Virgin Bride

by Tamara Leigh

  At long last she fell into a troubled sleep marked by fitful stirrings and dark dreams that warned of danger. She saw Gilbert and blood, heard Gillian's cries, felt a hand close over her mouth, stealing the breath from her—

  Her eyes sprang wide to stare at the shadowy form leaning over her. Was this part of her dream? Nay, she realized a moment later, she was no longer in it. This was real.

  She thought to struggle, but then remembered that Gillian lay asleep in the crook of her arm. She would not see the little one harmed. Her heart thundering, she thought of the dagger hidden beneath the blanket she lay upon, and wondered if she could bring herself to use it.

  "Ah, Graeye," a familiar voice slurred into the darkness. William's breath was so soured with alcohol, she nearly wretched against his hand. "Know you what I have come for?" he asked as he drew a crude hand over her belly to her breast.

  She shuddered with revulsion, at the same time willing herself to lay a hand to the dagger. Moving slowly, she extended her arm and lifted the edge of the blanket.

  "I have waited too long to have you," he continued, his greedy fingers kneading her flesh. "And now that the old man is gone, I will have the pleasure you denied me and gave to that bastard Balmaine."

  Her searching fingers found the blade of the dagger, its honed edge slicing through her flesh before she realized her mistake. Suppressing a cry of pain, she inched her hand to the hilt and wrapped her throbbing fingers around it.

  "I have warned you before," William said, "fight me, and 'twill be the child who suffers. Do you understand?"

  Nodding, she was momentarily relieved to be freed of the pressure of his hand against her mouth. In the next moment, though, she realized his intent when he reached to remove Gillian from her arm.

  Instinct told her to fight him, but common sense prevailed. Knowing it best to have Gillian out of the way when she found the courage to defend herself, she eased her hold and allowed William to set the babe aside.

  Returning to her, he thrust away the rough blanket covering her and began to pull up her skirts.

  In spite of the pain in her hand Graeye gripped the dagger tighter, but not until she felt the loathsome man's hand run the length of her thigh did she force herself to action. Though she could not bring herself to set the blade to his flesh, she swept her arm above her head and brought the hilt of the dagger squarely down upon his skull.

  He did not immediately react, hovering above her before falling to the side with a muffled grunt.

  "Heavenly Father," she breathed, unable to believe she had bettered the man. But then, she reasoned, he had been steeped in his cups from all the celebrating he had indulged in following Edward's demise.

  Now what? Scrambling onto her hands and knees, she found Gillian in the darkness and crawled to the tent opening. It seemed too much good fortune to discover her guard absent, and she assumed William had sent him away.

  Knowing there would never be a better time to escape, she quickly gathered the few things she anticipated needing for the return journey to Penforke—the sack of stale food, her mantle, a blanket, and the dagger.

  Though a horse would certainly have speeded her flight, she knew it would be foolish to attempt acquiring one, and resigned herself to going on foot.

  Emerging from the tent, she held Gillian close to her and crept toward the cover of trees. It seemed a long distance as she stepped lightly around the other tents and sleeping forms, but she made it without mishap. Now the only difficulty lay in getting past the sentries she knew were set around the camp.

  She would have to go slowly, and pray that William did not too soon recover from the blow she'd dealt him.

  Chapter 25

  Thrusting his bloodied sword back into its sheath, Gilbert remounted, though not his own destrier. It had fallen in the short-lived skirmish of early morn when he had led the attack against Edward's brigands. A loss for certain, but the great white stallion had likely saved his life, taking the arrow that had been aimed at him. Shot from a crossbow, it would have easily pierced his coat of mail.

  "There is no sign of either one," Ranulf said of Graeye and Gillian as he urged his destrier alongside Gilbert's. "Nor of William."

  Gilbert swept his gaze over the destruction left by the clash between Charwyck's men and has. It was a pity the amount of blood that had needed to be shed ere the brigands had been defeated, but he was grateful to have lost so few of his own. But still he did not have that which he sought!

  As they had trailed Charwyck's progress south, word had come from Penforke that Graeye had disappeared. It had nearly driven Gilbert mad as the old doubts about her had resurfaced, but he had not allowed himself to believe too long in any one of them. Now, however, testimony had been made of her presence in the camp by those of Charwyck's men who had survived. Too, they had told of the old man's demise on the night past. There was some relief in that, but not enough.

  Why, Gilbert wondered, had Graeye sought out her father? It was not answer enough to learn she had cared for Lizanne and Ranulf's child while in the camp, for he could not believe she would endanger their child to protect another's.

  Mayhap she had simply been biding her time to find an escape from him, had lied when she'd declared her love.... Nay! He violently rejected the thought. He could not—would not—believe that, either.

  There was always Mellie's confession to consider, he reminded herself. Believing Edward wanted the Balmaine heir, Graeye might not have considered herself, or their child, to be in any immediate danger. It was possible she had left Penforke to seek Gillian's release. But what had driven her to such desperate measures?

  Immediately, Gilbert knew the answer to that last question, and it pained him to know he was responsible for the burden of guilt placed upon Graeye's shoulders for the wrongs her family had done the Balmaines. He would make it up to her, he vowed.

  "Think you William has her ... and the babe?" he asked.

  Ranulf ran a weary hand along the back of his neck as he stared up at the new sky the sun had penetrated only hours ago. " 'Tis likely," he said.

  Her face drawn and weary, Lizanne urged her horse alongside her husband's. "I do not believe it," she said. "Methinks Graeye must have escaped with Gillian during the night and William set off after her."

  "How come you by this?" Gilbert asked.

  She shrugged. "If all you tell me is true about the woman, then 'twas her intent to take Gillian from here. Mayhap she succeeded. 'Twould certainly explain why William was not here when we rode upon the camp. As the new leader of these brigands, he would have no reason to flee."

  "Yet he told no one of her escape?" Gilbert said.

  "None that survived," Lizanne pointed out. "Also, he may not have thought it too difficult to find her and bring her back."

  "Then we must find her first," Gilbert concluded, and motioned for his men to regroup.

  ***

  Tempting as it had been to follow the river so that she would not become lost, Graeye had known it would be to her detriment, especially once the sun had risen. It was what William would expect, after all, and she had no intention of aiding him in her recapture. Instead, she paralleled the river as best she could, occasionally turning in to catch a glimpse of it to assure herself she had not strayed too far.

  How long and how far had she walked? she wondered, her legs and back aching with the exertion. A dozen hours or more, she guessed, and throughout, Gillian had been patient,

  Graeye was grateful, for a wailing baby would likely find them intercepted before they reached Penforke. And she had the feeling they were not far from that place. Most evident of this was the land's sudden incline. Until recently it had been gradual but now it pointed the way to the great fortress situated upon its hill.

  Not allowing herself to feel too much relief until she was safely within the castle's walls, she hurried her awkward legs beneath her. "Soon," she told herself when her fatigued body protested its aches and pains. Hearing the faint sound of running
water, she veered away, still careful not to go too near the river lest she expose herself.

  The first cramp that caught her midsection was not so bad, though it did take her breath away. Pausing, she drew her hand down over her belly. It was nothing, she assured herself as she thought of her child's entrance into the world. Nay, it was not yet time.

  Continuing on, she was taken by another cramp not long afterward. Again denying it for what it was, she resumed her journey once it had subsided.

  Over the next hour the pains grew more intense and frequent, but still she refused to succumb to their draw. If the child was readying itself for birth, that she reach Penforke quickly was that much more important.

  Gillian's plaintive cries finally forced Graeye to stop that she might feed the little one. Truly grateful for the reprieve, though it would set her back some, she chose a place among the low-lying bushes that offered adequate cover and set herself to the task.

  Gillian was not long into the feeding when a crashing sound brought Graeye's head swiveling around. Scooting farther back into the protection of the bushes, she drew her knees up and searched the wooded area for the source of the commotion.

  Dear Lord, she prayed, let it be a wild beast ere it be William. That was not to be, for it was William who emerged a moment later on a heavily lathered horse whose hindquarters shook with exertion.

  Praying fervently that she would not be noticed in her hiding place, Graeye slowly lifted the hood of her mantle to conceal her telling pale hair. Then, holding Gillian close, she peered at the man through the canopy of leaves about her.

  Wild-eyed, his color high and ruddy, William pulled hard on the reins, forcing the animal to step a circle as its rider searched the area.

  "Bitch!" he roared. "I know you are out there. I can smell you."

  Smell? Graeye shuddered as he threw his head back and sniffed the air. He was nearly as mad as Edward had been, she realized, and he meant to kill her. Aye, he had not come to take her back, but to put an end to her.

  Grumbling loudly, William guided his horse nearer her refuge, his angry, narrowed eyes scrutinizing the undergrowth and surrounding trees.

  Though it was her greatest desire to withdraw more deeply into the bushes, she forced herself to remain still, barely breathing for fear William might hear. It would be miracle enough if his ears did not prick to the soft sounds of the infant's feeding.

  Of a sudden a bird took flight, drawing William's attention. A moment later a hare skittered out into the open, then disappeared from sight. The quiet of a wood warmed by the afternoon sun followed.

  Graeye's fortitude was rewarded seconds later when, with a savage growl, William jabbed his heels into his horse's sides and rode off—in the direction of Penforke. As he went, he shouted curses that lingered long after the last of him disappeared.

  Still unmoving, Graeye wondered what she should do now that William had overtaken her. To gain the sanctuary of Penforke, she would first have to get past him, which might prove impossible had he set himself to watching the castle. If he caught her out in the wide expanse of open land surrounding the fortress, he would have little difficulty capturing her. Mayhap nightfall would provide her the cover to reach safety—

  Another lancing pain caught her unawares. Sealing her mouth with a fist, she waited for it to pass. It did, but left her more drained than ever.

  Her child was coming, she accepted, allowing herself only a moment of wonder before resolving that she must reach Penforke without further delay. Be it by the postern gate or over the drawbridge, she would find a way.

  Gillian content and dozing in her arms once again, Graeye emerged from the bushes and cautiously made her way forward. Though she believed William presented no immediate threat, she took no chances and veered even farther from the river.

  Like a hunted animal, she was keenly alert to the goings-on about her. Every unexpected sound made her skin crawl and her breath catch, but she did not stop, except when the birthing pains overcame her and she was forced to wait them out.

  With the sudden thinning of vegetation, she realized she was nearly out of the woods. Though she had not the energy to run, she pushed herself to a faster pace, drawing herself up short only when, through the sparse trees, Penforke rose before her.

  "Merciful Father," she breathed, wiping the perspiration from her brow. Moving nearer, she scrutinized the fortification and saw that it was in a state of preparedness. Though it was still day, the drawbridge was raised, and atop the walls armed soldiers crossed back and forth.

  Could they protect her? she wondered. Perhaps, but first they would have to know who she was. In a quandary, she searched out the fringes of the woods for signs of William. She was dot surprised when she found none, for the man was not fool enough to make himself visible before he had her.

  Knowing it safer to approach the castle via the rear, where the postern gate was located, Graeye decided she would use the cover of the surrounding woods to get there. Keeping the castle within sight at all times, she began the last leg of her journey with the same caution she had exercised throughout. However, with each pain came the desire simply to strike out across the open ground. Each time she suppressed it, but only just.

  She made all sorts of promises to herself as she plodded on—a hot, scented bath, a day's long sleep, fresh fruit and warm bread, the comfort of Gilbert's arms about her ...

  Noise intruded on her musings—not the clamor of a single rider, but of many. Her heart pounding heavily, she walked quickly to the edge of the woods and pressed herself against a tree. Looking around its girth, she spied the-riders emerging from the left—near where she had first caught sight of Penforke.

  The vivid colors the knights wore and the banners they carried told her immediately it was Gilbert. Relief, quick and molten, shot through her as she settled her gaze upon the large figure riding at the fore.

  Though an insistent voice warned she was not yet out of danger, she pushed it aside in favor of the safety offered by Gilbert's arrival. She could not risk being left outside the castle's walls with William still hunting her, especially with her child demanding its entry into the world.

  Drawing from deep within herself, she found the strength to carry her forward. Though she could not have been said to run, neither did she merely walk. Almost immediately Gillian began to whimper, awakened by Graeye's jarring movements.

  "Soon 'twill be over," she soothed. Pushing back her hood to reveal her hair, she raised her hand high and waved it in hopes of drawing attention to herself. She was about to lend her voice as well when she saw the riders turn toward her.

  It was nearly enough to drop her to her knees in thanks, but still she hurried toward the man riding upon her.

  Gilbert was but a few lengths from her when Graeye was taken by another pain, but it was not like what she'd been experiencing. This one burned, so much that it, not God, forced her to her knees.

  A howl of fury rose above the pounding of hooves.

  Thinking it must have been Gilbert, and wondering at the depth of rage that had produced such a horrendous sound, Graeye peered over her shoulder and saw a shaft protruding from her upper back. Seeing it only intensified the pain, and the hazy realization that it had been William who had shot it filled her with remorse.

  "Ah, nay," she gasped as she looked back to see Gilbert nearing her in a measure of time that was not of the real world. He moved so slowly, she thought as the pain took her all the way to the ground, where she fell heavily upon her side.

  Gillian was wailing now, her small fists pummeling the air as Graeye fought to preserve consciousness. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed against the pain, and when she opened them a moment later, found Gilbert bending over her, his face distorted with the shifting emotions of anger, concern, and ... was it fear?

  "Our baby," she croaked as he lifted Gillian from her and handed the infant into waiting arms. "It comes."

  Disbelief flashed across Gilbert's face, washing it of all color.
"Dear God, not now," he rasped.

  She nodded, lifting a hand to touch his unshaven jaw. "Soon," she breathed. Her hand fell back to the ground, and her lids flickered closed over her eyes.

  Gilbert stared down at her, all the promises he had ever made himself not to allow her into his heart dissolving as if they'd never been. He could no longer deny it—he needed her, loved her as he'd never loved any other.

  "Do not leave me, Graeye," he said, his voice deep and raw with emotion. "I won't let you." His hands going beneath her, he lifted her into his arms and stood.

  Graeye pulled back from the rest she so desperately needed and looked up at him. "Never," she said, trying to smile, but failing.

  "Gilbert!" Lizanne's voice intruded upon the moment. "We must hurry or she will lose too much blood."

  The urgency of her words, and the meaning behind them, forced Gilbert to action. As he strode to where Ranulf sat astride his mount, he pressed his lips to Graeye's forehead. "I love you, Graeye," he said, then lifted his head to gauge her reaction.

  Though her eyes were closed, a smile made it to her lips. "And I you," she murmured.

  He savored those words, then with great reluctance handed her up to Ranulf. To leave her now was almost, a sin, but he knew he must.

  "I am going after William," he said. "There will be an end to all this today."

  "Likely he has already been taken," Ranulf said.

  Knights had immediately set off after the man when Graeye had been struck.

  "Perhaps," Gilbert said, turning back to his destrier, "but 'tis not over till I have been satisfied."

  "Then I will go with you."

  One foot in the stirrup, Gilbert looked over his shoulder at his brother-in-law. "I yielded Philip to you," he said, reminding him of that day a year past when he'd been given a choke of two men to fight. Though it was Philip he had wanted all along, to ensure justice would be done, he'd had little choice but to fight the other man—Ranulf's twin brother. "Now," he continued, "it is my turn to know the sweetness of revenge."