by Tamara Leigh
Understanding, Ranulf nodded, saying nothing further.
Ordering those of his men still with him to return to the castle, Gilbert mounted and rode alone toward the woods.
***
One by one Gilbert had turned back the men who had gone after William. Now, as darkness hovered on the horizon, he alone sought the man who had taken refuge in his woods, and who waited for the opportunity to slay him.
Refusing to allow anger and impatience to interfere with his judgment, he rode weapon ready through the trees. Always, though, he found his thoughts turning to Graeye and their child.
Was she well? he wondered in a moment of weakness. Would she survive both the wound and the birthing? Had their child arrived? Each time he forced the worries aside with a reminder of the capable hands he had entrusted her to—Lizanne's.
It was instinct that alerted Gilbert he was no longer alone. Readying himself for the attack he was certain would follow, he searched for a telling glimpse of William's clothing, but found nothing.
He was not disappointed, though a bit surprised, when the awaited assault came from above. Reacting quickly to the man's bellow of rage as he descended from the tree, Gilbert twisted around in time to throw up his sword and deflect the blade that aimed to sever the vital blood supply in his neck.
Still, the sudden force of William's weight propelled the two men from the horse and sent them crashing to the ground.
Gilbert was the first to gain his feet, though his impaired leg protested at the weight he placed on it. He swung his sword in a wide arc that had William stumbling away from its deadly edge.
"Now it ends," Gilbert said, standing his ground as the other man lifted his sword in challenge. "Have you a god, best you say your prayers now, for your death is not long in coming."
William laughed, his mouth twisting grotesquely as he stirred the air with the side-to-side movement of his sword. "I need no god to spill your blood, Balmaine," he said. "Soon you will join that whore and your bastard whelp in death."
That Graeye might even now be dead—and his child—fueled the flames of Gilbert's fury. Snarling, he leaped forward and took precise aim to end the man's life then and there. But it was not to be, for William proved to be endowed with quick responses, the suddenness of his retreat leaving his assailant with little more than air to exact his revenge upon.
Swinging around, Gilbert countered William's attempt to catch him unawares with a thrust that sent the other man back several steps. Secure in the knowledge that what he lacked in speed he made up for in strength, Gilbert followed.
Again steel met steel, and William was forced to retreat to avoid losing his balance. Then, suddenly, he was to the left, his guided swing catching Gilbert alongside the ribs. William got little satisfaction from the contact, though, for just barely did the blade pierce Gilbert's protective chain mail.
Still, William glorified in it, waving his sword before his opponent to show the blood that trickled the length of its blade.
"That is one, Balmaine," he taunted. "Two will take a piece of your flesh, and three will end your life."
Nostrils flaring, Gilbert stared hard at the man. Though the blade had done little more than scratch his skin, it deeply angered him to have lost the first contact to such a miscreant. "Twill be the last of me you shall have, Rotwyld," he spoke between clenched teeth.
"You think so?" William laughed, moving quickly opposite, but gaining no advantage as Gilbert anticipated the move. "Were you not so lame," he continued, "I might believe you, but it takes more than strength to down your opponent."
Aye, it takes observation, Gilbert told himself, refusing to rise to the same taunt others had attempted to best him with in the past. He merely smiled, for he had discovered the key to predicting William's movements. It was all in the eyes—eyes that fell to his next place of attack a bare moment before his legs followed. Simple as it was, it gave Gilbert the advantage when William next moved, and earned his blade a taste of the man's upper thigh.
William let loose a loud cry, for there was naught to protect has flesh from the bite of the cruel blade. However, he immediately countered with a blow that missed Gilbert's neck by only the width of a sword.
"Now we are more fairly matched," Gilbert jeered, pushing William's blade off his. "Both lame."
"A slow death for you!" William shouted, lunging again to catch Gilbert's sword arm. His blade merely skittered over the links of armor while Gilbert took the opportunity to flay open the vulnerable shoulder presented to him.
Clapping a hand to the wound, William stumbled backward.
"Are you prepared to die, Rotwyld?" Gilbert asked, not bothering to follow.
William's pale visage brightened, the hand he had held to his wound going to the hilt of his sword that he might take a two-handed grip on the weapon.
"You will need it," Gilbert said, lunging forward.
Time and again William used his waning speed to sidestep Gilbert's attacks, but his awkward attempts to land a blow went mostly unrewarded.
It was not so with Gilbert. Many times he found his mark and, like a cat toying with a mouse, drew out the moment when all would come to a close. He wanted this man's fear—that same fear he had felt when Graeye had fallen before him, William's arrow protruding from her back. He wanted to savor these last minutes. This was the end to years of torment, and he intended to find full satisfaction in it.
Weapons crossed above their heads, Gilbert stared into the desperate eyes of his opponent and knew it was time to end the contest. Using his greater strength, he thrust his weight into his sword and sent the man toppling to the ground.
Though it would have been futile had he tried, William made no attempt to retrieve the sword that flew from his hands. He simply lay on his back, his breathing labored as he stared up at Gilbert. "Have done with it, you bastard,'' he rasped.
Prepared to do just that, Gilbert lowered his sword, its point hovering inches from the man's neck, but something stayed him. Though the warrior in him urged him to fulfill his duty and send William straight to hell, something else made him hesitate. Graeye ...
He saw again her lovely, ravaged face when she had thought he had killed Edward all those many months past. But, he reasoned, the man had been her father-Would her compassion extend to one who was not of her blood? Who had sought her death and their child's?
"Think you I will yield to you?" William shouted, raising his hand to tear open the neck of his tunic and expose his throat. "Nay, I am no coward. I will die with honor—a knight."
It came to Gilbert then, and the realization that he need not soil his hands with the taking of this man's life, yet gain greater satisfaction otherwise, swept much of his self-destructive anger aside.
"You are a coward, William Rotwyld," he said, thrusting his sword back into its sheath and retrieving his dagger. "And a coward you will die." Dragging the man to his feet, he shoved him in the direction of his horse.
"What do you intend?" William demanded, turning back around to face Gilbert.
Fearful, Gilbert thought, looking at the man's drawn features.
His own face impassive, Gilbert pushed him forward again, and not until he had bound William's hands behind his back did he answer him. "'Twill be King Henry who decides your fate, William," he said, holding tight to the rope as he mounted his horse. "By his hand alone will you suffer the indignity of a coward's death, and all dishonor will fail upon your name."
"Nay!" William protested, shaking his head and attempting to pull free. "I am a knight. I shall die a knight."
Wordlessly, Gilbert urged his horse around and, with a shrieking William in tow, headed for the castle.
Chapter 26
Pray to God? Ask for a miracle that he would shortly find himself mocked for? Gilbert shook his head, but could not prevent his feet from taking him to the chapel.
Having handed William over to his men, he had waved away those who thought to tell him of Graeye's condition. Though he was anxious t
o know, the thought that he might learn he had lost her was something he was not yet ready to face. Good or bad, he had first to do what he had so long denied himself— and Graeye.
Entering the chapel he had spurned many years ago, he went directly to the altar and knelt before it.
It was where Lizanne found him an hour later. "You prayed well, brother," she said, laying a hand to his shoulder.
He had not known of her presence until that moment. Surging to his feet, he gripped her shoulders. "Graeye. She is well?"
She looked down at her hands. "Your son is healthy."
His fingers dug more deeply into her flesh. "And what of Graeye?"
"The labor was hard, Gilbert, but she did a fine job. The woman who will be your wife is very strong."
He closed his eyes. "And the arrow?" he asked. "What of that?"
She reached up and stroked his cheek. "It hit nothing vital," she said. "There will be a scar—naught else. She will recover."
He sagged with relief, but quickly drew himself upright. "I wish to see her."
"She is resting."
"Now."
Knowing she could not win this argument, Lizanne grimaced. "Very well," she conceded. "Come, then."
The solar was dim, lit only by a single candle beside the bed. Sinking down upon the mattress, Gilbert leaned over Graeye. A spot of color in each cheek warmed her skin, making her appear unlike the woman of earlier that day. Still, she was quite pale.
He feathered a finger across her cool brow, flinching at the soft moan that parted her lips.
"I have prayed, Graeye," he said.
Her lids flickered open. "You have prayed?" she repeated with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.
Smiling his relief, he brushed his mouth over hers. "What else can I do to prove my love?" he asked, drawing back only slightly. "What more to earn God's favor?"
So much joy filled Graeye, she thought she might burst with the strength of it. " 'Tis enough," she answered, a tired smile wreathing her lips as she laid her hand over his.
Nay, it was not enough, he thought. He had treated her badly from the start, and if it took the remainder of his life, he was determined he would prove himself worthy of her. "Can you ever forgive me for not trusting you? For those things I wrongly accused you of?"
"There is naught to forgive," she said, smiling at him. "You could not have known."
"But I did know. I just refused to—"
"Nay," she interrupted, "all is healed."
Feeling as if the burdens of his past had been lifted with her sweet words, he laid his forehead against hers. "Soon we will be wed," he said, "and naught will ever come between us again."
She touched his face. "What of William?"
Gilbert raised his head. He did not wish to speak of the man, but knew she needed reassurance. "He is imprisoned. On the morn he will be escorted to the king to receive his punishment. He will trouble us no more."
"You did not kill him, then?" Disbelief raised her voice.
"You thought I would?"
"Aye."
He sighed. "Though 'twas my greatest desire to do so, my love for you would not allow it. I knew 'twas not what you would want."
She nodded. "He is as evil as Edward," she said, "but it pleases me that 'tis King Henry who will decide his fate."
"Likely he will be put to death," Gilbert felt obliged to inform her. "His offenses are too great for anything less."
"Aye, but 'twill not be by your hand."
He leaned forward and kissed her again.
"Have you seen our son?" she asked when he drew back, her eyes lighting at the mention of the beautiful child she had given birth to.
"Not yet, but soon," he answered. "I had to come to you first."
"Then go now," she said, "and bring me news of his well-being." Smiling, she closed her eyes.
Gilbert placed a fleeting kiss to her lips. "I will not be long," he murmured.
His son was, indeed, healthy. Looking up at his father through eyes so like Graeye's, the babe gurgled and threw a, tiny fist into the air.
"So small," Gilbert said.
"Nay, he is a good size," Lizanne corrected him. "The same as Gillian was."
He shook his head. "Still small. May I hold him?"
Chuckling, Lizanne passed the child into his father's arms.
The babe fidgeted a moment before yawning wide and letting his eyes close.
"Methinks he's bored with me already," Gilbert mused, very much liking the feel of the small, warm body in his arms.
Lizanne stroked a finger over the baby's cheek. "Nay, he is simply content."
"You think so?"
Her gaze lifted to his. "You will make a wonderful father, Gilbert."
Gone was the tormented past that had afflicted both their lives for so long, and in its place was a future neither had ever thought to attain. As they stood side by side, something silent passed between brother and sister, something only they understood.
Then, wanting to be with Graeye again, Gilbert smiled and carried his son from the room.
***
A sennight later Graeye and Gilbert were wed in the presence of Lizanne and Ranulf. During the exchange of vows, their newborn son was huddled beneath the pall with them, legitimizing his birth.
When they emerged from the chapel, a beautiful summer sky lay overhead, foretelling of the wonderful future before them.