Turning onto her side, Graeye laid a hand upon his head. Then, curling herself into the tightest ball she could stand, she gave over to the emotions she had held in check during her painful encounter with Gilbert Balmaine. With a sharply indrawn breath, she lost all control, her face crumpling even as she raised her hands to cover its tenderness.
Standing in the corridor, Gilbert felt his annoyance at having allowed the beast to slip past him dissolve as he heard the unmistakable sounds from within. He was alarmed by his reaction to the mournful sobs. A woman's tears—they were a weakness he could ill afford, but neither could he deny their strong pull upon his hardened, barricaded heart.
All anger drained from him, and he stared down at his hands for a long moment as memories of his sister, Lizanne, washed warmly over him. Though seven years separated them, he had always been there to offer her solace as she had grown from a babe to a young woman. She had needed him like no other ever had— until recently. Married now, she turned to another, her husband Ranulf.
Unthinking, guided only by deeply buried instincts that found their way past the barbed walls of his soul, Gilbert reached to open the door again. Even as his hand strayed from his body, though, his mind pulled it back with the sharp reminder of Graeye's deception.
She had played him for a fool. Used him to gain her own ends' without thought of any but herself. She was a Charwyck through and through.
Abruptly, his compassion stepped back from the brink of disaster. Clenching his fists, Gilbert walked away.
Chapter 9
"
T
hen I will drag her out myself!" Gilbert's wrathful voice carried down the corridor, announcing his brisk advance toward the lord's chamber long before his boots resounded upon the wooden planks.
Hearing him, Graeye glanced over her shoulder at the door before returning her attention to the activity in the bailey below. Clutching the cover about her shoulders, she leaned forward to see better out the window from which she had removed the oiled linen. The slight breeze took hold of her loose hair and swept it across her face.
Pushing it behind an ear, she watched as a continuous stream of servants crossed between the kitchen and the donjon, bearing trays laden with food that sent spirals of savory scents wafting upward. She reached with her dulled senses in an attempt to identify the various viands, but quickly lost interest in the dismal amusement-she had set herself to.
Lifting her gaze, she looked to the ominous structure being raised in place of the destroyed watchtower. Though it was still far from complete, she was staggered by, the efficiency with which it had been erected in so short a time.
Quite a feat. After all, it was only a sennight since the fire.
She could only wonder at what changes Medland would see come spring, when the stage would be set for complete restoration of the castle. However, it no longer pained her that she would not be there to witness it herself, for she had come to accept her fate with more grace than she could have imagined. Considering the terrible events that had plagued her since leaving the abbey, that place did not seem as unpleasant as it once had.
Blessedly, she had been left in peace to work through her emotions and allow her ravaged face time to heal. Still, these past days had been difficult.
More than the loss of the future she'd glimpsed, more than Gilbert's rejection of her, and more than her pending return to the abbey, the most difficult thing to accept had been Edward's attempt to murder her. She had fought off that terrible memory the first few days, bat had finally found the strength to relive it in all its vivid detail.
Now she was grateful she had, for as painful as it had been, it had allowed her to see clearly what kind of man Edward was. He had fathered her, but that was all. He had never been a father, and never would be. He was an evil man, of the same devil he had accused her of being. True, he had gone mad, but that did not excuse him from what he had tried to do to her.
Acknowledging that had freed her of the naivete that had nearly cost her her life. Never again, she vowed, would she leave herself open to such vulnerability.
The emotions Graeye had dealt with exclusively, but her injuries had been tended to by a healer named Lucy, a woman brought from Penforke castle— Gilbert's home—shortly after the fire. She seemed a kind enough soul, but Graeye had closed her out, answering her questions only when a nod or a shake of the head would not suffice.
Although Graeye had not seen Gilbert since the morning after the fire, each afternoon he had sent a servant to request her presence at the midday meal. Each day she had declined. Though she knew she only prolonged the moment when he would see her returned to the abbey, she had needed the time. Now, with each successive footfall that neared her place of respite, that time was fast coming to a close.
Releasing a lengthy sigh of resignation, she grasped the edges of the cover closer, but did not turn from her place at the window.
She had just settled her gaze once again on the new watchtower, when the door to the chamber was thrown wide with nary a mannerly knock to announce her visitor.
It would have been an unnecessary courtesy, Graeye mused as she continued to stare out the window. The baron had already made his presence known by din alone.
Holding the cover with one hand, she lifted an elbow to the embrasure that she might rest her chin upon her palm, and wondered what it would take to teach manners to a man like Gilbert Balmaine. Reflecting seriously upon it, she nearly forgot that the object of her ruminations was waiting impatiently upon her.
Gilbert was not averse to notifying Graeye of his presence when she persisted in feigning ignorance of it, for his tolerance of her continued refusals to come down from this room was like a long, thin line ready to snap. He'd had enough of this game and was prepared to put an end to it.
"Lady Graeye," he said sharply, crossing the width of the room in but a few long strides and coming to stand behind her. "Methinks I should clarify myself. 'Twas not a request that you join me for dinner, but an order."
Steeling herself for the confrontation, Graeye filled her lungs with fresh air before straightening and -looking over her shoulder at him. She was surprised how far she had to raise her eyes to meet his scrutiny. Had he grown taller? she wondered with private humor. Nay, she concluded after sweeping her gaze over him— and ignoring the fluttering that set off within her chest. It was but an; illusion caused by his nearness.
Sighing, she turned back to the view outside and cupped her chin in her palm once again. "I have already eaten," she murmured, nodding toward a small table where the tray brought earlier that morning sat.
"Aye, and very little I am told," he snapped. Reaching around her, he clamped a hand about the wrist of the arm she was propped upon and propelled her away from the window.
It was no easy task to keep from falling headlong into that broad chest while Holding tight to the cover, but she managed to remain upright.
"Where are your clothes?" he demanded.
"I am wearing all that I have," she answered matter-of-factly. She attempted to pull free, but to no avail.
His eyes flicked down over the cover, and before she realized his intent, he had swept it away, leaving her standing in only the thin shift that clearly outlined every detail of her body. Though she should have been dismayed, Graeye found herself oddly indifferent to Gilbert's attempt to humiliate her. Still, out of token modesty, she drew her arms against her body.
"Considering there is less of you to see than you've previously shown me, methinks your modesty is out of place," he reminded her, his gaze raking the length of her.
Dropping her arms back to her sides, she lifted her chin and met his stare. "But I did not reveal myself to you, Baron Balmaine," she said boldly.
Gilbert was taken aback by her unexpected denial, but quickly recovered. "Truly?" he said, sarcasm evident in the single word as he stared at the defiant sparks lighting her eyes. "And who, then, did you seduce at the waterfall?"
She looked pointedly to where he still held her wrist, then back to his face. "He did not tell me his name," she said, "but he was a man who revealed nothing of the black heart that beats within your breast, Baron." Shrugging, she shook her head. "Nay, it cannot have been the likes of you."
Gilbert was set back a pace. He had heretofore glimpsed the tentative claws this small cat extended, but there had been little conviction behind the swipes she had taken. He berated himself for having left her alone so many days. She had grown cold—indifferent—and it bothered him more than he cared to admit Perhaps, he concluded, it was too near a reminder of the long, bitter years his sister had endured, and which still haunted him.
For a moment he allowed himself transport back to that time and place when he had failed Lizanne. She had needed him desperately, and though he had fought to come to her aid, he had been struck down. The battle scars he bore, his limp, all were badges of shame he wore for that night long past.
The feel of a small hand on his chest brought him back to the present. Looking down at Graeye, he saw an unexpected concern in her eyes. "Gilbert?" she said softly.
The sound of his name on her lips chased away memories of the distant past—and memories of her treachery. Instead he remembered the softness of her womanly body and the vivid passion of their one night together. His baser needs rose to the fore, and he answered them.
Making bare note of the fear that flickered in her eyes as he swung her high into his arms, he carried her to the rumpled bed.
Not until he tumbled her to the mattress did Graeye recover sufficiently to utter an indignant protest. "Nay!" she cried, thrusting her hands to his chest as he lowered himself atop her. "Do not."
Ignoring her entreaty, he gathered her wrists and lifted them above her head. He held them with one hand as he lowered his head to capture her kiss.
Graeye knew what this man was capable of doing to her defenses. Desperate not to reveal any further weakness, she fought him with every ounce of her strength, tossing her head side to side to avoid his lips and twisting her body away from his.
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.