another mark against her already maligned character. Feeling a flush of color steal up her neck to inflame her face, she nodded. "I am Lady Graeye Charwyck," she said, feeling her voice was far too husky. Except for a barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes, the baron seemed not to notice. "But I am not—"

"Graeye." He spoke over her words, then rolled the name upon his tongue a second time. "Appropriate," he pronounced with an inclination of his head. "And what is your name in religion, Sister?"

She shook her head, taking a step backward when he moved nearer. Immediately, she chastised herself for the retreat, but could not check the impulse to take another step away from this daunting person. As she did so, it crossed her mind that she was forever running away from those who threatened her. She hated herself for it. Still, as it was the only comfort she knew, she gave over to shielding herself, throwing a hand out before her in hopes of warding off his advance.

"I am not of the sisterhood," she said.

Her words stopped him. His long shadow falling over her, he searched her pale face before commenting on her claim.

"Naturally, I spoke literally when I afforded you the title of Sister," he snapped. "I was not speaking of your genuine disposition. Do we not both know what that is?"

Her eyebrows flew high, skimming the crisp headband at her forehead. She tried again to clarify the misunderstanding. "I am not a nun."

"Certainly not after last night." He took another step forward, and his long, hard leg brushed her skirts.

Dismayed, Graeye found she could retreat no farther from his menace, for the kneeler was against the backs of her calves. "Nay, you do not understand," she said, her neck-strained by the angle she had to hold her head to look up at him. "I do not play with words. I speak true when I say I am not a nun. I have not yet made my profession."

When his hands suddenly descended to her shoulders, she nearly shrieked. Grappling with a fear that threatened to shatter her, she dropped her head and stared sightlessly at the bare space between them.

He gave her a brusque shake, his fingers biting cruelly into her—hands so different from the ones that had caressed her in the pool.

One of those hands pulled her chin up, forcing her to look into his hardened face. "If you are not a nun," he ground out, "then why do you dress as one?"

Again she was made aware of how angry he was. Not only the planes of his face evidenced this ominous emotion, but also the tautness of his body where it brushed against hers.

"I am ..." Her words trailed off as she gave herself a mental shake. Muddling through the words in her mind, she found it difficult to formulate a coherent explanation with him so near. This strange mixture of fear and desire confounded her.

"I was a novice," she managed after a lengthy struggle, " 'Tis my bridal habit I wear." She glanced down at the voluminous folds of material, then back up at him. "I was to have been professed the day my father sent for me."

He looked incredulous. " 'Tis true you have not taken your vows?"

"Aye, 'tis what I have said."

With a bark of laughter the baron released her and swung away. " 'Tis a great burden you have lifted from me," he said, moving to the front bench and dropping down upon it. He stretched his legs out before him and placed both hands behind his head, looking every bit as if he meant to settle himself in for a time.

"For this I thank you, Lady Graeye. Now I may rest a bit easier." His gaze swept the length of her before piercing her once again. "I am certain that if there is a God, he would not have been kindly disposed toward my taking the virginity of his son's bride."

Astonished by his nonchalant words, Graeye took a step forward. "If there is a God?" she repeated. "Surely, you speak heresy."

His mouth lifting in a sardonic smile, he set himself to kneading his thigh. "Heresy?" He shrugged. "I merely question His existence. Do you believe in Him?"

Graeye's fear was suddenly displaced by an indignation so strong, she found herself stepping quickly from the altar to stand before the blasphemous man. "Of course I believe in God!"

The baron's dark eyebrows arced in mock distress. "And I thought I had found myself one of kindred spirit. Tell me." He leaned forward. "Is your sexual proclivity typical of all members of the clergy? For if 'tis, then I vow to question God's existence no longer. I will simply deny it."

The anger that had given her strength for those few moments drained from her, leaving her despondent. He was bent on punishing her. She was horrified to feel the sharp prick of tears in her eyes.

He was not moved.

"If..." Her voice cracked terribly, and she paused to take herself firmly in hand. "As you obviously refer to yestereve," she continued, looking anywhere but at him, "I would have you know that what I did was done with the full intention of refusing to take the veil."

"Truly?" He cocked his head and regarded her trembling mouth. "Then you wear the habit today simply for the privilege it affords you?"

She felt her anger spark again, but was not quick enough to fan it to life. Somewhere she found the courage to meet his gaze. "Nay," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and attempting to rub warmth back into them. "Only by my father's order have I donned it. He does not yet know of my sin."

She was completely unprepared for what happened next, though she caught the glimmer of it in the baron's eyes the moment before his hand shot out and caught her habit. Yanking hard, he tumbled her across his lap.

"And when did you think you would tell your father you no longer qualified to become a nun?" he demanded as she struggled to emerge from the excess material of the habit. "Or perhaps he does know of your sin—even condoned it as a means of entrapping me. Was it he who sent you?"

Graeye went perfectly still, his words like a slap across the face. He truly believed that she and Edward had conspired to entrap him by the giving of her virginity to him? That she would whore her body in hopes of gaining concessions? Nay, she wanted naught from this man!

Thrusting aside the veil that had fallen across her face, she glared up at her assailant. "Release me!" she demanded, suppressing the temptation to drag her nails across his face.

Smirking, he forced her into a sitting position upon his lap. "What did you hope to gain by seducing me?"

She threw her hands against his chest and tried to push off him, but for all her efforts, he only gripped her tighter and twisted her about so she faced him. Struck by how attractive he appeared even with that mask of hate firmly upon his face, Graeye ignored how terribly askew her wimple had gone.

"Did you hope to force me to marriage?" he continued, his warm breath fanning her lips. "Is Med land so important you would sell your body for it—perhaps even your soul?"

So that was what he thought! Rage of a kind she had never before experienced flooded through her, suffusing her entire body with heat.

"Nay," she loudly denied, straining against arms that were like steel bands around her. "Never would I marry one such as yourself. Had I known who you were when you came upon my sanctuary, I never would have given myself to you!"

He appeared amused by her outburst. "And I am to

believe you?" He shook his head. " 'Twould seem more likely 'twas you who came upon me and decided to take advantage of the situation."

Further angered by his conclusion, and her inability to free herself from this lover-turned-enemy, Graeye lifted her fists and struck his chest with all her strength. He allowed her to vent her rage, all the while smirking at the ineffectual blows dealt him by one so small.

It was not long before she realized she had little chance of making any dents in him. She had, however, gained a measure of control over the powerful anger that had so suddenly come upon her. Stilling, she plunged her throbbing hands into her lap and stared into his cold eyes.

"You are wrong about my intentions." She attempted to speak evenly, grasping at a calm she did not feel. Whether or not he chose to believe her, she decided he must know the truth.

"By giving myself to you I forever renounced the possibility of becoming a nun. I did not do it that I might capture a husband." She blinked, then settled her eyes to his once again. "I did it so that I would not be forced to take vows I did not wish to. That I might remain at my father's side and help his people—"

"My people," he harshly corrected her.

Aye, they were his now. She nodded. "Their needs are great, their fields—"

"Think you I cannot see to their needs?"

Would he? This man who had shown no mercy to her brother?

"Even if you speak the truth," he continued, "and I was fool enough to believe you, then you would be little better having used me to achieve that goal."

" 'Tis true," she admitted, "and I have repented for having done such a thing, but I cannot change what has gone before." She looked at her clasped hands. "I did not wish to return to the abbey."

"Forgive me if I do not believe you," he said, his eyes probing her face, reminding her of the mark beneath the wimple. "I have heard that life among the clergy is far preferred over the toil of everyday life ... even if it be in the comfort of a castle."

She shook her head. "The abbey is where I have lived since the age of seven," she said, her gaze wavering beneath his harsh stare. "In all those years I knew little but unhappiness within its walls. Mayhap for others 'tis desirous, but for me it was not enviable." Self-consciously, she lifted a hand to smooth the linen about her face.

Immediately, the baron intercepted the movement, pushing her hand away. "How touching your tale," he sneered, then reached up and fingered the chin strap of her wimple.

"Nay," she protested, thinking he intended to snatch it from her. In a poor attempt to evade him she jerked her head back, but his hand came around the nape of her neck and pulled her face near again.

"I was told Charwyck's daughter bore the mark of the devil," he said, his mouth near hers, his thumb stroking her jaw. "Is it this you hid from me yester-eve?"

She swallowed, then nodded.

"Show me." He withdrew his hand and leaned back, his eyes daring her to take advantage of the uncertain escape he afforded her.

At first Graeye was too surprised to do anything but stare dumbly at him. "Why didn't he simply do it himself? she wondered. Was it consideration, or merely an attempt to humiliate her further?

Reluctantly, she complied. Gripping the pieces of linen tightly in her fist, she raised her gaze back to his, waiting for the response she was certain would follow.

"Clearer and clearer," he murmured, ignoring her distress as his gaze settled near her left brow. "'Twas a game I thought you played last night. I should have guessed...." He shifted his attention back to her light-eyed stare.

"Necessary," she breathed, ardently wishing she might be delivered from this heart-rending confrontation. She bowed her head again, her silken curtain of hair falling between them.

"Then you misjudged me," he said so softly, his words started her heart hammering.

Her head snapped up, and for a moment she was allowed a glimpse of that other elusive man she had treasured. And then he was gone.

Smoothly, he slid back into the one she now feared. "You see," he said, his lips curling as he fingered the golden strands of hair pooled upon his thigh, "I have as much belief in the devil as I do God. Nay, perhaps more." He reached up and ran rough fingertips over the faint stain.

Graeye did not flinch, though her heart plummeted further with this new intrusion.

"Still," he said with a weary shrug, "after your deception, I daresay there might well be something to this. " Twould seem—"

"Enough!" The anguished cry wrenched itself from her throat. All her life she had been looked upon with suspicion, but now, with her world crashing down around her, she simply could take no more accusations—and most especially from this man a man to whom she had given her most precious possession.

Driven by renewed anger, she was unable to check the reckless impulse to wipe the derision from his face. She raised her arm, and a moment later was amazed at the ease with which she landed her palm to his face. With the exception of William, never before had she struck another.

"I am but a human being cursed to bear a mark set upon my face—not by the devil, but by God." In her tirade she paid no heed to the spreading red left by her hand, nor the sparkle of fury that leaped to Balmaine's eyes.

" 'Tis a mark of birth, naught else," she continued.

"You have nothing to fear from me that you would not fear from another."

"So the little one has claws, eh?" He made the observation between clenched teeth. " 'Tis as I thought."

One moment Graeye was upright, face-to-face with this hard, angry man, and the next she-was on her back, that same face above hers as those spectacular orbs bored into her.

"Had I the time or inclination," he said, "I might be tempted to tame that terrible temper of yours. But as I've neither, you will have to content yourself with this."