by Tamara Leigh
She scoffed. “I am to believe such a vow when you make no secret of your aversion to a belief in the Almighty?”
He resheathed his sword. “’Tis a knightly vow I have made, the ceremony of which is of less consequence than the words I have spoken. However, I give notice that if ever we come together again out of mutual need, I will not likely refrain from taking what you offer. And then you will be mine as much as the child you carry.”
Though apprehensive about that last bit, Graeye said, “It appears I have naught to fear from you, then.”
“Naught.”
Feeling as if she were stepping into an abyss, she walked forward and, when he held out a hand, placed hers in his.
His gaze lowered to where his fingers closed over hers. Then, slowly, he drew his thumb across the back of her hand.
Disturbed by the caress, she tried to pull free, but he tightened his grip.
“Release me,” she hissed.
He did not look up, his gaze intent upon her small hand trapped in his.
Graeye loathed herself for the surge of feelings she had vowed never again to allow herself. Why could she not hate him? Why could she not disassociate herself from this man as she had done her father?
“Beautiful,” he murmured, then lifted her hand, pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, and captured her wide-eyed gaze.
She floundered in the depths of those incredible blue eyes that regarded her with such intensity it was as if he sought to gain her soul. Knowing he felt her response against his mouth and desperate to keep hold on her convictions, she tried again to pull free.
He did not release her but lowered their hands between them. “’Tis time we ride,” he said and drew her toward his destrier. Shortly, he gripped her thickened waist and, in spite of her added bulk, easily lifted her into the saddle. Then he swung up behind her.
Graeye would have liked to resist when he pulled her back against his chest and draped his mantle around her, but she was suddenly too tired to fight anymore.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I mean no disrespect, my lord, for she is welcome, but if ’tis your child she carries, why do you not take her on to Penforke?”
Coming up out of sleep, Graeye latched on to the hushed words and ran them backward and forward through her mind in an attempt to attach meaning to them.
They speak of me, she realized.
Careful to keep her breathing even, she opened her eyes to narrow slits and peered at her surroundings while she awaited Gilbert’s answer.
It was the deep of night, though she knew not what hour it was, and she lay abed in one of the smaller rooms of the donjon at Medland. This last she knew instinctively, for the chamber appeared much changed from what she remembered of the dank, foreboding place.
Though muddled from sleep, she had no difficulty recalling the circumstances that had led to her being taken from Arlecy. However, she recalled very little of the ride to Medland, having slept through much of it.
“I do not want her at Penforke,” Gilbert finally answered.
She frowned. Though he had mentioned returning her to Medland, she had not thought he meant to abandon her here. Did he also mean to hold himself from the child once it was born?
“And when the child is born?” the other man, whose voice she now recognized as Sir Lancelyn’s, asked the question for her.
“I will decide then.”
Though the tightening skin of her belly began to itch, Graeye fought the urge to scratch it.
It was Sir Lancelyn who changed the subject. “That girl you sent to serve her—Mellie, is it? She arrived two days ago. Though I have heard nothing of it myself, I am told she objects to serving Lady Graeye.”
Graeye’s eyes flew open. Was there no end to the passing of judgment against her before one even knew her?
“She was Lizanne’s maid,” Gilbert said. “Though I would have it otherwise, it is now common knowledge what Philip Charwyck set out to do to my sister. I daresay the girl remains loyal to her former mistress and is as distrustful as I am of any bearing that particular name.”
“Think you it prudent, then, to give Lady Graeye into her care?”
“I will speak with Mellie and make clear my desires with regard to the handling of her new mistress. She will do as told.”
“There are others, my lord, who would make a better maid.”
Surprisingly, Gilbert did not rise to anger at his vassal’s continued opposition. “Nay,” he said, “Mellie will do fine.”
“Is it loyalty you are concerned about?” the other man pressed.
“Aye, without question, I have the girl’s loyalty. I cannot be so certain of those who have previously served the Charwycks.”
“Then you think Lady Graeye might attempt to return to the abbey?”
“I do not know what she will try, but Mellie will not aid in such an undertaking.”
Graeye bristled. Had she not agreed to adhere to the conditions set forth only that morning? Providing he kept his side of the bargain, she would keep hers. And as for this Mellie, the girl would soon discover Graeye had well and truly had the last of being trod upon. The chit would not undermine her.
Graeye was so gripped by indignation that it took her a moment to notice Gilbert had come around the end of the bed. What had given her away? Her breathing? Aye, those quick, shallow breaths of anger that even now panted from her.
“Lady Graeye has awakened,” he blandly informed Sir Lancelyn.
“Then I will leave you to your privacy, my lord.”
Graeye rolled onto her back and caught sight of the other man as he slipped through the doorway.
“You have been awake long?” Gilbert asked.
She shifted her gaze to where he stood alongside her. “Long enough.”
To her dismay, he lowered to the edge of the bed. “Then you know of my plans to maintain you at Medland.”
“Why do you not tell me more of it?” she invited, making no attempt to disguise her anger. “I may have missed some ere I awoke.”
He ignored her barb. “I doubt there is much more to tell than what you overheard. What else would you like to know?”
“Naught. Though, mayhap, there are things you would care to know.”
His lids narrowed. “Aye?”
She pushed an elbow beneath her to raise herself up and, when Gilbert reached to assist her, brushed his hand away.
“You should know, Gilbert Balmaine,” she said as she dragged the coverlet up over her thick chemise that, blessedly, had not been removed along with her other garments, “I will not be bullied by anyone—especially that maid you think to have dog my every step. And if you are of a mind to take my child from me once he is born and leave me at Medland, then I give notice I will use every deception at my command to escape you ere the birth to ensure you never lay eyes upon my child.”
At the conclusion of her tirade, a muscle jerked in his jaw. “I have not lied to you,” he said. “Though there remains the question of where the child will be raised, wherever he goes, so shall you.”
She attempted to discern the truth beneath his expression, but it was not possible. “I have no choice but to take your word on that, but if you renege, you will find me all you have thus far wrongfully accused me of—and more.”
Abruptly, he stood from the bed. “I do not doubt you, daughter of Edward Charwyck,” he said and turned away.
As he strode across the chamber, she felt a peculiar sense of disappointment that he was leaving.
At the door, he looked over his shoulder. “I depart for Penforke at first light.”
“So soon?” The words tumbled from her before she could call them back.
He raised his eyebrows. “I had thought it would not be soon enough for you.”
Embarrassed, she dipped her chin and studied the pink ovals of her fingernails. “It is. ’Tis just that your haste surprises me considering all the time and effort expended to achieve your end.”
“For that re
ason, I must return posthaste to Penforke. I have been gone too long, and there are matters more deserving of my attention than verbal sparring with you, my lady.”
Graeye could not suppress the rejoinder that flew to her lips. “Then it would not be soon enough for you to leave this night.”
He momentarily closed his eyes. “I have placed you in Sir Lancelyn’s care. Do not vex the man overly much. As the new lord of Medland, he is heavily burdened with the duties of keeping all in order.” He pulled the door open.
Graeye panicked at the realization this might be the last time she saw him for a long while and called, “Gilbert!”
He turned. “Graeye?”
“Will you visit?” Though she was not sure what, exactly, she wanted from him, she felt a pressing need for him to stay.
Detesting his rumpled emotions, Gilbert stared at her. Then, not knowing what possessed him, though he would later question how he could have once more allowed himself to fall prey to her wiles, he pushed the door closed and returned to the bed.
When she lifted her pale gaze to his, he pulled her up into his arms. Molding her sweet new curves to him, he took possession of her mouth.
He was allowed only a taste of her before she thrust her hands to his chest. “I will not become your leman!” she cried, eyes bright with fury.
What had come over him? Gilbert wondered. Her eyes, he realized, their silent pleading. But perhaps he had imagined it. Feeling as if burned, he lowered her back to the mattress.
She snatched the covers up over her chest. “Leave,” she said in a hard little voice. “Now.”
He inclined his head. “My apologies. ‘Twould seem the right decision for you to remain at Medland.”
For answer, she turned her back to him.
Gilbert pivoted and crossed to the door. It is the right decision, he told himself. No peace will I have if I take her with me to Penforke.
And he so longed for peace.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emerging from a profusion of covers, Graeye rubbed her eyes before venturing a look at the world. It was the same one in which she had fallen asleep yestereve.
She inched up onto her hands and knees and sat back on her heels. The chill morning air struck her and sent a shiver of discomfort through her.
Frowning, she looked down and was alarmed to discover she was unclothed, but then she remembered how she had come to be so.
Having awakened in a sweat during the night, she had thrown off the covers, but that had not been enough. After tossing and turning, she had finally discarded her chemise and dragged the light sheet over her. Only then had she slept.
As she pulled the covers around her shoulders, she pondered Gilbert’s whereabouts. Had he left for Penforke as planned? The thought that he had, unsettled her in a way she refused to look too closely upon.
“Godspeed,” she muttered.
A sharp knock sounded, but before she could call out permission to enter, the door opened and in stepped a rather pretty young woman not much taller than herself. Over her arm was a chemise, bliaut, and other items of clothing.
“Milady is awake,” she said and closed the door and crossed to the bed. As she considered the stain marring Graeye’s face, her eyes visually tracing its course, her lids narrowed to suspicious slits.
Graeye endured the scrutiny—until it became clear the woman had no other thought than to stare. “Are you quite finished?” she snapped.
A seemingly self-satisfied smile revealing crooked teeth, the young woman puffed out her chest with self importance. “I be Mellie.”
The belated introduction was unnecessary, for Graeye had known beyond a doubt who this impertinent woman was the moment she had come unbidden into the room.
“’Tis the Baron Balmaine who assigned me to be yer maid,” Mellie went on as she set her bundle upon the bed. “But I’ll have ye know, ’tis a task I have no likin’ for.”
Graeye was grateful she had learned that much from eavesdropping upon Gilbert’s conversation. Being forewarned of the maid’s dislike took some of the sting out of it. “I am Lady Graeye Charwyck, and I would have you know that I resent the arrangements as much, if not more, than you.”
Mellie’s round eyes grew larger before she covered her astonishment with a scornful twist of the lips. “Ye Charwycks are all the same.” She settled her arms over her chest.
Graeye feigned surprise. “You knew my brother?”
“Nay, but—”
“Then ’tis my father with whom you are acquainted.” Graeye could not help smiling in remembrance of Gilbert’s penchant for stepping on others’ words.
“Nay, milady, I—”
“Then tell me how ’tis you can pass judgment on my family?” Graeye was pleased at the ease with which she had accomplished the rude feat a second time.
“’Tis no secret what yer brother did to my mistress, Lady Lizanne—and her brother.” The maid thrust her small, pointed chin forward.
Graeye had no response for that, as she was still uninformed as to the exact crime that had persuaded the king to strip Edward of his lands. Was it possible the maid could be enticed to shed light upon the mystery? With such knowledge, perhaps she could better understand Gilbert’s hostility.
“And already I have heard tale of how yer brother had done with his poor wife,” Mellie continued. “Broke her neck, he did.”
Graeye startled. When she had first arrived at Medland last autumn, she had heard the rumor Philip was responsible for his wife’s death, but she had not known how the woman died.
“As long as we understand one another, milady,” Mellie said and stooped to scoop up Graeye’s chemise. Eyebrows raised, lips twitching, she brushed the rushes from the garment.
Graeye knew exactly what she was thinking and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She was about to put Mellie straight on the reason she was unclothed when there came a scratching at the door.
The maid crossed the room and flung the door open.
“Groan!” Graeye called as the big dog bounded inside. Allowing herself the first real smile in ages, she scooted to the edge of the bed and took the animal’s head in her lap. “You did not forget me, my friend!”
“Out!” Mellie ordered as she stalked toward the bed.
“Nay,” Graeye said, “he may stay.”
“But, milady, ’tis not seemly.”
Graeye met the other woman’s gaze. “He stays.”
Mellie’s lips tightened. “Baron Balmaine will not like this.”
“I care not a whit what he does or does not like.”
Groan yawned wide, ending on a moan that evidenced his namesake.
Muttering, Mellie folded the chemise and dropped it on a chair. “When is yer babe due, milady?”
Jolted by the bold inquiry, Graeye raised startled eyes to the woman.
Mellie spread her hands in mock apology. “Everyone knows. Baron Balmaine would have no other reason for consorting with a Charwyck, though ’tis odd he would ever have become involved with ye in the first place.”
Anger was Graeye’s saving grace, for it quickly replaced hurt and embarrassment. “Where is he?” she demanded as she dropped her bare feet to the prickly rushes.
“Gone.” Mellie came to stand before her. “Left with the rising of the sun.”
Feeling a pang in the vicinity of her heart, Graeye returned her attention to Groan who had settled back on his haunches.
Just as well, she told herself and stroked the animal.
“They are not very fine,” Mellie said as she sorted through the clothing she had brought with her. “But they will have to do until the cloth the baron ordered arrives.”
Graeye looked to her. “He has ordered cloth for me?”
“Aye. This morn he told the steward to see it done posthaste. When it arrives, we will be busy, you and I. You can turn a stitch, can’t ye?”
“I can.”
Mellie chuckled at some private humor. “Here now”—she held up a fresh chemis
e—“lift yer arms.”
Not since Graeye was a child had she been assisted with clothing herself, and it seemed a bit late to resume the habit. Mostly, though, she did not care to bare herself in front of this woman. “I can dress myself,” she said and reached from beneath the cover to take the garment.
Mellie drew back. “And have ye tell the baron I be wantin’ in my duties?
“I assure you, he will not hear it from me.” She reached again, but the maid snatched it away.
“Do not fuss, milady. ’Tis a duty I am not averse to providin’. Besides, I’ll be seein’ much more of ye when I tend yer bath later. Now lift yer arms—unless ye prefer to break yer fast dressed so.”
Graeye sighed, released the cover. Blessedly, the chemise dropped over her head without delay.
“Late spring, mayhap early summer,” Mellie pronounced as she stepped back to eye Graeye’s figure.
Knowing she referred to the arrival of the babe, having glimpsed her bare belly, Graeye’s indignation flared. “’Tis no concern of yours,” she said and grabbed the bliaut.
Seemingly content to let her new mistress finish clothing herself, Mellie skirted the dog and went around the bed to gather up the covers. “Lady Lizanne is also expectin’ a babe,” she said.
Graeye paused in securing the bliaut’s laces. For some reason, she was hurt that Gilbert had not informed her of his sister’s pregnancy, especially considering his own impending state of parenthood.
She jerked at the laces. “When is the child due?” she asked, hoping she surpassed Mellie’s attempt at nonchalance.
“Early spring, milady.” She gave a heartfelt sigh. “Would that I could be with her durin’ her time.”
Graeye turned to face her. “Why are you not?”
Mellie’s mouth drooped. “’Twas planned that I would go to her come a break in the weather, but the baron decided I would better serve ye, milady.”
In spite of her own petulant mood, Graeye pitied the maid who seemed devoted to her former mistress. “Then I understand your reluctance to serve me. My apologies that you have been forced into this duty.”
