***
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. "Nay," 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
I
t 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?"
"Aye, the same as Lizanne. You are of a gentler temperament than my sister—though I have not seen evidence of that in some time—but you are also very like her."
It was not only the comparison with that other woman that rankled Graeye, but the sudden change in Gilbert's disposition. How was she to do battle with a man whose unexpected laughter warmed her, and whose eyes reflected something other than contempt?
"I would thank you not to compare me to the coward who put an arrow through my brother's back," she snapped, then turned to face front again.
Though she should have been pleased, Graeye found no satisfaction in Gilbert's response—a distinct stiffening that created a space between their two bodies where previously there had been none. She knew she had pushed too far, but it was too late to do anything about it. Determinedly she fixed her attention upon the looming castle.
During the long ride she had anticipated her arrival at Gilbert's home with dread, but now she found herself eager to discover what lay within those massive stone walls. When they entered the bailey, she felt none of the disappointment she had experienced upon returning to Medland. Indeed, it appeared a thriving community dwelled within these walls. So very different
Reining in when they reached the donjon, Gilbert assisted her down from the horse before he turned to the dozens of castlefolk who had converged upon the courtyard to greet him—and to meet the woman he had brought with him.
Though Graeye felt a return of panic as Gilbert pulled her forward to meet the curious castlefolk, she firmly took herself in hand and forced it back down. If this was to be her home, and the place where her child would grow into adulthood, then it would bode no good for her to reveal any vulnerability to these people.
Blessedly, the introductions were brief, but sufficient; then Gilbert was passing her into Mellie's care.
"See she is made comfortable in Lizanne's chamber," he said, then stalked away before either Mellie or Graeye could protest.
Grumbling beneath her breath, Mellie led her new mistress into the donjon.
Though the many windows in the great hall were set high as added protection should an attack upon the fortress ever, reach the inner bailey, there was so much light that Graeye had to stop to look better at the surroundings.
"What is it, milady?" Mellie asked. "Something is amiss?"
Graeye blinked in surprise. "Nay, naught is wrong," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.
The chamber Mellie deposited her in was not large, but it was well furnished. And though the last of the sun had set, it, too, knew more light than any at Medland ever had.
Seeking the warmth the window embrasure offered, Graeye slipped into it, drawing her knees as close to her chest as her belly would allow.
" 'Tis also where the lady Lizanne preferred to sit," Mellie said.
Graeye turned and looked at the woman. "Here?"
"Aye. Never a chair, as 'twould be fittin' fer a lady, but there."
There was no mistaking the rancor in Mellie's voice, but Graeye chose to ignore it. "I would like a bath," she said. "Could you see to it?"
Mellie frowned. "There is not much time ere the supper hour arrives, milady. Mayhap afterward."
Graeye nearly acquiesced, then thought better of it. She would not allow the maid to dictate what she could and could not do. "Nay, I would like a bath now."
Mellie might have argued the matter further, but a persistent tap at the door heralded the arrival of the chest containing Graeye's few belongings. The tub and water for the bath arrived a short time thereafter.
***
Fully dressed, her hair neatly—though not artfully— arranged by Mellie, Graeye stood silent over the chest that had once belonged to her mother. Thoughtfully, her gaze shifted from the bridal habit that lay atop the lid, to the pieces of linen she held in her hand. Not once had she regretted discarding the wimple. It had been the beginning for her.
Without knocking someone entered her chamber. Mellie, she thought, but did not turn around.
"I will be ready shortly," she murmured, fingering the yellowing chin strap.
There was no answer, but a moment later she felt the undeniable presence of Gilbert at her back. Before she could react, he reached around and took the wimple from her.
"I will not have you wearing this," he said sharply.
Swinging around, she tilted her head back to look up at his set face. "I assure you," she said, reaching to regain possession of the item, "I had no intention of doing so."
He eyed her a moment, then yielded the linen. "That pleases me," he said softly.
Though he did not lay a hand on her, she felt as if he had just caressed her from head to toe. Every inch of her tingled, and as she stared up at him, she felt again that pulling spark of attraction she had first experienced at the waterfall.
Why, now, did he allow her glimpses of the man he had been then? she wondered. Why could he not continue to play the blackguard against whom she had built her defenses? Did he truly desire her so much that he was willing to set aside his dislike in order to gain her sexual favors again?
Feeling her resolve begin to weaken, she quickly turned and walked to the fireplace. " 'Tis not you I seek to please," she said as she laid the pieces of linen atop the charred remains of the fire that had warmed her as she'd bathed, "but myself."
She was truly a changed woman, Gilbert thought as he watched the wimple catch flame. Though part of him was proud of the embittered strength she had gained, another part mourned her loss of innocence. He—and Edward Charwyck—had done that to her. Just as the malevolence of Philip Charwyck had changed Lizanne overnight from a carefree, fun-loving child to an angry woman, Graeye had also changed.
Suddenly weary, Gilbert closed his eyes. It seemed that each time he touched something wonderful, it came apart in his hands. If only—
"Truly, you are not bothered by the mark I bear?" Graeye broke into his thoughts as she straightened from the hearth.
"Bothered?" He shook his head, then beckoned her forward. "Come hither and I will show you something."
Her eyes full of suspicion, she moved to stand before him. "What is it?"
He turned his back to her. "Lift my tunic."
"I will not!" She took a step back from him.
He looked over his shoulder at her. " 'Tis not seduction I have planned, Graeye," he snapped, irritated by the conclusion she had drawn.
She clasped her hands before her, distrust shining from her eyes. "Then what?" she prompted.
He was fast losing patience with her continued obstinance. "Do you lift my tunic, you shall see," he told her.
She hesitated a moment longer, then moved closer and lifted the hem of his tunic high to expose the broad expanse of his muscled back.
"To the right," he said.
Graeye did not need to be directed to the palm-sized mark just below his shoulder blade, for she had spotted it immediately. Without thought she reached up and traced its outline.
So he also bore a mark of birth, she mused, finding some of the comfort that he had sought to give her. Still, he'd been more fortunate than she to have the stain appear in such a hidden place.
Gilbert closed his eyes against the sensations roused by Graeye's touch. Just the tip of her finger against his skin was enough to take him back in time to when they had made love beneath the stars. Almost he could feel again the moist warmth of her skin against his, and the hunger of her untried mouth.
Knowing that if he did not pull back now he would lose control and find himself the recipient of her indignation, he stepped away from her. "You see, I, too, bear a mark," he said, turning to face her. "And that is all 'tis." She simply looked at him without speaking. "Think you I am a spawn of the devil?" he prompted. His words brought Graeye fully back to the present, and with a spark of devilment she replied, "Mayhap not a direct descendant..." A look of surprise flashed across his face, and she let loose a teasing smile.
It was Gilbert's undoing. A smile tugging at his own lips, he held out his arm to her. "Supper awaits," he said.
Feeling as if some bridge had just been crossed, though she. knew she dared not harbor such false hope, Graeye took his arm.