by Tamara Leigh
He was further surprised by her appearance, so much that he momentarily forgot what he had been about to do. Clothed in a robe, her golden hair tousled, she looked as if she had just come from the arms of a lover.
So disturbing was that thought that it shook Gilbert free of her spell. Ignoring the hand she laid on his arm, he searched out the knights he had earlier chosen to follow William Rotwyld and, catching their expectant gazes, nodded.
Immediately, they hurried after their prey.
Graeye had surely caught the signal, for she glanced over her shoulder to watch the men depart. “What transpires, my lord?” she asked.
Gilbert resheathed his sword. “You should be abed,” he grumbled and took her arm and led her away from the others.
“I was,” she said. “The commotion awoke me.”
“You should have stayed in your chamber.” He began drawing her up the stairs. “It is unseemly for you to appear before my men in this manner of dress.”
At the landing, she pulled free from his grip. “What is wrong with it?” She swept a hand downward to indicate the fullness of the robe.
Gilbert frowned. It was true she was adequately covered, but still it was a robe and the silken hair falling about her shoulders and the flush upon her cheeks was simply too much.
“Graeye,” he groaned and rubbed his hands over the back of his neck so he would not be tempted to touch her in a way he should not. “Do you not know how beautiful you are? I would wager every one of my men is wondering what it would be like to hold you in his arms.”
Her face momentarily reflected surprise, and then a shade of bitterness, with which he had infected her, tightened her mouth. “Are you also wondering, my lord?”
Staring into her upturned face, Gilbert struggled against the temptation to go beyond wondering and pull her to him.
“Nay.” How he hated that his breathing sounded so ragged. “But I am remembering.”
Her gaze wavered, mouth softened, and he thought she might be remembering as well. Then she gave a shake of her head and said, “Why has Sir William gone?”
Gilbert was relieved she had abandoned the game, but he was hardly pleased with the means by which she did so. Still, he would have to tell her, for what had taken place this night would soon be common knowledge.
“He has been divested of the lands over which he held vassalage,” Gilbert said and headed down the passageway.
Graeye caught up with him as he reached her doorway. “Why?”
He motioned her inside the chamber. “Return to your rest.”
She remained unmoving. “You are not going to give me the reason Sir William fell into disfavor?”
Though he would have preferred to delay the telling, he knew she would not be easily put off, and he had no wish to argue with her. “For crimes committed against the people of Sulle and money stolen from its coffers, I have wrested the lordship from him.”
Graeye was not surprised, but still she wondered why Gilbert had given the man a chance in the first place. Then she remembered the knights who had been sent to follow him. She narrowed her lids. “He will go to Edward.”
Though his expression gave nothing away, his lack of response provided the answer she sought. This was how he meant to uncover Edward’s whereabouts.
“’Tis what you planned all along, is it not? You are not such a fool to place trust in a man like William.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You disapprove?”
She lowered her gaze to her protruding belly. Why could he not leave well enough alone? What good would come of seeking revenge against a man for past wrongs? It was done.
“Edward is an old man,” she said. “The revenge you seek grows old as well. Why not leave him be? He is no threat—”
“You are wrong,” Gilbert interrupted. “Edward Charwyck plagues me still. He and the brigands he has gathered about him attack my villages, murder my people, and steal their goods. Had he but disappeared, I would leave him to his mad misery, but he gives me no choice.”
Graeye reached to the door frame to steady herself. She had known nothing of the raids against the villages, nothing of the deaths or thievery. How naive she had been to believe Edward would simply go away, he who had sworn vengeance against Gilbert.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I did not know.”
He lifted her chin, delved her gaze. “You could not. But do not let it burden you. There is naught you can do.”
She nodded, caught her breath when his head descended.
His kiss was gentle and brief, giving her no time to accept or reject it, then he pulled back.
“I must needs return to the hall,” he said. “Good eve.”
When he went from sight, Graeye lifted a hand, touched her lips that still felt his, and returned to the loneliness of her room.
The trap was not as easily laid as Gilbert had expected. Though William had, indeed, led his knights to Edward’s camp in the eastern reaches of the barony, by the time Gilbert arrived with his army to do battle, there were only traces that anyone had been there.
Frustrated and angry, he returned to Penforke empty-handed and suspicious. For days he brooded and pondered the question uppermost in his mind. Now that William was gone, could there be another among his men who carried word to Edward, keeping the old man just out of reach?
It occurred to him Sir Michael might have maintained loyalty to his old baron, but always he rejected the possibility. Numerous times, and in numerous ways, the young knight had proved himself loyal to his new lord. Had he not attacked Sir William when that man had hurled insults and curses at Gilbert?
Who, then?
CHAPTER TWENTY
One day fell into another, then spring was fully upon the inhabitants of Penforke.
On her knees in the soil of the flower garden she had prodded back to life after the frigid winter, Graeye attempted to salvage the fragrant woodruff Groan had turned into a bed. It seemed a hopeless cause, for the small white flowers were crushed, but she was determined to save them.
With the return of the young girl sent for a pail of water, Groan also reappeared, his head hanging as he ambled toward his mistress.
Graeye nearly gave in to his sorrowful eyes, but it was too soon to forgive him. This was not the first time he had damaged her flowers.
“Back with you,” she said, doing her best to sound firm.
When he halted and stared at her, she waved him away.
Still, he stared.
“Do not think I will not return you to Medland,” she warned. Of course, she would not, for she adored the mangy beast whom Gilbert had brought home to Penforke a month past following a visit with his vassal, Sir Lancelyn.
With a low groan, the dog turned and headed toward the donjon.
“I brought the water ye asked for, milady,” the girl said as she lowered the pail.
Graeye smiled up at her. “Thank you, Gwen.”
“’Twas nothin’, milady.” She extended a hand that held a small, polished apple. “For the babe.”
Reflexively, Graeye laid a hand to her belly that had grown two months larger since her arrival at Penforke. “’Tis kind of you,” she said and reached for the fruit.
She had been surprised it had been fairly easy to gain acceptance at her new home—in spite of appearing to be Gilbert’s leman. Or perhaps because of it.
The castle folk’s curiosity satisfied, they no longer made her uncomfortable with their seeking stares. Rather, they treated her as if she were the lady of the castle. And Gilbert did not dissuade them of the notion, though neither did he speak of wedding her to make it fact, nor to assure his child’s legitimacy.
Still, things were better between them since that night he had told her of Edward’s undertaking to destroy the Balmaines.
Though attraction was ever present, Gilbert had not broken his vow, and Graeye had not given in to her own emotions. An innocent touch, an accidental brush against one another, an unguarded smile. That was all. A
nd that was enough.
“Milady,” Gwen broke into her thoughts. “I was wondering if this evening ye might show me again that fancy stitch ye put around the neck of the baron’s red tunic.”
It was Graeye’s turn to blush. She had not meant to have anything to do with stitching Gilbert’s clothes, for it seemed too intimate a task. However, the young girl’s clumsiness with the needle had prompted her to assist in the adornment of that one garment. And Gilbert’s coming upon them as Graeye bent her head to the task had taken her completely unawares. His discovery would not have been so bad had he not seemed so pleased. Unnerved, she had nearly thrown the tunic at him.
“Aye, Gwen,” she said, “I will show you again.” But on one of her own garments.
The girl grinned, then hurried back down the path. At the door to the donjon, she turned around. “I nearly forgot!”
The apple halfway to her mouth, Graeye paused. “Aye?”
“The baron was looking for ye a while ago. I told him ye were here in the garden.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“Nay, but he was smiling, milady.”
What good news had been borne him? Had he again discovered Edward’s whereabouts?
She frowned in remembrance of his failure to capture the old man two months past. The week that followed had been difficult for all. Once more glimpsing the wrathful man who had come to take possession of Medland, she had been shaken, but not out of fear for her own wellbeing, for none of his anger had been directed at her. It was then she had begun to appreciate the changes wrought in Gilbert during the months of their separation. His disposition toward her had softened, so much that even when she defied or scorned him, he did not retaliate by word or deed. She knew it must be because she bore his child, but her traitorous heart hoped it was more than that.
When the man in her head appeared before her, she startled so violently she nearly upset the pail of water.
“It seems a waste of time,” Gilbert said, grimacing over the wilted plant propped against her knees.
“What? Oh!” Hurriedly, she began packing the soil around the base of the woodruff. “I believe it will come back.”
He lowered to his haunches beside her. “Methinks you have too much faith.”
“Methinks you have too little,” she retorted and reached for the pail of water.
Gilbert took it from her. “You may be right.”
Surprised by his yielding, she frowned at him, but he only smiled.
“You behave as if you have a secret you wish to tell someone,” she ventured. “Do you wish to tell me?”
His smile turned up a bit more and he nodded at the pail. “How much?”
What a peculiar mood he was in. “Pour, and I will say when to stop.” A few moments later, she said, “That is enough. Now, what—?”
A jab to the ribs and a punch to the bladder set her back on her rear end.
Gilbert dropped the pail and took hold of her arms. “What is wrong?”
She drew a long, slow breath, eased it out, shook her head. “Naught. Our child is simply making himself comfortable—and me uncomfortable.”
The concern eased from his brow and he released her arms. But rather than pull back, he placed his hands on either side of her belly and bent near.
Graeye was too shocked to do more than stare at the top of his dark head.
He did not have long to wait to feel the next movement, though it was less intense than the last. “He is strong,” he said, lifting his face to hers. “And impatient.”
She knew better than to encourage him further, and yet she said far too softly, “Like his father.”
The blue of his eyes darkened as his gaze held hers, then he angled his head and pressed his mouth to hers.
Ignoring the warning voices that were truly not much more than whispers, she took his face between her hands and leaned up into him. Though every day these last months she had fought the longing to be so near him, she wanted his kiss too much to deny either of them.
“Apologies, my lord,” a voice intruded. “I had expected you would be alone.”
Graeye and Gilbert quickly parted and looked to where Sir Michael stood a short distance away, eyes cast down.
Gilbert straightened and reached to assist Graeye to her feet.
Though ashamed at being caught thus, she viewed the interruption as divine intervention and, as she rose alongside Gilbert, chastised herself for not only allowing the kiss but deepening it. In that direction lay his bed, and never would she be his leman.
“What is it you want?” Gilbert asked as he stepped forward to place Graeye behind him.
Grateful for his consideration that saved her from meeting the young knight’s eyes, for even in benign circumstances his presence made her uncomfortable, she began to pick the dirt and leaves from her skirts.
“A man comes—a villager. He says he knows Charwyck’s whereabouts.”
Graeye stilled her hands, awaited a response.
At last, Gilbert thought, an interruption I can forgive.
Eager to know more, he crossed to Sir Michael. “Where is he?”
“The inner bailey, my lord.”
“Take him to the kitchens and see him fed. I will be along shortly.”
“Aye, my lord.” The young knight strode opposite.
When he was out of sight, Gilbert turned to Graeye. Her posture—hands clasped, chin up—evidenced the opportunity to crumble her defenses had passed. Clearly, she regretted what had occurred between them and would not welcome further advances.
“You have have not told me your secret,” she reminded him.
“Secret?”
“You certainly did not seek me out to assist with saving a doomed plant.”
Gilbert smiled in remembrance of the news he had received. He should go to his sister, having promised he would visit when the child was born. But that was before Graeye, before the child growing in her. He could not leave her now, nor could he risk being absent from his lands while Edward Charwyck was still out there.
“My sister, Lizanne, has been delivered of a girl child,” he said.
A smile rose on Graeye’s face, but then, as if remembering the wrongs she believed his sister had done her brother, her mouth thinned. “I see.”
“You are not pleased for her?”
“Should I be?” She stepped to a rose bush and fingered a bud. “She is, after all, responsible for my brother’s death.”
He sighed. “I have told you, Graeye, the only one responsible for his demise is Philip himself.”
She met his gaze. “Until you offer evidence otherwise, I have no choice but to believe what Edward told me.”
He wanted to argue that, but he knew it would be futile. “You are not ready to know the truth,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “When do you think I shall be ready? When I am an old woman?”
“When you trust me enough to know I would not lie to you.”
Bitter laughter dropped from her lips. “As you have not seen fit to offer me the same consideration, that could be a very long time.” She lifted her skirts and stepped past him.
When she slipped inside the donjon, Gilbert raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. “A long time,” he muttered. “’Tis good I am learning patience.”
Knowing Gilbert and his men would leave at first light to ride in pursuit of Edward, Graeye arose from a restless night’s sleep and hurried about the castle awakening those who still slept despite the clamorous preparations being made for departure. She set the kitchen servants to making the morning meal, though it was still hours before it was normally served, and the others she directed to transforming the hall from sleeping quarters into its favored state—communal dining room.
As was often her habit, she worked alongside those in the kitchen. Normally, bread, cold meat, and ale made up the first meal of the day, but she had decided roasted venison, a variety of cheeses, fruits, and hot bread should be served. The servants d
id not question her, though they were clearly disconcerted by the effort required to serve a sumptuous morning meal.
While the hot viands were being arranged on platters, Graeye returned to the hall. A good fire burned in the hearth and numerous torches were lit about the room. The mess of sleeping pallets that had covered much of the floor earlier had been cleared away and the benches and tables reassembled. Even the rushes had been turned and respread.
Pleased, she called for ale to be poured, then crossed to the great doors.
On the landing outside, it was nearly as dark as it had been an hour past, and she paused to savor the cool air against her warm skin. She sighed, swept the hair out of her eyes, and looked across the bustling inner bailey. By the light of torches, horses were being outfitted, weapons and armor cleaned and polished, and soldiers spoke excitedly of the raid upon Edward’s camp.
When she located Gilbert where he stood alongside his destrier with several of his men, she saw his gaze was upon her. Suddenly aware of her appearance, she lifted a hand to smooth her hair, only to snatch it back to her side at the realization of what the gesture revealed about her. But it was too late, as evidenced by the half smile lightening his face.
Since yesterday’s meeting in the garden when she had acted the fool by returning his kiss, been shamed by Sir Michael’s witness, and frustrated by the continued refusal to discuss her brother’s death, she had hardly spoken to Gilbert. She knew her silence made her appear petty, but she had found it to be her best defense against a weakening resolve when he showed her too much kindness, such as when he had brought Groan to Penforke. Behind the wall of silence that he rarely attempted to breach, she was given time in which to repair the holes he rent in her resolve—holes that, if left untended, might find her in his bed.
Gilbert disengaged himself from his men, crossed the bailey, and mounted the steps. “I had hoped not to awaken you,” he said when he stood before her.
“You did not. I intentionally arose early to ensure your men are well fed before departing.”
“That is good of you, but not necessary.” He moved his gaze over her face, then her hair, much of which had escaped its hastily worked braid. “Ale and a crust of bread would have sufficed.”
