Virgin Bride (7 page)

Temper? But she didn't— Graeye had no time to ponder his estimation of her nature before she felt his mouth on hers. The thought to resist never entered her mind.

When he urged her to open to him, she parted her lips with a sigh and took him inside. Slowly, his tongue began an exploration of the sensitive places within— places he knew better than she.

Turning away from the insistent voices that urged her to exercise caution, she welcomed the invasion and recklessly wound her arms around him, pressing herself to his hard curves. When has hand slid between them to stroke that place below her belly, she arched against it.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was over, and she was left to stare up at the man who had so effortlessly disengaged himself from her.

In the blink of an eye he had turned from passionate lover to cold and distant adversary. How was it he had such control over his emotions when^she had none? Was she too long suppressed?

"I may have fallen prey to your wiles last eventide," he said, smoothing his hands down his tunic. "But I assure you I have no intention of paying the price you would ask for such an unfortunate tryst. Your scheme has failed, Lady Graeye."

To gather her wits about her after such a thorough attack upon her traitorous senses was not an easy thing, but the impact of his words made it less difficult than it would otherwise have been. Doing her utmost to put behind what had just occurred, she lifted herself from the bench and stood before him.

"You err," she said in a terribly small voice that made her wince. Drawing a deep breath, she delivered her next words with more assurance. "There is naught I want from you that you have not already given."

His eyes narrowed. "And what do you think you have stolen from me?"

She lifted her chin a notch, refusing to be drawn into a futile argument as to whether she had stolen or been given his caresses.

"Though you do not believe me," she said, "I tell you true that I did not know who you were until this morn. Twas freedom from the Church I hoped to gain, not a husband—that is what you gave me."

Nostrils flaring, Balmaine gave a short bark of laughter. "Be assured, Lady Graeye," he said as he adjusted his sword on its belt, "you will return to the abbey. Though you are no longer pure enough to become a nun, there will be a place for you there at the convent. You will go ... even if I have to drag you there myself."

The convent... She took a step nearer him. " 'Tis not your decision whether—"

His hand sliced impatiently through the air. "Ultimately, everything that has anything to do with Medland is under my control. You had best accept it and resign yourself to entering the convent."

Her heart began to hammer against her ribs. Was what he said true? Could he, in fact, usurp her father's rights over her? If so, since he was determined to return her to Arlecy, all would have been for naught. Biting her lip, she bowed her head and focused upon the hilt of his sword.

"Then I would ask you to reconsider, Baron Balmaine, and allow me to remain with my father. He is not well and in need of someone—"

"The decision has been made," he interrupted again, then turned on his heel and strode away.

Even if Graeye could have contained the anger flaring through her, she would not have. There was nothing left to lose. "You have a rather nasty penchant for rudely interrupting when one is trying to speak," she snapped. " 'Tis something you really ought to work at correcting."

Seething, she stared at his back, willing him to turn again.

He did not disappoint her, returning to tower over her and looking every bit the barbarian. "In future, if you have anything to say to me, Lady Graeye, I would prefer you address my face rather than my back. Do you understand?"

Though she knew he could easily crush her between his hands if he so desired—and at that moment he certainly looked tempted to=—Graeye managed to quell the instinct to cower. After all, considering the fate that awaited her, it hardly mattered what he might do. She gathered the last shreds of her courage about her and drew herself up, utilizing every hair's breadth of height she had.

"In future, you say?" She gave a short, bitter laugh. "As we have no future together, Baron, 'tis an entirely absurd request. Or should I say 'order' ?"

His lids snapped down to narrow slits, a vein in his forehead leaping to life. "Sheathe your claws, little cat," he hissed, his clenched fists testament to the control he was exercising. "The day is still young and we have games yet to play."

Then he was walking away again, leaving her to stare after him with a face turned fearful.

Chapter 6

I
t was midday before Graeye finally summoned enough courage to leave the chapel. Stepping out into the gloom of a day shot through with heavy clouds, she saw that the castlefolk had resumed the labors she had-set them to weeks ago. She was grateful for this small mercy, but still felt a multitude of eyes turn upon her.

Aye, they were curious as to their new baron's interest in her—something he could not have made more clear by his following her to the chapel. It must have caused a great commotion ... and a good deal of speculation. Fearing the worst of their hastily drawn conclusions, Graeye told herself she didn't care what any of them thought, but she was only lying to herself.

At least now she had a plan—or the beginnings thereof, she reassured herself as she determinedly put one foot before the other. It had not been easy formulating it, but she had used her time of prayer to ask for guidance, and the idea had slowly come to her. Though not the best solution, it seemed the only one available to her.

With firm resolve, she smoothed her wimple and tossed her chin high. She crossed to the watchtower, certain she would find Sir Abelaard nearby. If anyone knew where her father was, she was confident it would be the king's man. He had been given the responsibility of making certain Edward did not cause further trouble. In fact, if her suspicions proved correct, he had likely seen the old baron locked up for Balmaine's arrival.

So many new faces, she thought of those she passed. It appeared Gilbert Balmaine had brought a great number with him, likely having anticipated meeting with resistance. It must have greatly amused him to simply ride in and have the castle handed over to him without so much as a scrap of opposition. But, of course, the king's men had made the road smooth for him.

To her relief Graeye did, indeed, find Sir Abelaard. He was just inside the watchtower, speaking with another knight who displayed the colors of Balmaine.

"Lady Graeye," he said, disengaging himself from his conversation and walking over to her. "You are looking for your father?"

"Aye. He is above?"

"Nay. Baron Balmaine sent for him a short while ago. He has been taken to the hall."

Already? Graeye had not thought the man would have turned his attention to Edward so soon. What did he intend?

"Know you what is to become of my father?" she asked.

The knight seemed at a loss for words, his brow furrowing as he considered her silent appeal for reassurance. Grimacing, he glanced back, sending Balmaine's man a questioning look.

The other knight stepped forward. "Lady Graeye, I am Sir Lancelyn," he said, reaching to take her hand.

Graeye took a step backward, firmly clasping both hands at her waist.

Her action raised an eyebrow, but otherwise elicited no response of the kind she would have expected after such a snub. With a hint of a smile the man drew himself fully upright. "The baron is a fair man, my lady. I am certain he will deal justly with your father."

"My father has done nothing wrong."

He shrugged. " 'Tis up to the baron to determine that."

Frustrated, Graeye swung around.

"My lady," Sir Lancelyn said, "if the hall is your destination, 'tis not likely you will be received within until the baron has concluded his business."

She turned to face him again, but he was so near she had to jump back to see mm better. Why was it, she wondered, there was no one she could speak to without straining her neck? "And when will that be?" she asked tartly.

"I fear I cannot say for certain, perhaps many hours yet."

Lips pursed, she turned and left the watchtower, surprised when she was not followed.

A detachment of men-at-arms stood in the open doorway of the donjon, their backs to her. However, so engrossed were they with the goings-on in the hall, none paid any heed to her approach.

From within she recognized the baron's deep voice. She cringed, but refused herself the luxury of retreat. Slipping unnoticed past the men, she entered the hall, which had been set fully to light with torches. Only the deepest corners knew any shadows. She slipped into those shadows, vainly trying to catch a glimpse through the wall of people to discover what transpired beyond.

Balmaine stopped speaking, and a long silence followed that she did not understand. Then Balmaine's voice again swelled around the hall. "Sir Edward Charwyck, will you be the first to give me your oath of fealty?"

Graeye's eyes flew wide. Never would her father make such a pledge. Pushing between two men, she wedged herself a small space. Surprised by her unexpected appearance, they stared down at her, then exchanged looks that she took no time to decipher.

Before the raised dais at the far end of the hall, Edward stood before Gilbert Balmaine. What would happen when he refused? she wondered, her eyes straying to where her father's former retainers waited patiently to pledge themselves to their new lord. Aye, she acknowledged with a rueful twist of her lips, they were eager to take their turns—including her formerly betrothed, William Rotwyld.

The much-awaited reply finally came. "I would sooner die before pledging myself to my son's murderer!" Edward's gravelly voice echoed around the room.

"I have told you, old man—" Balmaine began, but his words died a quick death.

The scene before Graeye distorted as she watched her father rush forward brandishing a long, ugly dagger. She could only stare wordlessly, her mouth agape, as the seconds flew past.

Though he had not the time to evade the attack, Balmaine did have the presence of mind to sidestep, reaching for his sword as he did so. Edward missed his target—Balmaine's heart—but Balmaine took the blade in his shoulder.

With a deafening roar Balmaine threw the man away from him, sending him sprawling upon his back. Then he tore the dagger free of the wound and sent it skittering across the floor.

Hands clasped to her mouth, Graeye fought to regain her wits that she might aid her father, but her feet were leaden and unwilling to carry her.

As the baron's knights rushed to his aid, their anger shouted loudly about the room, Balmaine moved forward with the predatory stealth of a cat and came to stand over Edward, where he lay winded. Muscles bunched, he placed a booted foot upon the old man's chest, lowered the point of his sword to Edward's neck, and motioned his men to stand away.

"I now see from whom Philip learned his treachery," he growled, his face contorted with rage.

Somehow Graeye managed to put one foot before the other and step toward the center of the hall where the two adversaries faced each other.

The baron swung his sword high.

"Do not!" she croaked as the weapon began its slicing journey down. Too late.

Covering her eyes to block the sight of the rushes running with her father's blood, she sank to her knees and buried her face in her skirts.

Silence fell over the occupants of the hall, broken only by the baron's raging a moment later. "What is she doing here?" Gilbert bellowed.

No answer was forthcoming, and with another string of invectives, he strode toward the silent form heaped upon the floor. Behind him his men rushed forward to take custody of Edward.

As Gilbert neared Graeye, his interest focused on her to the extent it blocked all sight and sound of the stirrings around him. He was more angry than he'd known in recent times—angrier than the moment he had first understood her treachery.

Had it not been for the pleading of that husky little voice, he would have had done with the Charwycks forever. The father dead with just cause, and the daughter returned to live out her miserable days at the abbey.

Aye, he had known the old baron would not pledge himself, had even expected an attempt upon his life. That Edward Charwyck had not deviated from this projected course had proved convenient ... and then this woman had laid siege to his plans.

By voice alone she had denied him the drawing of his enemy's blood, causing him to pull up just as his sword had neared its destination. It had spared the old man's life. Thus the curses Gilbert hurled were not only against the Charwycks, but also against himself.

He returned his sword to its scabbard and pressed a hand to his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood, then leaned down to take hold of Graeye's arm. Before he could lay a hand to her, a large, mangy dog bounded forward and placed itself before the lady. Fangs bared, a growl loosed from its throat, its sparse coat standing on end, it thrust its great head forward.

Straightening, Gilbert eyed the animal and lifted his hand to cover the hilt of the dagger at his waist. The dog snarled louder, but maintained its stance.

A movement beyond caught Gilbert's attention. Shifting his gaze, he saw that one of his knights had removed his own dagger and was drawing his arm back in readiness to hurl it. Gilbert caught his eye and gave an abrupt shake of his head.

With great reluctance the man lowered Ins arm.

"Lady Graeye," Gilbert called to her, making no attempt to disguise his irritation, "you will stand—now."

Lifting her face from her arms, she stared up at him with vast gray eyes that shook him to the core. It was unsettling that she could have such an effect upon him after what he had discovered of her true character. Indeed, it sickened him, the influence of his baser needs.

Without surrendering his stare she reached a hand to the dog and, holding to its fur, raised herself.

Though her eyes were bright, Gilbert saw no tears upon her face. He wondered at that, for he had expected her to be hysterical. What was the relationship between her and her father?

"You are satisfied?" she asked in a tremulous voice. "Or am I to be next?"

"Satisfied?" Gilbert repeated, his brow furrowing. Then, understanding, he stepped to the side and nodded to where Edward was held by two knights. "Nay, I am not," he said, watching for her reaction.

Graeye gasped. Though her father looked near to collapsing, his head hanging down upon his chest, he was alive with not a spot of blood to testify otherwise. Her heart swelling for his need, she took an uncertain step forward.

Balmaine grasped her arm, stopping her. He'd used the hand that had covered his wound, and a collective gasp went around the room as bright, running blood stained her white habit.

Where he poised between the two of them, the dog gave a terrifying howl of anger. Teeth bared, he drew himself back in readiness to lunge at the one he perceived dangerous to his mistress.

"Nay, Groan," Graeye commanded as she dragged her gaze from the pitiful sight of her father and met the animal's stare. "You had best unhand me," she murmured to Balmaine, running her hand over Groan's twitching neck.

Even with the threat of attack by a ferocious dog, who obviously would have liked nothing better than to tear out his throat, Balmaine did not release her. Instead he tightened his hold.

Graeye looked pointedly to where that large hand held her. The sight of blood coating his skin from fingertips to wrist brought her head sharply up. At his shoulder she saw the tear where the dagger had landed its mark and the soaking of blood through the fine linen of his tunic.

Brow knit, she lifted her gaze higher and noted the deepening grooves that belied Balmaine's hard, unmoving facade. Aye, he was in pain, for it was more than a flesh wound he had acquired.

"Come," she heard herself say, "I will tend your injury."

A flicker of surprise appeared in the depths of his eyes, but disappeared just as quickly, replaced by indifference.

"Methinks you should first call off your dog," he said, inclining his head toward the seething beast.

"Groan will stay with me," she said with firm resolve, having discovered, not for the first time, how valuable his loyalty was.

Balmaine looked ready to refuse her, then shrugged off the stipulation with a lift of his uninjured shoulder.

"Very well," he said, releasing her to press his hand to the wound.

Graeye cast a sidelong glance at her father, then stepped around Balmaine's formidable mass and made for the stairs, Groan close on her heels.

"Take him to the watchtower and hold him until I deckle what is to become of his miserable person," Balmaine commanded those holding Edward.

Graeye bit her lip, but did not falter. Stopping in front of Sir Michael, she braved the compassion of his stare and asked that he send one of the servants with a bowl of water, strips of clean cloth, needle and thread, and salve. Then, continuing to the stairs, she mounted them with the baron close behind.

With the coming of the king's men, she had forgotten how badly the stairs were in need of repair, but was reminded of their poor state as they groaned protestingly beneath Balmaine's weight, and that of the squire who followed his lord.

Knowing it to be the most adequate room above-stairs, she led the baron to her father's chamber, turning to glance over her shoulder just as the thought struck her that he would not clear the doorway.

It was on her lips to caution him when he ducked beneath the frame. Clearly, he had grown accustomed to his height.

She was grateful she had seen to the freshening of the rushes within, the cleaning of the sparse furnishings, and the placement of oiled linen over the narrow window opening. Still, it was a gloomy, dank room, the brazier having long since radiated its last ember of comforting heat.