Virgin Bride (8 page)

Pulling a stool to the center of the chamber, she motioned for Balmaine to seat himself. He complied, completely engulfing the three-legged stool that wobbled beneath his weight.

Groan's eyes never left the man; he took up a place near the stool, securing for himself a vantage from which to attack, if need be.

Graeye turned to the squire, who had situated himself in the doorway, his distrustful eyes following her every movement. "I will need light," she said. "Fetch me some torches."

The young man shifted his weight, propped himself against the jamb, but made no move to follow her directive.

"Joseph," Gilbert said, "bring some torches within."

Casting Graeye a look of warning, the squire straightened, then turned on his heel and went to do his lord's bidding.

Graeye turned back to Balmaine and noted, with some alarm, the ashen color shadowing his face. Though the prospect of seeing his body bared unsettled her, she knew the tunic and shirt beneath it would have to go. "You must needs remove these," she said, lightly touching the material.

He nodded. "With your assistance, of course."

Her unease must have shown, for his mouth twisted derisively. Removing the belt with its sword and dagger, he laid it carefully aside, then waited for her to attend him.

In a failed attempt to disguise her nervousness, she moved only as close as she needed to in order to grasp the garments. Eyes trained on the task, she drew the garments up, baring Balmaine's magnificently sculpted chest. He made not a sound when the material pulled from the wound and passed over ids head, but the sudden tension that stiffened him told her of his discomfort.

She paused, her gaze moving from his most recently acquired injury to a jagged ridge that slashed across his breast, then another lower. She had not noticed them the night before, though well she remembered that which was responsible for his limp. Lord, he had so many scars.

"Hold your hand to it," she instructed. Shaking out the garments, she laid them upon the rumpled bed, grateful for the reappearance of the baron's squire when she turned back around.

Quickly, the torches were placed around the room in the wall sconces, throwing fight into every corner of that dismal place.

Returning to where Balmaine was seated, Graeye bent over him and examined the nasty wound. Truly, it was a wonder her father still lived after inflicting it, she thought, her stomach turning.

Though she had spent time in the infirmary at the abbey, she had rarely been responsible for caring for the sick and wounded unless another had first seen to the stitching, medicating, and bandaging. Still, she had watched the sisters perform the duties required to mend such wounds, and was certain that if she could keep her stomach settled, she could see to this one.

"Milady," a young voice called to her.

Turning, she saw that two serving girls stood in the doorway, their arms laden with the items she had requested, their eyes growing wide and round as they fell upon the baron's naked chest. Behind them stood Michael.

"Come," Graeye beckoned to the girls, trying to ignore the young knight's presence.

Their eyes never leaving Gilbert, the two entered, their hips swinging provocatively. Graeye frowned, speculating on now they made their bodies flow so smoothly.

Could she do that? Ashamed of her wandering thoughts, she pulled herself back to the present And for what purpose? To seduce again this man who thought her the vilest thing? Nay, she would never again subject herself to such humiliation.

"Baron Balmaine," Michael said, stepping just inside the chamber, "with your permission I would have a brief word with Lady Graeye."

Astonished that he would be so forthright with the man who was to become his new lord, Graeye turned to catch Balmaine's reaction to the request.

Save for the narrowing of his eyes and a lapse of several seconds, he gave nothing away. "Be quick about it," he said.

Reluctantly, Graeye stepped out into the passageway. "You should not have done that." She spoke low so none but Michael would hear.

With a hand to her elbow, he urged her from the doorway. "There is no need for you to tend his wound," he whispered. "There are others capable of the task."

Taken aback by his concern, she could only stare at him for a long moment. Why did he seek her out after avoiding her for so long? Had he changed his mind about Edward?

" Twas my father who did the deed," she explained. " 'Tis I who should mend it."

Michael sighed. "Still you make yourself responsible for that old man. Is there naught you would not forgive him for? He tried to murder the baron, Graeye."

" 'Tis Philip's death—" As the serving girls exited the chamber, Graeye halted the flow of words to defend her father's madness and took a step back from Michael.

It was Michael who resumed their hushed conversation. "Graeye," he coaxed, taking back the distance she had put between them, "'twill likely be death for the offense Edward has committed. Come with me this night that you do not have to witness his end."

Death? She shook her head. Nay, not tf her plan went well. "I have told you," she said with conviction, "I will not abandon my father to the likes of Baron Balmaine."

A mixture of disappointment and frustration coming upon his face, Michael cupped her chin in his palm. "You are being foolish, sweet Graeye."

Aye, she knew that, but she was not going to give up so easily. "I—"

"Are you finished?" Balmaine interrupted.

Eyes wide, Graeye spun around to face him where he leaned in the doorway, his forearm resting against the frame. Although his brows were lifted questioningly and a tight smile curled his hard mouth, he looked ominous.

How much had he heard? she wondered. It had been unwise to allow Michael to pull her into such a conversation with him so near. Foolish.

"We are finished," she said, stepping toward the chamber. The baron remained unmoving, his great bulk denying her access while his gaze probed both her face and Michael's.

Her ire rose at his arrogance. "If you will step aside, I will tend your wound," she said between clenched teeth.

His eyes, which seemed more black than blue at that moment, lifted from her face and fell again upon Michael. "I will see you belowstairs," he told the young knight, then stood away to allow Graeye to pass before him into the chamber.

She checked the items the serving girls had laid out upon a table beside the stool, then washed her hands, all the while aware of the eyes boring into her back. The tension cloaking the room only grew worse when Balmaine resumed his seat upon the stool, his thigh coming to rest against her leg.

Though Graeye's first thought was to step away, she pushed it aside, determined not to let him know the effect he had upon her. She dipped a strip of the cloth in water, wrung it out, then wound it about her hand.

"Joseph, leave us," Balmaine ordered his man.

"But, my lord—"

"Leave us!"

" 'Tis heartening to see I am not the only one you treat so rudely," Graeye observed once Joseph had gone. Still, she was sure the young man lingered not far down the corridor, prepared to defend his baron should she make an attempt upon his life. That thought nearly made her laugh. As if she posed a threat to a man such as he ...

Unwilling to meet the stare Balmaine leveled on her, she moved his hand aside and set herself to cleaning the wound. It was only seeping now, the flow having been suspended by the pressure he'd applied to it. Careful lest she start it welling again, she wiped the cloth lightly across it.

Though Balmaine continued to stare at her, she refused to look at him, even shifting her body sideways so the shadow from the postered bed fell upon her face, offering her some protection from those probing eyes.

The wound cleaned to her satisfaction, she picked up the needle, momentarily disconcerted to find it unthreaded. She turned back into the light, holding the needle and thread close to her face. "I have not done this before," she murmured as she attempted to thread the elusive eye of the needle.

"What?" Balmaine bellowed.

She looked at him, then quickly away when she encountered his thunderous expression. "I have seen it done," she said. " 'Tis simply sewing, and be you assured, I am proficient at mat."

He did not look assured, but he said no more.

"What is to become of my father, Baron Balmaine?" she asked, touching the thread to her tongue before making a second attempt at forcing it into the small eye.

"You would ask that before laying a stitch to me?" he barked.

Her second attempt failed, and she frowned. "I assure you, your answer will have no bearing on my handiwork. 'Tis what you are implying, is it not?"

"What is your relationship with your father?" he asked, leaving her question unanswered.

She stilled and met his eyes. "He is my father."

" 'Tis not what I asked," he snapped.

Beside her Groan growled low in his throat, swiping his tongue from one corner of his mouth to the other as he regarded Balmaine.

Graeye paid little heed to the dog, though she was reassured by his presence. "Nevertheless, 'tis the only answer you will have from me," she muttered, returning her attention to the task at hand. "There!" Triumphant, she held the needle up for him to see, the thread dangling from it.

Balmaine suppressed a groan.

"So, what is to be my father's fate?" she persisted as she bent over his shoulder again.

"Stitch first, then we will talk," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Swallowing hard against her growing trepidation, Graeye pressed the two pieces of flesh together and pushed the needle in with a hand that refused to remain steady. Miraculously, it easily slid in and out, the only sign of the baron's discomfort witnessed by the rigid hold of his body.

With great concentration, and an easing of her restless stomach, Graeye continued.

"The stitches need not be so small!" Balmaine snapped when she was only halfway through. "Space them farther apart."

Frowning, she lifted her head and looked into his fiery eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as an ache shot through her chest. Quickly, she looked back to the wound.

"You would not want there to be a great, ugly scab, would you?" she asked, continuing with the spacing of her stitches.

"One more will do me no harm. Now do as I say."

It was bold of her, but she ignored his order, and was surprised when he did not pursue the matter.

When she finished, she straightened and flexed her shoulders to ease the tightness that had settled there. Still evading Gilbert's stare, she set the needle aside and opened the pot of salve. The next minutes continued in silence as she finished with the wound.

Once he was properly bandaged, she retrieved his clothing and dropped them onto his lap. "Now I would ask again that you tell me of my father's fate."

Gilbert lifted the garments and inspected the damage to the linen. Then, without warning, he tossed them at Graeye.

Reflexively, she caught them.

"Hold them open over my head," he commanded.

Reluctantly, she stepped near him and lifted the garments high.

Suddenly, his arm snaked out and pulled her between his thighs. She let out a yelp of surprise that had Groan rushing to her defense, snapping and growling.

"Back!" Balmaine roared.

As if he understood the danger this man represented, Groan came no closer, but neither did he retreat.

Recovering sufficiently to see the task through, Graeye held the garments and waited for Balmaine to raise his arms into them, but he did not accommodate her. Instead he urged her more deeply into the vee of his thighs.

Her heart beat so heavily, Graeye thought it might burst. "How—how long do you expect me to hold these for you?" she managed, determinedly fighting the sensual effect he was having on her.

He was silent so long, she finally felt compelled to look at him. It was a mistake. Staring into wide pupils rimmed with incredible blue, she was taken back to the night past. Briefly, she closed her eyes to savor the desire melting her insides.

A deep, rumbling laugh that made her cringe with shame surrounded her a moment later. A man with no heart, she thought, staring into his triumphant face.

Abruptly, his laughter laded. "Has Sir Michael ever touched you as I have?" he taunted. The hand he held her with stroked the small of her back.

Telling herself she felt nothing, that the flames he ignited were only the result of her outrage, she strained back against his hold. "Let me go," she demanded.

His mouth turning grim, he pulled her closer, his hand moving lower to the curve of her buttocks. "Has he touched you?"

She knew there was no escape from this giant's hold, so she grudgingly answered his question. "You know that is not so."

"Do I?" His hand slid to her waist and began a maddening exploration up her side. "I know only that he did not gain your virtue." His fingers splayed wide to brush the side of her breast. "Has he never touched your soft skin nor tasted your lips, sweet Graeye?"