Virgin Bride (27 page)

***

"Lizanne." Smiling, Gilbert held his arms up to receive her down from her mount.

She had no smiles for him, though, nor warm words for the brother she had not seen in well over nine months. Her mouth set in a grim line, she allowed him to assist her down.

"Something is wrong?" he asked, turning questioning eyes from her to Ranulf.

"Charwyck." The name was spat from her lips.

Immediately, Gilbert's hands fell from her waist, clenching into fists at his sides. "What speak you of?"

"He has stolen my child," she burst out, her eyes brimming with tears.

Stepping forward, Ranulf gathered her against his side. "We must speak, Gilbert," he said, then turned to mount the steps to the donjon.

Gilbert fought down the explosion of anger tearing at his insides. He must not give in to it, as it would only distress Lizanne more. Tight-lipped, he exchanged a knowing glance with Sir Lancelyn, then motioned for the man to follow.

In the hall serving wenches scurried to laden the tables with refreshments for the weary travelers. With one sharp word Gilbert sent them back to the kitchens. When Mellie appeared, her hands flapping with excitement at Lizanne's return, her mouth tumbling words he found too annoying to tolerate, he sent her away too.

When the hall was clear of prying eyes and ears, Gilbert leaned toward Ranulf. "Tell me," he prompted.

Ranulf finished the tankard of ale his parched throat had demanded. "Four days past, in the clear light of day, Gillian was taken from Chesne. 'Tis certain Charwyck who stole her."

"How know you this?"

It was Lizanne who answered. "Twas an old man. He told the maid it was Gillian's life for Philip's. Then he cut a C into the girl's face."

Gilbert drew a sharp breath and pounded his fist on the table. "Damnation!" he exploded. "Will we never be free of the devil?"

Ranulf stayed Gilbert's temper with a hand to his arm. "The dogs picked up Gillian's scent," he said. "We followed it for two days, but lost it on the third. As Charwyck was heading south, we continued on here. Have you—I

"Aye." Gilbert tossed back into his chair, going onto the rear two legs and nearly upending himself. Angrily, he kneaded his thigh. "Sir Lancelyn brought news this morn of Charwyck's return. The man's brigands pillaged a village near Medland yesterday."

With a nod Lancelyn confirmed this.

"Then he is near," Ranulf said, rising abruptly. "We will find, him."

Lizanne rose—nay, stumbled—to her feet. Clearly, she was exhausted, her shadowed eyes haunted, her face drawn with worry.

Beginning to think logically again, Gilbert shook his head. "Twill do no good to rush out without direction,'' he said. "We must plan if we are to succeed in recovering Gillian unharmed. Methinks the babe is but a pawn to lure us, the ones Charwyck believes responsible for Philip's death, to his lair."

Though reluctant, Ranulf and Lizanne resumed their seats.

"We do have an advantage—an unexpected one," Gilbert said as he leaned forward. "The villagers felled one of Charwyck's men during the raid. Though the man is wounded, methinks he will talk before long."

"Where is he?" Ranulf demanded.

"Later," Gilbert said, though he, too, was anxious to discover the man's secrets. "He must be tended to first. His wounds are severe."

Gritting his teeth, Ranulf nodded. "How many men can you spare?"

"As many as it takes."

The beginnings of a plan taking shape, it was only a short time later when the two men and Lizanne rose from the table. They traversed the hall, only to be brought up short by Mellie before they reached the doors.

"Milord," she called, skidding over the rushes in her haste to reach Gilbert. " 'Tis Lady Graeye. I cannot find her."

With a deep sense of foreboding Gilbert met the girl's anxious gaze. "She is not in the solar?"

"Nay, milord, though I left her there but an hour past. She said she was tired—needed to rest."

"You have that woman under your roof?" Lizanne exclaimed, swinging around to glare at her brother. "You said you would keep her at Medland. Why is she here?"

"Circumstances change," Gilbert growled, then turned his attention back to Mellie. "Mayhap she is in
the gardens?"

The maid blinked. "I—I do not know, milord,"

Gilbert turned to Sir Lancelyn. "Send word to search the castle. She must be somewhere near. None would dare have allowed her to leave."

"Milord." Mellie tugged on his sleeve. "There is the matter of her habit."

He looked back at her. "Her habit?"

"Aye, that she had in her chest. This morn she had it and one of her mother's old bliauts laid out. The habit is still there, but the bliaut is missing—and the mantle she brought with her from the abbey."

"Show me."

Frowning, Lizanne watched her brother disappear up the stairs.

In the solar Gilbert angrily swept aside the white garment. Had Graeye left him? Returned to the abbey? Or worse, to her father?

" 'Tis as I said, milord, the other garments are gone," Mellie said from beside the bed, wringing her hands. "Methinks 'tis what she wore to escape unnoticed."

"Why would she want to escape?" he barked. "Dear God, she will soon give birth to my son!"

Mellie cursed the loyalty for the baron's leman that she had unwittingly allowed to creep upon her. If only she had told him of the conversation she and her mistress had been privy to.

"Milord, do you beat me," she ventured, though she knew he was not of that bent, "I will understand and take my punishment as you see fit."

He swung around and glared at her. "What are you babbling about?"

Slowly, she came forward. " 'Tis your conversation with the king's man, Sir Royce. Milady and I chanced to overhear your talk of Sir Michael's death—though we did not purposely set ourselves to eavesdropping. Nay, milord, we did not." She ventured a glance at his thunderous face, then looked quickly away. "Lady

Graeye was very disturbed by it—methinks blamed herself for the knight's death and the loss of the village."

Gilbert swung away. It would certainly explain Graeye's odd behavior that day. Still, he could not believe she had left him. She had seemed content enough.

Nay, he harshly corrected himself. She had not been content as his leman. She had simply accepted the role when there was naught else she could do.

How his leg pained him, alternately throbbing and


burning as he paced the room, seeking answers to questions he had not thought he would have to ask. Mayhap she would still be found

Abruptly, he abandoned his pacing. The chapel. Would his men think to look there? Renewed hope surging through him, he left the solar and descended to the hall.

He did not get far before Lizanne took hold of his arm. "Gilbert, there was a peasant woman we passed on the approach to Penforke. Methinks now it may have been this Graeye Charwyck in disguise."

Gilbert's brow creased. "What makes you think that?"

"She was alone, empty-handed, and—"

"What did she look like?"

"Fair. Pretty ..." She shook her head.

"How was she clothed?"

"A black mantle, and methinks 'twas a brown gown beneath. Also, there was a stain upon her face—"

"God's teeth!" Gilbert exploded. "Twas her."

"Then she is taking word to her father," Lizanne concluded. "Likely she has been doing so for some time now, Gilbert. She has betrayed you."

Gilbert could not believe that. All was not as it seemed. "What direction did she take?" he asked.

"To the east—into the woods."

His relief radiated through him like summer's first heat. She had gone only for the outing he had promised her. Aye, she had been restless these last days, and disappointed when he'd canceled the excursion to meet with Lancelyn.

"Nay, she has not betrayed me." He spoke with conviction.

Lizanne laid a hand on his shoulder. "She is a Charwyck, Gilbert. Do not let her make you a fool."

"You are wrong," he said, his face drawn into hard, unmoving lines, his voice as cold as a winter's frost.

Dawning realization struck Lizanne squarely between the eyes. "For God's sake, Gilbert, you do not love the woman, do you? She is Philip's sister, after all!"

Seeing the anguish in Lizanne's desperate, imploring eyes, Gilbert's anger eased. As no other possibly could, he understood the suffering that prompted her words. Lightly, he touched her face. "In name only is she a Charwyck," he said, accepting the words even as he spoke them. "And even that will no longer be."

Lizanne blinked, her eyebrows slowly gathering together. "You cannot mean you would wed her?"

He nodded, then kissed her cheek. " 'Tis much the same as when I learned you had wed Ranulf, little sister," he reminded her. "But you chose well, as I have."

Lizanne only shook her head and dropped her hand from his arm.

"Come," Gilbert said, motioning the men to follow. "We ride to the stream." With the possible danger Graeye had placed herself in, he was taking no chances of going unescorted. He would be prepared if Edward Charwyck reached her ahead of him.

***

Partially obscured by the leafy trees, its long journey half-completed, the sun settled itself to the top of the sky.

Graeye sighed. Though she knew she should be making her way back, she simply could not bring herself to leave. Not yet. Especially considering the amount of effort that had been required to slip away.

And no matter Gilbert's wrath. Were he to have discovered her missing, it would be worth the freedom she had gained even for this short period of time. A small price, she concluded.

Idly, she picked at her meal, listening to the water's song as it flowed past. She missed Gilbert—so wished he was with her. It was not quite the same.

Blushing, she remembered how he'd made love to her beside the stream just a week earlier. It had been wonderful—nay, splendid. Closing her eyes, she allowed the memory to revisit her in all its detail.

The brilliance of his impassioned eyes. The sun at his back forming a halo around him. The meeting of their bodies ...

A sudden thundering of hooves intruded upon her memories. It would be Gilbert, and he would be angry, she told herself, then immediately questioned her conclusion. Why would he come with so many? Mayhap it was Edward and his brigands....

Thinking to seek cover, Graeye pushed to her feet and made for the nearest refuge of heavy foliage. But it was too late. The numerous riders reached the clearing before she was halfway to her destination.

Her heart pounding furiously, her hand curved around her belly, she swung around to confront them. Mercifully, her eyes fell first on Gilbert, who rode before the others.

Her shoulders sagging with relief, a smile curling her lips, she hurried forward to meet him. "Gilbert, you frightened me," she said, hoping he would not be too angry with her for stealing away from the castle.

Tossing aside the reins, Gilbert dismounted and pulled her into his arms. He savored the feel of her, sending up a prayer of thanks that surprised him as he silently conveyed the message to a God he had not believed in for so long.

Then, with firm resolve, he put her at arm's length. Though it was difficult to speak angrily when he was so relieved at finding her unharmed, he knew he must impress upon her the seriousness of her act.

"I was foolish, Graeye," he rebuked her. "Have you nary a care for the safety of yourself, or our child?"

It was less than she deserved, Graeye reminded herself as she pushed down an indignant retort.

"Aye, 'twas foolish," she agreed, her smile apologetic. "And rather pointless without your company. But now that you are here ..."

Gilbert would have liked nothing better than to linger in this place with her, but there were more pressing matters to be dealt with. "We must return to the castle," he said as he turned her around.

"Ah, the visitors," she said, and was surprised when her eyes lit upon two of those who had nearly trampled her beneath their horses. Though the pale-headed man's face showed nothing of his emotions, the woman alongside him clearly expressed hers—anger.

"Aye," Gilbert said as he lifted her onto his horse.

"Who—" Graeye began.

"Introductions can wait until we are returned," he said, catching her uneasy stare toward Lizanne.

Something was wrong, Graeye realized. Terribly wrong.

She was not overly surprised when Gilbert introduced her to his sister a short time later when they gathered in the hall. On the ride back she had guessed as much, not only from the woman's resemblance to her brother, but from the enmity she exuded. It was the same emotion Gilbert had subjected her to that first day at Medland. To be confronted by Such an obstacle after having so recently overcome one of similar proportions greatly burdened her.

"Lady Lizanne," Graeye acknowledged with a shallow curtsy.

The woman stared at her a long moment, then spun on her heel and walked away.

Hurt, hut refusing to suffer the same punishment twice in a lifetime, Graeye left Gilbert's side and followed. Near the stairs she caught up with Lizanne and placed herself before her.

"I understand your hatred for the Charwycks," she said with a lift of her chin, "but do not pass judgment on me ere you have come to know me."

Taken aback, her green eyes wide and flashing, Lizanne looked down upon the smaller woman. "I want my child back," she finally responded in a wintry voice.

Child? Confused, Graeye looked to Gilbert, who was striding quickly toward her. Someone had taken Lizanne's baby? But who— Of a sudden it came to her, a cry of anguish stealing from her lips as she realized it was the work of the man who had fathered her.

"Nay!" she gasped, shaking her head. It was all a nightmare. It could not be so ... but it was. Turning, she fled up the stairs to the solar, throwing the door closed and pushing the bolt into place a moment before Gilbert reached it.

"Open the door, Graeye," he called.

Her forehead pressed to it, she shook her head. "Pray, leave me be," she pleaded.

A lengthy silence followed; then Gilbert's voice filtered through, deep and patient. "Graeye, it is not your fault. No one blames you."

She almost laughed. "Do they not?" she asked disbelievingly, her heart turning embittered at this new trial God had set upon her.

"Lizanne will come around," he said. "She is frightened, 'tis all."

Nay, that was not all, but it seemed useless to argue the matter further. "Please, Gilbert," she implored, "I need to be alone."

She heard his harsh sigh. "Very well. I will give you the time you need, but do not think to lock this door against me once night falls."

She did not answer him and, a moment later, heard him walk away. Relieved that he had given in so easily, she crossed to the large chair set before the cold hearth and eased herself down into it.

Knowing it would be too easy to lose herself in the anguish that beckoned, she cast it aside. She would not cry for the lost child, for no help could come of it. Nay, she would search for a solution.

"And how am I to right this wrong, Lord?" she asked some time later when the dilemma loomed as threatening as before. As if in answer, she heard again the conversation between Gilbert and Sir Royce. Edward still wanted his heir—the child she carried.

Pained by the answer she had sought, Graeye hugged her arms around her belly. "No harm will befall you," she vowed in an attempt to convince herself of the plan taking shape in her mind. "And Lizanne will have her child back."