Virgin Bride

by Tamara Leigh

  She blinked, then lifted a hand and touched a finger to his chest. "You," she mouthed, no sound issuing from her lips, but her meaning clear.

  Gilbert frowned. Had she spoken true of her father's ignorance of their tryst—that the old man had not set her to seduce him? Was this the reason Charwyck had tried to end her life?

  Aye, his hate for the Balmaines was that great. But that she had acted alone ... He dredged up the explanation she had offered him in the chapel, but immediately set it aside. Nay, he would not believe that she'd given herself to a stranger merely to avoid taking vows. Still, her sad, ravaged face softened his anger.

  Frowning, he looked to where the tip of her small finger grazed his skin. A thousand sparks of desire emanated to all parts of his body from that one point. In spite of the warmth flooding through him, he was suddenly furious with his lack of control over that traitorous bodily function. Not even the beautiful Lady Atrice had elicited such a ready response from him.

  Lust, he assured himself. Pure animal lust that had nothing to do with the deeper emotions he had felt for that other woman who was now so far out of his reach, it made him ache with longing. He had never quite recovered from her untimely death only weeks before they were to have wed.

  Hauling himself back to the present to shut out the pain, Gilbert leveled his gaze upon Graeye once more.

  Seeing the gathering storm upon his brow, Graeye hurriedly dropped her hand back to her side, wondering at the wisdom of her disclosure. Was it yet another mistake she had so ingenuously fallen into?

  Though her eyes were stinging with the need to cleanse themselves of the tears that were gathering, she refused to cry in front of this man.

  Leaning nearer to her, Gilbert rested his other palm on the mattress beside her shoulder. "I tell you now, Lady Graeye," he said in a voice gone dangerously soft, "your father's offense will not go unpunished. Not until I have seen him join his son in hell will I rest."

  As she looked into his face, Graeye was stunned by the vehemence with which he spoke, but even more so by the words he chose. Was it possible his anger stemmed from the harm done her?

  Absurd, she told herself. It was the damage done to the castle that angered him, and most certainly the lives that she assumed had been lost putting out the fire. Had she been standing, her shoulders would surely have sagged with that burden.

  "Nothing to say?" he asked.

  Slowly, so she would not disturb again the pained contents of her thoughts, she shook her head.

  His gaze grew hard as flint. "You are not even slightly curious as to the destruction wrought by your actions?"

  Graeye closed her one functioning eye against his accusing visage. If she was to be denied the benefit of looking away from his penetrating stare, then she would block him from her sight altogether.

  Nay, she did not want to know what her poor judgment had caused—could not bear to be told she was responsible for lost lives. Mayhap later she could face it, but God protect her from having to hear the details this moment—and from this man, whom the very sight of wrenched her heart.

  "Graeye," he called to her, his deep voice turning soft and insistent.

  Had she heard right, or was it imagined? she wondered. The unexpected use of her given name without title—a familiarity that was highly improper considering the impasse that stood between them—brought her eye open again.

  Simply seeing his face had come nearer, his warm breath fanning her lips, sent her senses spiraling to a new height that made her temporarily forget her body's discomfort. With no small amount of mortification she realized that, almost more than life itself, she wanted to feel again the security of those arms around her.

  As if he sensed her reaction to him, Gilbert drew back. "There were no deaths," he informed her.

  Her one eye widened. "Truly?" she croaked, then winced at the searing pain with which that one word surged from her throat.

  An unreadable expression flitted across Gilbert's eyes. Nodding, he released his hold on her and stood from the bed.

  So relieved was Graeye, she did not attempt to prevent the tears that sprang to her eyes.

  "The watchtower is destroyed," he went on, his voice oddly emotionless. "However, the fire was contained and the walls beyond salvaged." As he turned away, he drew a weary hand over his face. "Though 'twould truly have been of little consequence had it all gone up in flame," he muttered.

  "I am sorry," Graeye said, her voice so low and strained she did not think he heard her. Whether or not he had, he did not acknowledge the apology, though she thought his broad, muscled back stiffened.

  "There has been no sign of your father," he said, swinging back around to face her, his fists on his hips. "I would have you tell me where he has gone."

  Surprised by his request, she shook her head.

  In less than two strides Gilbert was at the foot of the bed. "For the love of God, woman, you owe him no loyalty. Not only did he beat you, but the bastard tried to set you afire. Do you so easily forget that?"

  Of course she had not forgotten. How could she? It was not that she wouldn't tell him, but that she couldn't. Still, she was loath to ponder what her answer would be if she did know what he was asking.

  "Nay," she finally managed, then had to swallow carefully on the searing fire in her throat before she could clarify herself.

  Misinterpreting her denial, Gilbert's expression went from bad to worse, turning thunderous in the space of mere seconds. "Protect him you may," he ground out, "but he will still suffer my blade ere I send him straight to hell."

  Graeye hugged her arms about her. "Don't know where he is," she whispered, hoping he would hear her over the rage beating through his head.

  Before he could accuse her of yet another falsehood, she thought to appeal to his logic. "Think you he would tell me when he meant to ..." Her voice trailed off as her mind flitted ahead to the words that had nearly fallen from her mouth. It was one thing to hear another talk of what her father had tried to do, but quite a different matter for her to acknowledge it aloud. She simply could not.

  Coming back around the side of the bed, Gilbert stared down at her. "Is it because you love him—your father—that you sought his release?"

  "Love?" she breathed, incredulous. Aye, it was true she had wanted Edward's love, would have given hers had he allowed it, but he had not. "Nay," she whispered, meeting Gilbert's gaze. "A man like my father las no need for love. I only wanted to help him."

  Was it relief she saw in Gilbert's face, softening his eyes and relaxing his mouth before, too soon, it was gone?

  Shrugging off the foolish question, she turned her thoughts to a more pressing matter. What was to become of her now? Did the baron still intend to return her to the abbey, or would he find another way to mete out punishment for the foolish thing she had done?

  Though it pained her to do so, she raised her voice. Its rough, gravelly tone grated upon her ears. "You have said you will not rest until you have seen my father in hell," she began slowly. "I, too, am a Charwyck. Will you strive for my death as well?"

  His eyes narrowed upon her until they were mere slits. "Had I wanted your death, Lady Graeye," he said evenly, "I would not have seen it necessary to rescue you from the fire. Though 'tis true you are a Charwyck, and more than worthy of that name, 'twill satisfy me well enough to see you returned to the abbey."

  It should have been of some comfort to her that he meant her no physical harm, but Graeye found little solace in his words. Attempting to hide the pain she knew would be reflected there, she turned her face to the wall.

  Silence hung uncomfortably upon the air for long, interminable minutes; then she heard Gilbert move away. Even as she began to wonder what he was doing, the door opened, and after a brief pause, closed.

  So quiet was Groan upon his padded feet, Graeye was not aware of his triumphant entry into the chamber forbidden to him; His tongue lolling, he trotted directly to the bed and propped his slavering chin upon the coverlet to reg
ard his mistress with great, soulful eyes.

  Turning onto her side, Graeye laid a hand upon his head. Then, curling herself into the tightest ball she could stand, she gave over to the emotions she had held in check during her painful encounter with Gilbert Balmaine. With a sharply indrawn breath, she lost all control, her face crumpling even as she raised her hands to cover its tenderness.

  Standing in the corridor, Gilbert felt his annoyance at having allowed the beast to slip past him dissolve as he heard the unmistakable sounds from within. He was alarmed by his reaction to the mournful sobs. A woman's tears—they were a weakness he could ill afford, but neither could he deny their strong pull upon his hardened, barricaded heart.

  All anger drained from him, and he stared down at his hands for a long moment as memories of his sister, Lizanne, washed warmly over him. Though seven years separated them, he had always been there to offer her solace as she had grown from a babe to a young woman. She had needed him like no other ever had— until recently. Married now, she turned to another, her husband Ranulf.

  Unthinking, guided only by deeply buried instincts that found their way past the barbed walls of his soul, Gilbert reached to open the door again. Even as his hand strayed from his body, though, his mind pulled it back with the sharp reminder of Graeye's deception.

  She had played him for a fool. Used him to gain her own ends' without thought of any but herself. She was a Charwyck through and through.

  Abruptly, his compassion stepped back from the brink of disaster. Clenching his fists, Gilbert walked away.

  Chapter 9

  "Then I will drag her out myself!" Gilbert's wrathful voice carried down the corridor, announcing his brisk advance toward the lord's chamber long before his boots resounded upon the wooden planks.

  Hearing him, Graeye glanced over her shoulder at the door before returning her attention to the activity in the bailey below. Clutching the cover about her shoulders, she leaned forward to see better out the window from which she had removed the oiled linen. The slight breeze took hold of her loose hair and swept it across her face.

  Pushing it behind an ear, she watched as a continuous stream of servants crossed between the kitchen and the donjon, bearing trays laden with food that sent spirals of savory scents wafting upward. She reached with her dulled senses in an attempt to identify the various viands, but quickly lost interest in the dismal amusement-she had set herself to.

  Lifting her gaze, she looked to the ominous structure being raised in place of the destroyed watchtower. Though it was still far from complete, she was staggered by, the efficiency with which it had been erected in so short a time.

  Quite a feat. After all, it was only a sennight since the fire.

  She could only wonder at what changes Medland would see come spring, when the stage would be set for complete restoration of the castle. However, it no longer pained her that she would not be there to witness it herself, for she had come to accept her fate with more grace than she could have imagined. Considering the terrible events that had plagued her since leaving the abbey, that place did not seem as unpleasant as it once had.

  Blessedly, she had been left in peace to work through her emotions and allow her ravaged face time to heal. Still, these past days had been difficult.

  More than the loss of the future she'd glimpsed, more than Gilbert's rejection of her, and more than her pending return to the abbey, the most difficult thing to accept had been Edward's attempt to murder her. She had fought off that terrible memory the first few days, bat had finally found the strength to relive it in all its vivid detail.

  Now she was grateful she had, for as painful as it had been, it had allowed her to see clearly what kind of man Edward was. He had fathered her, but that was all. He had never been a father, and never would be. He was an evil man, of the same devil he had accused her of being. True, he had gone mad, but that did not excuse him from what he had tried to do to her.

  Acknowledging that had freed her of the naivete that had nearly cost her her life. Never again, she vowed, would she leave herself open to such vulnerability.

  The emotions Graeye had dealt with exclusively, but her injuries had been tended to by a healer named Lucy, a woman brought from Penforke castle— Gilbert's home—shortly after the fire. She seemed a kind enough soul, but Graeye had closed her out, answering her questions only when a nod or a shake of the head would not suffice.

  Although Graeye had not seen Gilbert since the morning after the fire, each afternoon he had sent a servant to request her presence at the midday meal. Each day she had declined. Though she knew she only prolonged the moment when he would see her returned to the abbey, she had needed the time. Now, with each successive footfall that neared her place of respite, that time was fast coming to a close.

  Releasing a lengthy sigh of resignation, she grasped the edges of the cover closer, but did not turn from her place at the window.

  She had just settled her gaze once again on the new watchtower, when the door to the chamber was thrown wide with nary a mannerly knock to announce her visitor.

  It would have been an unnecessary courtesy, Graeye mused as she continued to stare out the window. The baron had already made his presence known by din alone.

  Holding the cover with one hand, she lifted an elbow to the embrasure that she might rest her chin upon her palm, and wondered what it would take to teach manners to a man like Gilbert Balmaine. Reflecting seriously upon it, she nearly forgot that the object of her ruminations was waiting impatiently upon her.

  Gilbert was not averse to notifying Graeye of his presence when she persisted in feigning ignorance of it, for his tolerance of her continued refusals to come down from this room was like a long, thin line ready to snap. He'd had enough of this game and was prepared to put an end to it.

  "Lady Graeye," he said sharply, crossing the width of the room in but a few long strides and coming to stand behind her. "Methinks I should clarify myself. 'Twas not a request that you join me for dinner, but an order."

  Steeling herself for the confrontation, Graeye filled her lungs with fresh air before straightening and -looking over her shoulder at him. She was surprised how far she had to raise her eyes to meet his scrutiny. Had he grown taller? she wondered with private humor. Nay, she concluded after sweeping her gaze over him— and ignoring the fluttering that set off within her chest. It was but an; illusion caused by his nearness.

  Sighing, she turned back to the view outside and cupped her chin in her palm once again. "I have already eaten," she murmured, nodding toward a small table where the tray brought earlier that morning sat.

  "Aye, and very little I am told," he snapped. Reaching around her, he clamped a hand about the wrist of the arm she was propped upon and propelled her away from the window.

  It was no easy task to keep from falling headlong into that broad chest while Holding tight to the cover, but she managed to remain upright.

  "Where are your clothes?" he demanded.

  "I am wearing all that I have," she answered matter-of-factly. She attempted to pull free, but to no avail.

  His eyes flicked down over the cover, and before she realized his intent, he had swept it away, leaving her standing in only the thin shift that clearly outlined every detail of her body. Though she should have been dismayed, Graeye found herself oddly indifferent to Gilbert's attempt to humiliate her. Still, out of token modesty, she drew her arms against her body.

  "Considering there is less of you to see than you've previously shown me, methinks your modesty is out of place," he reminded her, his gaze raking the length of her.

  Dropping her arms back to her sides, she lifted her chin and met his stare. "But I did not reveal myself to you, Baron Balmaine," she said boldly.

  Gilbert was taken aback by her unexpected denial, but quickly recovered. "Truly?" he said, sarcasm evident in the single word as he stared at the defiant sparks lighting her eyes. "And who, then, did you seduce at the waterfall?"

  She looked pointedly
to where he still held her wrist, then back to his face. "He did not tell me his name," she said, "but he was a man who revealed nothing of the black heart that beats within your breast, Baron." Shrugging, she shook her head. "Nay, it cannot have been the likes of you."

  Gilbert was set back a pace. He had heretofore glimpsed the tentative claws this small cat extended, but there had been little conviction behind the swipes she had taken. He berated himself for having left her alone so many days. She had grown cold—indifferent—and it bothered him more than he cared to admit Perhaps, he concluded, it was too near a reminder of the long, bitter years his sister had endured, and which still haunted him.

  For a moment he allowed himself transport back to that time and place when he had failed Lizanne. She had needed him desperately, and though he had fought to come to her aid, he had been struck down. The battle scars he bore, his limp, all were badges of shame he wore for that night long past.

  The feel of a small hand on his chest brought him back to the present. Looking down at Graeye, he saw an unexpected concern in her eyes. "Gilbert?" she said softly.

  The sound of his name on her lips chased away memories of the distant past—and memories of her treachery. Instead he remembered the softness of her womanly body and the vivid passion of their one night together. His baser needs rose to the fore, and he answered them.

  Making bare note of the fear that flickered in her eyes as he swung her high into his arms, he carried her to the rumpled bed.

  Not until he tumbled her to the mattress did Graeye recover sufficiently to utter an indignant protest. "Nay!" she cried, thrusting her hands to his chest as he lowered himself atop her. "Do not."

  Ignoring her entreaty, he gathered her wrists and lifted them above her head. He held them with one hand as he lowered his head to capture her kiss.

  Graeye knew what this man was capable of doing to her defenses. Desperate not to reveal any further weakness, she fought him with every ounce of her strength, tossing her head side to side to avoid his lips and twisting her body away from his.