by Tamara Leigh
“On the morrow,” he promised.
She smiled, then began the trek up the stairs. She got only as far as the second step before he swept her off her feet and settled her against his chest. Quickly, he carried her up and lowered her to the landing.
“Chivalrous, my lord,” she teased. “Mayhap I should ask Sir Lancelyn to visit more often.”
He grinned. “Such impudence. Your tongue grows more like Lizanne’s every day.”
It was the first Graeye had heard of it and, considering what she knew of his sister from Mellie, the comparison surprised her. Still, it did not offend, for she had found much to admire in the fearless woman of whom Mellie spoke. The maid had not gone into detail, but she had explained that, a year earlier, while Gilbert was at court, a vengeful baron had ridden on Penforke, demanding satisfaction for some wrong he claimed Lizanne had done him. Rather than risk the safety of the castle’s inhabitants, Lizanne had given herself over to the man. Curiously, she later wed the baron.
“I hope you do not think it a bad thing that I should so remind you of your sister,” Graeye said.
“I do not, though, certes, it is good I am accustomed to such.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, said, “I must leave you now,” and started down the stairs.
Inside her chamber, Graeye settled herself in the window embrasure to gain sun upon her face. It felt wonderful, though it could not compare with the excursions to the stream. Resting her hands on her belly, she peered down at the activity in the inner bailey.
Though she paid little heed to the knights and men-at-arms, she missed nothing of the villagers who had come earlier that morning, as they did nearly every day, to perform various duties for their lord. Focusing on a large peasant woman draped in a worn mantle, an idea struck her and she felt a rush of excitement.
An adventure—not unlike those Gilbert’s sister had undertaken, though on a far smaller scale. Did she dare?
She nibbled her lip. Since Edward had left the barony, had not Gilbert pronounced the demesne safe? In fact, the last few times they had gone to the stream, he had not brought along an escort.
Her smile faltered as the next obstacle dropped into her path. Where could she obtain peasant’s clothes to make herself less conspicuous to the guards? Although each person who came within the castle’s walls was thoroughly scrutinized, merely a count was taken when they left to ensure none stayed behind.
One of her mother’s old bliauts might do. Providing she left the laces loose to accommodate her girth, it would likely fit. And with a little soil, the coarse black mantle given to her at the abbey would complete the disguise. Both were in her chest.
But how to get past Gilbert? She could not pass unseen through the hall.
It struck her then—she could use the hidden stairway Gilbert had revealed a fortnight past. If she took a torch, she would be able to negotiate it fine and, perhaps, return by it without any knowing of her little jaunt.
Graeye hastened from the window to her chest, propped open the lid, and eased onto her knees. She chose the first old bliaut that came to hand, laid it aside, and dug deeper in search of the mantle. When she came upon the nun’s bridal habit she had long ago buried, she pulled it out and ran her hands down the fine material. The last time she had worn it was the day Gilbert had come to Medland. How different he now was from that wrathful man who had cornered her in the chapel. Different, but still cynical.
Wondering if the habit could be used to fashion a baptismal gown for the babe, she laid the garment aside. Next, she drew out the mantle that had been given to her upon her return to the abbey. It was of rough, inferior wool, but though too warm for the day, it was necessary to conceal her shape and face.
She stood and began to loosen her laces.
A tap sounded on the door.
She caught her breath, dropped the chest’s lid, and sat down upon it. “Come!” she called.
“You are not feeling well, milady?” Mellie asked as she closed the door behind her.
“I am tired, that is all.”
“Ah, the babe,” the maid said as she came to stand before her mistress. Her gaze flicked to the garments alongside the chest. Though she frowned, she said nothing.
Nervously, Graeye touched her belly. “It seems he never stops moving.”
Mellie fit a hand to Graeye’s elbow to assist her to standing. “I’ll help ye to bed. Rest will do ye and the babe good.”
“I am suddenly quite hungry,” Graeye said. “Mayhap you could fetch some bread and cheese?”
Mellie guided her to the bed and peeled back the covers. “Ye’d like a tankard of mead with that?”
Graeye started to decline, then nodded. “That sounds fine—and fruit.” She lowered to the mattress.
Shortly, Mellie slipped out into the corridor.
Graeye pulled the mantle around her, slumping within the folds of the hood to hide herself from the castle folk she passed. If any paid her any notice, she did not know, for she kept her head down.
Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, she crossed the bailey without mishap and ensconced herself within the narrow alley that ran the back of the smithy. Only then did she peer out from her hood to spy the gatehouse.
The portcullis was raised, the two guards who stood before the gaping portal exchanging boasts of one kind or another. Still, they were alert.
Deciding she would wait until she saw another pass from the castle unhindered, she settled herself back against the wall and shifted the sack containing the food Mellie had brought her to the opposite hand.
Something cold and wet touched her palm, and she nearly screamed. A hand to her mouth, she stumbled back and stared at the large dog who gazed up at her.
“Groan!” she gasped.
He wagged his tail.
Knowing she could not risk being seen with him, she softly scolded, “Nay, Groan. Go back.”
He did not move.
She stomped a foot, pointed toward the donjon. “Go!”
He groaned. Then, blessedly, he squeezed around in that narrow space and ambled away. At the entrance, he turned to look back at her, but when she waved him away again, he went with his tail between his legs.
Shortly, Graeye peeked around the building to assure herself he was not lurking near. She was pleased to find he had disappeared completely.
At the sight of a peasant approaching the gatehouse, she held her breath and waited to see if the man would be allowed to pass without search. He was.
Stirred by excitement, and having assured herself the hood hid her face and the mantle her cumbersome body, she stepped forward. The baby kicked, striking her side with enough force to snatch her breath. She had only just recovered when it threw a limb out to the other side.
She moaned, slipped back into the shadows, and ran a soothing hand over her belly. “A few more weeks,” she whispered. The impatient babe calmed moments later.
Clutching her sack, Graeye once more stepped from the building and made her way to the gatehouse. Luck stayed with her, and it was not long before she crossed the drawbridge.
Grinning at having succeeded in her venture, she set her course across the wide, open grassland. Beyond, through the trees, lay the stream.
As she approached the cover of the wood, the thunder of hooves halted her progress. Peering across her shoulder, she shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare and picked out a group of riders who approached the castle.
Who were they? She looked back at the fortress and, seeing the portcullis had been lowered, caught her breath. Enemies?
Dear Lord, she beseeched, have I made a mistake in leaving the safety of the walls?
She once more turned her attention upon the riders who were fast gaining ground. Realizing she stood in their path, she hurried toward the trees.
Still they came upon her, veering away to avoid trampling her beneath their horses’ hooves.
In her haste, Graeye stumbled and landed on her fours, both surprised and terrified when a shout b
rought the riders to a halt.
The hood having fallen from her head, she gained her feet and turned. Her gaze caught and held that of a man with hair so pale it looked nearly white. And he was nearly as large as Gilbert.
A dark-headed man broke from the group and moved with fluid ease upon his horse toward her.
Graeye realized her mistake moments later when she found herself staring up at a woman clothed as a man, a thick braid hanging over her shoulder. She was lovely, though her face was dark with what seemed fatigue.
“You are well?” the woman asked with seemingly genuine concern, unwavering even when her eyes lit upon the stain marring Graeye’s face.
“Aye,” she said. “No harm is done.”
The woman swept her gaze over her once more, then nodded and urged her horse back around.
Relief swept Graeye when the riders continued on to the castle. Slipping behind a tree, she waited to see how they would be received. It was not long before the portcullis rose and they were allowed within.
All was well, then. Friend, not foe.
“Lizanne.” Smiling, Gilbert raised his arms to receive her down from her mount.
She had no smiles nor warm words for the brother she had not seen in over nine months. Mouth grimly set, she allowed him to assist in her dismount.
“What is wrong?” Gilbert asked, looking from her to Ranulf.
“Charwyck!” Lizanne spat.
Gilbert dropped his hands from her waist. “What speak you of?”
“He has stolen our child,” she burst, eyes suddenly brimming with tears.
Ranulf stepped forward and gathered her against his side. “We must speak, Gilbert,” he said and began to mount the steps to the donjon.
Gilbert struggled against the anger tearing at his insides, knowing that to give in would distress Lizanne more. He exchanged a look with Sir Lancelyn and motioned for the man to follow.
In the hall, serving wenches scurried to laden the tables with refreshments for the weary travelers.
With a single sharp word, Gilbert sent them back to the kitchens. However, almost immediately, Mellie appeared, hands flapping with excitement over Lizanne’s return, shrill words tumbling from her mouth. He sent her away, too.
When the hall was clear of prying eyes and ears, Gilbert leaned toward Ranulf. “Tell me.”
Ranulf finished his tankard of ale. “Four days past, in the light of day, Gillian was taken from Chesne. It is certain Charwyck is the one who stole her.”
“How know you this?”
“’Twas an old man,” Lizanne answered. “He told the maid it was Gillian’s life for Philip’s. Then he cut a C into the girl’s face.
Gilbert slammed a fist to the table. “God’s teeth, will we never be free of the devil?”
Ranulf stayed Gilbert’s temper with a hand upon his arm. “The dogs picked up Gillian’s scent. We followed it for two days, but lost it on the third. As Charwyck was heading south, we continued on here. Have you—?”
“Aye. Sir Lancelyn brought news this morn of Charwyck’s return. The brigands pillaged a village near Medland yesterday.”
Sir Lancelyn confirmed this with a nod.
“Then he is near,” Ranulf said. “We will find him.”
Lizanne rose to her feet, stumbling slightly as she did so. Clearly, she was exhausted, her shadowed eyes haunted, face drawn with worry.
Forcing himself to think logically, Gilbert shook his head. “It will do no good to rush out without direction. We must plan if we are to succeed in recovering Gillian unharmed. Methinks the babe is but a pawn to lure us, the ones Charwyck believes responsible for Philip’s death.”
Reluctantly, Ranulf and Lizanne resumed their seats.
“We do have an advantage—an unexpected one,” Gilbert said, leaning forward. “The villagers felled one of Charwyck’s men during the raid. Though he is wounded, methinks he will talk ere long.”
“Where is he?” Ranulf demanded.
“Later,” Gilbert said, though he, too, was anxious to discover the man’s secrets. “He must be tended to. His wounds are severe.”
“How many men can you spare?” Ranulf asked.
“As many as you require.”
A short while later, with a plan beginning to take shape, the two men and Lizanne rose from the table. They traversed the hall, only to be brought up short by Mellie before they reached the doors.
“Milord,” she called, skidding over the rushes in her haste to reach Gilbert. “’Tis Lady Graeye. I cannot find her.”
Gilbert met the girl’s anxious gaze. “She is not in her chamber?”
“Nay, milord, though I left her there but an hour past. She said she was tired—needed to rest.”
“You have that woman under your roof?” Lizanne exclaimed and swung around to glare at her brother. “You wrote that you would keep her at Medland. Why is she here?”
“Circumstances changed,” Gilbert growled, then returned his attention to Mellie. “Mayhap she is in the garden?”
The maid blinked. “I do not know, milord.”
Gilbert turned to Sir Lancelyn. “Send word to search the castle. She must be somewhere near. None would have allowed her to leave.”
“Milord.” Mellie tugged on his sleeve. “There is the matter of her habit.”
“Habit?”
“Aye, that which she keeps in her chest. This morn she had it and one of her mother’s old bliauts laid out. The habit is still there, but the bliaut is missing, as is the mantle she brought with her from the abbey.”
“Show me,” he said and followed her up the stairs.
In Graeye’s chamber, Gilbert angrily swept aside the white garment. Had Graeye left him? Returned to the abbey? Or worse, to her father?
“’Tis as I said, milord, the other garments are gone.” Mellie wrung her hands where she stood alongside the bed. “Methinks ’tis what she wore to escape unnoticed.”
“Why would she want to escape?” he demanded. “Dear Lord, she will soon give birth to our child.”
The maid twitched, averted her gaze.
“What are you not telling me, Mellie?”
“Milord, do you beat me,” she ventured, “I will understand and take my punishment as you see fit.”
“Tell me!”
“’Tis your conversation with the king’s man, Sir Royce. Milady and I chanced to overhear your talk of Sir Michael’s death—though we did not purposely set ourselves to eavesdropping. Nay, milord, we did not.” She ventured a glance at his face, shuddered. “Lady Graeye was quite disturbed—methinks blamed herself for the knight’s death and the loss of the village.”
Gilbert swung away. It would certainly explain Graeye’s odd behavior that day. Still, he could not believe she had left him. She had seemed content enough and their agreement yet stood.
How his leg pained him, alternately throbbing and burning as he paced the room and sought answers to questions he had not thought he would have to ask.
Abruptly, he abandoned his pacing. Would his men think to look in the chapel? With renewed hope, he left the solar and descended to the hall.
He did not get far before Lizanne took hold of his arm. “Gilbert, there was a peasant woman we passed on the approach to Penforke. Methinks it may have been this Graeye Charwyck in disguise.”
He frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“She was alone and—”
“What did she look like?”
“Fair. Pretty.”
“How was she clothed?”
“A black mantle, and methinks it was a brown gown beneath. Also, there was a stain upon her face—”
“’Twas her!”
“Then she is taking word to her father,” Lizanne concluded. “Likely, she has been doing so for some time. She has betrayed you.”
Gilbert could not believe that. All was not as it seemed. “What direction did she take?”
“To the east—into the woods.”
Relief radiated through him like s
ummer’s first heat, certain as he was that she had gone only for the outing he had promised her. “Nay,” he said, “she has not betrayed me.”
Lizanne laid a hand on his shoulder. “She is a Charwyck. Do not let her make a fool of you.”
“You are wrong,” he bit.
She blinked, then her eyes widened. “For pity’s sake, you do not love the woman, do you, Gilbert? She is Philip’s sister!”
Seeing the anguish in her desperate, imploring eyes, Gilbert’s anger eased. As no other possibly could, he understood the suffering that prompted her words. Lightly, he touched her face. “In name only is she a Charwyck,” he said, accepting the words even as he spoke them. “And even that will no longer be.”
Lizanne’s eyebrows gathered. “You cannot mean to wed her?”
“I can,” he said, hardly able to believe it himself. “And do.” He kissed her cheek. “’Tis much the same as when I learned you had wed Ranulf, little sister. And just as you chose well, so have I.”
She shook her head, dropped her hand from his arm.
“Come.” Gilbert motioned the men to follow. “We ride to the stream.” With the possible danger Graeye had placed herself in, he was taking no chances on going unescorted. If Edward reached her ahead of him, he would be prepared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Partially obscured by the leafy trees, its long journey half completed, the sun shone directly overhead.
Graeye sighed. Though she knew she should be making her way back, she could not bring herself to leave. Not yet. Especially considering the amount of effort required to slip away. And no matter Gilbert’s wrath. If he had discovered her missing, it would be worth the freedom she had gained, even for this short time.
Picking at her meal, she listened to the water’s song as it flowed past. She missed Gilbert—wished he was with her. It was not quite the same.
