by Tamara Leigh
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.
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 cle
nched 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."
