by Tamara Leigh
"Charwyck!" Gilbert spat. He urged his destrier forward, glaring at the devastation before him with smoke-reddened eyes. In respectful silence his men followed him through the center of the deserted village, where fires still burned and thick smoke choked the air. There Gilbert dismounted and motioned for half a dozen of those nearest him to follow.
Mantles drawn over the lower halves of their faces to preserve some purity of air, they spread out in search of the wounded. In spite of the intense discomfort, the men were thorough in that endeavor, but soon discovered there were only casualties—two who needed but the blessings of a priest to aid them in that most exalted journey the church promised awaited all God-fearing men.
It appeared all the other peasants had made good their escape to the surrounding woods. As none had come forth when the knights arrived it was likely they were even now making for the protection of the castle's walls.
Still, it was difficult for Gilbert to be grateful for such a small loss of human life. These were his people, and it had been his responsibility to keep them free from harm. That he had failed grieved him deeply, but worse, it fanned the fires of his vengeance.
The only dung that kept him from losing control as he watched the village complete its descent to the ground, was his determination to discover who had betrayed him and see that one suffer for the misdeed. Now, more than eve^ he was convinced there was another traitor among his men.
Methodically, Gilbert analyzed the events that had led to this terrible injustice. When word of the discovery of Charwyck's camp had come yestermorn, he had grown restless with the desire to finally get his hands on the old man. But, ever cautious, he had sent men to verify the information the villager had brought him, even though he'd had no real reason to distrust the man. Upon confirmation he had wasted no time in gathering together his army, leaving only a handful of men at each village to continue the watch he had set them months earlier.
Somehow, though, Charwyck had been given fair warning of their coming. The remains of his camp had revealed an almost leisurely departure. But the old man had left Gilbert a message—stringing up the soldier who had remained to watch the camp until Gilbert arrived. The sight of the man hanging from a tree in the middle of the clearing had torn a roar of fury from Gilbert's throat. Other than cutting down the unfortunate soldier, no time had been wasted in pursuing the brigands.
Though Gilbert had left the castle well enough provided for, the vulnerability of the villages had spurred him and his men on. In a blur they had progressed through the countryside, passing villages mercifully untouched by Charwyck's evil hand.
Gilbert had just begun to think himself fortunate to have suffered no more ill consequences when, from a distance, great plumes of smoke rising above the tree-tops had turned him north.
They had come too late.
Gilbert's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as he turned to look at the men who awaited his next orders. With an eye toward exposing the traitor, he looked at each in turn, thoroughly assessing them. Most had been in his household for years, and never before had he been given any just cause to question their loyalty. He was almost ashamed that he would now, but this tragedy was no mere happenstance.
As the man Was partially hidden by the bulk of another knight's horse, Gilbert almost overlooked Sir Michael. Though he again started to dismiss the possibility of the young knight's treachery, something niggled at the back of has mind. Beckoning it forward, he recalled Sir Lancelyn's remark made to him two months earlier.
On the morning he had made ready to depart from Medland, fully believing he could leave Graeye behind, his vassal had approached him and warned of Sir Michael's reaction to the news that Graeye carried Gilbert's child.
Gilbert had not bothered to learn the specifics, for at the time he had been far too annoyed by the idle talk that had led to such a conclusion, accurate though it was. Now, he realized, he should have paid more heed to the warning.
Aye, he concluded, seeking to catch Sir Michael's elusive gaze, the man certainly had motive for betraying him to Charwyck. Had he not made clear his desire to have Graeye for himself? And to discover that his new baron had already laid claim to her, and worse, gotten her with child, would certainly have given him reason to seek revenge.
Mercilessly berating himself for having been so blind, Gilbert swung himself into the saddle.
"Sir Michael," he called, "come forth."
The knight sat straighter in his saddle, his gaze falling upon Gilbert's unsmiling face before skittering away.
The others were quick to sense something was amiss, their heads swiveling to stare at the knight. Even as Sir Michael hastened to turn his horse about, the men efficiently closed ranks around him, leaving him only the path ahead, toward the baron.
"Come forth, man," Gilbert repeated, his voice a snarl of anger. "I must speak with you on a matter of grave importance."
Obviously in a quandary as to how he might save himself, Michael remained unmoving in his saddle. His gaze, though, strayed far beyond Gilbert to where uneasy refuge lay among the trees.
"What know you of this, Sir Michael?" Gilbert taunted, throwing his arm out to encompass the devastation. "Mayhap you can enlighten me as to how Charwyck knew of our coming, hmm?" He guided his horse nearer, readying himself for the moment when the knight would break free in an attempt to charge past him.
"Did he promise you the Lady Graeye in return for that information?"
Michael allowed him to come no closer. Driving his heels into his destrier's sides, he spurred the animal forward, setting himself a course to the right of Gilbert.
Gilbert wheeled his own horse around and urged the animal into the other's path, forcing Michael to take the less desirable course to the left, through the obstacle-strewn village. However, determined he would not get that far, Gilbert gave chase.
As he drew alongside Michael, Gilbert surrendered the reins to guide ms mount with only the pressure of his legs. Then, with a bellow of rage, he launched himself sideways and collided with the other man, sending them both flying through the air.
"You stole her from me!" Michael screamed the moment before they slammed to the ground.
Gilbert took the brunt of the fall, Michael atop him. Ignoring the lancing pain shooting through his injured leg, he threw his greater weight sideways, pulling the other man beneath him.
"You bastard," Michael spat in his face, struggling for the dagger belted at his side. "You had your pleasure with her and then tossed her aside like a common trollop. She was mine—never yours."
"You know naught!" Gilbert snarled, seizing the weapon Michael sought and pitching it behind him.
"There you are mistaken, Baron." Michael laughed, his lips peeled back in a grotesque sneer. "I know Charwyck will see you dead and that bastard whelp of yours sliced from his daughter's belly ere he'll rest."
The threat against Graeye and his unborn child closed a fierce hand around Gilbert's heart. "How long?" he demanded, grabbing hold of the neck of Michael's tunic. "Have you betrayed me to Charwyck since the beginning—since you gave me your oath of fealty?"
Eyes cold and hard, Michael stared up at him. "Nay. 'Twas only when I discovered you had taken Graeye for yourself that I betrayed you."
"Your attack on William—"
" Twas convincing, wasn't it?" He chuckled. "You are a fool, Balmaine."
Raging, Gilbert propelled himself backward, dragging Michael upright. "Will you die a knight—or a coward?" he ground out, thrusting the man away.
As Michael struggled to regain his balance, Gilbert withdrew his sword so swiftly, its arcing descent made the air sing a shrill song of death. "Draw your weapon," he ordered, " 'ere I disembowel you where you stand and save myself the ceremony of chivalry."
Michael's eyes flickered past him to where the others sat silently astride their mounts, their faces hardened against the one who had betrayed their lord. All was lost, he knew. For that one taste of revenge he had forsaken all.
> " 'Twill not be necessary," he said, looking back at the baron. Drawing himself fully upright, he unsheathed his sword and angled it to the ground. He stared down its glowing length for some moments before raising the tip heavenward.
All watched as he placed the flat of the blade to his lips and lifted his eyes for a moment of prayer. Then, before Gilbert fully understood his intent, the knight turned the sword on himself, grasping its sharp edges with both hands and plunging it into his vitals.
Still standing, blood running from the mortal wound and puddling at his feet, Michael threw back his head and met Gilbert's disbelieving stare.
"All for a woman," he choked. "One you don't even want." With a desperate gurgle he slumped to the ground and drew his last, wheezing breath before death snatched it from his shuddering body.
Lowering his sword, Gilbert crossed the short distance to where the knight lay and knelt beside him. He stared into the glazed, sightless eyes that were fixed on the blue sky above.
"Again you are wrong my poor, misguided enemy," he murmured, drawing the lids down over those tormented eyes. "I do want her."
***
Graeye meant to close her tired eyes only a moment—to give them a rest from the stitching that, with just a bit, more effort, would see the fine chemise finished ere it was time to withdraw to her chamber for the night. Leaning her head back against the chair, she was only vaguely aware of her hand losing its grip on the material, and did not even notice when k stole from her fingers, slithering off her lap and onto the floor.
The warmth of the hearth wooed her ever deeper into sleep, something she'd had too little of lately. Giving completely over to it, she curved a hand over her belly and went blissfully adrift.
It was how Gilbert found her less than an hour later, that great mangy dog of hers stretched out alongside the large chair mat swallowed her small frame. At his approach the animal raised its head from its paws and eyed him with suspicion, a low rumble of warning bubbling from deep in his throat.
Scowling at the beast, Gilbert walked around the back of Graeye's chair. The dog continued to glare at him, its muzzle quivering. If Gilbert hadn't been certain an altercation would likely ensue that would awaken Graeye, he would have dragged the animal from the hall, but it was simply not worth the chance. Shaking his head, he broke the eye contact and turned his attention upon the one he had come to see.
A fierce possessiveness stole over him as he stared down at Graeye's sleeping form, his eyes missing nothing—the bloom of color that enhanced the loveliness of her face, the lustrous sweep of her tawny hair where it fell over her shoulder, the burgeoning evidence of her motherhood and the way her hand rested thereon. In the sweet innocence of her sleep she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
Though it had been less than a sennight since he had left her to pursue Charwyck following the burning of the village, he felt it had been much longer.
And still the old man had managed to elude him. Gilbert had finally concluded that the brigands had left his property, for there had been no more raids nor a single sighting since.
Feeling his anger begin to mount, he shook it off, re-focusing on the woman before him and forgetting that she was of any relation to the man he burned to put his blade through. Impulsively, he lifted a tress of that silken hair, touching it to his lips before letting it slide through his fingers.
Sir Lancelyn, who had accompanied Gilbert in the search for Charwyck, entered the hall, and Gilbert waved him away. Immediately, the man retreated, leaving the baron and his lady to their privacy.
His back to the fire, Gilbert kneaded his pained leg as he continued to watch Graeye sleep. Her lids flickered from time to time as if she might awaken, but with a soft sigh and a caress to her abdomen, she resumed her deep breathing.
It was the child disturbing her, he realized. Though he was sorely tempted to lay a hand to her that he might feel its movements for himself, he suppressed the urge for fear of awakening her. In anticipation of a long wait, he spread his legs wide and clasped his hands behind his back.
It was not the baby that awoke Graeye, but an unsettling sensation that persisted in disturbing her dream. Opening her eyes, she focused on the silhouetted form that stood over her and slowly assumed the shape of Gilbert.
Nay, she corrected herself, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, it was still the dream she was in. Sighing, she lowered her lids and allowed the darkness to enfold her once again in his comforting embrace.
"Graeye." His voice intruded upon her languid, downward spiral.
A frown creasing her brow, she opened her eyes again and stared at the figure that was now leaning over her. "Gilbert?" she said.
Was it truly he come home to Penforke? she wondered as she battled her drowsiness. Or was this merely a continuation of her dream? Blinking, she peered closer and saw the vivid hue of his eyes that no dream could have reproduced so accurately. Though she felt a momentary thrill, she quickly suppressed it.
"Aye," he confirmed, leaning nearer to slip an arm behind her back and one beneath her legs. " 'Tis time you were in bed."
Having witnessed the brief exchange with perked ears, Groan instantly sprang to life, thrusting his great head between his mistress and the man who meant to carry her away. Showing his sharp teeth, he let go a deep growl.
Before Gilbert could take matters into his own hands, Graeye reached out and laid a hand on the animal's head. " 'Tis all right," she murmured. "Go lie down."
Though he did so with great reluctance, Groan backed away and settled himself near the hearth.
Gilbert lifted Graeye high against his chest, gritting his teeth in blackening irritation at the animal's overprotectiveness. Though it still took little effort to bear her, he immediately noticed the difference in her weight, for she had not allowed him to come so near during the past months. She yawned, nestling her head against his shoulder and sliding a hand up around his neck as he carried her toward the stairs.
Gilbert was as surprised as Mellie when the two of them came face-to-face on the landing above.
"Milord!" she squealed, jumping back in surprise. "I—I was not told of your coming."
One eyebrow arched, Gilbert took in her rumpled garments, tousled hair, and the telltale bloom of color on her lips. " 'Tis obvious," he said derisively. "And what has kept you from tending to your mistress's needs?"
"Mellie, is that you?" Graeye asked before the maid could answer. Though still not fully alert, her exhaustion holding her back from too quickly gaining that advantage, she was more than aware of Gilbert's mood. Raising her head, she searched out the dimly lit corridor for the girl.
"Aye, milady." Nervously, Mellie smoothed her hands over her skirts.
Graeye was not uninformed as to Mellie's frequent trysts with a particular knight. In fact, viewing it as an avenue by which she could gain privacy for herself, she encouraged it by merely ignoring it. Though they never spoke about the trysts, the two women had come to a kind of understanding. "Are you feeling better?" she asked.
"What? Oh ... some." Mellie was slow to catch hold to the line her mistress was throwing her.
"Hmm," Graeye murmured, settling her cheek back to Gilbert's chest. "See that you get plenty of rest tonight."
Gilbert saw through the ruse, but kept his mouth closed as he edged past Mellie and made for Graeye's chamber. There would, after all, be plenty of time to reprimand the girl.
To his surprise the room was in readiness, but only tolerably so. A fire burned uncertainly in the brazier, barely keeping the chill from the room. Around the perimeter several candles had been lit, but not nearly enough. On a table beside the bed sat a basin of water, though it was missing a hand towel and looked to have grown cool. And the bedclothes were turned back from a bed that had been poorly made.
Nay, he would not go easy on Mellie, he decided. In fact, were he not so bone-weary, he would seek her out as soon as Graeye was settled. Shouldering the door closed against intruders—most esp
ecially that drooling beast—he crossed to the bed and sat Graeye upon the cool mattress.
Rubbing her eyes, Graeye rid herself of the last of her sleep, then dropped her hands into her lap. "Did you find him?" she asked, raising her gaze to Gilbert's.
He looked tired, she thought. An unwanted pang of compassion struck her as she took in the dark circles beneath his reddened eyes and the several days' growth of beard shadowing his jaw.
"Nay," he answered. Turning, he went to stoke the fire. "He has disappeared completely."
Eyes narrowed, Graeye watched his movements. His limp was worse than she'd ever seen it. "Think you he will return?"
Gilbert looked up. "Aye."
She dropped her gaze. Since word had first come of the discovery of Edward's camp, she had lived with a mixture of fear, dread, and relief. Following the burning of the village, Gilbert had returned only briefly to gather supplies to pursue the brigands. So briefly, in fact, that she had not had the chance to speak with him before he and his men had set off. This past week had been difficult.
Going to the washbasin, she plunged her hands into the tepid water and splashed handfuls of it over her face. Then, finding no towel, she stood indecisive a moment before settling upon her bliaut to wipe away the moisture. Even as she lifted its skirt, Gilbert's hand came around her and dangled a piece of linen before her. It was the covering from the small table across the room, she realized.
"Thank you," she murmured, stealing a quick glance at him as she wiped her hands and face.
He turned her around to face him. "I have missed you," he said, staring into her startled eyes.
"Me?" Blinking, she swallowed hard on the sudden ball of nervousness constricting her throat.
"Aye." He slid his hands down her arms, then inward to the laces of her bliaut.