by Tamara Leigh
Clenching his hands, Gilbert strode opposite.
CHAPTER TEN
Clutching the coverlet about her shoulders, Graeye leaned forward to better see out the window from which she had removed the oiled linen.
When the breeze took hold of her hair and swept it across her face, she pushed the strands behind an ear and continued to watch the stream of servants cross between the kitchen and the donjon bearing trays laden with food that sent savory scents wafting upward. Though she reached with her dulled senses to identify the various viands, she quickly lost interest in the dismal amusement.
She shifted her regard to the ominous structure being raised in place of the destroyed watchtower. Though it was far from complete, she was staggered by the efficiency with which it had been erected in a short time. Quite the feat, for only a sennight had passed since the fire.
What changes would Medland see come spring when the stage would be set for complete restoration of the castle? she wondered, grateful it no longer pained her that she would not be here to witness it. Surprisingly, it had not been as difficult as imagined to accept her fate. But then, considering the terrible events that had plagued her since departing the abbey, that place no longer seemed so unpleasant.
Blessedly, she had been left in peace these past days to work through her emotions and allow her ravaged face time to heal. Still, it had not been easy.
More than the loss of the future of which she had been allowed a glimpse, more than Balmaine’s rejection and what he believed of her, and more than her pending return to the abbey, it had been hard to fully accept Edward’s attempt to murder her. She had fought off the memories those first few days, but had finally found the strength to relive that night in all its grotesque detail.
She was grateful she had, for as painful as it had been, it had allowed her to see clearly what kind of man her father was—evil, of the same devil he accused her of being. True, he was very likely mad, but that did not excuse his actions.
That acknowledgement had freed her of the naiveté that had nearly ended her life, and she had vowed that never again would she leave herself so open and vulnerable to anyone.
Though she had dealt with her emotions on her own, her injuries had been tended by a healer named Lucy who had been brought from Penforke Castle—Balmaine’s home—following the fire. The woman was kind and gentle, but Graeye closed her out, answering her questions only when a nod or shake of the head would not suffice. Fortunately, Lucy’s services would not be needed much longer.
Graeye sighed, in the next instant startled.
“Then I shall drag her out myself!” Balmaine’s voice carried down the corridor, announcing his advance toward her chamber long before his boots resounded on the wooden planks.
Dear Lord, he comes.
Although she had not seen him since the morning after the fire, each afternoon he had sent a servant to request her presence at the midday meal. Each day, she declined. Though she knew she only prolonged the moment when he would see her returned to the abbey, she had needed that time. Now it was at an end.
She grasped the edges of the coverlet closer but did not turn from the window, not even when the door was thrown open with nary a knock to announce her visitor.
An unnecessary courtesy, she mused. By din alone, the baron had announced himself.
Bracing an elbow on the embrasure, she rested her chin in her palm and wondered what it would take to teach manners to a man like Gilbert Balmaine. Reflecting seriously upon it, she nearly forgot he waited on her.
Gilbert was not averse to notifying the Charwyck woman of his presence when she persisted in feigning ignorance, for his tolerance of her continued refusal to come down from her chamber was a taut string ready to snap. He’d had enough of the game.
“Lady Graeye, methinks I should clarify myself.” He crossed the room and halted behind her. “This time, ’twas not a request that you join me for dinner. It was an order.”
He saw her shoulders rise with a deep breath, then she straightened and looked over her shoulder.
He should not have been surprised that she still bore the marks of her father’s beating, but he was, and he hated that evidence of the cruelty visited upon her had yet to fade entirely. Still, she was much improved. The cut on her cheek appeared to be healing well, the swellings had gone down, the eye that had been closed was open, and the livid bruises had diminished such that they were mostly pale yellow and light purple.
“I have already eaten,” she said and flicked a hand toward the tray that had been delivered this morn.
“Aye, and very little, I am told,” he snapped, then gripped her arm and pulled her from the window.
Holding tight to the coverlet, she stumbled and nearly fell against him. Immediately, she jumped back as far as his hold on her allowed.
“Where are your clothes?” he asked, lowering his gaze down her and frowning over her bare feet.
“I am wearing all that I have.”
He did not like her voice. It sounded almost lifeless. Thinking to rouse her, he pulled the coverlet from her shoulders, but though she should have been outraged to find herself standing in only a thin shift that clearly outlined her body, her only reaction was to protectively cross her arms over her chest.
“Considering there is less of you to see than what you previously revealed to me,” he tried again, “your modesty is out of place.”
Still no outrage. With another sigh, she dropped her arms to her sides and lifted her chin. “But I did not reveal myself to you, Baron Balmaine.”
He was taken aback. “Truly? Who, then, did you seduce at the waterfall?”
She shrugged. “He did not tell me his name. I know only that he was a man who revealed nothing of the black heart that beats within his chest.”
Gilbert was further disturbed by her behavior. He had heretofore glimpsed the tentative claws this small cat extended, but there had been little conviction behind her swipes. Now…
He berated himself for having left her alone so long. She had grown cold and indifferent, and it reminded him of the bitter years his sister had endured and which yet haunted him.
He did not intend to revisit those memories, but they dragged him back to when he had failed Lizanne. She had needed him desperately, and though he had fought to come to her aid, he had been struck down. The battle scars he bore and accompanying limp were all marks of shame for that night long past.
A touch upon his chest returned him to the present, and when he looked down, he saw concern in Graeye’s eyes.
“Gilbert?” she said softly.
The sound of his name on her lips chased away memories of the distant past—and of her treachery. Remembering the softness of her body and their one night together, he pulled her close, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his.
Graeye startled, in the next instant stiffened to ward off the traitorous sensations swirling through her. She knew what this man was capable of doing to her, and as there could be no outcome other than that which had already been dealt her, she would rather die than let him do it again.
She dragged her hands up his chest, pressed her palms to it, and thrust backward. “Nay!” she cried when her mouth came free.
“Graeye,” he rasped and once more lowered his head.
She strained to the side, and it was her neck he fell upon, the touch of his lips stealing her breath and nearly scattering her resolve.
Do not, Graeye! she silently screamed. You vowed you would not!
Setting her teeth, she brought her knee up between his thighs.
He shouted and lurched back.
Knowing that when he recovered he would be furious, she strained to break free. And nearly made good her escape, but he caught her back and drew her with him to the bed where he dropped and pulled her down beside him.
She tried to sit up, but he held her fast and all she could do was lie back and await his wrath.
When several minutes passed and nothing untoward occurred, she
grew more wary. What did he intend?
Slowly, she turned her face toward his. And her dread transformed into surprise.
Head resting on an outstretched arm, Balmaine stared back at her, countenance devoid of the anger she had been certain would be there. Indeed, one corner of his mouth was raised higher than the other.
“Where does a novice learn to do that?” he asked.
She frowned. “What?” Then, realizing what he meant, she said, “I am sorry you forced me to harm you, but ’tis all you deserved.”
The other corner of his mouth lifted, and he rose up onto his side and propped his dark head on a hand. “Aye, it was deserved. And quite effective as you well know.”
Graeye wondered what game he played—and how he would retaliate.
When he moved away from her, it was so sudden it took her a moment to realize he had risen from the bed.
“I owe you an apology, Lady Graeye.” He adjusted his belt. “It was wrong of me to press my attentions upon you.”
An apology? She sat up.
“In future,” he continued, “I suggest you clothe yourself properly, use my title when you address me, and keep your hands to yourself.”
She should keep her hands to herself? Anger once more an ally, Graeye glared at him.
He glanced at her. “You ought to know that such familiarity between a man and woman does not always go unanswered.” He turned, strode to the door, and paused. “I will send a servant to aid in outfitting you for dinner. Do not keep me waiting long or I will see you clothed myself. Understood?”
How could she refuse such a threat? Graeye pushed off the bed, crossed to the window, and tossed over her shoulder, “Perfectly, my lord.”
Behind, the door closed softly.
Attired in another of her mother’s old garments and having eschewed the cover of a wimple, Graeye entered the hall just as Balmaine rose from his chair, surely to come after her as he had warned he would do.
He beckoned, reseated himself, and indicated the nearest of two empty places to his left.
As she was ushered forward by the young maid who had coaxed her into allowing her hair to be plaited, Graeye felt the curious stares that followed her progress across the stretch of floor.
She knew the sight she presented. Not only did she bear the “devil’s mark,” but ample evidence of Edward’s beating. But though her humiliation should have been great, she was so curiously unmoved that she lifted her chin higher.
“You become more brave each day,” Balmaine murmured as she lowered beside him.
She ignored his gibe and turned her attention to the trencher placed before her. Typically, she would have shared it with another, but as she had arrived in the midst of the meal, there was none with whom to divide it. She picked around the chunks of meat, looking for the bits of vegetables she preferred. As she indulged, she glanced at those seated around the hall and soon realized the king’s men were no longer present. When had they departed Medland?
Does it matter, Graeye? she silently chided. ’Tis not as if it is your home any longer.
Something landed in her lap, and she startled, but it was only Groan. Slobbery chin marking her skirts, he peered up at her.
She smiled and patted his head. Though he had been her constant companion during the first days of her recovery, he had grown restless and she had seen him only on the rare occasions when he wandered into her chamber for a quick stroke and the leavings of her meals.
Searching out a worthy morsel among those in her trencher, she slipped it into his mouth.
“Careful lest that animal grows any bigger,” someone jested.
Until that moment, she had not realized someone had taken the seat to her left, but she knew the voice.
“Sir Michael,” she said with a nod.
Why he would offer her the warmth of his smile she did not know, but she appreciated it.
He leaned toward her. “I had begun to think myself invisible,” he said, then caught up her hand and brushed his lips across the backs of her fingers.
She returned his smile and slid her hand from his grasp.
“What do you at the lord’s table?” she asked, surprised Balmaine should look kindly upon any of Edward’s former retainers.
The young knight moved nearer, and his lips nearly touched her ear. “I have found favor with the baron.”
Uncomfortable with his proximity, she drew back. “Pray, tell how you accomplished such a feat.”
He grinned. “The supervision of the building of the new watchtower was given to me. ’Tis a great responsibility, and for that, I am late to meal.”
He did not need to elaborate further. Having seen that worthy structure, Graeye understood how he had pleased Balmaine. However, Sir Michael did elaborate, beginning with a narrative on the complexities involved with such a project.
She listened, made a few comments, and when he moved too near, scooted opposite along the bench.
Groan followed her progress, grumbling each time the man advanced on her.
After a time, Graeye found herself at the edge of the bench, one leg pressed against Sir Michael’s, the other tight against Balmaine’s chair. Making no attempt to mask her irritation, she looked around into angry blue eyes. And knew Balmaine had been following her conversation with Sir Michael.
But why did his anger seem directed at her? It was the knight who had encroached upon her, not the other way around. By neither manner nor word had she encouraged him.
Abruptly, Balmaine stood, declared the meal at an end, and ordered all but a handful from the hall.
“Lady Graeye,” he said as she rose, “I would have a word with you ere you retire to your chamber.”
Reluctantly, she lowered back to the bench while the others, including Sir Michael, exited the hall.
Groan, surely sensing there was booty to be had, trotted off to join the other dogs who followed the last of the serving wenches out. Though there was still much to be done to see the hall set aright, it had been cleared sufficiently for the lord to carry out his business.
Graeye watched as the half-dozen men instructed to remain behind, Sir Lancelyn among them, gathered at the far end to await their lord’s summons. When they began talking amongst themselves, she supposed it was so they would not appear to be listening in on Balmaine’s discussion with her.
She twisted around to face him.
Fastening his eyes upon her, he raised a booted foot to the edge of the table and pushed back in his chair until his weight was balanced on the rear legs. “Lady Graeye,” he said, beginning to knead his thigh, “such behavior as I have seen displayed here today is unbecoming of a lady.”
She was not surprised by his interpretation of what had transpired, but she was offended—and all the more so that the one who took her to task was tipped back in his chair like an errant boy. “As you obviously refer to Sir Michael’s conduct,” she said, “should you not take up the matter with him?”
“I will speak to him of it, but he is not entirely at fault for responding to your invitations.”
Graeye jumped to standing and looked down at Balmaine where he perched precariously on his chair. “You see through the eyes of a man,” she raised her voice, uncaring as to whether or not she drew the attention of the others. “And only that which you wish to see. I neither encouraged Sir Michael, nor invited his attentions. In the past, he has been kind to me. That is all. I was simply returning the courtesy.”
Balmaine steepled his fingers before his face. “Then you would not be interested in him taking you to wife?”
Her breath caught, and she sank back to the bench. Why did his question dishearten her when it ought to be a light in her darkness? Though her mind immediately supplied the answer, she fiercely denied it. She had no liking for this black-hearted giant. None.
Determinedly shifting her emotions away from him, she pondered the reason Sir Michael still wished to wed her. Because Edward was missing, relieving him of the burden of also assuming respo
nsibility for a man he detested? And what of her return to the abbey? Had Balmaine not made it clear he would be satisfied with nothing less than her confinement within those walls? If that was still the case, then he must be taunting her, dangling the possibility of marriage as revenge for the incapacitating blow she had earlier dealt him.
She searched his eyes for laughter, and finding none, said, “I do not understand.”
“‘Twould seem Sir Michael is enamored of you and wishes you for his wife. I was told he challenged Sir William for your hand, but that you refused him.” He raised his eyebrows. “I am curious if you would do so a second time given the abbey is your only other option.”
Graeye knew she did not owe him an explanation for the reason she had decided against the young knight, and yet she said, “As there would have been bloodshed had I not refused Sir Michael, I agreed to wed Sir William.”
“You were content to do so?”
Suppressing a shudder at the thought of being that man’s wife, she said, “Edward chose him for me.”
“But now you would agree to take Sir Michael as a husband?”
After having accepted the abbey was a better place than this cruel world? Certainly not. And the sooner she left Medland, the better.
Still, she would play a bit longer. “Is it a choice you offer me, Baron Balmaine?”
“It is one I am seriously contemplating. Would you accept him?”
She made him wait on her answer, then said, “I would not.”
Surprise momentarily recast his face, and she felt a prickle of satisfaction. If it was a game he played, she had won.
“Why?” he asked.
“As you have said repeatedly, my place is at Arlecy. Though I did not wish to return there, I accept it now—welcome it, even.”
“Then you prefer the abbey to marriage?”
“I do. Too, I fear I would not make Sir Michael a good wife.”
“For what reason?”
“I do not have the sort of feelings for him that would make for a satisfactory union.”
