by Tamara Leigh
Who, then?
Chapter 16
One day fell into another, and soon the season of spring was fully upon the Inhabitants of Penforke.
On her knees in the rich earth of the flower garden she had prodded back to life after a cold winter, Graeye attempted to salvage the cluster of fragrant woodruff Groan had seen fit to make a bed of. It seemed a hopeless cause, for the small white flowers were well and truly crushed, but she was determined to save them.
With the return of the young girl Graeye had sent for a pail of water, Groan also reappeared, his head hanging low as he ambled toward his mistress.
Graeye nearly gave in to his sorrowful eyes, but knew it was too soon to forgive him his trespass. This was not the first time he had done damage to her flowers.
"Nay, back with you," she scolded, trying to sound firm in the face of a weakening resolve. When he simply stared at her, she shook her head and waved him away.
Heaving a lengthy sigh, Groan turned and headed back toward the donjon.
"I brought the water ye asked for, milady," the girl said as she set the pail alongside Graeye.
Pulling her gaze from Groan, Graeye smiled up at her. "Thank you, Gwen."
" Twas nothin', milady." The girl blushed, then extended a hand that held a small, brightly polished apple. "For the babe," she mumbled.
Reflexively, Graeye laid a hand to her belly, which had grown two months larger since she had first come to Penforke. " Twas kind of you," she said, reaching to take the fruit.
She had been surprised that it had proved less difficult for her to gain acceptance at her new home than at Medland—in spite of the fact that she appeared to all to be Gilbert's leman. Or perhaps because of it ...
The castlefolk's curiosity satisfied, they no longer made her uncomfortable with their seeking stares. Instead they treated her as if she were the lady of the castle. And Gilbert did not dissuade them from the notion, though neither did he speak of wedding her to make it fact, nor to assure his child's legitimacy.
Still, things were better between them since that night he had informed her of Edward's undertaking to destroy all that the Balmaines possessed.
Though the attraction was always there—it could not be denied—Gilbert had not broken his vow, and Graeye had not given in to her unruly emotions. An innocent touch ... an accidental brushing against each other ... an unguarded smile. That was all.
"Milady." Gwen broke into Graeye's thoughts. "I was wondering if this evening ye might show me again that fancy stitch ye put round the neck of the baron's red tunic."
It was Graeye's turn to blush. She had not meant to have anything to do with the stitching of Gilbert's clothes, for she thought it too intimate a task. However, the young girl's clumsiness with the needle had prompted her to assist in the adornment of that one garment. And Gilbert's coming upon them as Graeye had bent her head to the task had taken her completely unawares. His discovery would not have been entirely bad had he not seemed so pleased by the gesture. Unnerved, she had nearly thrown the tunic at him.
"Aye, Gwen," she agreed, "I will show you again." But on one of her own garments this time.
Pleased, Gwen swung about and hurried back down the path. However, at the door to the donjon, she turned to Graeye again. "I nearly forgot," she bubbled.
The apple halfway to her mouth, Graeye paused. "Yes?"
"The baron was looking for ye a short while ago. I told him ye were here in the garden."
"Did he say what he wanted?"
"Nay, but he was smiling, milady."
Smiling? What good news had been borne him, then? Had he once again discovered Edward's whereabouts? Graeye frowned at the remembrance of his failure to capture the old man two months past. The week that had followed had been difficult for all.
She had been shaken as she glimpsed again the wrathful man who had come to take possession of Medland. But it wasn't fear that had unsettled her—it was surprise. For the first time since he had forced her from the abbey, she had come to realize and appreciate the changes the months of separation had wrought in him. Her anger had made her blind to the softening of his disposition. As ruthless as she knew him capable of being, he had been amazingly tolerant of her defiance and scorn.
When the object of her thoughts suddenly appeared before her, Graeye started so violently, she nearly upset the pail of water.
"It appears a waste of time," Gilbert said, grimacing at the wilted plant that lay propped in her lap.
"What... oh!" Hurriedly, she began packing the soil around she base of the woodruff. "Methinks it will come back."
"You have too much faith," he grumbled as he lowered himself to his haunches.
"Or you have too little," she tossed back, reaching for the pail of water.
Gilbert took it from her. "Perhaps."
Surprised by his yielding, she turned questioning eyes upon him, but he only smiled. "You behave as if you've a secret you wish to tell someone," she ventured. "Do you wish to tell me?"
His smile grew teasing, "How much?" he asked, indicating the water with a nod of his head.
What a peculiar mood he was in, she thought. "Pour and I'll tell you when to stop.
"That is enough," she said a moment later. "Now, what—" The sudden jab to her ribs stole her breath and promptly set her back on her rear end.
Tossing the pail aside, Gilbert lowered himself to his knees and took hold of her arms. "What is wrong?" he asked, his face a mirror of concern as he pulled her toward him.
Recovering, Graeye laughed and patted a hand to her betty. "Your child is simply making himself more comfortable."
His brows knit, Gilbert looked down at her fullness. Then he smiled again. On impulse he placed his hands on either side of her belly, then dipped his head and laid his ear against it.
Graeye was too shocked to do anything but stare at the top of his dark head.
He did not have long to wait to feel the next movement, though it was less intense than the last. "Ah," he breathed, lifting his head. "He is strong—and impatient."
"Like his father," she said softly, her heart growing heavy in her chest.
Thinking to content himself with a brief taste of her lips, Gilbert angled his head and pressed his mouth to hers. But she gave back to him, opening like a flower beneath his coaxing. Encouraged, he took all she offered, sliding his hands up the sides of her breasts as he swept the insides of her mouth with his tongue.
Graeye cradled his face between her palms, ignoring the warning voices in her head, which truly were mere whispers. Though she had fought it nearly every day these last months, she wanted this. She wanted to know again the man from the waterfall. She wanted to wipe away all the pain—
"Apologies, my lord," a voice intruded, effectively pulling them apart. "I had thought you would be alone."
Hearts beating a wild pattern, Graeye and Gilbert looked to where Sir Michael stood a short distance away, his eyes cast down.
Looking as if he wanted to throttle the man for his ill timing, Gilbert rose, assisting Graeye to her feet with a hand beneath her elbow.
Though she was embarrassed to have been caught in such circumstances, Graeye saw the interruption as divine intervention. Dear God, why had she allowed the intimacy? she chastised herself. All that lay in that direction was Gilbert's bed. And she would not be his leman!
"What is it you want?" Gilbert asked sharply, stepping forward to put Graeye behind him.
Grateful for the consideration that freed her from having to meet the young knight's eyes, for he made her feel terribly uncomfortable, she began to pick at the dirt and leaves strewn across her skirts.
"A man comes—a villager," Michael answered. "He says he knows of Charwyck's whereabouts."
Graeye's hands stilled as she awaited Gilbert's response.
At last, Gilbert silently rejoiced, an intrusion he could forgive. Eager to know more, he walked over to Michael and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Where is he?"
"The inner b
ailey, my lord."
Though his first thought was to go directly to the man, Gilbert needed a few more minutes with Graeye. "Take him to the kitchens and see he is given something to eat," he said. "I will be along shortly."
"Aye, my lord." Michael strode back down the path.
When he was out of sight, Gilbert turned to Graeye. Her posture—her hands clasped before her, her chin tilted up—told him the opportunity had passed to crumble her defenses. Obviously, she regretted what had occurred and would not welcome any more advances. Still, he wanted to touch her again.
"You—you have not told me your secret," she reminded him, sidestepping the hand he reached to her.
His arm dropped back to his side. "Secret?"
She nodded. "You did not come out here to assist me in saving a doomed plant, did you?"
Although he was disappointed by her withdrawal, Gilbert smiled at the remembrance of the news he had received a short while ago. He should go to Lizanne, he knew. He had promised her he would visit again when the child was born. But that was before Graeye ... before the child growing in her belly. He could not leave her now, nor could he risk leaving the land while Edward Charwyck was still somewhere out there.
"My sister, Lizanne, has been delivered of a girl child," he said.
Graeye experienced a moment of joy before she reminded herself of the wrongs the woman had done her brother. "I see," she said, shifting her gaze to the colorful variety of flowers surrounding her.
"You are not pleased for her?"
"Should I be?" She fingered the hard bud of a rose. "She is, after all, responsible for Philip's death."
Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest. "I have told you, Graeye—the only one responsible for your brother's death was he himself."
This was the most frustrating of all barriers Graeye had to contend with. In all of Penforke there was no one who would speak of the terrible thing Philip had done to earn his death—not the castlefolk, not the knights, not Gilbert. Sighing, she met his gaze. "Until you offer me evidence otherwise, I have no choice but to believe what Edward told me."
Gilbert wanted to argue that, but thought better of it. "You are not ready to know the truth," he said.
Her temper flared. "And when do you think I will be ready—when I am an old woman?"
"When you trust me enough to know I would not lie to you," he replied, suddenly wishing himself away from this place and confrontation.
Unwittingly, Graeye accommodated him, lifting her skirts to step past him. "As you have not seen fit to offer me the same consideration, that could be a very long time," she flung over her shoulder as she made for the donjon.
Raking a hand through his hair, Gilbert let go a long sigh. "Fortunately, I am learning patience," he muttered.
***
Anticipating that Gilbert and his men would be leaving at first light to go in pursuit of Edward, Graeye arose from a restless night's sleep and hurried about the castle awakening those who were still asleep, despite the clamorous preparations being made for the departure. She set the kitchen servants the task of making the morning meal, though it was still hours before it would normally be served, and the others she directed to ready the hall.
As had become customary for her, she worked alongside those in the kitchen. Normally bread, cold meat, and ale made up the first meal of the day, but she decided that roasted venison, a variety of cheeses, fruits, and hot bread should be served instead. The servants did not question her, though they were clearly. t disconcerted by the effort required to serve such a sumptuous morning meal.
While the hot viands were being arranged on platters, Graeye hurried back to the hall. A healthy fire burned in the hearth, and numerous torches were lit about the room. The benches that had so recently served as beds had been pulled away from the walls, and the tables set and readied for the morning repast. Even the rushes had been turned and respread.
Pleased with the transformation, she called for ale to be poured, then crossed to the great double doors. It was time to announce the meal.
Stepping outside to a sky that was nearly as dark as it had been an hour past, Graeye paused to indulge in the cool air that struck her warm skin. Until that moment, she had not realized how heated she had become working in the kitchens.
Poshing a damp lock of hair out of her eyes, she looked out across the inner bailey. Here and beyond, there was the hustle and bustle of activity. By the light of torches, horses were being groomed and outfitted, weapons and armor cleaned and polished, and soldiers spoke excitedly of the raid upon Edward's camp.
Shortly, Graeye's searching gaze lit upon Gilbert where he stood alongside his destrier. Tall and broad as he was, it was not difficult to pick him out from the rest of the crowd.
As soon as she saw him, she realized he had been staring at her. Agitated that his entire attention was focused on her, even though several men around him sought to gain his regard, she swallowed hard.
Then, with the fervent wish she had taken more care with her appearance, she removed the cloth she had tied around her waist and smoothed her hair as a lopsided grin transformed the serious planes of Gilbert's face.
Her heart lurched. Since their confrontation in the garden the previous morning, she had not spoken a word to him. It had suited her fine, or so she thought. Now she realized how petty it had been, and wished she had not snubbed him when he had attempted to engage her in conversation later in the evening. However, it had seemed her only defense against the kindness he was showing her too much of lately. If not for her continued obstinance, they would certainly be lovers again, and she did not want that. Did she?
She watched as he disengaged himself from his men, crossed the bailey, and mounted the steps to the donjon.
"I had hoped not to awaken you," he said, coming to stand before her.
Uncomfortable with his intense regard, which boded no good, she looked away. "You did not. 1 purposely rose early to ensure the men were well fed before departing."
" 'Twas not necessary. Ale and a crust of bread would have sufficed."
Much against her will, she met his steady, probing gaze and saw the desire he made no attempt to conceal. "Sufficed, but that is all," she said, grateful they were not alone. " Twould not be fitting for them to ride into battle and have their bellies gnawing with hunger."
Gilbert stepped closer. "Do you also worry about my hunger?" he asked softly.
Knowing he was only playing a word game with her did little to prevent unwanted feelings from surfacing. She vowed she would not succumb to him as she had yesterday, and tossed her head back and propped her hands on her hips. "I worry only of the hunger in your belly," she said.
He stared into her eyes. Then, giving her no time to protest, he took her arm and pulled her into the shadows. "Which is where this hunger starts," he said as he forced her back against the wall with the length of his body, his hands on either side of her.
Graeye stiffened, trying hard to ignore the press of his man's flesh against her swollen abdomen. "Let me go."
"You also hunger for it, Graeye. Do not lie." His voice was low as his hips began to move against her.
She tried to push him away, to deny the feelings he roused, but he was like a rock. "Gilbert, there are others about," she protested, feeling suddenly breathless.
"If that is your only concern, be assured they cannot see." Cupping her chin, he lifted her face to his and touched his lips to her temple, then to her ear.
Desperate to end his seduction before she surrendered to her body's yearnings, she ducked beneath his arm. However, he caught hold of her and pulled her back.
"How long do you think to punish me, Graeye?" he asked, pressing his forehead to hers. "How long will you deny what is between us?"
"Forever," she breathed.
"Forever," he repeated bitterly. "Unless, of course, I agree to marry you."
She nodded. " 'Twas the bargain we made. I will not become your leman."
"Then you would have me s
eek my pleasure elsewhere?"
The thought of him lying with another woman pained her deeply, as it did each time she pondered the possibility. "Have you not already?" she asked.
He drew a deep breath, then released her and walked from the shadows. His back to her, he looked out across the bailey. "I have not," he said, then added, "yet."
One moment relieved and the next distressed, Graeye stared at his back. She did not want him to seek another, yet could not give him that which would prevent him from doing so. She wanted more. She wanted commitment, and for their child to be legitimate. But there seemed no use in pursuing the matter further.
Sighing, she stepped into the light. "Gather your men, for the meal is about to be served," she said, then turned to go back inside.
"Why do you act the lady of the castle when I have denied you the title?" he asked, keeping his back to hen
Her heart sank. Would he take this from her? It was really all she had to show she was the mother of his future heir. "You do not wish me to?" she asked as she stepped before him.
Dragging his eyes from the busy scene, he looked down at her. "It seems much work for so little reward," he replied. "Especially now that you are so heavy with child."
Unconsciously, she smoothed her hand over her abdomen. "There is naught else for me to do," she said. "Besides, 'tis my destiny."
"Your destiny?"
A faint smile touched her lips. "I may never be your wife, Gilbert Balmaine, but I will always be your child's mother." With that she returned to the hall.
Chapter 17
Something had gone terribly awry. And not for the first time, Gilbert reminded himself as great, roiling anger boiled through him, striving to break past his hard-faced exterior.
Two of the three men he had set to watch the village were dead—gutted like pigs at a slaughter—and the third had sustained wounds that, at the very least, would see him crippled for life. Though his injuries were far worse than Gilbert's had been those many years ago, Gilbert knew well the long suffering that lay ahead for his loyal retainer ... providing he lived. For a fighting man "it was a fate worse than death.
