Virgin Bride (9 page)

Angry, she met his gaze. "Methinks you are jealous, Baron Balmaine," she retorted.

His eyes narrowed. "You have not answered me."

"And I will not."

He held her stare a long moment, then smiled and lifted his arms.

Grateful, Graeye lowered the garments, then jumped away lest she suffer any further assaults upon her wayward senses.

Balmaine stood and smoothed his tunic down, then retrieved his belt, keeping her waiting as he refastened it about his waist. Then, without a glance her way, he walked to the door.

"What about my father?" she sputtered.

His hand on the frame, he turned and raked his gaze overheed "Ah, yes," he sighed. "Your father." He flexed his injured shoulder. "I have been thinking on that,"

"And?"

"I have not decided,"

Her mouth dropped open. "You kept me waiting for that?"

He shrugged. "I must needs think on it some more, but for the offense he has committed, it would not be undue punishment to take his life." He let that sit a moment, then continued. "Of course, there are other ways to assure he never troubles me again."

She looked away. "Then I pray God lightens your heart," she murmured.

"Were you true, and virtuous, Lady Graeye, I might feel compelled to believe prayer alone could do that. But I fear you will have to look elsewhere for a means

of convincing me to have mercy upon a man such as Edward Charwyck."

Graeye did not rise to the bait, though her heart felt as if it were breaking into a thousand tiny pieces that she would never be able to put together again. Turning her back on Balmaine, she leaned down to stroke Groan between the ears.

Gilbert did not immediately retreat. Instead he stood in the doorway and stared uncomprehendingly at her back, acknowledging that he did not understand this enigma who had earned his wrath by her cunning seduction.

He frowned as part of him defended her, pointing out that she appeared the kindest of souls, that the heart in her breast seemed pure and not corrupt as he was so ready to pronounce it. Had not the servants been quick to come to her defense, outspoken in their voicing of the changes she had made and the compassion she'd shown for those in need of food and shelter? Another voice reminded him that her healing touch had been gentle when it should have been anything but.

But the loudest and most convincing voice of all screamed that she was a Charwyck, his avowed enemy. Gilbert excused himself his weakness; he could not be blamed for having doubts about her, for even the servants had been taken in by her self-serving show of kindness. Graeye Charwyck was not to be trusted.

Without needing to hear his footfalls in the passageway, Graeye knew the moment Balmaine left by the easing of Groan's tense body. She turned and stared at the empty doorway, then walked to it.

Tilting her head back, she looked at the mildewed wood above her head. Never, she thought, would she have to worry about doing herself injury on that.

Directly, Graeye went to the room containing her mother's effects and, for the last time, removed the habit. Standing in her thin chemise, she held the garment and stared at the bloodstains Balmaine had put there. It would be forever stained if she did not see to it immediately. Resolutely, she folded it and placed it back in the chest.

Laced into the brown bliaut she had worn earlier that day, she squared her shoulders and left the room. Slowly she descended the stairs, alert to the voices in the hall below.

In the shadow of the stairway, Groan standing patiently at her side, she went unnoticed as Edward's former retainers entered into the ceremony of homage, offering their oaths of fealty to Baron Balmaine.

The last to pledge himself was the handsome Sir Michael. Graeye craned her neck to better see him when he stepped to the dais. With great sadness, she watched as he knelt before the baron and placed his clasped hands within his new lord's.

"Lord, I become your man," he said, his voice strong with conviction as he spoke the words.

Balmaine answered him, and still kneeling, Sir Michael gave his oath of fealty. "Baron Balmaine, I vow to love what you love and loathe what you loathe, and never by word or deed do aught that should grieve you."

Balmaine answered him again, then raised the knight to his feet and bestowed on him a ceremonial kiss as he had with the others.

As if on cue the servants surged from out of the shadows and began to position the trestle tables for the midday meal.

In the ensuing confusion Graeye took the opportunity to lose herself among them and leave the donjon without anyone noticing. A short time later she was once again in the outer bailey. Looking about, she was disappointed to discover that Groan had left her side.

Fickle animal, she thought, with a dose of longing for the comfortable companionship he offered. Giving a doleful shrug, she began walking.

There were only two recurring thoughts in her head. One, to search out her father, and the other, to escape to the falls. She was debating the merits of each, her feet inadvertently carrying her to the postern gate and the world beyond the castle's walls, when the knight whom she had encountered earlier at the watchtower appeared at her side.

She faltered, but when he did sot attempt to detain her, she continued walking. He kept pace with her. 'With a sidelong glance she looked at his profile and thought him only passing attractive. He had none of the dark attraction of Gilbert Bal—

Abruptly, she halted her thoughts. Among the multitude of men who surrounded her, why had she chosen the heartless baron to measure others against?

Piqued, she drew herself to a halt and turned to face the man. "What do you want?" she demanded.

His brows shot up. "The baron thought you might need an escort," he explained. "He feels obliged to offer you his protection until you are returned to the abbey."

Graeye drew a deep, steadying breath. "And when will that be—today?"

"Nay, 'tis too late now for the journey. I would guess 'twould be first thing on the morrow."

So she was given the remainder of the day to put her plan into motion. Perhaps there was still a chance for her to see it through. "Sir ..."

"Lancelyn," he supplied.

"I do not require an escort and would ask that you allow me my privacy."

"Would that I could," he said, an apologetic smile upon his lips, "but I must follow my lord's orders."

It was on the tip of Graeye's tongue to tell him exactly what she thought of his "lord," but all her training as a novice came back to her and silenced her words before they fell from her lips.

"Then I will not see you put out, Sir Lancelyn," she said, turning back around. Head high, she retraced her steps.

She had thought the man might let her go her way, but it soon became obvious he had no intention of allowing her out of his sight.

"Truly, is this necessary?" she asked, her irritation evident.

He drew alongside her. "Simply a precaution, my lady." He nodded his head toward the donjon. " Twould not be unseemly if you joined the others for dinner."

"If you are hungry, Sir Knight, do satisfy yourself," she said, "but I have no such appetite that would compel me to share a meal with your lord."

"You are working very hard at being a true Charwyck, are you not, Lady Graeye?" he tossed back at her.

Struck speechless by his unexpected words, she stumbled to a halt and stared at him. Then, lifting her skirts high, she mounted the steps two at a time and entered the hall.

Sir Lancelyn followed at a more leisurely pace.

Her rashness had been a mistake, Graeye realized immediately, for all eyes turned to watch her progress along the perimeter of the room. Though she did not intentionally seek out the baron, her startled gaze fell straightaway to his.

Brows lifted, a mocking smile upon his lips, he nodded at her.

Coloring brightly, she lowered her chin and lengthened her short stride. A great wash of relief swept her as she reached the stairs, for not only was she free of those curious stares, but Sir Lancelyn did not continue in his pursuit. It did not please her that she had afforded the dreadful man the opportunity to join the others in the meal, but she was grateful to have him trailing her no longer.

Leaving the commotion behind, Graeye went, directly to the small chapel and closed herself in it. It was cool there, for the uncovered window allowed the breeze outside to stir the air within.

On her knees before the altar, she assumed the familiar position of prayer. Instead of setting herself to that most exalted task, though, she became enmeshed in the plans that would see her and her father clear of Medland before sunrise. It had to be this night. Tomorrow she would be returned to the abbey, and likely her father put to death. Aye, tomorrow would be too late for either of them.

Chapter 7

F
or endless hours Graeye feigned sleep upon her bench in the hall. And was miserable for it. As best she could, she kept her breathing deep and even, going so far as to mumble incoherent words when she found it necessary to shift upon the hard surface. She felt guilty for it, but there was simply no way around the deception she practiced upon the man set to keep watch over her—Sir Lancelyn.

He had positioned himself on a straw pallet not far from where she was stretched out. She resented his interference, and the man who had ordered him to it. If not for the night vigil he kept over her, she would surely have found her way to her father hours ago. Perhaps they would even be free of the castle by now. It was beyond irritating. It was infuriating.

Detecting a decided change in the man's breathing, she slowly turned her head and listened for several minutes to assure herself that he had, indeed, fallen off to sleep. Her patience wearing thin, she confirmed, his state, then lifted her blanket and quietly rose from the bench.

With the exception of the wimple, she had gone to bed fully clothed, with even her shoes upon her feet so that she would not inadvertently call attention to herself in her search for them. Now, as a last-minute thought, she took up the blanket and draped it around her shoulders for the extra warmth it would provide against the cold night. Lifting her skirts to her knees, she stepped cautiously around Sir Lancelyn's sleeping form.

From beneath her bench a low-pitched moan arose that drew her to a tense halt. Breath held, her hands clenched, she waited to discover if Groan had awakened the man. Blessedly, Lancelyn's breathing did not change. Letting go a sigh of relief, she continued across the hall.

Rather than risk the main entrance, Graeye slipped down the corridor through which the servants carried the food from the kitchen in the inner bailey. As she had hoped, this door was unguarded, and she had only to lift the bar to let herself out.

Outside, the air was brisk with the threat of an early winter, lifting her hair and stirring it about her face. For a moment she wished she had thought to bring the wimple.

Grimacing, she gathered the fine strands together and pushed them into the neck of her chemise. Then, pulling the blanket over her head, she hurried to the front of the donjon. Keeping to the shadows afforded by cloud cover, she made good progress and crossed the inner drawbridge to the watchtower, whence the faint glow of a lantern lit the lower floor.

It was quiet when she finally summoned enough courage to step within. She did so with caution, her gaze sliding around the room in search of any obstacles. She saw only one guard near the stairs, only just retaining his seat upon a stool, his head slumped onto his chest.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom Up, she took a step forward and peered closely at him. In his present state he was harmless, but she knew he would prove difficult if he awoke. It took some time for her to accept the only solution to her dilemma, for it seemed such a terrible thing to do to another human being.

Repenting as she went, she walked quietly to the only other stool in the room. She allowed the blanket to fall from her shoulders as she lifted the stool. Finding it weighty enough to do the job, she stepped back to the man. She offered up a last, hasty prayer and brought it down upon his head.

With a grunt he crumpled sideways and fell to the earthen floor.

Graeye dropped the stool and knelt beside the man to assure herself he still breathed. Confirming this, she patted a thankful hand to her heart, then scrambled to her feet. She pulled the lantern from its hook and ran for the stairs, taking them as quickly as her legs would carry her.

Going directly to the room where she was certain she would find her father, she pushed back the bolt on the door. Then holding the lantern before her, she opened it and stepped within. She immediately saw Edward curled upon a straw pallet against the far wall.

Placing the lantern on the floor, Graeye crouched beside him. "Father," she called, gently shaking his shoulder.

Edward came instantly awake, shooting up from the pallet and into a sitting position in a flurry of movement. It took him a few moments to orient himself, his wild-eyed expression finally dimming as he focused on Graeye.

"What do you here, daughter?" he asked, his voice hoarse as if he had been abusing it for some time with his ravings.

"I've come to release you," she answered, sitting back on her heels. "We must leave this place ere morn comes."

He looked past her to the empty doorway. "And how did you get in here?"

"I ... She looked down at her hands, reluctant to admit the horrible deed she had committed. "I rendered the guard unconscious."

"You?" He shook his head disbelievingly.

She nodded, then, seeing he was unconvinced, decided it would be wiser to explain later. "It does not matter," she said. "We must leave now ere 'tis discovered what I have done."

"Leave?" he spat with disgust. "Mayhap when I have my piece of flesh from that Balmaine bastard, but I vow not before." Grumbling, he started to rise.

"Nay, Father." Graeye reached out to grasp his filthy sleeve. "Would you be put to death before you could seek your revenge?" Truly, it was the only argument that came to mind.

Unexpectedly, he laughed. "But I will have my revenge. Aye, 'twill be done this night."

"You do not understand," she pleaded, leaning nearer. "The baron is heavily guarded. Twill do you no good to seek him out this night."

To her surprise and relief Edward actually seemed to put some consideration to her words. "Aye," he finally conceded, "mayhap you are right. 'Twould not do simply to slit his throat. I would see him suffer far longer than that would take—him and that murdering sister of his."

Though Graeye was opposed to such a plan, her throat tightening at the thought of such an atrocity, she knew she had gained the advantage. "Then let us be gone from here," she said, rising.

Edward struggled to his feet and lurched toward the door. However, halfway across the room he turned around, bumping into Graeye where she had followed close on his heels.

"You will remain," he said. "The king's man has assured me of an escort to the abbey for you." Then, as if noticing her clothing for the first time, his gaze raked contemptuously over the bliaut, then to her uncovered head.

Graeye was alarmed by what she saw in her father's face. Hugging her arms tightly to her, she frantically sought a way out of the impending storm.

"And why are you dressed in this manner?" he demanded, his voice growing increasingly loud as his anger mounted.

Urgent to be away from the castle, she laid a hand upon his arm. " 'Tis of no consequence, Father," she said, her voice pleading. "I would go with you now. We can speak of it when we are safely away from here."

"Nay, I would know this instant!" he insisted, throwing his arm away so that she was left grasping air.

Graeye gave the first explanation that came to mind. "The habit became soiled," she said, purposely omitting that it was the baron's blood that had soiled it. She did not think her father had been aware of the happenings following his attack upon Gilbert Balmaine.

Though dissatisfied with her answer, Edward grunted and nodded. "You will return to the abbey on the morrow," he said decisively.

"Nay!" the word burst from her without forethought, and immediately she regretted her lack of subtlety.

"You defy me again?" he asked, daring her to contemplate such a thing.

She stepped nearer. "Father, I would better serve you at your side. I beg you, do not send-me back to the abbey."

"And of what use would you be to me?" he thundered.

"I will stay with you and see to your needs. I can cook, and sew ... and write. Together we will find another to whom you can pledge your services."

"Nay, you will take your vows and do penance for the devil that dwells within you."

She had to tell him. Knowing that she was about to unleash a storm, but that there was no other argument left to convince him to take her with him, Graeye backed away.

"You must take me with you," she said. "The abbey is no longer an option." She lowered her head and stared at the hands she twisted in her skirts. "One must be chaste to become a bride of Christ ... and I am no longer that."

Edward did not react. He simply stared at her.

She ventured but one look at him before turning her eyes away. Seeking the door, she tried to calculate the time it would take to reach it, and the possibility of getting through it before her father—

" Twas that dog, Balmaine, wasn't it?" he roared. " 'Tis he who spoiled you—tell me!"

She was struck dumb by the accuracy of his guess


and could only gape at him. How could he have


known?

Edward moved so suddenly, she had no chance to retreat before his cruel hands grasped her shoulders. " 'Twas he, wasn't it?" He shook her. "He violated you!"

She quelled at his mistaken conclusion. "Nay," she croaked. "He did not force me."

Her words were enough to make the shaking stop. However, in the next instant she was staring into Edward's face, his nose very nearly touching hers, his breath foul upon her.

"Then you gave yourself to him," he snarled. "To our enemy."

"I did not know 'twas the baron," she said in a small voice. " 'Tis the truth. I but wanted—"

One moment she was on her feet, the next she was sprawled upon the musty straw pallet, one side of her face exploding in pain from the force of Edward's blow. Her vision had only just begun to clear when she was dragged back to her feet.

"Whore!" Edward screamed, then landed the back of his hand to the other side of her face, his heavy ring cutting her skin.

Graeye brought her arms up about her head to protect it, but Edward effortlessly knocked them aside and caught hold of her chin.

"Devil," he spat. " 'Tis the devil that lurks within your soul."

Shaking uncontrollably, she looked into his mad, reddened eyes. "I am sorry," she managed before his fist slammed into her belly. In excruciating pain and devoid of breath, she would have doubled over, but Edward shoved her back onto the pallet.

Rolling onto her side, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her head, drawing in a painful, ragged breath that she might remain conscious. She was fighting a losing battle, she realized, registering that one of her hands was damp with blood. She winced at the bright, thrusting colors behind her lids. Would he continue to beat her if she lost consciousness?

Edward's thick shadow falling over her somehow worked its way into her consciousness. Blinking, she peered between her hands and saw that he stood in the center of the room, the lantern held high above his head.

"From the devil you came and to the devil you will return!" he shouted.

A wave of swirling black blinded Graeye, then it retreated. Her breathing shallow, she stared uncomprehendingly at her father, her befuddled mind resistant to his meaning. The next wave of darkness was deeper than the last, beckoning her into the comfort of unconsciousness. She fought it again and won.

At last her eyes told her what her mind could not accept—her father meant to burn her alive.

Panic burst through her, and she managed to make it onto her knees as a bellow of mad laughter swelled around $he room and dropped upon her ears like killing stones. A moment later the straw pallet she was trying to raise herself from burst into flames.

Crying out, she surged back onto her heels, narrowly avoiding the hungry licks of the fire as she pressed herself against the wall. Through the thready smoke she caught a glimpse of her father where he stood in the doorway.

"Burn!" he yelled, his pupils glowing red in the firelight. He disappeared from sight.

To fight the darkness tugging at her, Graeye closed her eyes tightly and drew a breath of smoky air into her lungs. Coughing, she opened her lids wide again and looked at the fire to the front and sides of her. The flames were not yet high, struggling with the musty fuel they had been given to feed their greedy appetite.

If she could but get to her feet ... she inched her way up the wall, then swayed forward and just barely kept herself from toppling into the flames.

Suddenly a dark shadow raced through the doorway. Groan? she wondered. Then a towering figure filled the doorway, a man so tall, he was forced to duck beneath the frame to enter. Others followed, but Graeye kept her eyes upon the impossible vision of Gilbert Balmaine, until his image colored over into lovely blues, greens, and reds that shimmered like moonlight upon a cascading veil of water.

As if from a great distance, she heard loud voices calling to her and the insistent baying of a dog. Blessedly, they melded into the thunder of water falling from an amazing height. Warm and tranquil, the water reached out and tumbled her full into its depths. Odd, but she was not frightened as it wrapped itself around her and lifted her from the pallet. Enfolding her dose to its breast, it carried her along the winding currents and downward.

When it turned cold, the sudden change was enough to bring Graeye back to consciousness. Opening her eyes, she tried to lift her head to peer out at the dark night and the flux of people streaming around her, but her efforts were thwarted by a hand that pressed her face to a wonderfully solid chest. She had just accepted that it was not such a bad place to be when she realized she was being passed into another's arms.