by Tamara Leigh
He allowed himself only a moment of regret when Marian lifted her face to reveal the cruelty of Edward Charwyck. He could afford no more, though his compassion for her plight shone in his eyes.
The maid had cried herself out completely, so she was better able to relate to Ranulf the events that had led to the taking of the babe.
"A basket," Ranulf echoed. "And how came he into the donjon?" he asked no one in particular.
"Through the kitchen entrance," Lizanne said.
"And none tried to stop him?" He could not believe the man had slipped within the walls undetected.
"Aye, but she is dead," Lizanne said. They had found the serving wench's body in the pantry.
Ranulf bellowed again and smote a fist into his palm. Blood. He wanted the blood of the old man as much as he'd wanted the blood of the son. And he would have it. Every last drop. His face a cold mask of rage, he turned to look at Walter, his trusted friend, who stood beside Lady Zara. "We ride now," he said.
The vassal stepped away from his wife and came to stand before his lord. "All is in readiness, my lord," he said. "The horses are saddled and mounted, provisions gathered, and the dogs eager to catch the scent."
Delegating emotion to the confines of his heart so that his judgment would not be clouded—truly an impossible task—Ranulf turned to Lizanne. "We will need a fresh scent," he said, his angry red coloring receding as his warrior's logic gained the upper hand.
"The sheets," she exclaimed, coming to life. "And I must change." As she swung toward the stairs, she fervently wished herself already in man's clothing.
Ranulf caught hold of her and pulled her hack around. "Nay, you will stay." He spoke firmly, though his voice still trembled with anger. "We will find her. 'Tis my vow to you."
"I will not stay! 'Tis my child! I did not labor to give her life only to abandon her now." Wrenching her arm free, she swung away. "If you leave without me, husband," she called over her shoulder, "I will follow. You know I will."
Aye, she would do just that. Frowning darkly, Ranulf watched her mount the stairs and disappear from sight. Of course he could set a man—-nay, a good half-dozen men —to ensure she did not follow, but woe be to those who found themselves such a duty. And still, she would likely escape them. Damnation, but she was no tamer than the day she had forced him into a sword fight with her!
Turning to Walter, Ranulf threw his arms into the air. "Have my wife's horse saddled."
"If she goes, I go too!" Lady Zara exclaimed. Not waiting for the dissent that was^sure to follow, she lifted her skirts and sprinted across the hall like a spirited mare.
Both men turned and stared at the tiny woman who was too much like Lizanne to waste any breath upon.
Chapter 22
Still Gilbert would not attend mass with her. Would he ever? Graeye wondered as she crossed the bailey, Groan tight on her heels. In these past weeks since she had come to his bed, she had sensed a weakening of his resolve to distance himself from God. Indeed, he had hesitated a long time before refusing her that morning.
Whether it was tomorrow or when their babe was born—only a few weeks hence—she was determined to have him on his knees beside her in the chapel. Only then, she was convinced, would the wounds of his tragic past heal. Then maybe he could love....
" 'Tis the stars you wish for, Graeye Charwyck," she chided herself as she slowly mounted the steps to the donjon. With each passing day the child grew more and more heavy, claiming every stretch of space inside her body until Graeye thought she might burst.
Ah, this one was not going to be small, she mused. Nay, it would be more of Gilbert than her.
Refusing to allow her mind to drift down the disturbing path to the difficult birthing that lay ahead, she stepped into the hall. Instantly, Groan sprinted across the rushes to growl a threat to the stranger there. A quelling reprimand from Gilbert sent him beneath a bench. Though relations had improved between the two males, it was still far from friendly.
As it took her eyes a moment to accustom themselves to the indoors, Graeye heard the voices before she saw the men at the far end of the hall. Upon the raised dais sat Gilbert, Sir Lancelyn on his left.
"Graeye," Gilbert called, rising to cross to her side. "We've a guest."
A twinge of discomfort came over her before she pushed it aside. It mattered not what this man, or any other, thought of her. What mattered was that Gilbert would claim this child as his own. Thrusting her chin high, she took the arm he proferred and walked beside him to the dais.
"Sir Lancelyn." She acknowledged the man with an awkward curtsy.
On his feet the vassal bent over her hand. "My lady, you grow more beautiful each time I chance to cross your path."
She blinked. Such flowery prose? For whose benefit? Looking up at Gilbert, whose eyes mirrored displeasure at the man's words, she knew it had not been for him. For her, then? But she had thought Sir Lancelyn rather cool toward her....
It was courtesy only, she concluded, finding no other place to hang this curiosity.
Gilbert did not deny his jealousy at having another man appreciate that which was his, and which he would share with no other. Nay, he was past that. He was damned jealous, his insides tightly sprung with resentment. What he would be like if a man ever ventured beyond the chivalrous courtesies with Graeye, he could not begin to imagine, but God preserve the soul of one who dared such a thing.
Graeye disrupted the tension that had built around the three of them. "You have business at Penforke?" she asked Lancelyn.
His gaze flickered to Gilbert; then he wisely stepped back and leaned against the edge of the table. "Aye."
"You will be staying long?"
"Nay, I cannot," he said, his gaze going twice more to Gilbert before settling upon her. "I must needs return to Medland ere night falls."
Then he would have to ride like the winter wind to achieve that end, Graeye mused. "And how does Medland fair?"
"All is well, my lady. The people are content, the crops sowed, and soon the donjon will be taken down that a stone tower can be erected in its place."
All that? It was difficult to comprehend such changes in so short a time. Lancelyn was, indeed, the laudable man Gilbert claimed him to be.
A hand to her arm, Gilbert pulled Graeye away, seeking the privacy of the stair's shadows. "'Twill not be possible to take our ride today," he said, his irritation slipping as he looked upon her rosy-cheeked face. "Methinks it likely to be hours ere I have finished with Sir Lancelyn."
"Is there something wrong?"
"There is naught for you to concern yourself over."
She did not think she should believe him, but saw nothing in his expression to dissuade her from the sense of security she'd had since coming to Penforke.
"Very well," she said, though she was greatly disappointed at not being able to take advantage of the lovely day. Since that first time Gilbert had taken her to the stream, they had returned each day the weather allowed. And the last three had been wet and overcast. She sighed. Mayhap tomorrow would dawn as beautifully as this day.
He dropped a kiss upon her lips, and urged her up the stairs. "Tomorrow," he promised, beginning to turn away.
She smiled at him, then began the long trek up the stairs. She got only as far as the second step before she was swept from her feet and settled against Gilbert's chest. He quickly carried her up the stairs and set her to the landing at the top.
"Chivalrous, my lord," she teased. "Mayhap I should ask Sir Lancelyn to visit more often." She jumped away before his hand could land on her backside.
"Methinks I should have rescued you sooner from Lizanne's chamber," he grumbled. "Your tongue grows more like hers every day."
It was the first Graeye had heard of it and, considering what she knew of his sister from Mellie, the comparison surprised her. Still, it did not offend her, for she'd found much to admire in the fearless woman Mellie had told her about. Mellie had not gone into much detail but she had explained to Gr
aeye that a year earlier, when Gilbert was at court, a vengeful baron had laid seize to Penforke, demanding satisfaction for some wrong he claimed Lizanne had done him. Rather than risking the safety of the castle's inhabitants, Lizanne had given herself over to the baron. Curiously, Lizanne had later wed that same man. One day, Graeye hoped to have the full story on what had transpired.
She wrinkled her nose at Gilbert, then walked down the corridor to the solar. Directly, she went to the window embrasure and settled herself there that she might gain some sun upon her face. It felt wonderful, though it could not compare with the excursions to the stream. Resting her hands upon her belly, she peered down at the activity of the inner bailey.
Though she paid no heed to the knights and men-at-arms, she missed nothing of the villagers who had come earlier that morning, as they did nearly every day, to perform various duties for their lord. Focusing upon a large peasant woman draped in a worn mantle, an idea came to her.
Excitement rushed through her. An adventure—not unlike those Gilbert's sister had undertaken, though on a smaller scale, of course. Dared she?
She nibbled her lip. With the leaving of Edward from the lands, had not Gilbert pronounced the demesne safe? Aye. In fact, the last few times they had gone to the stream, he had not brought along an escort.
Her smile faltered as the next obstacle dropped into her path. Where could she obtain peasant's clothes that would make her less conspicuous to the guards? If she could but solve that dilemma, it was likely she would succeed. Although each person who came within the castle's walls was thoroughly scrutinized, merely a count was taken when they left to ensure none stayed behind.
One of her mother's old bliauts, she thought. Mayhap, if she left the laces loose, she might yet fit into it. And with a little soil the coarse black mantle given to her at the abbey would complete the disguise. Both were in the chest.
But how was she to get past Gilbert? She could not pass unseen through the hall.The frown on her brow dissolved. The hidden stairway. Gilbert had shown it to her a fortnight past. Aye, if she took a torch, she would be able to negotiate it fine. And mayhap even return by it without any being the wiser as to her little jaunt.
Beaming, she hastened from the window and went to the chest. Easing herself to her knees, she sorted through the clothes there, finding the old bliaut first. Laying it aside, she dug deeper and, moments later, pulled out the bridal habit she had long ago buried. She paused over it, running her hands down the fine material as she recalled the last time she had worn it—the day Gilbert had come to Medland. How different he now was from that wrathful man who had cornered her in the chapel. Different, but still cynical.
Sighing, she laid the habit aside. Mayhap its material could be used to fashion a baptismal gown for the babe.
The mantle she located next was of rough, inferior wool. It had been given to her upon her return to the abbey. Though perhaps too warm for the day, it would be necessary to conceal her shape and face. Laying it alongside the bliaut, she began to loosen her laces.
A tap on the door interrupted her. Quickly, she dropped the lid of the chest and sat herself squarely down upon it.
"Come," she called.
"You are not feeling well, milady?" Mellie inquired, closing the door behind her.
"Tired."
"Ahh," the maid knowingly sighed, coming to stand before her mistress. "The babe." Her gaze flickered to where the garments lay alongside the chest. She frowned, but said nothing.
Nervously, Graeye laid a hand to her belly. "Aye, he never stops moving."
Mellie smiled. "I'll help ye to bed," she said, putting her arm beneath Graeye's elbow. "Rest will do ye and the babe good."
"I—I am suddenly quite hungry," Graeye said as she allowed Mellie to assist her in rising. "Mayhap you could fetch me some bread and cheese?"
Letting go her arm, Mellie peeled back the covets and motioned her forward. "Ye'd like a tankard of mead with that?"
Graeye started to decline, but on second thought nodded. "Aye, that sounds fine," she said, lowering herself to the mattress.
"Then I will fetch it now." Turning, she went quickly to the door. "Anything else, milady?"1 she asked, peering over her shoulder.
"Mayhap some fruit ..."
Nodding, Mellie slipped out into the corridor.
***
Graeye pulled the mantle around her, slumping within the folds of the hood to hide herself from the castlefolk she passed. If any gave her notice, she did not know, for she kept her head down.
Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, she crossed the bailey without mishap and ensconced herself within the narrow alley that ran the back of the smithy. Only then did she peer out from the folds of her hood to spy the gatehouse.
The portcullis was raised, its two guards standing before the gaping portal exchanging boasts of one kind or another. Still, they were alert.
Deciding she would wait until she saw another pass from the castle unhindered, she settled herself back against the wall, shifting the sack containing the food Mellie had brought her to the opposite hand.
A moment later something cold and wet against her palm nearly had her screaming aloud. A hand to her mouth, she stumbled backward, her eyes lighting upon the large dog who stood gazing up at her with great, questioning eyes.
"Groan!" she gasped.
In reply he wagged his tail and groaned.
Graeye could not risk being seen with him, for surely he would give her away. "Nay, Groan," she scolded, wagging a finger at him. "Go back."
He looked behind to where she indicated, then at her, his great tongue lolling.
Exasperated, Graeye stomped her foot. "Bad dog," she said. "Go!"
He groaned louder, setting her nerves on end. Then, with another groan, he squeezed himself around in that narrow space and ambled away. At the entrance he turned and looked back at her expectantly but, when she waved him away again, went with his tail between his legs.
Stepping forward a minute later, Graeye cautiously peeked around the building to assure herself he was not lurking anywhere near. She was surprised, for he had disappeared so completely, she could not be certain he had ever really come.
Seeing a peasant approach the gatehouse, she held her breath, waiting to see if the man would be allowed to pass without search. He was.
Excitement stirred her insides. Assuring herself the hood hid her features, the mantle her cumbersome body, she stepped forward. Just then the baby kicked, striking her side with enough force to snatch her breath. She had only just recovered when it threw another limb out to meet the other side.
Moaning, she slipped back into the shadows and ran a soothing hand over her belly. "A few more weeks," she whispered. The anxious child calmed a short time later.
Clutching her sack, Graeye once more stepped from the building and made her way to the gatehouse. Luck stayed with her, and she crossed the drawbridge a minute later.
Smiling broadly at having succeeded in her venture, she set her course across the wide, open grassland. Beyond, through the trees, lay the stream.
As she approached the cover of woods, the gathering thunder of hooves halted her progress. Swinging around, she shielded her eyes against the sun's glare and picked out the large group of riders descending upon the castle.
Who were they? she wondered, experiencing her first misgivings since leaving the castle. Over her shoulder she saw that the portcullis had been lowered. Enemies? Dear God, had she made a mistake in leaving the safety of the walls?
She looked again at the riders and found them fast gaining ground. Fear gripped her as she realized she stood in their path. As fast as her feet could carry her, she made for the shelter of trees.
Still they came upon her, veering away to avoid trampling her beneath their horses' hooves.
In her haste, Graeye stumbled and landed on her fours, both surprised and terrified when a shout brought the riders to a halt. Gaining her feet, the hood fallen from her head, she turned t
o stare at them. Her searching gaze caught and held that of a man with hair so pale, it looked to be white. And he was near as large as Gilbert.
Breaking from the group, a dark-headed man who moved with fluid ease upon his horse's back rode toward her.
Graeye quickly realized her mistake when, a moment later, she found herself staring up at a woman clothed as a man, a thick braid hanging over her shoulder. She was lovely, though fatigue had taken its toll on her.
"You are well?" the woman asked, the concern upon her face genuine, unwavering even when her eyes lit upon the stain marring Graeye's face.
"Aye," she answered. "No harm has been done."
The woman's gaze swept her once more, then, nodding, she urged her horse back around.
Immense relief washed over Graeye when the riders continued on to the castle. Slipping behind a tree, she waited to see how they would be received. It was not long before the portcullis was raised and they were allowed within.
All was well, then. Friend, not foe.
***
"Lizanne." Smiling, Gilbert held his arms up to receive her down from her mount.
She had no smiles for him, though, nor warm words for the brother she had not seen in well over nine months. Her mouth set in a grim line, she allowed him to assist her down.
"Something is wrong?" he asked, turning questioning eyes from her to Ranulf.
"Charwyck." The name was spat from her lips.
Immediately, Gilbert's hands fell from her waist, clenching into fists at his sides. "What speak you of?"
"He has stolen my child," she burst out, her eyes brimming with tears.
Stepping forward, Ranulf gathered her against his side. "We must speak, Gilbert," he said, then turned to mount the steps to the donjon.
Gilbert fought down the explosion of anger tearing at his insides. He must not give in to it, as it would only distress Lizanne more. Tight-lipped, he exchanged a knowing glance with Sir Lancelyn, then motioned for the man to follow.
In the hall serving wenches scurried to laden the tables with refreshments for the weary travelers. With one sharp word Gilbert sent them back to the kitchens. When Mellie appeared, her hands flapping with excitement at Lizanne's return, her mouth tumbling words he found too annoying to tolerate, he sent her away too.
