Virgin Bride

by Tamara Leigh

  Jaw clenched, Gilbert stared at her back a long moment, then pivoted and crossed to the door. It was the right decision, he told himself. She would give him no peace if he took her to Penforke.

  ***

  Emerging from a profusion of covers, Graeye rubbed her eyes before venturing a glimpse of the world. It was the same one she had fallen asleep in yestereve, she grimly acknowledged.

  She inched up onto her hands and knees, then sat back on her heels. The chill morning air struck her bare limbs and sent a shiver of discomfort shooting through her. Frowning, she looked down at her naked body, momentarily disconcerted before she remembered how she had come to be this way.

  Awakening in a sweat during the night, she had thrown off the covers, but that had not proved enough. After tossing and turning for some time, she had finally discarded her chemise. Only then had she been able to return to the comfort of sleep.

  Pulling the covers around her naked shoulders, she found herself pondering Gilbert's whereabouts. Had he yet left for Penforke as planned? The thought that he might have unsettled her in a way she refused to look too closely upon.

  "Godspeed!" she muttered, telling herself she would be glad when he was no longer around to bother her.

  A sharp knock on the door halted the wanderings of her mind. Before she could call out permission to enter, the door was opened and in stepped a rather pretty young woman not much taller than herself. Over her arm she carried a fresh chemise, bliaut, and various other items of clothing.

  "Ah, milady is awake," the woman said. A frown upon her puckish face, she closed the door and walked across the room. For a long moment she stared at the stain marring Graeye's face, her eyes narrowing to suspicious slits as she traced its course.

  Her chin held high, Graeye endured the scrutiny with nary a blink of her eyes. "Are you quite finished?8 she asked when it became obvious the woman had no other thought but to stare at her.

  A self-satisfied smile revealed a row of crooked teeth. "I be Mellie," she said, puffing out her chest with much self-importance.

  Truly, the belated introduction was unnecessary, for Graeye had known beyond a doubt who this impertinent woman was the moment she had come unbidden into the room.

  " 'Tis the Baron Balmaine himself that has assigned me to be yer maid," Mellie went on, setting her bundle down upon the bed. "But I'll have ye know now, 'tis not a task I have any likin' for."

  Graeye was grateful she had learned that much from eavesdropping upon Gilbert's conversation. Being forewarned of the maid's dislike took the sting out of it.

  "And I am Lady Graeye Charwyck," she said, completing the introductions. "And I would have you know that I resent the arrangements as much, if not more, than you."

  Mellie's large, round eyes grew even larger before she managed to cover her astonishment with a scornful twist of her lips. "Ye Charwycks are all the same," she declared, settling her arms across her chest.

  Graeye feigned surprise. "You knew my brother?"

  Mellie shook her head. "Nay, but—"

  "Ah, then 'tis Edward Charwyck you are well acquainted with," Graeye interrupted, a smile brightening her face as she recalled Gilbert's penchant for stepping upon others' words.

  "Nay, milady, I—"

  "Then tell me how 'tis you can pass judgment on my family?" Graeye was oddly pleased at the ease with which she accomplished the rude feat a second time.

  " Tis no longer a secret what yer brother did to my mistress, Lady Lizanne—and her brother," the maid retorted. She thrust her small, pointed chin forward for emphasis.

  Graeye had no response for that, for she was still uninformed as to the exact crime that had persuaded the king to strip Edward of his lands. Briefly, she wondered how she might make the maid shine light upon that mystery. With such knowledge perhaps she would better come to understand Gilbert's hostility....

  "And already I have heard tales of how Philip had done with his poor wife," Mellie continued. "Broke her neck, he did."

  Graeye's eyes widened. "Broke ... ?" When she'd first arrived at Medland last autumn, she had heard the rumor that Philip had been responsible for his wife's death, but she had not known how the woman had died.

  "As long as we understand each other, milady," Mellie said, stooping to scoop up Graeye's discarded chemise. Brows raised high, her lips sealed against any untoward comment, she brushed the rushes from the garment.

  Graeye knew exactly what she was thinking and could not prevent the flush of color that stained her cheeks. It was on her lips to put Mellie straight on the matter when a persistent scratching at the door brought both women's heads around.

  Frowning, Mellie went to the door and flung it wide. A large gray dog bounded past her and headed straight for Graeye.

  "Groan!" Graeye exclaimed, scooting to the edge of the bed to take the animal's head in her lap. "So you did not forget me, my loyal friend," she cooed, allowing herself the first real smile in ages. "I have missed you."

  "Out!" Mellie ordered. She stalked back toward the bed, but didn't come too close.

  "Nay," Graeye said, "he may stay."

  "But, milady, 'tis not seemly."

  Graeye met the woman's wide-eyed stare. "He will stay," she said firmly, daring Mellie to oppose her in this.

  Mellie's lips twitched. "The Baron Balmaine will not like this," she grumbled.

  "I do not care a whit for what the baron does or does not like," Graeye snapped. "The dog stays."

  As if in concurrence with his mistress, Groan yawned wide, ending on a loud moan that evidenced his namesake. Bristling with indignation, Mellie turned on her heel and walked back to push the door closed again. Then, muttering something beneath her breath that Graeye did not take the time to interpret, she folded the chemise and deposited it over the back of a chair.

  "And when is yer babe due, milady?" the maid asked as if in passing.

  Jolted by the forwardness of the inquiry, Graeye raised startled eyes to the woman.

  Mellie spread her hands wide in mock apology. "Everyone knows," she said. "Baron Balmaine would have no other reason for consorting with a Charwyck, though 'tis odd he would ever have become involved with ye in the first place."

  Anger was Graeye's saving grace, for it quickly replaced her hurt and embarrassment. "Where is he?" she demanded, dropping her bare feet to the prickly rushes.

  Reluctantly, Groan settled back on his haunches and stared up at his mistress with eyes full of adoration.

  "Gone," Mellie said, coming to stand before Graeye. Her gaze flitted briefly to where the dog had settled himself. "Left before the sun even rose this morn, he did."

  Gripped with an ache that went clear through her heart, Graeye turned and pretended interest in Groan. Just as well, she thought as she stroked her hand over the animal's damp muzzle.

  "They are not very fine," Mellie said, walking around Graeye to sort through the items of clothing she had brought with her, "but these will have to do ye until the cloth the baron has sent for arrives."

  Graeye was surprised. "He has ordered cloth for me?"

  "Aye," Mellie tossed over her shoulder. "This morn he told the steward to see it done posthaste. We will be busy, you and I when it arrives. Ye can sew a stitch, can't ye?"

  Graeye nodded. "Aye, that I can."

  Mellie chuckled at some private humor. "Here now," she said, turning to face her mistress, the chemise in hand. "Lift yer arms."

  Not since she was a child had Graeye had any assistance with clothing herself, and it seemed a bit late to take up the habit again. Mostly, though, it was too uncomfortable a proposition to disrobe before this woman. "I can dress myself," she said, and reached a hand from beneath the cover to take the garment.

  Scowling, Mellie drew back. "And have ye tell the baron I be wantin' in my duties?"

  "I assure you, he will not hear it from me." She reached again for the chemise, but the maid snatched it away before she could lay her fingers to it.

  "Do not fuss so, milady,"
Mellie snapped. " Tis a duty I am not averse to providin' ye. Besides, I'll be seein' much more of ye when I tend yer bath later. Now lift yer arms—unless, of course, ye would prefer to break yer fast dressed so."

  Seeing no end to this debate, Graeye released the cover. Blessedly, the chemise was dropped over her head without delay.

  "Late spring, mayhap early summer," Mellie speculated, stepping back to eye Graeye's figure.

  Graeye knew she referred to the arrival of the babe, since she'd obtained a clear view of her body's new shape. Instantly, her indignation flared. " 'Tis no concern of yours," she snapped, swinging around to take up the braies herself.

  Mellie seemed content to let her new mistress finish clothing herself. With an exaggerated flounce she skirted the dog and went around the bed to gather up the confusion of covers there. "The lady Lizanne is also expectin' a babe," she said.

  Graeye's hands paused in their task of securing the laces of the bliaut. For some odd reason she felt hurt that Gilbert had not informed her of his sister's pregnancy, especially considering his own impending state of parenthood.

  She tightened the laces. "And when is it due?" she asked, hoping she surpassed Mellie's attempt at nonchalance.

  "Early spring, milady." The announcement was followed by a heartfelt sigh. "Would that I could be with her durin' this difficult time."

  Graeye turned to face her. "And why aren't you?"

  The corners of Mellie's mouth drooped. "Alas, 'twas planned that I would go to her come a break in the weather, but the baron decided I would better serve ye, milady."

  In spite of her own petulant mood, Graeye could not help but feel sorry for the maid. Beyond a doubt she was devoted to her last mistress. "Then I can understand your reluctance to serve me," she said. "My apologies that you have been forced to such a duty."

  Mellie shrugged. "Have ye a wimple?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly as she eyed Graeye's face and the disarray of her hair.

  Graeye stiffened. "Nay, I do not wear one."

  "Hmm." Mellie peered more closely. "Properly fit 'twould likely cover that mark," she mused, not in the least put off by Graeye's deepening color. "And 'twould also save us the worry of yer hair. I am not very good with hair, ye know. The lady Lizanne hardly ever allowed me any prac—"

  "I will not be needing a wimple." Graeye punctuated each word sharply.

  Mellie's brows shot straight up. "As ye like, milady," she muttered.

  Fighting to curb her wayward emotions, Graeye turned her back on the maid and set herself to pulling on the thick hose laid out for her. Aye, she conceded, Gilbert was right. I do have claws.

  ***

  A league. That was all the ground they covered before Gilbert reined in. "Damnation!" he cursed, surprising his men. Without further word he wheeled his destrier around.

  All the way back to Medland he cursed his weakness, threw profanity to the sky that would surely have seen him struck dead had God been able to hear him over the thundering of hooves.

  Damn her angry eyes, her witching mouth, her dainty nose. Damn the curve of her neck, her warm thighs, her firm breasts. Damn her naivete, her deceit. ...

  She had woven a powerful spell around him that had not lessened after her refusal of him the previous night. Nay, it had only made him want her more. Though he had tried to quench his desires with a willing maid, he had failed, and in the darkness of the first hours of morning had found himself in Graeye's chamber once again; He had been surprised to find her unclothed, the moonlight spilling in through the window allowing him a glimpse of her new curves.

  It had been bold of him, but he had been unable to squelch the desire to rest his hand upon her rounded belly. She had stirred at his touch, but hadn't woken. Perched upon the edge of the bed, he had held his hand to her, marveling at the fluttering movements of his child until, too soon, dawn had arrived and ushered him from the room.

  Nay, he could not leave her behind. Could not return to Penforke without her.

  Having been alerted to the approach of riders, Lancelyn met Gilbert at the drawbridge.

  "Say naught!" Gilbert ground out as he urged the destrier past his vassal.

  With a knowing smile slashing across his face, Lancelyn kept his mouth shut and followed his liege lord back within the walls'. At the donjon Gilbert hurriedly dismounted and climbed the steps to the hall.

  Scraping dirt from beneath his nails, Lancelyn held Gilbert's destrier as he awaited his lord's reappearance. It was not long in coming.

  "Where is she?" Gilbert demanded as he descended the steps in pairs. "By my troth, if you have allowed her to escape—"

  Lancelyn looked up at him, grimacing at the wild-eyed stare, rumpled hair, and flush of color stealing up his baron's neck. "In the chapel, my lord," he said.

  "Lancelyn!" Gilbert roared.

  Knowing he was walking the thin line between friend and vassal, Lancelyn threw his palms up. "I but obeyed your directive, my lord."

  "Then obey this," Gilbert rasped. "Wipe that foolish grin from your face." Grumbling, he strode past the man, kneading his aching leg as he returned to the outer bailey.

  Not since the day he had cornered Graeye, had he been in the chapel. Swept with vivid remembrances of that confrontation, he paused before entering.

  God, he had been cruel! Drawing a rough hand across his face, he tried to wipe away the memories that nicked at him rapier-sharp. They only cut deeper. If he could right some of the wrongs made that day ...

  It was almost the same as that first day when he stepped inside. She was kneeling at the altar, though of course was not clothed in the stark white nun's habit.

  Preferring the light to shadows, he did not close the door behind him. Why a chapel should be so morose, he did not understand. Were not the heavens said to be bright and open?

  His limp prominent, he walked down the center aisle, hearing her softly spoken prayers as he neared. Latin.

  Why did she not turn around? he wondered. Surely she knew she was no longer alone? Frowning, he came to stand beside her and, when she still did not acknowledge him, reluctantly lowered himself to the kneeler. His leg brushing hers, he looked down upon her bowed head and wondered at the strange words that continued to spill from her lips.

  He was not usually a very patient man, but he found himself waiting on her, rather than intruding as he would have liked.

  When she finally crossed herself and turned to look at him, her face mirrored surprised. Washing of all color, she swayed toward him.

  Alarmed, Gilbert put an arm around her and clasped her to his side. "Graeye—"

  "You came back," she whispered, staring up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  "Are you all right? What is wrong?"

  "You came back," she repeated, her cheeks beginning to color again, a smile curving her lips.

  She was fine. Sighing, he pushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "Aye, for you."

  "For me? But why?"

  "I am taking you to Penforke."

  Her smile wavered, then slipped away. Blinking, she straightened from him. "I do not understand."

  He wanted her smile back. Pulling her chin around, he stared into her uncertain eyes. "You belong there."

  Graeye waited and prayed he would give her the words she so needed to hear—the words that had echoed in her heart and mind when she had first looked up and found him kneeling beside her. Fight it though she might, she loved him. Loved this giant who rarely had a kind word for her.

  "As your wife?" she ventured.

  He drew back. "I want my son born there," he said.

  She felt as if she'd been struck. Of course he had not come back for her, but for the child she carried. How foolish she was to hope he would ever feel anything beyond hate for a Charwyck. Would he be able to forget their child had half that blood in his veins? Remarkably, it was not anger that surfaced at his words, though, but sorrow.

  "Will you pray with me?" she asked.

  He quickly stood. "Na
y," he said, then turned to go. "I will await you outside."

  She turned on the kneeler, following his progress down the aisle. "Gilbert," she called when he reached the doorway.

  He turned to face her once again, the streaming daylight behind him making his face unreadable. "Aye?"

  "I will go with you," she said, "but until you bring honor to this child, I will not share your bed."

  He clenched his fists. "I have not asked you to."

  "So long as you do not," she retorted.

  Chapter 14

  It was whitewashed and clean, rising gracefully into a sky beset by the coming of night. Seated before Gilbert on his white destrier, Graeye was grateful he could not see her expression of wonder. Penforke was no Medland. Far to the contrary, it made that other castle look more a hovel than the residence of a baron.

  She grimaced. How appalled Gilbert must have been at his first sight of Medland. It was a wonder he had thought to save it, rather than let it burn to the ground those many months past.

  "What think you of your new home?" he asked suddenly, his mouth near her ear sending tremors of awareness up her sides.

  In retaliation for his nearness, which bothered her so, she withheld the praise that might otherwise have crossed her lips. "It looks to be satisfactory," she stated, refusing to turn and look at him.

  "That is all?"

  His disappointment at her lack of response brought a smile to her lips. Undoubtedly, he was proud of Penforke, for it certainly was a gem, but she would not let him know that. "What else would you have me say?" she asked, shrugging.

  He was silent a moment before responding. " 'Tis far more habitable than Medland," he said. "You will be more comfortable here."

  "Then I was not comfortable before?"

  More silence and then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a rumbling sound that rose from the depths of his chest to make itself felt against her back. "You are trifling with me, Graeye Charwyck."

  Her resolve to give him naught to look at save the back of her head splintered. Twisting around, she met the devilish sparkle in his eyes. "Trifling with you?"