by Tamara Leigh
“Though he knows not whether I lived or died, he will not chance my knowledge of his plans. He will turn south now.”
“Toward Penforke?”
“Aye, but not too near. Not yet.”
“Where?” She was growing impatient. Any moment, Lucy could return, and then she would never know this man’s secrets.
“Dewhercy,” he breathed. “That is where he will do battle with Balmaine.”
Dewhercy. Where had she heard the name before? Was it not Gilbert who had spoken of it? She hit upon it a moment later. It was the lake into which the rivers around Penforke emptied. He had promised to take her there after the babe was born.
Hearing footsteps, Graeye retrieved the medicine pot and rolled it across the floor. When the woman entered, wringing her hands, Graeye pointed to it.
“There,” she said, continuing to press the bandages to the wound. “I spotted it a moment ago. It must have fallen from the sack.”
Mumbling prayers of thanks, the woman retrieved it and returned to the pallet. She shooed Graeye aside and made quick work of applying the unguent.
“I must needs return to my chamber and rest,” Graeye said, moving to the door. “Mayhap I can assist again on the morrow?”
“If you feel well enough,” Lucy tossed over her shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As the sun fell beyond its zenith the following day, Graeye reflected on the events of the previous night.
If not for Mellie’s help, which had been gained at the cost of much pleading and reasoning, she might not have found a way out of the castle. Fortunately, the servant’s loyalty still lay with her former mistress, Lady Lizanne.
Although Graeye had given few details of her plan to rescue the child Edward had abducted, she had convinced Mellie of the worthiness of her scheme. In fact, the woman had added to it, which was the reason Graeye traveled by horse, rather than on foot.
The greatest obstacle encountered thus far was Mellie’s attempt to distract the guard at the postern gate long enough for Graeye to slip through. Though the maid was attractive, the man had been resistant to her wiles, and it had taken much ale to bring him around.
As promised, the horse had been tethered at the edge of the wood, a gentle old nag that looked to pose no threat. The difficulty had come in mounting the animal, for Graeye had not reckoned with the encumbrance of her pregnancy. Always Gilbert lifted her astride. But she had made it and now found herself many leagues distant from Penforke as she followed the river’s course south.
It could not be much farther to Dewhercy, she assured herself. Mellie had said a swift horse could deliver one to that place in a few hours. However, the nag was hardly swift, and Graeye’s pregnancy made her averse to pushing the animal. Thus, she had guessed it would take several times the maid’s estimation.
Though she was aware of the struggle that faced her to remount the nag, Graeye finally yielded to her thirst and drew to a halt. She had taken only her first handful of water from the river when a noise drew her attention. Straightening, she looked around but was unable to locate the source. Even as she resolved that it must be of her imagination, it came again.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare and searched out the wooded area. It would be one of Edward’s brigands. It had to be.
A moment later, she was proved correct, though she would have wished it to be any man other than the one who led his horse toward her.
Show no fear, she told herself.
“’Tis good you came alone, Lady Graeye.” William gave a twisted grin.
“I have come to see Edward,” she said as his shadow fell over her. She hated the way his eyes sparkled, hated the rough hands that grasped her and pulled her toward him.
“Release me,” she demanded.
He hauled her closer and pressed a hand to her belly.
She stilled. When he began an exploration of her firm roundness, she thrust his hand away and jumped back.
To her surprise, he did not attempt to catch hold of her again. “What business have you with the old man?” he asked.
Pulling her mantle closed over the evidence of her pregnancy, she held William’s hateful gaze. “I bring him the Balmaine heir that will gain him all he seeks.”
His eyes narrowed. “What is it you seek?”
Summoning the word she had used to learn Edward’s whereabouts, she raised her chin higher. “Revenge.” Would he believe her?
It did not appear so, but then he laughed. “’Tis not very godly of you.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “What did those nuns teach you at the abbey?”
“It is not what the nuns taught me,” she retorted, “it is what Balmaine taught me. I would see him suffer for the wrongs he has done my father and me.”
“That he will.” William turned to his horse and beckoned to her. “Come, you will ride with me.”
“Nay, I will ride my own horse.” She moved to gather the nag’s reins.
William quickly returned to her and gripped her arm. “Think you I am fool enough to trust you, Graeye Charwyck? You will ride with me.”
She tried to dig in her heels, but to no avail. A sharp jerk and she was stumbling after William.
“I warn you,” he growled as he lifted her onto his horse, “if you defy me, ’twill be your misbegotten whelp that suffers.”
She glared at him. “You would not dare harm me or my child.”
He fit his foot into the stirrup. “It is Edward who would not take such a risk,” he said as he swung up behind her. “And he does not yet know he is to be delivered the prize he seeks. So if harm befalls you, he will be none the wiser.”
He fit an arm around her stiffly erect body and put his mouth to her ear. “It matters not to me what becomes of your ill gotten child. Do you understand?”
Too much. “You are a cruel man, William Rotwyld.”
“I am. And you would do well to remember it, Lady Graeye.”
The followers of Edward Charwyck cleared a path for them, their voices lowering as they gazed at the woman come among them.
Some Graeye recognized as being Edward’s former retainers, but most were unknown faces belonging to men, women, and even dirty, ill-fed children—villeins turned outlaw to satisfy the whims of a deranged old man. What had he promised them?
Cold swept her as William guided his horse to the center of the camp where Edward stood beside the fire.
Hands on hips, he watched their approach. Had there been a breeze to move his long silver hair, it would have been the only movement about him.
All the courage Graeye had gathered during her long journey seemed for naught when she met his feral eyes. Thought it was certain William felt her tremor, she was grateful it did not manifest itself outwardly. She could not allow that, for Edward would use her fear against her.
William broke the silence. “See what I have chanced upon, my lord!”
Edward turned his gaze upon his man. “She came alone?”
“Aye, my lord. I followed her some time to be certain. She says she brings Balmaine’s heir to you that she might take revenge upon the man.”
Edward looked back at her. “Is that right, Daughter? You seek revenge against your lover?”
More than anyone, she had to convince Edward of the lie. “It was a mistake I made,” she said with great bitterness. “Balmaine treated me cruelly and refused to wed me to grant his child legitimacy. I would see him dead and all that is his become ours.”
His jaw shifted as he continued to stare at her. Then he said, “Come down from there,” and raised his arms to her.
Though she longed to vault over the opposite side rather than go into that evil embrace, she muffled the desire. Forcing her expression to remain impassive, she leaned toward him.
At the touch of his hands, she stopped her breath, releasing it only when he set her upon her feet and stepped back to look at her.
Throughout his scrutiny, she held her head high, unflinching even when his gaze settle
d upon the stain.
“You should have died,” he said. “Was it the devil who snatched you from the flames?”
Always it came back to the devil. So be it. Knowing Edward would do her no harm as long as she carried Gilbert’s child, she said, “It must have been.”
Around her, anxious whisperings rose like a swarm of bees. Before her, Edward reacted as if slapped. “You…you…” He took a step back. “Where is your head covering?”
“I no longer wear one.”
His eyes widened. “You will in my presence!”
“I will not.” She brushed the hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ears.
Edward’s eyes flew to the stain.
“You fear me,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Her words were enough to wipe much of that fear from his face. “Fear you?” he spat.
Now that she had gained the advantage, she could not back down. “Think you a piece of linen will take the devil from me, Father?”
Hands clenched at his sides, he stared into the face of a woman who was not the same as the one he had known nine months past.
“Come,” he finally said, “I have something to show you.”
Gathering her mantle against the cooling of afternoon, she followed, passing shadowy figures and faces, curious and fearful alike.
Outside a crudely constructed tent, an older woman was seated cross-legged on the ground, a babe suckling at her breast. Beside her was a basket that held another infant.
Graeye knew the latter had to be Lizanne’s child, but formed a frown upon her face. Since she had first formulated her plan, she had determined it would be best to feign ignorance of the abduction.
A smile cracked Edward’s face when she looked to him, and he went down on his haunches and lifted the sleeping baby from the basket.
Instantly, the child awoke and began to fuss, its whimperings growing louder as Edward clumsily turned it around to show Graeye.
“Know you whose child this is?”
It was not easy to contain the impulse to snatch away the distressed infant. She stared at the baby, noting its thatch of pale hair and chubby face. “Is it not the woman’s?”
“Nay, she cares for this babe when she is not caring for her own.” His mouth twisted as the infant began to wail.
“May I hold him?” Graeye asked, suddenly fearful Edward might do the child harm.
“Her,” he corrected but did not relinquish the baby. “You may call her Gillian Wardieu.”
“Wardieu?” Graeye widened her eyes. “Surely not.”
He laughed. “Took her from the cradle myself. You did not know?”
“I heard naught of it. But why would you take this child?”
He fingered the infant’s pale locks as it began to cry in earnest. “It will deliver Philip’s murderers to me.”
Hands itching to wrest Gilbert’s niece from him, Graeye said, “Methinks she is hungry.”
“I have no more to give her,” the woman snapped and rose to her feet. “Me own child grows weak for all I give that one.” She swept past Edward.
Graeye watched her go. “Perhaps you should give the child into my care,” she suggested.
“Who would nurse her?” Edward asked. “You?”
Could she? In recent weeks, her breasts had begun to provide evidence of her body’s preparation for birth such that it had become necessary to pad her bodice lest she dampened it. Lucy had said it was normal, that it was the first of her babe’s milk.
She inclined her head. “I believe ’tis possible.”
Edward regarded her with suspicion. “If it is true you seek revenge against Balmaine, why do you care what happens to this brat?”
Knowing it had been unwise to insist so soon, she frantically searched for an answer that would appease him. It was a weak argument she came up with, but it was the only one at hand. “Of what use is this child if she dies from lack of sustenance?”
He sneered. “It will still bring me Balmaine and Wardieu.”
“Perhaps.” She glanced at the babe who had calmed somewhat, “but should something go awry, you could strike a powerful bargain providing she yet lives.”
Edward’s anger surfaced in the crimson color that suffused his face. “Naught will go awry. My vengeance is assured.”
Where she found her next argument, she could not have said. “Aye, providing William does not turn on you.”
He startled. “What mean you?”
“He thinks you quite mad,” she planted the seed and prayed it would take hold. “On the ride here, he boasted it was he whom the people followed, not you.”
Edward shook his head. “I do not believe you.”
She stepped near him and placed a hand on his arm. “Do not let him fool you, Father. He deserted you once before when he gave his oath of fealty to Baron Balmaine. He will do so again.”
A hunted look entered Edward’s eyes. Without another word, he pushed the infant into her arms and hurried away, one hand worrying his long hair.
Graeye drew a long breath. She had won this battle, but there would be more. Somehow, she must get Gillian away from here.
The babe continued to fuss, her fists and stiff legs punching at the air until, at last, she found uneasy comfort in her protector’s arms. Whimpering, she turned her face to Graeye’s breast and began to search for the milk that would fill her rumbling belly.
Uncertain as to what she should do, Graeye looked around for privacy in which to explore the rituals of motherhood to which she had not expected to be introduced for a fortnight or more. The woman’s tent would do, she decided.
Crouching low, she entered the cramped interior. She was pulling the flap down over the opening when William pushed it aside.
“You may frighten the old man, but you do not frighten me, Graeye Charwyck,” he said, squatting to view her where she sat.
“Do I not?” she tossed back. “Certes, you would do well to be frightened of me, William Rotwyld.”
He gave a harsh laugh and retreated.
Wondering at the depth of the well from which she had drawn the courage to face the two men she feared most, Graeye looked down upon the shadowed, angelic face nestled against her. “Ah, little one,” she cooed, “all will be well.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
While Edward’s brigands prepared for the coming battle, Graeye plotted, finding that pitting Edward against William was easier than anticipated. And it did not take long to understand the reason. She had thought she had lied in warning Edward to be wary of William. She had not.
She could come to no other conclusion after two days of observing the happenings around her, which, prior to her arrival, Edward must have been too blinded by madness to see. The old man was a figurehead, and one for which William had very little tolerance. Nearly every directive given by Edward was countermanded by William, and it became apparent that the brigands did, indeed, follow the latter.
Now, it seemed, Edward also saw this, and Graeye knew it was only a matter of time before the confrontation that would provide her the opportunity to escape with Gillian.
That evening, not until her belly began to gnaw with hunger, did she emerge from the tent to the smell of cooked venison. With a slumbering Gillian propped on her belly and clasped to her breast, she ignored the man who had been set to shadow her and crossed to where the food was laid out. As usual, she found the leavings of the others modest, for she had not come soon enough to choose the best of the meal. Still, it would suffice.
As she settled on a fallen log, the child in her belly kicked, reminding her that soon it would enter the world.
Disturbed by the sharp movement, Gillian whimpered and wiggled.
Graeye held her breath, hoped the babe would not awaken hungry and ready to feed again. Having been unable to satisfy her appetite with the small amount of milk produced for a newborn, Graeye had been forced to seek the help of the one into whose care Edward had first given Gillian. Fortunately, the wet nurse had been n
eeded only twice this day, but if Gillian awakened now before Graeye’s body replenished itself, it might be necessary to once more call upon the woman.
Blessedly, Gillian nuzzled back against the pillow of Graeye’s breasts and resumed her soft breathing.
The bread was hard, the cheese moldy, but the venison tender. As Graeye had done with each meal, she hid a portion in the small sack beneath her mantle. It would sustain her on her journey back to Penforke.
When she had eaten her fill, she rose and started back to her tent.
Edward stepped into her path. “I would see the child.”
She eased the cloth back from Gillian’s head and stepped sideways to show him.
Edward reached to take her.
“Nay!” Graeye backed away. What did he intend? He had not attempted such before.
“Give me the child,” he ordered.
“What do you want with her?”
“I must send a message to Balmaine and Wardieu.” He smiled—a twisted, ugly thing.
“Then send your message. It does not require the babe.”
“You are wrong. If my threat is to be taken seriously, I need something of the child.”
“Something?” How Graeye feared the meaning behind those words! “Nay, send your message and leave her be.”
He reached again and nearly succeeded in snatching away Gillian.
Graeye stumbled back, jolting the babe and rousing another whimper.
“Give me the child!” Edward demanded.
Surprisingly, it was William who stepped between Edward and Graeye. “The message has already been sent,” he said.
All of Edward jerked. “By whose order?”
William crossed his arms over his chest. “Mine.”
Hoping this was the confrontation she had awaited and praying Gillian would not awaken with cries that drew attention to them, Graeye stepped out of harm’s way—and just in time. Edward charged the younger man, threw his great bulk into him, and sent them both sprawling in the dirt.
As the two regained their feet, their followers rushed forward and surrounded them.
