Virgin Bride (24 page)

"Aye, love,".he. said, wondering at the ease with which the endearment fell from his lips before setting himself to her pleasure. Like no other woman before, though there had not been so many during these past years, she responded wonderfully to his every touch and caress.

Carefully, he nurtured the heightened stirrings of her body, pausing only when it became too agonizing to deny his own needs, then resuming once he regained control. Though her release was not long in coming, it seemed ages.

He felt her tightening, felt a sudden stillness within her the moment before she convulsed amid cries of pleasure. His breath coming in sharp rasps, he stared at her lovely face, imprinting the rapture he found there forever upon his mind.

Her body softened beneath his, her features relaxing. At that moment Gilbert unleashed the storm that had been raging inside him. One moment he was straining over her, seeking that same place she had found, and the next he was rolling away. Holding tight to her, he took her with him as he fell back upon the hay.

Feeling as if there were not a bone left in her body, Graeye lay pleasantly satiated against him, her head tucked beneath his chin. Though she had known there was something beyond what she had felt that first time with this man, it was more than she had ever imagined. He had taken her to that elusive place, and she had not found it wanting. It was some time before either spoke, but when Gilbert finally did, his voice was gruff, his words terse.

"Never again refer to yourself as 'whore,' " he said. "My men will respect you as if you were my wife. Do you understand?"

She nodded, for he spoke true. Although most believed she'd been Gilbert's leman since her arrival at Penforke, none had shown her anything but deference.

"Gilbert, will you ever find it in you to forgive me the wrongs my family has done yours?" she asked as she ran her fingers lightly over his chest.

Her unexpected question jolted him—and the pain behind her words. "I do not blame you," he said truthfully.

"Aye, you do," she countered. "Naught has changed. I am still a Charwyck, and you hate—"

"Nay, I have told you, I do not hate you, Graeye."

If only she could believe him. "Then you are a fool," she replied, tilting her head back to study his face.

"And not for the first time," he said, and smiled. The dimple that she had suspected would be there if ever he genuinely smiled appeared.

She was captivated, unable to squelch the impulse to touch it with the tip of her finger. He stiffened momentarily, then smiled wider.

Her hand resting alongside his jaw, she met his gaze and thought she saw there what was also in her heart. She was stunned. Was it possible he loved her, but could not bring himself to admit such a thing—as she could not? Nay, she concluded, it had to be something eke. Contentment, perhaps.

Chapter 20

G
raeye awoke in Gilbert's bed the following morning. She knew it without opening her eyes. Would have known even had his body not been curled around hers, his arm encircling her thick waist. The long night of love they had shared could not be easily wiped from her mind. Too, it had only been a few hours since sleep had finally taken her.

She looked around the bright, sun-streaked room— evidence that late morning was upon them—and her gaze rested on a delicately worked wall hanging. She had noticed it yestereve, so out of place was it. Truly, it was the only thing in the lord's solar worth taking note of.

Not once since she had been at Penforke had she entered Gilbert's private chamber. Until yestereve she had not been fool enough to do so.

The only unexplored room, it had come as a surprise. Unlike the rest of the donjon, it was sparsely outfitted, its furnishings shabby and aged. Mostly, though, it was a cold place, no warmth to be found anywhere except in that beautiful wall hanging, which depicted each of the four seasons.

As she would be sharing this room with Gilbert henceforth, would he mind if she made changes? she wondered. It was simply too dreary to contemplate spending much time in otherwise. His hand caressing her belly pulled her back to his presence.

" 'Tis good you are such a large man, Gilbert Balmaine," she murmured, thrilling at the sensations his fingers kindled over her taut skin. " Twould not be so easy for you to fit your arm round my waist were you not."

Deep, sleepy laughter rumbled in his chest as he nuzzled the back of her neck. " 'Tis better you are such a small woman."

Her brows knit as she remembered what Lucy, the healer, had said to her several weeks past. Though she had tried not to think too much about it, Lucy's words frightened her. "Lucy says my labor will be difficult," she said. "I am too narrow."

Gilbert grew still. It had not occurred to him the effects of birthing on one so small. Foolish! he chastised himself. Had not his own mother, a woman not much larger than Graeye, died after giving birth to Lizanne?

Squeezing his eyes closed, he hugged Graeye tighter. The thought that he might lose her tore at him in a way that defied close scrutiny. The only thing he knew for certain was he could not lose her. The light she had brought to his life still had many shadows to chase away.

The admission surprised him. It went beyond desire, beyond what he had felt for the woman he had once been betrothed to. And he had fancied himself in love with Atrice. What, then, did he feel for Graeye?

"Are you still awake?" she asked, easing onto her back.

He loosened his hold. "Aye," he said, pushing himself up on an elbow to look down at her. Reaching forward, he brushed the hair from her silvery eyes. "Do you not worry. Lucy is a skilled healer and has delivered many children. You will be fine."

She frowned. "The baby—"

"Will come into this world hale and screaming," he assured her, grinning lopsidedly.

She looked unconvinced. "Gilbert, if anything should happen to me—"

Swooping down, he seized her lips, capturing her words as he urgently drew the honey from her. "Now," he said, when she had succumbed completely to his persuasions, "we must needs be rising." Smiling, he rolled away and stood from the bed.

Disappointed that they had not made love again, Graeye pulled the covers up to her chin and watched as he moved about the room.

"Do you hurry," he said, glancing up from knotting he breeches. "I will have cook pack us some food and we will go for a ride. Would that please you?"

She struggled upright. Not since her arrival at Penforke had she been outside the castle walls. "Truly?" An expectant smile wreathed her face.

At his nod she swung her legs over the side of the bed and dropped to the rushes. Then, chattering her excitement, she hurried to the chest that had been moved to the solar yestereve.

Seeing her fully naked in the light of day, burgeoning with the evidence of his child, Gilbert nearly withdrew the invitation. Though not unwieldy, she was past her seventh month of pregnancy. Was it safe?

He shook his head. Whatever had possessed him to offer? The answer came immediately to him. He had wanted to please her.

They would not go far, he decided, knowing how great her disappointment would be were he to renege. Just to the stream. And they would take an escort, for he still did not trust his lands to be free of Charwyck's brigands.

***

Gilbert had chosen a lovely spot, Graeye thought with pleasure. The winding stream, though deep enough only to dip one's feet in, ran clean and sparkling beneath a sun risen to the top of the sky.

In some ways it reminded her of the river at the abbey. In others, of the falls where she and Gilbert had first met. That last remembrance sent a flush of color over her face and set her palms to tingling.

Dismounting first, Gilbert held up his arms to lift her down. With a hesitant smile she came into them.

"Still like a feather," he said as he set her to her feet.

She made a face. "Surely you jest, my lord."

"Mayhap a little." He dropped a kiss upon her brow, then took her hand and led her to a grassy mound beneath a tree. Spreading his mantle, he urged her down beside him.

"I am ravenous," he said, eyeing the sack she held. She laughed. "Of that I am certain." Settling her back to the tree, she picked loose the string holding the sack closed and peeled the cloth away to reveal a fine selection of bread, cheese, and fruit.

"Would that your men could join us," she said, glancing at the knights he had posted about the periphery of the clearing. "There is so much here."

The square of cheese Gilbert carried to his mouth paused midair. "I had hoped you preferred my company to theirs."

She had not intended to imply otherwise. Peering up at him from beneath her lashes, she glimpsed vulnerability in his face before he masked it with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Aye," she said, "That I do. It just seems such a waste—"

"Do you not worry," he said. "I will eat whatever you cannot. Now, feed my son."

"Or daughter," she could not resist saying, though she was as certain as he that it was a boy child he had planted in her womb.

Conceding with a careless shrug, Gilbert popped the cheese into his mouth and followed it with a swallow of wine from the skin at his belt.

The silence hung easily over them for some tame before Graeye finally asked the question uppermost in her mind. "You will be disappointed if 'tis not a son?"

Slicing a wedge from an apple, Gilbert held it out to her, obviously in no hurry to answer. She accepted it, but did not eat it.

"Though I would like a son," he said, turning his dagger to catch the glint of the sun, "if you give me a daughter, I will love her the same."

Love? His admission shocked Graeye so completely, she felt faint for a moment.

"And if 'tis a girl," he continued, "mayhap the second will be a boy."

"The second?" she repeated, turning disbelieving eyes upon him. "Think you I would bear you another bastard child?" Her voice rose with indignation.

He moved closer, his thigh brushing hers. He caught the lock of hair that had escaped its braid and rucked it behind her ear. "You think I would let you out of my bed now that I finally have you in it, Graeye Charwyck?"

Nay, he would not, she knew. And worse, she did not think she could leave it. She looked away from those disturbing eyes and stared down at the yellowing slice of fruit. "Will you ever wed?" she asked in a small voice.

She felt him stiffen.

The fire so recently doused returned. "I did not mean to me, Gilbert Balmaine! Nay, I speak of another—one who would bear you legitimate heirs. Who would see my child cast aside in favor of hers."

Remorse flashing across his face, he cupped her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, gentling her temper with his kiss.

She hesitated only briefly before leaning into him, feeling his arm go around her as she desperately met each thrust of his tongue. She wanted to believe this was his answer and that it was what her heart needed to hear—though he would not marry her, neither would he wed another. But why couldn't he simply say it? Because he would be lying?

She pulled out of his embrace. " Twill not do," she said firmly. "I will have my answer."

His breathing ragged, Gilbert plowed a hand through his thick hair. "Nay, I will not wed," he said, meeting her gaze. "Be you assured none other but you will share my bed."

Though it was the assurance she had been seeking, what she had gained seemed terribly shallow. She was still his leman. And if he did not too soon grow tired of her, would remain just that. But what more could she ask? Legitimate or no, her child would be his heir. And he had said he would love it. Love ...

She closed her eyes and held to the love she felt for this man who would never allow himself to forget her deceit. Who could not overlook that she was tainted with the same blood that had run through her half brother—Edward Charwyck's blood. How sad that she loved a man bent on pursuing a vendetta that excluded all matters of the heart.

"Graeye, are you well?" he asked, his voiced edged with genuine concern.

Her lids fluttered up. Though she tried to hide her pain, she doubted she was successful. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked.

With a harsh sigh he put an arm around her and pulled her back against his chest. She did not resist, simply settled herself against him as if it was where she had desired to be all along.

"Love. 'Tis a fanciful notion," he said, "and years ago I did think myself in love."

Graeye felt a jealousy she knew she had no right to feel. "Who was she?"

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and spoke into her hair. "My betrothed, Lady Atrice—a beautiful woman inside and out."

"What happened?"

"Shortly before we were to be wed, she fell from her horse. She lingered a few days, then died."

Graeye's jealousy faded as quickly as it had risen. In its place came a great sadness—not only for the young woman who had died, but also for herself. Here was yet another obstacle between her and Gilbert. To do battle with the hate he harbored against her family was one thing, to compete with the memory of one he had loved and lost, quite another.

Not until Gilbert pronounced it time to return to the castle did either speak again.

"Will you bring me tomorrow?" Graeye asked as he lifted her onto the saddle.

He shielded his eyes against the sun and met her imploring gaze. "So soon?"

"Or the day after."

Laying his hand on her leg, he smiled up at her. "I will bring you every day if it so pleases you."

She smiled. " 'Twould please me immensely."