by Tamara Leigh
William broke the silence. "See what I chanced upon, my lord," he said, his pride evident.
With a twist of his lips Edward wrested his gaze from Graeye's and turned it upon his man. "She came alone?"
"Aye, my lord. I followed her for some time to be certain. She says she brings Balmaine's heir to you that she might have revenge upon the man."
Edward looked back to Graeye. "Is that right, daughter?" he asked, visibly distrustful of her. "You seek revenge against one you took as your lover?"
More than anyone, she had to convince Edward of the lie. "'Twas a mistake I made," she said with great bitterness. "Balmaine treated me cruelly and refused to wed me that his child would be legitimate. I would see him dead and all that is his become ours." Those last words deeply pained her, but they were necessary.
His jaw shifting side to side, Edward continued to stare at her. Then he nodded. "Come down from there, daughter," he said, raising his arms to receive her.
Though it was Graeye's greatest wish to vault over the opposite side rather than go into that evil embrace, she muffled the desire. Forcing her face to remain impassive she leaned forward.
At the first touch of those hands, she stole a sharp breath, only releasing it once she was set upon her feet and Edward had stepped back to look at her.
Throughout his scrutiny she held her head high, unflinching even when his gaze settled upon the stain.
"You should have died," he said. "Was it the devil that snatched you from the flames?"
The devil. Always it came back to this. So be it. Knowing Edward would do her no harm so long as she carried Gilbert's child, she defiantly tossed her head. "Aye."
Around her she heard the anxious whisperings that rose like a swarm of confused bees.
Edward reacted as if slapped, his head rocking on his thick neck, his body jerking violently. "You ... you ..." He stumbled back a step. "Where is your head covering?"
She folded her arms across her chest. "I no longer wear one."
His eyes widened. "You will in my presence," he spluttered.
She shook her head. "Nay, I will not." Purposely, she brushed the hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
Edward's eyes flew to the stain.
"You fear me," she stated, matter-of-factly.
Her challenging words were enough to wipe much of the fear from his face, though he did not attempt to come any closer. "Fear you?" he spat.
Now that she had gained the advantage, she could not back down. "Aye. Think you a piece of linen will take the devil from me, Father? Nay, 'twill still be there."
He did not speak for several minutes. His hands clenched at his sides, he stared into the face of the woman who was not the same as the one he had known nearly nine months past.
"Come," he finally said, "I have something to show you."
Gathering her mantle against the cooling of afternoon, she followed him, passing shadowy figures and faces, curious and fearful alike.
Outside a crudely constructed tent, an older woman was seated cross-legged upon the ground, a babe suckling at her breast Beside her was a basket, and within lay another infant.
Immediately, Graeye knew one to be Lizanne's child, but forced a frown to her face. Since she had first formulated her plan, she had determined it would be best if she pretended ignorance of the abduction.
A self-satisfied smile cracked Edward's face. Going down on his haunches, he lifted the sleeping baby from the basket.
Instantly, the infant awoke and began to fuss, its whimperings growing ever loud as Edward clumsily turned it around for Graeye to see.
"Know you whose child this is?"
It was not easy, but she stilled the impulse to snatch the distressed infant from him. She stared at the small baby, noting its thatch of pale hair and chubby face, then shrugged. "Is it not the woman's?" she asked.
"Nay, she cares for it only when she is not caring for her own," he said, his mouth twisting viciously as the infant began to wail.
"May I hold him?" she asked, suddenly fearful Edward might do the child harm.
"Her," he corrected, though he did not relinquish his hold on the child. "And you may call her Gillian Wardieu,"
"Wardieu," Graeye echoed, eyes wide. "Surely not."
He laughed. "Aye, 'tis. Took her from the cradle myself. Did you not know?" '
"I heard naught of it. But why would you take this child?"
Idly, he fingered the infant's pale locks as it continued to cry its anguish. "Twill bring me Philip's murderers."
The crying grew louder, the infant's face turning a frightening red as Edward held it upright.
"She is hungry," Graeye said, her hands itching to wrest Gilbert's niece from the evil man.
"I have no more to give her," the woman snapped, rising to her feet. "Me own child grows weak for all I have had to give that one." Her face angry, she swept past Edward.
Graeye watched her go. "Perhaps you should give the child into my care," she suggested, looking back at Edward.
"And who would nurse it then?" he asked. "You?"
Could she? Graeye wondered. "I believe I could."
He regarded her with mounting suspicion. "If 'tis true you seek revenge against Balmaine, why would you care what happens to this brat?"
The question unsettled Graeye. Knowing it had been unwise to insist so soon, she searched frantically for an answer that would appease him. It was a weak argument she came up with, but it was the only one close at hand. "Of what use is this child if she dies from lack of sustenance?"
He shrugged. "It will still bring me Balmaine and Wardieu."
"Perhaps," she returned, glancing at the child, who had calmed somewhat, "but should something go awry, 'twould be a powerful bargain you could strike with her still alive."
Edward's anger surfaced. "Naught will go awry," he growled. "My vengeance is assured."
Where she found her next argument, she could not have said. It simply came to her. "Aye, providing William does not turn on you."
He stilled. "What mean you?"
Pretending nonchalance, she shrugged. "He thinks you quite mad," she said, planting the seed and praying it would take hold and grow. "On the ride here he even boasted that 'twas he the people followed, not you."
Edward shook his head vehemently. "I do not believe you. You lie."
She stepped near him and placed a hand on his arm. "Do not let him fool you, Father. He deserted you once before when he took an oath of fealty to Baron Balmaine. He will do so again."
She had chosen her words well, she realized a moment later, for a hunted look entered Edward's eyes. Without another word he pushed the infant into her sums and hurried away, one hand worrying his long hair.
Graeye drew a long, shuddered breath. She had won this battle, but there would be more. Somehow she had to get Gillian away from here. Hardly able to believe she had come one step closer to achieving her end, she placed the child to her bosom, a great protectiveness assailing her.
Chapter 24
Gillian continued to fuss, her fisted hands and stiff legs punching at the air until, at last, she found uneasy comfort in her protector's arms. Whimpering, she turned her face to Graeye's breast and began to search for the milk that would fill her rumbling belly.
It took Graeye a moment to realize her intent. Suddenly uncertain as to what to do, she looked around for privacy in which to explore the rituals of motherhood— rituals she had not expected to be introduced to for another fortnight or more. The woman's tent would do, she decided.
Crouching low, she entered the cramped interior. She was pulling the flap down over the opening when William pushed it aside.
"You may frighten the old man, but you do not frighten me, Graeye Charwyck," he said, squatting to view her where she sat.
"Do I not?" she tossed back, bestowing upon him the most venomous glare she could muster. "You would do well to be frightened of me, William Rotwyld."
With a harsh laugh he swept a
savage gaze over her and the babe, then retreated.
Wondering at the depth of the well from which she had drawn the courage to face the two men she feared most, Graeye looked down upon the shadowed, angelic face nestled against her. "Ah, little one," she cooed softly, "all will be well."
While Edward's brigands prepared for the com-| ing battle, Graeye plotted, finding that pitting Edward against William was easier than she'd anticipated. And it did not take long to understand why. She had thought she'd lied when she'd warned Edward to be wary of William. Unwittingly, she had told the truth.
She could come to no other conclusion after two days of observing the happenings around her, which, prior to her arrival, Edward must have been too blinded by his madness to see. The old man was simply a figurehead, and one that William had very little tolerance for. Nearly every directive given by Edward was immediately countermanded by William, and it became apparent that the brigands did, indeed, follow the latter.
Now Edward also saw this, and Graeye knew it was only a matter of time before the confrontation that would give her the opportunity to escape with Gillian.
That evening, not until her belly began to gnaw with hunger, did Graeye finally emerge from her tent to the smell of freshly cooked venison. With a contented, slumbering Gillian propped upon her belly and clasped to her breast, she ignored the man who had been set to shadow her every step and crossed to where the food was laid out. As usual she found the leavings of the others modest, for she had not come soon enough to choose the best of the meal Still, it would suffice.
As she settled upon a rotten log, the child in her belly kicked hard, reminding her that soon it would enter the world. Her sleep disturbed by the sharp movement, Gillian whimpered, then nuzzled back against the warm pillow of breasts and resumed her soft snoring.
The bread was hard, the cheese moldy, but the venison tender. As she had done with each meal, Graeye hid a portion of it in the small sack beneath her mantle. It would sustain her on the journey back to Penforke.
When she'd eaten her fill, she got to her feet and headed back to her tent. However, Edward curtailed her flight.
"I would see the child," he said.
Reluctantly, Graeye pulled the cloth back from Gillian's head and stepped sideways so he could see her.
Edward nodded, then reached to take the infant from her.
"Nay!" she protested, stepping away from him. What did he intend? He had not attempted such a thing before.
"The child, Graeye," he ordered.
She shook her head. "Why? What do you want with her?"
"I must send a message to Balmaine and Wardieu," he informed her with a twisted smile.
"Then send your message," she said. "It does not require the child."
"You are wrong. I require something of the child that my threat will be taken seriously."
"Something of the child?" she echoed, not wanting to read into his words the real meaning. "Send your message," she repeated, "but leave her be."
He reached again for Gillian and nearly succeeded in snatching her away.
Graeye stumbled backward, found her balance, then retreated.
"Give me the child!" he demanded, following her.
Surprisingly, it was William who stepped between Graeye and Edward. "The message has already been sent," he said.
A long silence ensued as Edward stared at the other man. "By whose order?" he finally exploded.
William crossed his arms over his chest. "Mine."
Recognizing this as the confrontation she had been waiting for, Graeye stepped quickly out of harm's way, just as Edward charged the younger knight. He threw his great bulk into him, sending them both sprawling in the dirt.
Immediately, the people rushed forward to surround the two men as they regained their feet.
"You think to usurp my power?" Edward roared. "I will cut you in two." He reached for his sword, but discovered it missing. Raining curses upon the air, he drew forth his dagger.
Though William had his own sword by him, he also took up the dagger. "Come, you crazy old man," he taunted, slicing the air with his blade. "Let us see if you can still wield a weapon."
Something in Graeye called to her as she watched Edward advance upon his opponent, but she did not act on it, harshly reminding herself that this man was her father in name only. Slowly, she backed away, her eyes searching out the man who had followed her earlier. With great relief she saw that he, too, was caught up in the excitement of the brawl.
Lunging forward, Edward laughed triumphantly as his blade sliced across William's ear. William bellowed and countered with a swipe that narrowly missed the other's chest.
"You are mine!" Edward shouted, but his dagger found no further contact.
As she continued her backward trek, Graeye looked away but a moment to be certain she was not followed.
In that fleeting space of time she heard Edward's cry of pain. Looking back, she saw the blood William had drawn from his tipper arm.
"Have you no prayers to say?" William jeered. "Your death is not long in coming, old man."
The knight could not possibly have-known how true he spoke, for in the next instant Edward fell to his knees, his hand clutching at his chest.
But William had missed his chest, Graeye thought. Hadn't he? A moment later she realized what had taken him down, for she had once witnessed the same thing with an elderly nun. His heart had given out.
Telling herself she cared not if he died, she looked beyond to the refuge offered by the bordering trees. If she could but make it ...
"Lady Graeye," William called to her, "will you not tend to your father's last rites?"
Too late, Graeye realized with a sinking heart. The opportunity was lost. Would there be another before Gilbert arrived and she and Gillian were caught in the midst of the battle?
Dejected, she stepped forward, knowing that William had seen through her plans for escape. Clutching Gillian tighter, she knelt beside Edward's supine body.
He still breathed, his eyes wide as he held to his chest. "Bastard," he rasped, tilting his head back to stare at William. "I would have given you all."
"Nay," William snapped. "All would have belonged to the bastard growing in that whore's belly. There would have been naught for me."
Another fierce pain gripped Edward. Crying out, he shut his eyes and rolled his head side to side.
"At least have some dignity in death," William said scornfully, and walked away.
The others disbanded, leaving only Graeye with Edward. However, she was watched again.
Placing the slumbering Gillian on the ground alongside her, Graeye touched the old man's shoulder. "Do you accept the cross?" she asked as she lifted the relic from the neck of her gown.
His eyes opened and fixed dazedly upon her. "Alienor," he rasped, "is that you?"
Surprised to hear her mother's name upon his lips, Graeye could only stare at him. It was true she resembled her mother, though she was slighter of build and fairer of hair, but she had never thought to be mistaken for her. The depth of the old man's pain had brought on a delirium, she realized.
"Ah, 'tis," he breathed as he made to lift a hand to her face. However, it fell back to his side.
Graeye shook her head. "Nay, Ed—"
His weak, coughed laughter cut across her words. "See what I have done to your precious daughter," he proclaimed triumphantly. "You thought to close me out and punish me, but in the end 'twas I who won." A spasm of pain crossed his face. "Why could you not have loved me as I did you? I gave everything to have you. I sent Hermana away—forced her to the convent that I could wed you. And you hated me for it."
Shocked by his words, Graeye fell back on her heels. "Hermana ...," she whispered, seeing vividly the face of the woman who had plagued her days at Arlecy.
"Aye," Edward breathed. "Never did Philip forgive me for sending his mother away and taking you to bride. He hated me for it."
Graeye pressed a hand to her mouth. That Hermana
had been Edward's first wife, and Philip's mother, explained so much that she had never understood. Philip's taunting ... Hermana's ill will ...
"But I tried to make amends to him," Edward continued, his eyes squeezing tight as he was shook by another pain. "I sent your darling child to live alongside that bitter old woman. And for a time it pleased Philip. But he always wanted more."
Graeye did not think she wanted to hear any more of it, but Edward was not finished. As his life ebbed away, his body eased of its pains and slackened. This time when he reached for her, he found the curve of her face.
"You should not have scorned me, untouchable Alienor—righteous Alienor, who, by silence, condemned me for everything," he murmured, his rough fingers caressing Graeye's cheek. "Had you but shown me some of the kindness you extended to all others, I might have accepted the devil's child you bore me, but you loved only her."
Graeye would not have expected it after all Edward had done, but she could not prevent the pity that rose within her. That this man had once been capable of such love, even were it manifested to the detriment of others, pulled at her emotions.
"Father," she said softly, leaning down to press her lips to his weathered cheek, "accept the cross that you might be delivered from this torture."
He pushed her hand away and, a moment later, expelled his last, shuddering breath.
Tears collecting in her eyes, her throat constricting, Graeye crossed herself and began her prayers.
A short time later, when she lifted Gillian and made to stand, her eyes caught the glint of the dagger that had fallen from Edward's hand and lay beside him. Her back to the man who stood watch over her, she secreted the weapon within Gillian's blanket and stood. What use it would be to her she was uncertain, but knew it might gain her an advantage, later.
***
The advantage was to come far sooner than expected.
As night grew late, Graeye tried to rest her exhausted body—to find the sleep constantly eluding her. However, each time she found it, it was short-lived, for either Gillian awoke her, or her own child picked the inopportune moment to change positions.
