Virgin Bride (14 page)

The baron appeared taken aback by her question. "Nay," he said after a moment. "I assure you, revenge did in no way enter into it."

Mother Celia regarded him a long, thoughtful moment. Then, turning on her heel, she set herself to pacing the room. This was not going as well as she had planned....

Gilbert turned his attention back to the courtyard, certain that simply voicing his convictions had strengthened his resolve to stay free of the treacherous silken bonds the abbess would have him accept. Disappointment swept him upon discovering the place empty save for a few remaining birds that foraged for any scrap that may have been overlooked by the others.

Where had she gone? he wondered, his anger beginning to ease.

"Then if you will not marry her ...," the abbess said.

Gilbert did not turn to face her, watchful lest Graeye return. However, when minutes passed and she did not reappear, he turned to consider the abbess and her resolute stance.

" 'Tis simple," she said with a tight smile. "You must find another who would take her to wife."

Frowning, Gilbert crossed the room to stand over her. She was not such a tiny thing, though, so he did not tower above her as he did Graeye.

" 'Tis not as simple as you say," he said. "Ere she was returned to this place, I did find a man eager to wed with her, but she refused him." He did not tell her that, had Graeye accepted Sir Michael, he probably wouldn't have consented to the match. Even then, when he had most deeply felt her deception, the thought of any other man having her had infuriated him.

The abbess did not appear intimidated by his nearness. Placing a finger to her lips, she pursed her mouth, "Then 'tis apparent her heart is somewhere else, do you not think?"

Suspicious, Gilbert stared at her.

Her eyes twinkling with what he was certain was mischief, she reached out and patted his arm. " 'Tis a great burden you must carry, Baron Balmaine," she said, "but if you set yourself to discovering who Lady Graeye has given her heart to, then there is the husband she would have. And all your problems will be solved."

She shrugged. "And if you cannot find it in you to do that, then look for another more acceptable to her. But I warn you to be careful lest you choose a man unworthy of raising your child. And do not forget she is always welcome at Arlecy should you find it too burdensome to take responsibility for finding your child a father."

Knowing the abbess dangled bait before him, Gilbert resentfully took the hook, though he did not for one moment believe the words he spoke. "You are implying that the Lady Graeye fancies herself in love with me?"

Mother Celia laughed. "Nay, Baron, I would never think to suggest such a thing, especially now that I have met you and seen for myself the embittered man you are. It must surely be another she has given her heart to."

Though thoroughly irritated by the woman's effrontery, Gilbert did not rise to the bait a second time. She was correct, after all. He was not an amiable man. His every day was shadowed by constant reminders of the wrongs done him and his family by Philip Charwyck. Still, he was resentful of the abbess's meddling and wanted nothing more to do with it.

Swinging away, he snatched up his mantle and deftly secured it with a simple brooch. "I will be taking Lady Graeye from here," he said. "See she is ready to leave within the hour." He threw wide the door and started to step through it, but was pulled up short by the abbess's next words.

"Her sanctuary is here at Arlecy, Baron Balmaine."

He turned in the doorway and leveled his gaze upon the woman, waiting with great impatience for her to finish.

"If Lady Graeye does not wish to go with you, there is naught neither you nor I can do to remove her from this place. Hence, you may have to set yourself the task of convincing her otherwise."

In his eagerness to be gone he had not considered the possibility of Graeye choosing to remain at the abbey.

He truly did not think she would. But if she did, he knew he could not simply subdue her and carry her away. The protection afforded her by the Church took that right from him. And though he would willingly risk its wrath, he would not risk the king's.

"Come," the abbess said. "I will take you to her now."

Gilbert stepped into the corridor and allowed the abbess to precede him from the guest house. In silence she led him across the courtyard and to the gardens where she clearly expected to find Graeye, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Wait here." Mother Celia waved to an arbor enclosed on three sides. "I will send for her."

Nodding, Gilbert stepped into the shelter, but declined a seat upon the Bench. How would she receive him? he wondered, feeling his pulse quicken with the thought that any moment she would be standing before him. It was not all bad, he told himself, for at long last he had the opportunity to exorcise the lady from his every waking thought and finally find some measure of peace.

Shortly, the abbess reappeared. "She is in prayer," she said, "but I have asked Sister Sophia to send her along anyway."

"She will know the reason for her summons?"

The abbess shook her head. "Nay, I have not given any reason for asking her to meet me. Twill be soon enough that she knows of your presence."

Gilbert made no comment. He simply turned toward the walkway so that he could see Graeye's reaction upon discovering him in this place.

When the time dragged by and she did not appear, his impatience quickened. "She is not very punctual," he remarked, looking at the abbess, who stood beside him.

"As I have told you," she said, "this is not her world."

He scowled.

"Too," she added, "the babe has been troubling her some—"

"Something is wrong?" He pounced on that, a sudden tension falling upon him.

Mother Celia nearly laughed at his show of concern, but managed to hide her pleasure behind a twitching smile. "I do not think so," she said. " 'Tis just a malady of pregnancy that many women experience."

Carefully picking her way over the frozen ground lest she lose her footing, Graeye stopped upon hearing the abbess's voice that carried across the long, narrow strip of garden. She was with someone?

Quickening her pace, she admonished herself for having forgotten her gloves in the chapel. Though her hands had grown cold in the short time she'd been outside, she continued to hold them before her as a precaution should she slip.

As she rounded the corner, a soft, insistent fluttering in her belly reminded her of the necessity to slow her pace. Smiling, she pressed a hand to that subsiding movement and took the last steps with even greater care.

Two people were standing within the shelter of the arbor—one well-known, the other striking an unsettling chord of familiarity within Graeye. Curious as to the identity of the handsome, dark-headed visitor, she stepped nearer, searching the clean-shaven face, then the eyes that lifted to meet her gaze. Startling blue they were....

Gasping in sudden recognition, she stumbled and instinctively threw out a hand to break her fall. She managed to keep her feet, though, and when she raised her head, she found Gilbert standing disconcertingly close. It was no wonder she had not recognized him immediately, she thought, for he appeared so much younger and less ominous without his beard, even with dark shadows beneath his eyes. Aye, she had thought him attractive before, but now she was struck breathless by the handsome face revealed to her.

Though fewer than two of the baron's long-legged strides separated them, neither attempted to bridge the gap. Hence, it was Mother Celia who finally broke the stricken silence. "I believe you already know each other," she said, stepping forward. "I will leave you now to become reacquainted."

Her face serene, she took Graeye's cold hands in hers and placed a kiss upon her cheek. "Think of the child you carry," she whispered, then turned to go.

She had told him ... of course. Graeye watched the abbess leave with mounting apprehension, and still stared after her even when the older woman was gone from sight.

Another fluttering from her baby broke her free of her stupor. Keeping her gaze carefully averted from the probing eyes she felt with every pore of her being, she slipped a hand beneath the mantle and smoothed it over the gently rounded swell.

"The child you carry." Gilbert's deep voice vibrated through the air, strumming the taut strings of Graeye's frayed emotions. "Is it mine?"

Graeye knew only a sudden need to be away from there—away from this disbelieving man who would pose such a hurtful question to her. Lifting her chin, she met his stare with one of her own, putting into it all the loathing she could summon, then turned on her heel and headed down the path the abbess had taken.

Hearing Gilbert's footsteps behind, she first thought to run, but quickly quelled that idea, knowing it was far too dangerous. There was nothing she would do to cause harm to her unborn child. Nothing. Accepting that flight was useless, she swung back around just as Gilbert reached out a hand to detain her.

He looked down at her as she peered up at him from the shadowed folds of her hood. His hand hesitated in the air before he let it drop back to his side. "Is the child mine?" he repeated.

"Nay," she said, grateful for the cover the hood afforded her. "You needn't concern yourself with my child, Baron Balmaine, for 'tis another who fathered it."

He appeared stunned by her disavowal. In silence he regarded her, searching what little he could make out of her face. "Methinks you lie, Lady Graeye," he concluded. "Aye, you will need to apply yourself more diligently to such endeavors if ever you are to become an accomplished liar." Without warning he swept her hood back to reveal her face and a swath of tawny, golden-streaked hair.

Graeye's hand shot up from the folds of her mantle to catch the hood. However, before she could take hold of the coarse material, Gilbert deftly caught her hand and enveloped her cold fingers in the warmth of his.

Quivering with an anger too long suppressed, she threw back her head and stared up at him. "Has it been so long since we last met that you would forget how deceitful I am?" she hissed between lips drawn thin, "Had I acknowledged you as the father of my child, I am most certain you would have then denied it." She leaned forward and regarded him for a long moment. "Best you be warned, Baron. Such a bent toward believing the opposite of what one is told could easily be put to advantage by those who would seek to deceive you."

Gilbert remained motionless as he examined the underlying meaning of her words and attempted to understand the emotion emanating from her. Aye, he had seen glimpses of her anger—had discovered those tiny, sharp claws of hers—but this was too much like his own embittered anger. It unsettled him to see himself mirrored in her.

When she set herself back on her heels, a forced semblance of a smile curled her lips. "Consider this, my lord. Mayhap 'twas my intention to maneuver you into accepting responsibility for this child by denying 'twas yours." Her shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. "Or perhaps I speak the truth."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed. "I refuse to play such word games with you, Graeye—"

"Graeye?" She snatched that rare opportunity to interrupt him as he had so often done to her. "Such familiarity, my lord?"

He suddenly pulled her against him and, even as she resisted, boldly slipped a hand inside her mantle and laid it upon her belly.

She stilled at his surprisingly gentle touch, her breath stopping as those long fingers began an exploration of her pregnancy. She closed her eyes on the sudden awareness his fingertips incited, an awareness she d thought long buried. How was it this man she had convinced herself to hate could still rouse such a response from her?

"Now tell me again this is not my child," he said.

Pulling free from her mind's desperate wanderings, she tilted her head back. "You would believe the words of one so deceitful?"

His hand still curved over her belly, he brought his face nearer hers. "Only if you confirm that which I already know to be true."

He meant to acknowledge her child as his? She searched his face, her gaze roving over features that had heretofore been hidden from her. Her eyes were drawn first to a mouth that was wider than she had thought, then up and to the side where a slight indentation was visible below one cheek. It would be a dimple if ever he smiled, she thought. And his smooth skin offered testament to having recently had a blade,laid to it.

Before she could squelch the impulse, she lifted a hand and placed it alongside his jaw. Immediately the muscles leaped beneath her touch, reminding her of the inappropriateness of such a gesture. Dropping her hand, and slid it beneath her mantle, and closed her fingers around his wrist. Surprisingly he did not resist when she lifted it from her belly.

" 'Tis my child, Gilbert Balmaine," she said with rigid conviction.

His eyes narrowed. It was not the acknowledgment he had expected.

"And the father?" he persisted. Like a tightly sprung coil, he waited for the grudging admission she still owed him, and which he was determined to have.

She did not cower from his anger. "Who 'twas that scattered the seed by which my babe now grows is of little consequence, Baron. You would do best to—"