by Tamara Leigh
The sound of hooves startled her. Then she groaned. It would be Gilbert, and he would be angry. However, in the next instant, she questioned why he would come with so many. Perhaps it was Edward and his brigands.
She pushed to her feet and made for the nearest refuge of heavy foliage. But it was too late. The riders reached the clearing before she was halfway to her destination.
Heart pounding, arm curved around her belly, she swung around to face them. Mercifully, her eyes fell first on Gilbert where he rode before the others.
“Gilbert!” she exclaimed when he reined in. “You frightened me.”
He tossed aside the reins, dismounted, and pulled her into his arms. “Merciful God!” he said with such ferocity she startled.
When he finally drew back, she could only stare at him.
“’Twas foolish, Graeye,” he said. “Have you nary a care for the safety of yourself or our child?”
It was less than she deserved, she reminded herself as she pushed down an indignant retort. “Aye, ’twas foolish.” She smiled apologetically. “And rather pointless without your company. But now that you are here…”
“We must return to the castle.” He pulled her toward his destrier.
“Ah, the visitors,” she said and was surprised when her eyes lit upon two of those who had nearly trampled her beneath their horses. Though the pale-headed man’s face revealed nothing of his emotions, the woman alongside him clearly expressed hers—anger.
As Gilbert lifted her into the saddle, Graeye asked, “Who—?”
“Introductions can wait until we are returned,” he said.
Something was wrong, Graeye realized.
When they gathered in the hall a short time later, she was not surprised when he introduced her to his sister. On the ride back, she had guessed as much, not only from the woman’s resemblance to her brother, but by the enmity she exuded. It was the same emotion with which Gilbert had subjected Graeye that first day at Medland. To be confronted by such an obstacle after having so recently overcome one of similar proportions greatly burdened her.
“Lady Lizanne.” Graeye made a shallow curtsy.
The woman stared at her, then turned on her heel and strode away.
Refusing to suffer the same punishment twice in a lifetime, Graeye left Gilbert’s side and followed. Near the stairs, she caught up with Lady Lizanne and stepped in front of her. “I understand your hatred for the Charwycks,” she said, “but do not pass judgment on me ere you know me.”
The woman blinked, then her green eyes flashed. “I want my child back,” she said in a wintry voice.
Frowning, Graeye looked over her shoulder at Gilbert who strode toward them. Someone had taken his sister’s baby?
She gasped. It had to be the work of the man who had fathered her. Yet another nightmare. “Ah, nay,” she cried and fled up the stairs. Hardly had she slammed the door of her chamber and pushed the bolt into place than Gilbert arrived.
“Open the door, Graeye!”
She pressed her forehead to it. “Pray, leave me be,” she pleaded.
A lengthy silence followed, then his voice came through. “Graeye, it is not your fault. No one blames you.”
She almost laughed. “Do they not?” she said, bitterness surging through her over this new trial God had set her.
“Lizanne will come around,” he said. “She is frightened, that is all.”
That was not all, but it was useless to argue. “Please, Gilbert, I need to be alone.”
She heard his harsh sigh. “Very well, but if this door is locked against me once night falls, I will break it down.”
She did not answer him and, a moment later, she heard his footsteps. Relieved he had yielded so easily, she crossed to the chair before the cold brazier and lowered into it.
Knowing it would be too easy to lose herself in anguish, she determined she would not cry for the lost child, for no help could come of tears. Instead, she would search for a solution.
“How am I to right this wrong, Lord?” she implored some time later when the dilemma loomed as large as ever. As if in answer, she heard again the conversation between Gilbert and Sir Royce. Edward still wanted his heir—the child she carried.
Pained by the answer she sought, Graeye hugged her arms around her babe. “No harm will befall you, little one,” she vowed in an attempt to convince herself of the plan forming in her mind. “And Lady Lizanne will have her child back.”
The conversation ceased the moment Graeye stepped into the hall. From among the half dozen seated on benches around a trestle table, Gilbert rose and strode toward her.
Taking her hands in his, he searched her face. “You look tired. Did you get no sleep?”
Not through the dinner hour, nor the supper. “I could not,” she said, touched by his concern.
He beckoned to the servant who stood at the sideboard. “Prepare a platter of viands for Lady Graeye.”
The man bobbed his head and hurried from the hall.
“You are making plans to go after Edward, are you not?” Graeye asked as she looked beyond Gilbert to the others. Among them were Lady Lizanne, her husband, Ranulf Wardieu, and Sir Lancelyn. The other two—an older man and woman—she did not recognize, though she was fairly certain the latter must be a relation of Baron Wardieu’s, for her hair was nearly as fair as his.
“We must,” Gilbert answered, and she heard regret in his words.
She looked back at him. “I know. May I join you?”
His hesitation set her further on edge. “We are nearly finished.”
She narrowed her lids. “Do you not trust me?”
“I do,” he said gruffly, “but I do not think it necessary for you—”
“Please, Gilbert.”
“Very well,” he said and led her to the table where he seated her beside him.
She was unwelcome, Graeye knew, but she braved the air of discontent that rose around her and the glares Gilbert received from all but Sir Lancelyn and Baron Wardieu.
After she was introduced to the older woman who was Baron Wardieu’s mother and her husband beside her, the conversation resumed. As Graeye picked at the food delivered by the servant, she listened. There was much she did not understand, having come too late upon their meeting, but when talk turned to the course their search would likely take, she knew this was information of which she might make use.
“As ‘twould seem he is headed north,” Gilbert said, unrolling a map of the barony and weighting it with half-empty tankards, “it is the direction we must go.” He paused to study the map, then jabbed a finger to a wooded area. “According to Charwyck’s man, the encampments have been here, here, and here. Do you see the pattern?”
Charwyck’s man? Graeye frowned. “Who speak you of?”
Annoyance flitted across Gilbert’s face. “One of Edward’s brigands. During a recent raid upon a village, the man was wounded and captured.”
Guessing this was the reason behind Sir Lancelyn’s visit—to deliver the miscreant to Gilbert—Graeye nodded. She would have liked to ask more, but knew further questions would not be welcome. Returning her gaze to the map, she pondered where her father’s man was being held at Penforke.
“Aye, a pattern,” Baron Wardieu agreed, “providing this man speaks the truth.”
“Which is the reason we must split into two parties,” Gilbert said. “You will lead your men in this direction”—he pointed to the northwest portion of the map—“and I will lead mine northeast. If we do not discover Charwyck’s whereabouts, we meet here, at Cressing Bridge.”
“And from there?” Lady Lizanne asked.
He rolled the map into a tight coil. “From there, we move south.”
Baron Wardieu stood from the bench. “Then we ride at dawn.”
There was a murmur of agreement as the others moved toward the stairs.
“Come,” Gilbert said, taking Graeye’s elbow to assist her upright.
“You will be gone long?” she asked as they m
ounted the stairs.
“A few days, perhaps more. It depends on the chase Charwyck leads us.” Upon entering her chamber, he turned her to face him. “This time, I will not return empty-handed, Graeye. Do you understand what that means?”
“I do. Edward must be stopped.”
His relief was visible in the easing of his shoulders. “Will you wish me well?”
His question surprised her, for she had not thought him still suspicious of her. Had she misinterpreted these past weeks they had spent together? “Do you not know me yet?” she asked. “Have you not guessed my feelings for you?”
He went very still. “Tell me of these feelings.”
She opened her mouth to voice them, then shook her head. A confession of love would only leave her vulnerable. And what if he did not believe her? “It does not matter,” she said and turned from beneath his hands.
He recaptured her shoulders, drew her back against him, and lowered his head alongside hers. “I plan to wed you, Graeye Charwyck,” he said low and deep.
She caught her breath, spun around. “What?” Certain she could not have heard right—or if she had, that he teased—she searched his face.
He smiled. “When I return, I will make you my wife.”
Feeling suddenly weak, she gripped his arms. “Why? You said—”
“I know, and I believed it to be true. But it is not.” He sighed. “You are the mother of my child, and it would be unseemly that my son—or daughter—should be named misbegotten.”
Legitimacy. Though it was certainly what she wanted for their child, a ripple of disappointment ran through her. Did he feel nothing akin to what she had hoped she had glimpsed in his eyes? “Is there more?” she asked.
“What else would you have me say?”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I thought you might have feelings for me.”
“Those same ones you profess to have for me?”
“Aye.”
“But you have not yet told me what they are.”
It could not hurt, could it? Loved or not, she was to be Gilbert’s wife and, as such, there had to be a greater chance he would grow to feel deeply for her. “Would you believe me,” she said, holding his gaze, “were I to tell you ’tis love I feel for you, Gilbert Balmaine?”
“Should I?” he asked, huskily.
The most difficult part done with, her pride laid out before him, she nodded. “I know no other name for it.”
Mouth curving, he murmured, “I believe you.” And that was all.
Then he would make no such declaration himself. Whatever it was he felt for her, be it love or simple affection, he would not make himself vulnerable as she had done.
Telling herself it was enough, for it was far more than she had every truly believed she might have of him, she said, “I shall never love anyone but you.”
He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he gently laid her on the mattress. Then he lowered his head toward hers.
Did he mean to—?
“Gilbert!” she gasped. “We should not.”
“Shh.” He brushed his mouth across hers. “We shall wait until our wedding night. And we will have one, Graeye. I promise you.”
He reached across to the other side of the bed, caught hold of the coverlet, and drew it over and around her. “Sleep well, my lady.”
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The dawn came too soon and took Gilbert with it.
From her chamber, Graeye watched the riders dissolve into the landscape. Though they went as one group, soon they would split in two and move in different directions.
Earlier, when she had looked out upon the bailey, she had been surprised to see Lady Lizanne among those preparing to leave. She should not have been, considering the notoriety surrounding the woman. She was strong and unafraid of what awaited her.
The acknowledgment had deepened Graeye’s conviction to recover the child Edward had stolen from its mother. It was not that she did not trust Gilbert to bring Edward to justice, but that she feared for the safety of the babe caught in the battle that would ensue.
If all went as she planned, Edward, thinking to have gained the Balmaine heir, would let down his guard. And when he did, she would have the chance to steal away with Lizanne’s child.
She dressed quickly and went in search of Lucy, certain the healer would have access to the prisoner whom Gilbert had spoken of on the night past. In a small room off the cavernous cellar, she found the woman preparing one of the many unguents she used in her healing.
“Good morn, Lucy,” Graeye greeted as she drew alongside the table at which the woman worked.
Lucy paused. “What are ye doing here, child?”
“With Lord Balmaine gone, there will be naught for me to do these next days,” she said, hoping the woman did not notice how nervous she was. “I thought I would use the time well and learn of your herbs and medicines.”
Frowning, Lucy returned her attention to the preparation. “Lord Balmaine said naught to me of it,” she mumbled as she picked up a pestle and began to mash the contents of the mortar.
Graeye placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward to see better. “He does not know of my interest.” She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor produced by the combination of strong herbs.
The woman finished with her preparation before responding. “If ye like, you may assist me. However, if the babe starts troubling you, I want yer promise you will tell me.”
“Of course.”
The next hours were filled with treating all manner of ailments from which the castle folk suffered, and it was not until after the noon meal that Lucy paid a visit to the prisoner locked in the lower room of a tower.
“Ye needn’t worry about this one,” Lucy reassured Graeye as she fit the key in the lock and pushed the door open. “Angry he may be, but never again will he carry a sword for that devil, Char—” She cleared her throat. “I am sorry, milady. I forgot.”
“I am grateful you did.” Graeye smiled. It was good the castle folk no longer drew parallels between Edward and herself. And soon, if all went as planned, none would be able to ever again.
As soon as they entered the room, she understood the reason for Lucy’s nonchalance toward the prisoner. The man lay on a pallet in the center of the room, the rough blanket covering him unable to hide that one of his legs had been removed to preserve his life.
It was nearly enough to send Graeye from that place, but with firm resolve, she followed Lucy to the pallet.
With his long, dirty hair and heavily bearded jaw, the man seemed as unfamiliar to her as any stranger, but when he lifted his lids and peered at her, she recognized him. Though she could not recall his name, she knew he was one of Edward’s senior knights, a man second only to William.
“Is it you, Lady Graeye?” he asked, delirium evident in the slur of his words.
“Aye.”
He turned his head and stared at the far wall.
On her knees beside him, Lucy asked, “Ye know him, milady?”
“He looks familiar,” Graeye said evasively as she bent down beside the woman.
Clearly, Lucy felt misgivings over bringing Graeye with her, but she said nothing more. Returning her attention to the man, she turned the blanket aside and examined the bandaged stump that remained of his leg.
How am I to gain a few minutes alone with him? Graeye wondered. She could not ask questions with Lucy present. However, when her gaze fell to the sack containing the woman’s medicines, she found the answer.
While Lucy removed the bandages, Graeye withdrew the pot the healer used on open wounds and pushed it beneath the straw pallet.
“Hand me the brown pot,” Lucy directed, holding the wad of bandages to the wound as blood began to flow again.
Graeye made a pretense of searching the sack. “’Tis gone.”
“Nonsense,” Lucy said. “Here, hold this and I will look.”
> Fighting down the anxiety that rose at the prospect of drawing so near the man’s horrible wound, Graeye came around the pallet and relieved Lucy of the task.
“Ah, where could I have left it?” Lucy cried a short while later.
“Mayhap at the armorer’s,” Graeye suggested. “It was last used on that man.”
Lucy sprang to her feet and hurried to the door. “Do not get too near him,” she called over her shoulder, then disappeared.
Knowing she did not have much time before the woman returned, Graeye bent over Edward’s man. “Sir Knight, I must speak with you ere the healer returns.”
Slowly, he turned his head toward her. “I am going to die,” he said. “Soon.”
“Nay.” She shook her head. “Lucy is a great healer. You will not end your days here.”
He closed his eyes. “You forget. A man must also want to live in order to be healed.”
And he did not. Having been a man of the sword, the prospect of life as a cripple could have no appeal. “I will pray for you,” she said, hoping to offer some solace.
“Save your prayers, lady.”
Graeye touched his shoulder. “Sir Knight, is it true Edward is headed north?”
His eyes opened to fine slits. “That is what I told your lover.”
She ignored the gibe. “Was it true?”
“Why do you wish to know?”
The lie. She had to make it convincing. “I would go to my father. He wants the Balmaine heir, does he not?”
The man nodded.
“’Tis revenge I seek against Baron Balmaine,” she continued. “As he has mistreated me, I would deliver the child into my father’s hands. Then all that Balmaine has taken from us will be ours again—and more.”
The knight mumbled something and once more lowered his lids.
Graeye sank back on her heels. She had not convinced him. How was she to find Edward if—
“Long I served your father,” he said, “and well I know how his mind works, even as mad as he is. ’Tis true he headed north, but he will not go there now.”
Graeye leaned near him again. “Why? Where will he go?”
