by Tamara Leigh
It did not deter him, though, for he simply found another place to put his mouth, tasting the sensitive hollow beneath her ear.
Her pulse leaping against her determination to feel nothing for the cur, she wrenched hard to free her hands from his grasp, but his strength was too great to allow her escape. Though she continued to writhe beneath him, she feared it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to his persuasions. She could not allow that to happen....
Like the brush of silk, Gilbert's hand slid up beneath her shift to curve around one small breast, his thumb lightly caressing the sensitive, straining nub there. And then his mouth was on her.
When a moan of pleasure escaped her traitorous lips, Graeye thought she would die from the humiliation of her wayward body's reaction to him. As a final act of resistance, she whipped a knee up and somehow made contact at the juncture of Gilbert's thighs.
She heard his loud groan of agony, but did not understand it until he rolled off her, a hand pressed to his injured manhood.
Naturally, it had never occurred to her this could prove the best means by which to escape the arduous attentions of a man. Seeing the pain he was in, though, she realized how effective—and simple—it had been.
Knowing that when he recovered, he would be furious with her, she scrambled to the edge of the bed. She very nearly made good her escape before he caught hold of her arm and toppled her down beside him. Without a word he forced her back into the curve of his body.
Expecting his wrath to descend upon her with a vengeance, she was prodded by her newfound sense of self-preservation to try to squirm free, but there truly was no hope of that.
When several minutes passed and nothing untoward occurred, she grew even more wary. What, exactly, did he intend to do to her? Steeling herself for his anger, she slowly turned in his hold and ventured a look at him. Immediately her dread became surprise.
His head resting on an outstretched arm, Gilbert stared back at her, his face devoid of the emotion she had been certain she would find there. In fact, he was completely expressionless, except for the one corner of his mouth that was lifted slightly higher than the other.
"And where does a novice learn to do that?" he asked.
She shook her head. "What?" she asked. Then, realizing what he meant, she forestalled the clarification hovering upon his lips.
"Though it was not my intention to do you harm," she said, " 'twas all that you deserved."
The other corner of his mouth lifting, Gilbert rolled onto his side, resting his dark head on his hand. "Aye, deserved," he conceded, not quite smiling, "and more than effective, you can be assured."
Graeye could only stare at him, wondering at what game he was playing. How did he mean to retaliate for the offense done him? When he moved away from her, it was so sudden and unexpected that it took her a moment to realize he had left the bed and now stood alongside it.
"I owe you an apology, Lady Graeye," he said as he adjusted his belt. " 'Twas quite unseemly of me to force unwanted attentions upon you."
An apology? Baffled, she raised herself to a sitting position. Though aware of her scant garments, she did not attempt to cover herself again.
"In future, though," he continued, dropping his hands to his hips in that familiar gesture of authority. "I would suggest you keep your hands to yourself and use my proper title when addressing me ... and clothe yourself properly." He looked pointedly to where her breasts thrust themselves against the thin material of her shift.
That she keep her hands to herself? Anger her ally once again, Graeye squelched the impulse to cross her arms over her chest. Instead she glared at him.
At the visible stiffening of her body, Gilbert shrugged, telling himself it mattered not to him. " 'Twould be to vow benefit to learn that such familiarity between a man and woman does not always go unanswered, Lady Graeye," he continued, and turned to the door.
"I will send a servant directly to see you are outfitted for dinner," he said. Just outside the doorway he paused and looked over his shoulder. "Do not keep me waiting long, or I will see you clothed myself. Is that understood?"
How could she refuse a threat such as that? Graeye forced a sickly smile. "Perfectly," she said, then stood and went to the window again. Behind her the door closed softly.
***
Attired in another of her mother's old garments, and having purposely forgone the familiarity and comfort of a wimple, Graeye entered the hall just as Gilbert rose from his chair, obviously to come after her as he'd promised he would. Reseating himself, he beckoned her forward and indicated the empty place to his left.
As she was ushered by the grinning young maid who had coaxed her into allowing her hair to be plaited into a single braid, Graeye suffered the curious glances that followed her progress across the unending stretch of floor. With the exception of but a few, none had ever looked upon her tainted face before, and it seemed they were quite eager to do so now.
What a sight she must present, she thought. Not only did she bear the "devil's mark," but also the remainder of bruises and cuts Edward had given her. Though her humiliation should have been great, she was curiously unmoved. Let them stare, she told herself, lifting her chin higher.
"You become more brave each day," Gilbert murmured as she seated herself.
Knowing he referred to the absence of her wimple, she let his gibe go unanswered, turning her attention instead to the trencher that had been placed before her. Typically, she would have shared it with another, so large was it, but as she had arrived in the midst of the meal, there was none to divide it with.
Ignoring Gilbert, she picked around the chunks of tender meat and fish, looking for the odd bits of vegetables she preferred. As she chewed, she glanced around her and met the stares of many people. Their curiosity amused her.
Something was missing, she shortly realized. Her gaze swept the hall once more and found that the king's men were no longer present. When had they departed Medland? she wondered as she took a sip of frothy ale.
So caught up in her straying thoughts was she, Graeye didn't notice Groan's arrival. Not until he placed his head in her lap did he gain her attention.
A genuine smile wreathing her lips, she lowered a hand and drew it lingeringly over the animal's head. Though he had been her constant companion during the first few days of her recovery, he had grown restless during the last. She had seen him only on those rare occasions when he wandered into the chamber for a quick stroke and the leavings of her meals. Searching out a worthy morsel among the many in her trencher, she slipped it directly into Groan's waiting mouth.
"Careful lest that animal grows any larger," a jesting Voice said beside her.
Until that moment Graeye had been oblivious to the one seated next to her, but she instantly recognized the voice.
"Sir Michael," she acknowledged the young knight. Why he would still offer her the warmth of his smile was beyond her, but she appreciated it.
Still smiling, he leaned toward her. "I had begun to think myself invisible," he said, catching her hand to brush his lips across it.
She returned his smile with an apologetic one of her own and, as politely as possible, withdrew her hand from his grasp.
"What do you at the lord's table?" she queried, not having expected Gilbert Balmaine to look kindly upon any of Edward's former retainers.
Michael moved nearer, his lips nearly touching her ear. "It seems I have found favor with the baron," he whispered.
Uncomfortable with his proximity, she drew back and leveled her gaze upon him. "And pray tell how you accomplished such a feat."
He grinned. "The supervision of the building of the new watchtower was given over to me," he said with great pride.
He needn't have elaborated further, for having seen that worthy structure, Graeye fully understood how he had pleased Gilbert. Michael did elaborate, though, beginning an extensive narrative on the complexities involved in such a project.
Graeye listened politely, made a f
ew comments, and when he moved too near, or his hand strayed to her leg, she scooted in the opposite direction along the bench. Groan followed her progress, grumbling with dislike as the man advanced upon his mistress.
It was not long before Graeye found herself at the edge of the bench, one leg pressed against Gilbert's chair and the other brushing Sir Michael's leg. Thoroughly irritated, she turned and looked straight into Gilbert's angry blue eyes. She realized with a start that he had likely been following their conversation for some time.
Why, then, did his anger seem to be directed exclusively at her? It was the knight who had encroached upon her space, not the other way around. By neither word nor manner had she encouraged him—quite the opposite.
Standing abruptly, Gilbert declared the meal finished and ordered all except a select handful from the hall.
Grateful to have the tedious task done with, Graeye stood before Sir Michael could offer her his arm.
"Lady Graeye," Gilbert said sharply. "I would have a word with you ere you retire to your chamber. Do regain your seat."
Turning to protest, she met his challenging stare and immediately closed her mouth. She reseated herself and watched as the others, including Sir Michael, filed out of the hall.
Sensing there was booty to be had of the remains, even Groan deserted Graeye, trotting off to join the other dogs who followed the last of the serving wenches from the hall. There was still much to do to set the great room aright, but it had been cleared sufficiently for the lord to carry on his business.
Graeye watched dispassionately as the half-dozen men instructed to remain behind, Sir Lancelyn among them, gathered across the hall to await their lord's summons. Talking among themselves so they would not appear to be listening in on Gilbert's private discussion, they turned their backs to the couple.
Knowing her moment was at hand, Graeye heaved a great sigh and twisted around so that she was face-to-face with Gilbert.
"Lady Graeye," he began, raising a booted foot to the edge of the table and pushing backward in his chair until his great weight was balanced oh only the two back legs, "such behavior as I have seen displayed here today is most unbecoming of a lady." His eyes never leaving her face, he began to rub his thigh.
She had expected as much from the dreadful man, so was not overly surprised by his interpretation of what had transpired between her and Sir Michael.
"Methinks you have completely misunderstood the situation," she said. "As you obviously refer to Sir Michael's conduct, should you not take this matter up with him?"
"Aye, I will speak to him of it," he agreed, leaning farther back in his chair. "But he is hardly responsible for responding to your invitations."
Her ... Outraged, Graeye jumped to her feet and looked down at where he was perched at a rather precarious angle upon his chair. "You see only through the eyes of a man," she declared, uncaring that she had drawn the attention of the others. "And only that which you care to see. I neither encouraged Sir Michael, nor invited his attentions. In the past he has been kind to me—'tis all. I was simply returning that kindness,"
Gilbert appeared unmoved. Steepling his fingers before his face, he regarded her pale visage. "Then you would not be interested in his taking you to wife?" he asked with a lift of his brows.
It was not what she had expected to hear. Her lips parting on a gasp of surprise, she sank back down upon the bench.
Why did his question dishearten her so? she wondered. Even as her mind supplied the answer, she fiercely denied it. Nay, she had absolutely no liking for this black-hearted giant. For all she cared, Gilbert Balmaine could go straight to the devil.
Secure in her resolve to distance her vulnerable emotions as far from Gilbert as possible, she turned her thoughts to Sir Michael. So he still wished to wed her. Was it because Edward was now missing, relieving him of the burden of also assuming responsibility for a man he detested? Aye, she concluded, that had to be the reason.
And what of the abbey? Had not Gilbert already made it clear he would be satisfied with nothing less than her confinement within those walls? If that was still the case, then he was simply taunting her now, using this opportunity to take his revenge upon her for the undoing of his manhood. Soon, though, he would discover his mistake in choosing this avenue as her punishment.
"I do not understand," she said calmly as she searched his eyes for the laughter he must surely harbor there. She did not find it.
" Twould seem the man is enamored of you and wishes you for his wife," he explained. " 'Tis my understanding he challenged Sir William for your hand and that you refused him. I am curious if you would refuse him a second time given that your only other option would be to return to the abbey."
For a long moment Graeye considered whether or not she should bother offering an explanation for choosing Sir William over Sir Michael. Though the baron certainly deserved none, she decided there was no real harm in it. "As there would have been bloodshed had I not refused Sir Michael, I agreed to wed with Sir William."
"And you were content to marry William."
Remembering her aversion to that awful man, she barely suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the thought of being his wife. "Edward chose him," she said.
"And now would you accept Sir Michael as a husband?"
After she had accepted that the abbey was, by far, a better place for her than this cruel world? Certainly not. And the sooner she left Medland, the better.
"Is it a choice you offer me, then?" she asked, thinking to play along just a bit longer.
" 'Tis one I have seriously contemplated," he answered shortly, then pressed on with his unanswered question. "Would you accept him?"
Neither had he answered her question, she thought. Sighing, she shook her head. "Nay. I would not"
Gilbert nearly lost his balance. Truly, he had expected her to throw herself at his feet in gratitude. Instead she had hurled his tentative offer back in his face. "And why not?"
"As you have said repeatedly, my place is at the abbey. Though in the past it has been my desire not to return there, I have come to accept it—welcome it, even."
"You would prefer the abbey to marriage?" he asked in disbelief.
"Aye. Besides, I fear I would not make Sir Michael a very good wife."
"What makes you think that?"
She shrugged. "I have no feelings for him."
" 'Tis not necessary that you have feelings for the man you wed," Gilbert informed her. "There is but one purpose to marriage, and well I am sure you would be able to fulfill that part of the contract." Awaiting her response, he rubbed a hand over his thickening beard.
She remained silent, her great eyes distant and unblinking.
Wondering how he might ruffle the aloof composure she had cloaked herself in, and which he found altogether too disturbing, Gilbert leaned nearer until his warm breath caressed her lips. "Is there another you would choose instead?"
Her heart beginning a frenetic beat, Graeye lowered her gaze to his mouth. Though she tried to hold back the memories of the time when it had touched hers with passion, they rushed at her, stealing her breath. She had but to lean in to feel its warmth, to know again its—
Do not! her mind vehemently protested. He only toys with you. If you give in, he will have won. Sharply pulling away from the edge she had nearly plummeted over, she tossed her head back and stared into the eyes of the man her treacherous heart beat so loudly for.
"Nay, there is no other," she lied.
A long, impregnated silence followed, broken only by the resounding thud of Gilbert's chair as he allowed it to drop down on all four legs. " 'Tis clear, then, we are in agreement as to your future, Lady Graeye."
Graeye was certain she detected irritation in his tone. "Aye, that we are," she agreed.
"You will leave at first light on the morrow," he continued. "Gather your things and have them ready to go with you." Tilting his chair back again, he motioned his men forward.
Graeye rose to her feet and st
epped away, only to turn back a moment later.
"Methinks," she said, her voice low, you should exercise more caution lest you upend yourself, Baron Balmaine. Otherwise, it could prove rather embarrassing."
As he stared at her, she smiled, then made her retreat to the haven abovestairs.
***
In her solitude among the generations of Charwycks long since departed, Graeye knelt before the grave of one who had borne that name through marriage only— her mother. Clutching a spray of wilting flowers to her chest, scant survivors of summer's last harvest of color, she drew her mantle about her and bowed her head.
"Long I have missed you," she whispered, loath to speak too loudly in this hallowed place. "I ..." Tears choking her throat and stinging her eyes, she could not utter another word for fear of giving way to the sobs that rose in her chest. Drawing the back of her hand over her eyes, she flung away the moisture clinging to her lashes.
"Forgive me for failing you," she whispered, remembering her mother's strength and determination. She had been a woman who, even in the face of a man as daunting as Edward Charwyck, had not allowed him to trample her beneath his booted feet. She had always found a way around his anger and gained for herself and her unwanted daughter whatever it was she desired. Above all, she had known how to deal with opposition, something her daughter had not learned well enough so that she could gain control over her own future. But she would learn.
With a shuddering sigh Graeye laid the flowers upon the lonely grave, then stood. Though the skirts of her bliaut had become sodden where she had knelt in the long, dew-laden grass, she paid little heed to it as she turned and walked from that secluded grave.
Nearing the freshly turned ground where Philip lay, her feet slowed. Feeling a chill, she hugged her arms tightly around herself, then turned to Philip's grave.
How long she stood there she did not know, but when she finally lifted her head, the first rays of the sun had struck the sky and turned it a glorious shade of orange.