Virgin Bride

by Tamara Leigh

  Nevertheless, Gilbert's impatience was great, for he could not remember ever wanting anything as badly.

  Graeye had barely seated herself on a large rock when she heard unexpected sounds above the rush of the river. Horses! she realized, her eyes flying wide. Jumping up from the rock, she whirled about. Immediately, her gaze lit upon more than a half-dozen riders. And it was Gilbert at the head, his hair so incredibly black it could be no other.

  For long days she had surrendered herself to the safety of the abbey, knowing that if she was caught outside its walls, the Church could do little to aid her. But that morn, restless and thinking to take advantage of the break in the rain, she had decided the risk was well past. And he had lain in wait all that time....

  She gauged the distance to the abbey and, with sinking heart, acknowledged that it was too far to traverse, especially in her condition. Nevertheless, she hauled her skirts up and hastened along the bank of the river. She had to try, for it was simply not in her to surrender so easily to this man.

  Carefully picking her way over the undulating ground, she kept her eyes down to ensure a secure footing. Still the riders drew nearer, though they seemed in no hurry to intercept her. Sparing a glance over her shoulder, she saw that Gilbert's men were moving outward in an arc on either side that they might enclose her.

  Futile, she realized, dragging her feet to a stop. Unless something untoward were to befall Gilbert Balmaine and all of his men—such as their horses unseating them amid the bog—she hadn't a chance of gaining the abbey. It was not even worth a token resistance.

  Out of breath and warmed by the spurt of exertion, she resignedly turned and gathered her mantle around her, molding a comforting hand over her belly.

  Although Gilbert rode up to her at a leisurely gait, his arrival came too soon for her liking, giving her little time to compose herself. He drew his destrier to a hah not far from where she stood and stared at her.

  Though unnerved as always by his direct gaze, she stared back. "You are a more patient man than I would have expected, Gilbert Balmaine."

  "And you are very stubborn," he returned.

  "You expected otherwise?" At that moment she was not averse to engaging in a verbal sparring match.

  "Nay," he admitted, "but I would have preferred your willingness to this."

  "This," she repeated, looking beyond him to the abbey. " 'Twas the abbess, was it not? 'Twas she who betrayed me." She looked expectantly back at him.

  "And what makes you think she would care to aid me?" he rejoined.

  A tight smile came and went upon Graeye's face. "She brought you to the abbey, did she not?"

  He shifted in his saddle. "Aye, that she did."

  "Then it only follows that, in her eagerness to see me gone from Arlecy, she would stop at nothing to achieve that end."

  Gilbert shook his head. "Nay, Graeye, you judge her wrongly. If 'twas not to have been this way, then 'twould have been a far less desirable way I would have laid claim to my child. Truly, she has done you no disservice. You should be grateful for her wisdom."

  At that moment Graeye could see nothing good coming of such a betrayal, nor did she think it likely she ever would. Well-intentioned or not, it injured her and stole the future, albeit uncertain, that she had begun to plan for herself and her child.

  Would she never be free of the domination of others? she wondered, wanting to scream at the injustice of it all. Instead she swept her eyes from Gilbert's face and looked, in turn, at each of the mounted knights on either side of her.

  Aye, Gilbert Balmaine was determined to have his heir. He was convinced that the babe within her carried his blood in its veins.

  Throwing her arms out to indicate the men beyond, she gave a short, harsh laugh. "Do tell. What warrants my pursuit by so many? Am I truly such a dangerous beast that all this is necessary?"

  "I take no chances with that which belongs to me," he replied.

  "Once again you imply, Baron, that I belong to you. I assure you, 'tis far from being the case."

  "The child is mine, and I'll not have you deny me its upbringing."

  "And when he is born?" she asked, sudden pain closing around her heart. "Will you then take him from my breast and cast me aside?"

  "He?" Gilbert grasped at her easy use of gender. "And how know you 'tis a boy you carry?"

  Though Graeye had long sensed it was a boy child growing inside her, she would not admit that to Gilbert. "I speak only in general terms. It may just as well be a girl."

  He looked unconvinced, but merely held out a hand to her. "Come, Graeye," he said. "This rebellion of yours is at an end."

  She took a step back. "You have not yet told me of your intentions toward me," she reminded him, refusing to be deterred.

  "We will speak of it later" he said, and motioned her forward.

  She shook her head. "Nay, I would speak of it now."

  His gaze shooting heavenward, Gilbert threw a leg over his saddle and dismounted. "Otherwise?" he prompted as he turned to face her.

  She looked more closely at the men flanking her. Her eyes lit upon the familiar visage of one positioned directly in her path to the abbey. Though he was far enough away that his features were indistinct, she realized with a start that it was Sir Michael. Disconcerted, she looked back at Gilbert.

  "Otherwise I will resist you no matter the odds," she bluffed.

  A corner of Gilbert's mouth turned up as he took a step toward her. "Why is it I do not believe you, Graeye?"

  "Because you don't know me." She took another step backward that, unbeknown to her, had her at the edge of the bank. "Aye, 'tis simple enough for you to take me from here, but be warned, I will not make the journey to Medland easy for you."

  Gilbert looked from her to the river. It was not deep, and its course was gentle, but he was unsettled by the vision of her falling into its iciness. Knowing that one more retreating step would likely land her in it, he moved no nearer. "I have already told you, Graeye, I will not marry you."

  "Aye, and I have told you I will not become your leman. I will not be forced into your bed!"

  Gilbert was willing to concede to her on that point. It was not in his nature to force himself upon any woman, though he could not easily forget that he had nearly done that very thing to Graeye months ago. That loss of control pained him still.

  Aye, he would give her the assurances she sought. However, he would do so on his own terms, for he had no intention of holding himself from her if her resolve weakened. He would yet exorcise her from his mind and body.

  "So be it," he said. "You will simply serve as mother of my child."

  "I do not believe you."

  His jaw worked as he fought to quell his irritation. "I give you my word, Graeye. You will suffer no unwanted attentions."

  For long, silent minutes Graeye considered his vow. He was giving her what she wanted—or at least thought she wanted—but after his earlier profession of his desire for her, and his intention of having her in his bed, she was reluctant to believe him.

  With a ring of steel upon steel, he drew his sword and lowered its tip to the marshy ground. Clasping a hand to the hilt that heaven might take note of what he was about to offer, he captured Graeye's stare and held it. " 'Tis my vow," he said. "I will not force myself on you."

  "You would have me believe a vow you make before God, when you have made no secret of your aversion to the belief in Him?"

  He resheathed his sword. " 'Tis a knightly vow I have made," he said curtly, "the ceremony of which is of less consequence than the words I have given you. However," he added, dropping his hands to his hips, "be warned now that if ever we do come together again out of mutual need, 'tis not likely I will refrain from taking what you offer—and then you are mine as much as the child you carry."

  Though she was apprehensive about this last bit he had added, Graeye held her chin high. "Then I have nothing to fear from you, my lord."

  "Nothing," he affirmed, taking a step toward
her.

  "Ergo, you leave me no choice but to accept the arrangements as such." Feeling as if she were stepping into an abyss, she walked forward and reluctantly placed her hand in his.

  He hesitated, his gaze drifting down to where his fingers closed around hers. Slowly, he drew his thumb over the back of her hand.

  Disturbed by the intimacy of his touch, she started to pull away, but he tightened his grip. "Release me," she demanded in a voice that trembled betrayingly.

  He did not look up, his gaze intent upon her small, fine-boned hand trapped in his, his brow creased with thought.

  Graeye held her breath as she experienced anew the surging feelings she had vowed never again to allow herself. Why could she not hate him? she wondered, lamenting her body's betrayal. Why was she unable to disassociate herself from this man as she'd done her father? Had he not—

  "Beautiful." His voice cut across her frantic musings. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist.

  Immediately, her pulse quickened, her eyes widening as she found herself floundering in the depths of orbs that sought to gain her soul. Knowing he felt her response against his mouth, and desperate to hold to her convictions, she tried again to pull free.

  Surprisingly, Gilbert released her, though a moment later he caught hold of her thickened waist. " 'Tis past time we ride," he said gruffly. In spite of her added bulk he easily lifted her onto his horse, then mounted behind.

  Though she would have liked to, Graeye did not resist when he pulled her into the firm cradle of his chest and draped his mantle around her. She was too tired to fight him anymore.

  Chapter 13

  "I mean no disrespect, my lord, for she is certainly welcome here, but if 'tis your child she carries, why would you not take her on to Penforke?"

  Coming out of her muddled sleep, Graeye latched on to the hushed words and ran them backward and forward through her mind in an attempt to attach meaning to them. Aye, the conversation was about her, she realized. Soon, she was certain, Gilbert would answer the man's question.

  She made a conscious effort to keep her breathing even and opened her eyes to narrow slits, hoping to peer out at her surroundings without alerting anyone that she had awakened.

  It was the deep of night, though she knew not what hour it could be, and she lay abed in one of the smaller rooms of the donjon at Medland. This last she knew instinctively, for the room appeared much changed from what she remembered of the dank, foreboding place.

  She had no difficulty recalling the circumstances that had led to her being taken from Arlecy, for it was all vividly set in her mind and rushed back at her with only the merest beckoning. However, much of the ride to Medland she could not recall, having slept through most of it.

  "I do not want her at Penforke," Gilbert finally answered.

  Graeye frowned. Though he had mentioned returning her to Medland, she had not thought he meant to abandon her at this place. Did he also mean to hold himself from the child when it was born?

  "And when the child is born?" The other man— whose voice she now recognized as Sir Lancelyn's— asked the question for her.

  Another long silence fell, and she waited it out with held breath.

  "I will decide then," Gilbert said shortly.

  Though the tightening skin of her belly began to itch, Graeye fought the urge to scratch.

  Sir Lancelyn wisely changed the subject. "That girl you sent to serve her—Mellie, is it? She arrived two days ago. Though I have heard nothing of it myself, I am told she objects to serving Lady Graeye."

  Graeye's eyes flew wide open. Was there no end to this passing of judgment against her before one even came to know her?

  "She was Lizanne's maid," Gilbert said. "Though I would have it otherwise, 'tis now common knowledge what Philip Charwyck set out to do to my sister. I daresay the girl remains loyal to her former mistress and is as distrustful as I am of any others bearing that particular name."

  "Think you it prudent, then, for Lady Graeye to be given into her care?"

  "I will speak with Mellie and make clear my desires with regard to her handling of her new mistress. She will do as told."

  "There are others, my lord, who would make a better maid."

  Surprisingly, Gilbert did not rise to anger at his vassal's continued opposition to his decision. "Nay," he said, "Mellie will do fine."

  "Is it loyalty you are concerned about?" the other man pressed.

  "Aye, without question I have the girl's loyalty. I cannot be so certain of those who have previously served the Charwycks."

  "Then you think Lady Graeye might attempt to return to the abbey?"

  "I do not know what she might try, but I do know Mellie would not help her accomplish such an undertaking."

  Graeye bristled. Had she not agreed to adhere to the conditions Gilbert had set forth only that morning? So long as he kept his side of the bargain, she would keep hers. And as for this Mellie, the girl would soon discover that Graeye had well and truly had the last of being trod upon. She would not allow the chit to undermine her.

  She was so caught up in her indignation, Graeye failed at first to notice that Gilbert had stepped around the foot of the bed. When she did see him, she was embarrassed that he'd caught her eavesdropping. What had given her away? she wondered as she stared into his glowering face. Her breathing, she realized, for even now she was drawing quick, shallow breaths to calm her anger.

  "Lady Graeye has awakened," Gilbert blandly informed Sir Lancelyn as he moved toward her.

  "Then I will leave you to your privacy."

  Rolling onto her back, Graeye caught sight of the . other man just as he slipped through the doorway.

  "You have been awake long?" Gilbert asked, drawing her attention back to him.

  "Long enough."

  "Then you know of my plans to maintain you here at Medland," he concluded, seating himself on the edge, of the bed.

  She shrugged. "Why don't you tell me more of it," she invited, knowing that her eyes sparkled with anger. "I may have missed some ere I awoke."

  He ignored her thinly disguised barb. "There is not much more than what you overheard. What else would you like to know?"

  "Naught," she answered. "Though mayhap there are things you would care to know."

  His eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

  Pushing an elbow beneath her, she began to raise herself to a sitting position. When Gilbert reached out a hand to assist her, she pushed it away.

  "You should know now, Gilbert Balmaine," she said, dragging the cover over her thick chemise, which, blessedly, had not been removed with her other garments, "that I will not be bullied by anyone—most especially you and that maid you are determined to have dog my every step. And if you are of a mind to take my child from me once he is born and leave me at Medland, then I give you notice now I will use every device at my command to escape you ere the birth to ensure you never lay eyes upon the child."

  At the conclusion of her tirade a muscle began to jerk in Gilbert's jaw, and his eyes hardened as he stared at her. "I have not lied to you," he said. "Though 'tis still a question as to where the child will be raised, wherever he goes, so will you."

  She attempted to reach the truth of the matter beneath his expression, but found it an impossible task. "I will take your word on that," she said, "but I give you fair warning now. If you renege, you will find me all you have thus far wrongfully accused me of—and more."

  "I do not doubt you for one moment, daughter of Edward Charwyck," he said dryly, then rose from the bed.

  She watched him walk to the door, feeling a peculiar disappointment at his leaving. When he reached the door, he turned back to her. "I depart for Penforke at first light."

  "So soon?" The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them.

  His eyebrows arched straight up, causing her to color uncomfortably. "I had not thought 'twould be soon enough for you."

  She dipped her head and pretended an interest in th
e pink ovals of her nails. "Aye, verily it is. 'Tis just that your haste surprises me considering all the time and effort you expended to achieve your end."

  "Which is the reason I must return posthaste to Penforke. I have been gone too long, and there are matters far more deserving of my attention than endless verbal sparring with you, my lady."

  Cut to the quick, Graeye could not suppress the rejoinder that came to her lips. "Then 'twould not be soon enough for you to leave this very night."

  Gilbert let that pass. "I have placed you in Sir Lancelyn's care," he said. "Do not vex the man overly much. As the new lord of Medland, he is heavily burdened with the duties of keeping all in order." With that he pulled the door open and made to step through it.

  At the certainty of his leaving, and not knowing when she might see him again, Graeye's anger eased. "Gilbert," she called to him.

  He looked over his shoulder. "Aye, Graeye?"

  "Will you visit?" Though she was not sure what, exactly, she wanted from him, she knew only a great, pressing need for him to stay.

  Gilbert was in the midst of as much confusion as she. Not knowing what possessed him, though he would later question how he could have allowed himself to fall prey to her wiles once again, he pushed the door closed and walked back to the bed.

  When she lifted her pale gaze to his, his restraint snapped, and suddenly he was pulling her up into his arms. Hungrily, he molded her sweet, new curves to him and sought possession of her mouth. But as he took his first taste of her, Graeye thrust her hands to his chest to push him away.

  "How dare you!" she said fiercely, her eyes alight with fury. "I will not become your leman."

  Dear God, what had possessed him? Gilbert thought, shocked at his complete lack of control. It was her eyes, he realized, the silent pleading that had shone from their depths. Had he been mistaken? As if burned, he released her and stepped away from the bed.

  She pulled the covers to her chest. "I would ask that you leave now."

  "My apologies," he said. " Twould seem the right decision for you to remain at Medland."

  She did not answer. Instead she turned and slipped down beneath the covers.