by Tamara Leigh
“You think to usurp my place?” Edward roared. “I will cut you in two.” He reached for his sword and, finding it missing, drew his dagger.
Though William had his own sword at his belt, he also took up a dagger. “Come, you crazy old man!” He sliced the air with his blade. “Let us see if you can still wield a weapon.”
As Graeye cautiously retreated, she searched out the one who had followed her earlier and was relieved to see that he, too, was caught up in the excitement of the brawl.
Edward lunged and laughed triumphantly when his blade sliced William’s ear. William bellowed and countered with a swipe that narrowly missed the other’s chest.
“Your blood is mine!” Edward shouted, but his dagger made no further contact.
Graeye continued her backward trek and glanced around to be certain she was not followed. In that fleeting space of time, she heard Edward’s cry of pain. When she looked back, she saw William had drawn blood from the old man’s upper arm.
“If you have prayers to say,” William jeered, “you had best get to them quick as your death will not be long in coming.”
The knight could not have known how true he spoke, for moments later, Edward clutched his chest and plummeted to his knees.
But William had not struck him in the chest. Had he? A moment later, she understood what had taken Edward down, for she had once witnessed the same thing with an elderly nun.
Fighting a surge of compassion, telling herself she cared not that his heart was giving out, she looked to the refuge of the trees. If she could make it—
“Lady Graeye,” William called, “will you not see to your father’s last rites?”
Her heart sank. The opportunity was lost. Would there be another before Gilbert arrived and Gillian and she were caught in the midst of a battle?
Certain William had seen through her plans for escape, she stepped forward and, clutching Gillian tighter, knelt beside Edward who was flat on his back.
Eyes wide, he held to his chest. “Knave!” he rasped, tilting his head back to stare at William. “I would have given you all.”
William grunted. “All would have belonged to the whelp growing in that harlot’s body. There would be naught for me.”
Another pain gripped Edward, and he cried out, shut his eyes, and rolled his head side to side.
“At least have some dignity in death,” William scorned and walked away.
The others disbanded, leaving Graeye alone with Edward.
Gently, she placed Gillian on the ground beside her and touched the old man’s shoulder. “Do you accept the cross?” she asked, then drew forth the one hung around her neck.
His eyes opened and fixed on her. “Alienor? Is it you?”
Surprised to hear him speak her mother’s name, she stared. It was true she resembled her mother, though she was slighter of build and fairer of hair, but she had never expected to be mistaken for her. The depth of the old man’s pain had surely brought on delirium.
“Ah, ’tis!” He lifted a hand toward her face, but it fell back to his side.
Graeye shook her head. “Nay, Ed—”
His weak, coughed laughter cut across her words. “See what I have done to your precious daughter? You thought to close me out and punish me, but ’tis I who won.” Pain spasmed across his face. “Why could you not have loved me as I loved you? I gave everything to have you. I sent Hermana away so I could wed you. And you hated me for it.”
Graeye gasped, dropped back onto her heels. “Hermana,” she whispered, the face of the woman who had plagued her days at Arlecy Abbey rising before her.
“Never did Philip forgive me for sending his mother away and taking you to wife,” he continued. “Ever he hated me for it.”
Graeye sank her teeth into her lower lip. That Hermana had been Edward’s first wife and Philip’s mother explained much. Philip’s taunting, Hermana’s ill will…
“I tried to make amends to him.” Edward squeezed his eyes tight as he was shook by another pain. “I sent your daughter to live alongside that bitter old woman. And for a time, it pleased Philip. But he always wanted more.”
Graeye did not care to bear further witness to his ramblings, but he was not finished. As his life ebbed, his body began to slacken. This time when he reached for her, he found the curve of her face.
“You should not have scorned me, untouchable Alienor—righteous Alienor whose silence condemned me for everything.” His rough fingers caressed Graeye’s cheek. “Had you but shown me some of the kindness you extended to others, I might have accepted the devil’s child you bore me, but you loved only her.”
Pity that Graeye would not have expected after all he had done, rose within her. That this man had once been capable of love, even if manifested to the detriment of others, tugged at her.
“Father,” she breathed and leaned down to kiss his aged cheek, “accept the cross and be delivered from this torture.”
“Never!” He pushed her away. A short while later, he expelled a final, shuddering breath.
Throat constricted, Graeye crossed herself and began her prayers.
When she finally lifted Gillian and started to stand, her eyes caught the glint of the dagger that had dropped from Edward’s hand. With her back to the man who stood watch over her, she secreted the weapon within Gillian’s blanket and stood. What use it would be she did not know, but it might gain her an advantage.
The advantage came sooner than expected.
As night moved toward the day to come, Graeye tried to sink into sleep. However, each time she happened upon it, it was short-lived, for the child in her womb was more restless than usual, making much ado over being unable to find a comfortable position.
At long last, she fell into sleep marked by fitful stirrings and dark dreams that warned of danger. She saw Gilbert and blood, heard Gillian’s cries, felt a hand close over her mouth and steal her breath—
She opened her eyes wide and focused on the shadowy form above her. Was this part of her dream? It was not.
She started to struggle, but remembered that Gillian lay asleep in the crook of her arm. Heart thundering, she brought to mind the dagger hidden beneath the blanket she lay upon.
“Ah, Graeye,” a familiar voice slurred, William’s breath so soured with alcohol she nearly retched against his hand. “Know you what I have come for?” He drew a hand over her belly.
Shuddering, she slowly extended her arm and lifted the edge of the blanket.
“I have waited long to have you,” he continued. “Now that the old man is gone, I shall take that which you denied me and gave Balmaine.”
It was the cutting edge of the dagger’s blade she first found. Suppressing a cry of pain, she inched her hand to the hilt and wrapped her throbbing fingers around it.
“I have warned you before,” William said, “fight me, and the child will suffer. Do you understand?”
She nodded and was relieved to be freed of the pressure of his hand upon her mouth.
He reached to Gillian.
Knowing it was best to have the babe out of the way, Graeye eased her hold on Gillian and allowed William to set her aside.
He quickly returned to Graeye and thrust aside the rough blankets.
Ignoring the pain in her fingers, she gripped the dagger tighter, but not until she felt the loathsome man’s hand upon her leg did she force herself to action. Unable to bring herself to set the blade to his flesh, she swept her arm above her head and brought the hilt down upon his skull.
He sucked air and dropped to the side.
“Heavenly Father,” she breathed, unable to believe she had bettered him. But then, William was beyond drunk from all the celebrating in which he had indulged following Edward’s demise.
Graeye scrambled onto her hands and knees, lifted Gillian, and crept to the tent opening. It seemed too much good fortune to find her guard absent, and she assumed William had sent him away.
She gathered the few items she would need for the return journey—the sack o
f food, mantle, blanket, dagger.
Though a horse would speed her flight, she knew it was too much of a risk to acquire one.
Holding Gillian close, Graeye crept from the tent toward the trees. It seemed a long way as she stepped lightly around the other tents and sleeping forms, but she made it without mishap. Unfortunately, it would not be as easy to get past the sentries set around the camp.
She advanced slowly, all the while praying William did not soon recover from the blow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thrusting his bloodied sword into its sheath, Gilbert remounted, though not his own destrier. The great white stallion had fallen in the short-lived skirmish of early morn when Gilbert had led the attack against Edward’s brigands. It was a terrible loss, but the horse had likely saved his life, taking the arrow aimed at its rider. Shot from a crossbow, it would easily have pierced a coat of mail.
“There is no sign of either one,” Ranulf said of Graeye and Gillian as he urged his destrier alongside Gilbert’s. “Nor of William.”
Gilbert swept his gaze over the destruction left by the clash between Charwyck’s men and his. It was a pity how much blood had needed to be shed before the brigands were defeated, but he was grateful to have lost so few of his own and that none of the women and children of the camp had been harmed. But still he did not have that which he sought!
As they had trailed Charwyck’s progress south, word of Graeye’s disappearance had come from Penforke. It had nearly driven Gilbert mad as old beliefs about her resurfaced, but he had not held to them long. Now, however, testimony had been given of her presence in the camp by those of Charwyck’s men who had survived. Too, they told of the old man’s demise on the night past. There was some relief in that, though not enough.
Why, he wondered again, had Graeye sought her father? It was not answer enough to learn she had cared for Lizanne and Ranulf’s child while among Edward’s followers, for he could not believe she would endanger their child to protect another’s.
Perhaps she had simply been biding her time to escape him, had lied in declaring her love—
Nay! He could not—would not—believe it.
There was Mellie’s confession to consider. Believing Edward wanted the Balmaine heir, Graeye might not have considered herself, or their child, to be in immediate danger. It was possible she had left Penforke to seek Gillian’s release. But what had driven her to such desperate measures?
A moment later, Gilbert had the answer, and it pained him to know he was responsible for the guilt thrust upon her for the wrongs her family had done the Balmaines.
I will make it up to you, love, he silently vowed then asked Ranulf, “Do you think William has Gillian and Graeye?”
The other man ran a weary hand along the back of his neck as he stared up at the sky the sun had penetrated a few short hours ago. “Likely.”
Lizanne, face drawn, urged her horse alongside her husband’s. “I do not believe it,” she said. “Methinks Graeye must have escaped with Gillian during the night and William set off after her.”
“How come you by this?” Gilbert asked.
“If all you tell about this woman is true, ’twas her intent to take Gillian from here. Mayhap she succeeded. It would certainly explain why William was not here when we rode upon the camp. As the new leader of these brigands, he would have no reason to flee.”
“Yet he told no one of her escape?” Gilbert asked.
“None that survived,” Lizanne pointed out. “Also, he may not have expected it to be a difficult undertaking to find her and bring her back.”
“Then we must find her first.” Gilbert motioned for his men to regroup.
As tempting as it had been to follow the river so she would not become lost, Graeye had known it would be to her detriment, especially once the sun rose. It was what William would expect, and she would not aid in her recapture. Instead, she paralleled the river as best she could, occasionally turning in to catch sight of it to assure herself she had not gone off course.
How long and how far had she walked? she wondered, her legs and back aching. A dozen hours or more, she guessed, and throughout, Gillian had been mostly patient.
Graeye could not thank the Lord enough that she had been able to satisfy the little one’s hunger, for if the babe set to wailing, they would likely be intercepted before they reached Penforke. And Graeye sensed they were not far from that place. Most evident of this was the land’s sudden incline. Until recently, it had been gradual, but now it pointed the way toward the great fortress upon the hill.
Not allowing herself to feel too much relief until she was safely within the castle’s walls, she hurried her awkward legs beneath her. “Soon,” she whispered when her body’s protests became more insistent. Hearing the faint sound of running water, she veered away, still careful not to venture too near the river.
The first cramp that caught her midsection was not bad, though it took her breath away. Pausing, she drew a hand down her belly.
It is nothing, she told herself. It is not yet my time.
Continuing on, she was soon taken by another cramp. Again, she denied its cause and resumed her journey.
Over the next hour, the pains grew more intense and frequent, but still she did not pause except when absolutely necessary. If the child was readying for birth, it was that much more important she reach Penforke quickly.
Gillian’s hungry cries finally forced Graeye to stop. Grateful for the reprieve, she chose a place among the low-lying bushes that offered adequate cover.
The babe was not long into the feeding when a crashing sound brought Graeye’s head around. Scooting farther back into the bushes, she searched the wooded area for the cause of the commotion.
Dear Lord, she prayed, let it be a wild beast ere it be William.
The latter appeared a moment later on a heavily lathered horse whose hindquarters shook with exertion.
Slowly, Graeye drew up the hood of her mantle to conceal her pale hair and, holding Gillian close, peered at the man through the leaves before her.
Wild-eyed, color high, William pulled hard on the reins, forcing the animal to step a circle as its rider searched the area.
“I know you are out here!” he roared. “I can smell you.” He threw back his head and sniffed the air.
Graeye shuddered. He was nearly as mad as Edward had been. And that likely meant he had not come to take her back but to put an end to her.
He guided his horse nearer her refuge and narrowed his eyes to scrutinize the undergrowth and surrounding trees.
Though she longed to withdraw more deeply into the bushes, she forced herself to remain still, barely breathing for fear William might hear her. It would be miracle enough if his ears did not prick to the sound of Gillian’s feeding.
A bird took to flight, drawing William’s regard. After that, a hare skittered out into the open and also quickly went from sight. The quiet of the wood warmed by the afternoon sun followed.
Graeye’s fortitude was rewarded when, with a savage growl, William jabbed his heels into his horse’s sides and rode off in the direction of Penforke.
Still unmoving, she wondered what she was to do now that William had overtaken her. To gain the sanctuary of Penforke, she would have to get past him, which might prove impossible since he would surely set himself to watching the castle. If he caught her out in the wide expanse of land surrounding the fortress, he would have little difficulty capturing her. Perhaps night would provide cover—
Another pain tore through her. Sealing her mouth with a fist, she waited for the cramp to pass. It did, but left her more drained than before.
My child is coming, she acknowledged and allowed herself a moment of wonder before resolving to reach Penforke without further delay. Be it by the postern gate or over the drawbridge, she would find a way in.
With Gillian was more content, Graeye emerged from the bushes and cautiously made her way forward. Though she believed William presented no immediate threat, sh
e took no chances and veered farther from the river.
Every unexpected sound made her skin crawl, but she stopped only when the birthing pains were too great and she was forced to wait them out.
With the thinning of vegetation, she saw she was nearly clear of the woods. Though she did not have the energy to run, she pushed herself to a faster pace, drawing herself up short only when, through the sparse trees, Penforke rose before her.
“Merciful Father,” she breathed and wiped the perspiration from her brow. Moving nearer, she scrutinized the fortification and saw it was in a state of preparedness. Though it was still day, the drawbridge was raised, and atop the walls soldiers crossed back and forth.
Could they protect her? Perhaps, but first they would have to know who she was. She searched out the fringes of the wood for signs of William and was not surprised when she found none, for the man was not fool enough to reveal himself before he had her.
Knowing it would be safer to approach the rear of the castle and the postern gate there, Graeye decided to use the cover of the surrounding wood to reach it. Keeping the castle within sight, she began the last leg of her journey with the same caution she had exercised throughout. However, with each pain came the desire to strike out across the open ground.
As she plodded onward, she made all sorts of promises to herself—a hot, scented bath, a long day and night’s sleep, fresh fruit and warm bread, the comfort of Gilbert’s arms…
Noise thrust upon her musings—not the clamor of a single rider, but of many. She hastened to the edge of the wood and pressed herself against a tree. Peering around its girth, she spied the riders emerging from the left, near where she had first caught sight of the castle.
The vivid colors the knights wore and the banners they carried revealed they were of Penforke. Relief shot through her as she settled her gaze upon the large figure riding before the others. Gilbert.
Though a voice warned that she was not yet out of danger, she pushed it aside in favor of the safety offered by Gilbert’s arrival. She could not risk being left outside the castle’s walls with William still hunting her, especially now that her child was demanding entrance into the world.
