Virgin Bride

by Tamara Leigh

  "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 g
reat 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.

  She saw Balmaine's angry face for a moment before it was replaced by another's. "Take her to the donjon," she heard him say; then he was gone.

  Trying to make sense of her situation, she stared up at Sir Lancelyn with great bewilderment and saw him grimace.

  She lifted her hand and touched her face. Her breath escaped in a painful hiss as her fingers found the swelling alongside one eye and the gash on the opposite cheek.

  Of course. Lowering her hand to her lap, she turned her head from the knight's probing eyes and was horrified to discover the upper floor of the watchtower ablaze, smoke billowing forth like a great, avenging storm.

  Had Gilbert gone back into that? she wondered as she watched people bearing pails of water.

  The tower was suddenly swept from sight as Sir Lancelyn turned to carry her away. She had just resigned herself to the beckoning arms of unconsciousness again when she was shaken by a vision of the man she had struck senseless. Was he still within? Had he been discovered and pulled to safety?

  "Nay!" she shouted, trying to twist free of the arms holding her. "The guard." Throwing a hand to the knight's chest, she attempted to gain leverage over his greater strength.

  Sir Lancelyn halted and looked questioningly down at her. "Guard?" he repeated.

  Trying to formulate a coherent explanation, she nodded. "Aye, he lies ... within." She struggled to tell him more, but was unable to. Her tongue felt thick and awkward, having stumbled over itself as it had formed those most inadequate words.

  Still cradling her, Sir Lancelyn swung back around to face the fire. Then, with an angry exclamation, he set Graeye on her feet.

  She grasped his arms to steady herself, sure that any moment she would collapse,

  "Give me your vow you will stay here!" he commanded, the anger he held in check finally surfacing.

  She nodded. "Aye, you've my word."

  Though he knew he was taking a great risk in leaving her, the baron's wrath sure to fall upon his head should she disappear, Lancelyn could not dismiss the possibility that the guard might still be within. Prying Graeye's fingers loose from his arms, he stepped around her swaying figure and sprinted back to the watchtower.

  Turning slowly around, Graeye caught sight of Sir Lancelyn just as he was swallowed by the smoke billowing out the door. A moment later she was on her hands and knees, fighting the blackness that yawned wide at her, and wondering at the insistent nudging against her side.

  Struggling to a kneeling position, she lifted her head and looked into Groan's expectant eyes. When she attempted a reassuring smile for the mangy beast, she realized that the vision in her injured eye was fast narrowing. Draping an arm about the huge dog's body for support, she lightly touched the swollen flesh of her face and felt the heat rising about her eyelid. Within the hour her eye would be completely closed, she realized as she watched the growing number of people attempting to put out the fire. Unbeknown to her, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

  Pressed to her side, Groan groaned loudly in acknowledgment of his mistress's distress and, lowering his head, flicked a wet tongue over her hand.

  Shortly, a familiar figure closely followed by another emerged from the burning building and took shape as they moved toward Graeye. She blinked to bring them into focus, but not until they were nearly upon her did she realize one of the men was Sir Lancelyn, the unfortunate guard over his shoulder, and the other, Gilbert Balmaine.

  Swaying on her knees, she stared up at that blackened face, noting the flecks of ash caught in his hair and beard. Eyes like cutting shards of ice, he looked down at her from his great height, his hands planted upon his hips.

  The guard moaned, finally breaking the eye contact that hovered between them for an agonizing eternity. Having been lowered to the ground beside Graeye, he attempted to lift his head.

  Graeye reached out to him, but felt her body falling as she leaned more heavily into Groan. Only a bare defense did she put up before giving in to the drape of dark that fell over her. It was a comfort she would not long know.

  Chapter 8

  When Graeye next looked out at the world, the light of dawn had turned the oiled linen golden. She saw the evidence of an orange-streaked sky in the muted colors that filtered through the covering and glanced off the walls.

  What was she doing in the refectory? she wondered, frowning as she shifted her gaze to a flickering lamp that was suspended to the right of the window. If discovered, Mistress Hermana would think it highly improper for her to have made her bed in a room reserved exclusively for the taking of meals. It would give the woman yet another excuse to assign Graeye additional duties and forbid her the gardens. Another excuse to lay her strap across Graeye's back.

  Mayhap she could sneak back to her cell, Graeye thought; then her frown deepened. Aye, she might make it, but her absence from the first morning prayers would not go unnoticed.

  Thinking it might go easier for her if she was at least presentable when she came face-to-face with that woman, she started to turn onto her side to raise herself up. However, with the movement her head rushed with pain.

  Dropping back, she lifted both hands from beneath the covers and touched them to her face. She found a gash over her cheekbone and a tender swelling above her left eye, which she only now realized was closed.

  It was not the refectory, she realized, but the chamber that had once been her father's. That same room in which she had tended the baron's wound—was it yesternoon?

  Returned to the present, she lowered her hands and expelled a breath past a throat so raw and swollen, it was nearly closed.

  " Twas more than you bargained for, eh?" A familiar, humorless voice spoke out of the silence. Standing alongside the bed, one hand resting on a front poster, the other draped nonchalantly upon a hip, the baron stood looking down at her from that great height of his.

  It was not merely the man's unexpected presence that shook Graeye—though that would have been enough—but rather his state of undress seen clearly through the one eye she leveled on him. As if unaffected by the chill that hung in the morning air, he went without benefit of an undertunic, his powerful chest bare of all but a mat of dark, curling hair and the bandages she had secured over his shoulder. Indeed, his only clothing was a pair of loose breeches riding low upon his hips, the untied laces trailing as if he had only recently donned them, and in haste. For her benefit? she wondered.

  She turned her head away, wincing at the pain, but comforted by the small measure of escape she gained. Though it crossed her mind she must look a horrible mess, it was not her vainglory that suffered when those probing eyes fell upon her, but the vulnerable depths of her soul that this man seemed intent upon delving into. Well she knew she must take steps to protect herself from further hurt, and the sooner she erected the barriers that would stave off that event, the better her chances of pulling through these terrible times.

  Staring sightlessly to the left, she reflected upon the baron's words. Aye, it was all more than she had bargained for.

  In the space of but a few weeks a wondrous future had been placed in her lap, and then, with utmost cruelty, snatched from her grasping fingers. Desperation— and something else she dared not put a name to—had dri
ven her to give her body to this man, then had seen her exposed. And now her father had attempted to set her afire, hoping to return her to the devil whence he thought she came. He had finally crossed that fine line of sanity and gone completely mad.

  Embittered by the next thought, Graeye nearly laughed. Nay, she admitted, not even the worst day at the abbey had been so cruel to her.

  Though she felt the mattress sag beneath the baron's weight as he lowered himself beside her, she turned her head farther to the side and fixed her gaze upon the door.

  Open, she silently implored the inanimate object. Deliver me from this one's hate, for I cannot bear any more. But none came to rescue her from the inevitable confrontation.

  Despondently, she realized she would gain little by attempting to defend herself. No matter what this man faulted her with, it would be best if she could maintain the easy comfort of silence.

  When a hand appeared to cup her chin, she did not resist its urging. Instead she moved her head back around to look at Gilbert Balmaine where he sat on the edge of the bed.

  Meeting those unforgettable eyes, she was staggered as she glimpsed compassion in their cool depths. Even as she sternly told her heart to find cover lest it be torn asunder by such wild imaginings, she watched those same blue depths turn caustic again.

  "You have discovered your father is a cruel man, hmm?" Gilbert said. His gaze narrowed on her swollen eye, then flicked back to the other to await her confirmation. It irked him when she did not give him one.

  He brushed his fingers over her jaw. "Had it not been for that mangy dog of yours waking the entire donjon with its raucous bellowing, you would have burned as your father intended," he continued, then looked again to see what her reaction might be.

  She tried to pull her chin out of his grasp, but he denied her retreat, his hold firm, yet not unkind. Her mouth tightening, she chose the next-best avenue of avoidance, lowering her gaze and staring across the foot of the bed.

  Determined to gain her regard, Gilbert leaned into her line of sight.

  "Why did he do this to you?" he asked.