by Tamara Leigh
Realizing his intent, she jumped away, placing the bed between them. "You forget yourself, my lord!" she protested, fumbling to draw the laces tight again.
"Come, Graeye," he coaxed. He extended a hand to her, though he did not move closer. "I only meant to help you prepare for bed."
"I do not think so," she said.
Wearily, he pushed a hand through his thick hair. "I will be sleeping in here tonight," he said, then reached to unfasten his sword.
Outraged by his audacity, and alarmed by the speed with which he was disrobing, Graeye gaped at him.
"What of your vow?" she demanded, even as the sight of his powerful chest warmed her as no fire possibly could. "Would—would you be so bold as to dismiss it with nary a prick of your conscience?"
He sat on the edge of the bed and began tugging off his boots. "Nay," he said, dropping one boot, then the other, to the floor before standing again. "I will abide by my vow not to force myself upon you."
"Then what do you think you are doing?" she squawked as he loosened his chausses.
At the first sight of those tapered hips, she whirled around and presented him with her back. Still, it was not simple modesty that bade her take such an action, but the need to hide her response from him.
Tossing the chausses over a bedpost, Gilbert sighed. "I am making ready for bed," he answered, then turned to use the washbasin.
"Your solar is down the corridor."
"Which I have yielded to Sir Royce."
Sir Royce? The king's man who had secured Medland for Gilbert all those months past? Stealing a glance over her shoulder, her eyes lit upon Gilbert's bare buttocks. Flushing, she looked away. "I—I did not know he had arrived. You've business with him?"
"Nay, he is only passing through. We met up with his party this afternoon."
She twisted her hands in her skirts. "He will be staying long?"
"Nay, just this night."
Then she could avoid him. Though she had adjusted well to Gilbert's people, the thought of meeting the king's man again unsettled her.
"You could sleep in the hall," she suggested.
"Aye, but you are here."
Silence followed, though the air was fraught with the tension of Graeye's futile search for a rejoinder.
Indifferent to his nudity, Gilbert moved about the room and snuffed all but one of the candles before returning to the bed. Grimacing at Graeye's stiff back, he lowered himself to the mattress and drew, the covers over his naked loins. Then, a hand behind his head, he stared at her rigidly held figure. How curious, he mused, that from behind she displayed no signs of pregnancy.
Reaching over, he turned the covers back. "Come to bed, Graeye. You need not fear I'll go back on my word."
Graeye was not convinced, especially as she was as distrustful of her own desires as she was of his. Biting her lip, she glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to find his eyes closed, his head angled away from her.
Aye, he would keep his vow not to force himself upon her. But what if he touched her again as he had in the garden?
Stubborn to the end in spite of her exhaustion, she held out until she heard his breathing turn deep. Then, letting the tension drain from her, she loosed her bliaut and drew it off.
A short time later, clad only in her chemise, she walked around the bed to where the last candle burned. Hesitating, she looked down at Gilbert's face and, for the first time, noticed how very long his lashes were where they rested upon his cheeks. As her gaze lingered over his features, it struck her she had never before observed him during sleep. And yet she had been so intimate with him as to create this child growing inside her.
If only things had been different, she lamented. If only she had grown up with the love of both parents and been allowed to choose which path her destiny would take. And how differently would Gilbert have perceived her had this all-consuming vengeance he harbored never been born? Would there have been a chance for them to make a life together? Could he have grown to love her as she loved him?
Tears pricking the backs of her eyes, she determinedly redirected her attention. Licking her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the wick of the candle, then turned to pick her way back around the bed, where she imagined she would cling to the edge throughout-the long night.
"Ow," she breathed when her foot came down on the rough sole of a boot he had left beside the bed. Wrinkling her nose, she made her next step more cautious than the last.
An outflung arm arrested her progress as she crept past Gilbert.
"You are supposed to be asleep!" she exclaimed, recoiling from the hand that sought to catch hold of her.
"I was," he gruffly replied, seizing her about her thickened waist and drawing her to the bed. " 'Tis your game to play at being asleep, not mine."
Unwilling to put up a pointless struggle against his greater strength, Graeye allowed herself to be drawn down upon the bed. Her mind, meanwhile, rushed with imaginings of what his intentions were now that he had her cornered.
"Do you prefer to lie on your side or your back?" he asked, pulling her nearer.
She was bewildered by the unexpected question. "My ... side," she whispered.
Obligingly, he pulled her into the curve of his body, his hard warmth pressed along her back. After dragging the covers up, he slid an arm around her and settled it in the narrow valley below her breasts and above her belly.
Though she tried, Graeye simply could not relax while he held her, her thoughts turning to an awareness of each place their bodies met. She distinctly discerned the swells of his broad chest where they pressed against her back, and felt the steady thud of his heart. Lower, his loins nestled her buttocks. A shudder swept through her.
Gilbert's solution to what he perceived to be a chill was to press her even nearer, though there truly had been no space separating them before.
"Relax, he said. "I do not bite."
"I did not think you would," she said, uncomfortable with his ability to read her so easily.
"Hummph," he grunted with obvious disbelief. Sliding his hand to her abdomen, he rested it there.
It was a long night that followed.
Chapter 18
"And how does Sir Michael?" Sir Royce asked Gilbert between bites, his voice raised loudly as he tried to make himself heard over the din of hungry, talkative men. "I notice him to be absent from the hall. He is still in your service, is he not?"
As the king's man lifted another morsel to his mouth, he found himself staring into eyes suddenly cold and stony. A weighty silence descended upon the hall as his question went conspicuously unanswered.
His meat dagger suspended in midair, Gilbert looked from Sir Royce to his men. The abrupt termination of their conversations had left this terrible, expectant silence that he alone would have to deal with. Scowling, he watched as many gazes flickered from him to the lady beside him, whom he'd ushered into the hall much against her will a half hour earlier.
A moment later Gilbert, too, turned his regard upon Graeye.
Looking as if she had completely disassociated herself from any and all, she sat quietly seething, one hand gripping the stem of her chalice, the other stroking the handle of her meat dagger. As if entirely unaware of the attention turned upon her, she continued to stare at the trencher that had been set between her and Gilbert.
Other than her protests against dining with the king's men, which had proved an embarrassment for Gilbert when they had descended to the hall, she had refused to say anything more since he had settled her beside him. She would not even look up.
Gilbert had not understood her aversion to dining with them, for she regularly took her meals in the hall. And it was not as if she had awoken in a poor mood, for her disposition upon wakening that morning and finding him still in her bed had been pleasantly peaceable. In fact, when he had begun to knead his aching leg, she had even offered to do it for him. Naturally, he had declined.
However, she had turned indignant when he had suggested she
join him in welcoming their guests. She had told him in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of accompanying him to the hall, and that he should go along without her.
Not understanding, he had^ insisted—to the point that when she had turned her back to him, he had seen her dressed himself. And it had been no mean feat, either, for she had opposed him all the way, going on about the humiliation she was sure to suffer in the presence of Sir Royce.
Too late Gilbert had seen the error of having forced her compliance. The curious, furtive glances the king's men had bestowed upon her as they entered the hall had finally convinced him of what Graeye had tried to convey. Though she'd adjusted well to the curiosity of Penforke's castlefolk, this was different.
Not only was she was an unwed noblewoman grown heavy with a misbegotten child, she was publicly seated beside the man who had fathered it—a man who had no intention of righting the situation by wedding her.
Not for the first time since discovering this, Gilbert wished he had allowed her to remain abovestairs, especially now that Royce had introduced this latest topic, which he was not about to discuss during a meal.
Sighing heavily, he turned his attention back to the king's man. "Let us speak of it later," he said, his tone conveying more than his words.
Instantly, the meal resumed its previous course, the noise of a hundred conversations converging upon the air at once.
"My lord," Graeye said to him. She lifted her gaze from the trencher to scan the occupants of the other tables. Only a handful looked their way.
Carrying a tasty morsel to his mouth, Gilbert leaned nearer to hear her.
"Why is Sir Michael not among your men?" she asked. "Has he displeased you?" Frowning, she turned her lovely pale eyes upon him.
So she had not been ignorant of the happenings around her, Gilbert concluded, not liking the tight corner she was backing him into. It was simply not the time or place to be drawn into this particular conversation, and he thoroughly intended to avoid it at all costs. There would be time later, in private, when he could tell her of the young knight's death.
As nonchalantly as possible, he speared a small piece of meat and offered it to her.
"Nay," she declined, shaking her head. "I am not hungry."
"But you would have eaten had I allowed Mellie to carry a tray up to you," he said, his brows lifting as he dared her to deny what she had spent much breath trying to convince him to grant her.
"Which is what I would have preferred!" she snapped. Then, remembering they were not alone, she looked around to see if she'd called undue attention to their exchange. None seemed overly interested.
"Give up this pouting, Graeye," he chided, speaking just above a whisper, "and eat, that our child will grow strong and healthy ere he ventures out into this cruel world."
Her lids flickered as she considered his words, then she abruptly thrust her chin forward. "Know you what they are thinking?"
"I know exactly what they are thinking," he replied softly, lowering his face nearer to hers. "They are envious—the lot of them."
Openmouthed, Graeye stared into his blue eyes that sparkled with the barest hint of laughter. "Aye, envious," she returned in a hushed voice replete with antagonism. "Envious they do not have a whore to warm their beds as you do."
It was the wrong thing to say, for immediately Gilbert's eyes lost all evidence of humor, turning hard and barren as their color deepened to near black. She recoiled inwardly at the change her words had wrought, knowing she had pushed him too far. Breath held, she waited to discover what reprisal he would seek against her.
For long moments he stared at her, his face an impenetrable mask. Then, as if he did not trust himself to speak, he pressed his lips tightly together and thrust his dagger forward that she might take the meat from it.
She acquiesced, lifting a hand to pluck the morsel from the tip. However, Gilbert was not content with her small concession.
"Nay," he said, his harsh voice stopping her hand where it hovered above the meat. "With your teeth."
Her anger flared again. "You are perverse!" she whispered.
"Aye, and do you not forget it."
In her present mood Graeye would have liked nothing better than to let her anger have free rein, but she wisely fought it down. Taking a deep breath, she parted her lips and leaned toward him.
There was none of the vexing triumph on Gilbert's face that she would have expected when he delivered the meat to her mouth. Instead, expressionless, he turned back to the trencher and fished out another piece for her.
Fuming, Graeye took her time chewing.
Gilbert seemed content to wait her out, and when she finally swallowed, the dagger was there again.
"I can feed myself," she protested.
"Aye, but our child cannot," he said, pushing the meat nearer.
Sighing, she took the morsel, fully expecting him to return with another at any moment. However, he seemed to feel he had proved his point. Pressing her meat dagger into her hand, he returned to his own nourishment.
"And do not feed any to that beast of yours!" he bit off, his eyes lighting momentarily upon Groan's head where it rested on her knee.
Lest he take any hesitation as defiance, Graeye reluctantly complied, searching out the scant vegetables that she preferred over any meat. She was surprised to discover how hungry she truly was once she started eating-She decided to give it some time before reintroducing the question Gilbert had yet to answer, and it wasn't until the trencher was nearly empty that she finally braved it again.
"My lord," she began, running the tip of her tongue over her lips, "you did not answer my question about Sir Michael."
He eyed her over the trencher, his mouth tightening. "I did not forget," he said succinctly. " 'Twill wait."
He was hiding something from her, she knew, for what was the harm in telling her of one man's whereabouts? Still, she resigned herself to biding her time. She was not up to braving the beast twice in one morning. Nay, not even twice in one day.
***
"He is dead," Gilbert informed Sir Royce as he leaned back in his chair.
As if struck with a fist rather than those dispassionate words, Royce recoiled. "Dead?" he repeated with disbelief. "But how?"
Gilbert met his wide-eyed stare. "By his own sword he took his life. But had he not done it himself, I would gladly have seen the same end to him."
Coming out of his stupor, Royce turned the possibilities over in his mind. "Ah," he said a short rime later. " 'Tis the same as Sir William, is it not? He betrayed you—to Charwyck."
Having assumed his favored position of tilting his chair backward, Gilbert stared out at the halL which was empty of all but the two of them. "Aye," he growled. "And his betrayal cost the lives of two villagers and three of my best men, and the ruination of an entire village."
"But I understood you to have set men to watch the villages to ensure against further raiding," Royce said.
"I did, but when I received confirmation of Charwyck's place of encampment, I left only a token watch at each village and took the greater number of men to ride with me." He drew a hand down his face before continuing. "Charwyck was warned of our coming ere we ever reached him."
Royce shook his head. "So Sir Michael carried word to him of your intent to raid his camp."
" 'Tis assuredly what happened."
"And 'twas because of Lady Graeye he betrayed you?"
Sighing, Gilbert settled his chair back on its four legs. "Aye, he wanted her."
Pressed against the wall near the bottom of the stairway, Graeye squeezed her eyes closed, but could not block out the offense that had just been laid at her door. Men had died because of her, villagers left homeless—all in the name of the vengeance Edward was set upon extracting, and Sir Michael's betrayal.
She knew it was wrong of her to eavesdrop on their conversation, but she had come unsuspectingly upon it, and Gilbert's words "He is dead" had precluded any thought of withdrawing or reveal
ing herself. Now she understood his reluctance to speak of Sir Michael during the meal—it was not idle conversation, after all.
"Then Charwyck knows of the child she carries,'' Royce concluded. "And if not from Rotwyld, then from Sir Michael."
"Aye, he knows, and knowing that 'tis my child she carries, 'tis likely he will try again to harm her." Abruptly, Gilbert pushed to his feet and began pacing the room.
"Sir Michael took much satisfaction in describing to me exactly what Charwyck intends to do," he said as he passed Royce a third time.
The knight could well imagine what that might be, but emotionally removed from the situation as he was, he saw more clearly the truth of the matter. "Unless Charwyck has gone completely mad, 'tis not Lady Graeye's life I would fear for, but rather the safekeeping of your child—and then, of course, your own life."
Gilbert ceased his pacing and turned back around. "What speak you of?"
Dropping his elbows to the table, Royce clasped his hands and leaned forward. "I speak of your heir. The old man wanted an heir for his properties—'twas his only reason for bringing Lady Graeye from Arlecy. Now he has a grandchild soon to enter this world who will be more valuable by far than any made from the union of his daughter with Sir William. If he could but lay his hands on this child and see to your swift demise, then he would have your properties and those he lost to you."
His mind working throughout Royce's explanation, Gilbert nodded. "Aye, you are right, 'tis exactly what he would aspire to—providing he has yet any wits about him."
"What will you do then?"
What he had set out to do from the beginning, Gilbert thought. Nay, that was not exactly true. It was not until the old man had attempted to burn Graeye alive that he had acquired a real thirst for Edward's blood.
"He will suffer the same fate as Philip," he said harshly. "And then I will be free of the curse of the Charwycks."
"Do you so soon forget that Lady Graeye is also a Charwyck?"
The reminder jolted Gilbert and left him speechless.
