Virgin Bride (3 page)

His words—the air of hate they drifted upon—cut deeply. Hope faltering, dread fear-in her heart, Graeye backed away.

"And do not let me see you again without your nun's clothing!" he yelled.

She was surprised when she came up against the knight standing in the doorway. Wordlessly, the man drew her outside and slammed the door closed on Edward. There was silence; then a great clamor arose as the old man threw himself against the door, his curses vibrating through the wooden planks.

"My lady," the knight spoke to Graeye's bowed head, "'twould be best if you returned to the donjon now." At her sullen nod he gently took her arm.

She was grateful for the support he lent, for otherwise she would surely not have made it down the steep stairway, so blurred was her vision.

At the bottom she expected him to send her on ahead, but he did not. Instead he led her past the curious stares of the castlefolk and soldiers and did not relinquish his grip until they stood within the hall.

She offered him a brave smile. "My thanks, Sir ..."

"Abelaard," he said with a sweeping bow.

Her smile grew more certain, but nonetheless remained a thin, tight-lipped line. "If you will wait but a moment," she said, stepping away, "I will gather blankets that you might take them to ensure my father's comfort."

A thick silence followed that had her turning back to face him. Too late she realized it would be beneath the knight's rank to perform such a duty for her.

"My apologies," she murmured. "I will send a servant."

Looking relieved that he didn't have to refuse her, he offered her an uneven smile. "My sister is a nun," he said gruffly. "'Tis not a bad life she has."

Graeye stared at him, watching as he grew uncomfortable with the effects of his poorly timed, though well-meaning, disclosure. "I fear you do not understand, Sir Knight," she said, then turned and left him.

It was difficult to find privacy where she could vent her distraught emotions, and in desperation she returned to the small chapel abovestairs.

Kneeling before the altar, she clasped her hands to her breast and tried to offer up prayer. However, there was simply no room for such devotions. All of her hopes were dashed forever by the coming of the treacherous Baron Balmaine. She drew a shuddering sob, then cried as she'd never cried before—and vowed she would never cry again.

Chapter 3

W
ith all the extra mouths to feed and bodies to bed in a hall that suddenly seemed inadequate, Graeye had had little time throughout the day to dwell on the terrible misfortune that had befallen her father—and the fate awaiting her.

Now, however, as the night deepened and sleep refused to wrest her churning thoughts from her, she found herself reliving each nightmarish detail. She did not allow herself to dwell on the confrontation between her and her father. It simply hurt too much. Instead she fixed upon the events that preceded and followed that encounter.

She recalled the painful conversation with Sir Royce, Sir Abelaard's parting remarks, the flood of emotions that had assailed her in the chapel, and afterward her encounter with William—one that might have gotten out of hand had she not put a quick end to it.

Amid the preparations for the noon meal, she had come face-to-face with the angry knight who had sought no cover in which to deliver his cutting, hateful words.

Without thought, and before the servants, she had struck him across the face with all the strength she could muster. Fortunately, he had been too surprised to retaliate, allowing her to flee the hall and seek safely in the kitchens.

During supper, the tables overflowing with the addition of the king's men, she had spent an uncomfortable hour beneath the watchful gaze of both Sir Michael and William. Afterward the younger knight had twice attempted to corner her, but each time she had successfully evaded him. No good could possibly come of allowing him too near.

Truly, it had been the most difficult day of Graeye's life. But it was the pity that bothered her the most. It shone from the eyes of the castlefolk, and, surprisingly, many of Edward's knights. Even the king's men cast their sympathy upon her.

Pity, though, was not what she needed. She had already wasted far too much time indulging in that useless emotion. What she needed was a plan, one that would make it possible for her to stay at her father's side. Though it seemed all was well and truly lost, after her time in the chapel she had determined she would not abandon her quest to remain free of the Church. She would find a way. But how?

Twisting upon her bench in an attempt to get more comfortable, she winced at the disgruntled rumble that drifted up from beneath her.

Throughout the day Groan had become increasingly testy at the changes in his home. There were too many people, too much commotion, and the air of gloom that hung over all was as tangible as the morsels the dog had been denied due to the shortage of viands. Nevertheless, he had never strayed far from her side— except that one time when William had cornered her.

He rumbled again, but more loudly.

Frowning, Graeye leaned over the side of the bench and searched out the dog's glowing eyes. "Shh," she breathed, reaching out to him.

"Lady Graeye.'' A man's whispered voice halted her hand midair.

Stifling a scream that would have awakened all in the hall, Graeye pressed herself back on the bench and peered at the still figure that stood less than a foot away.

Was it William come to seek revenge for the offensive slap she'd given him earlier? she wondered, fear mounting. If so, she would gladly awaken all to avoid whatever the wicked man had in mind for her.

"Who goes there?'' she whispered, hugging her blanket to her.

Groan rumbled another warning.

Ignoring the dog's threat, the figure bent down and leaned nearer. " 'Tis I, Sir Michael."

Graeye was relieved, but still alarmed that he would seek her out in the middle of night. "Wh-what do you want?" she asked, easing her hold on the blanket.

"I must needs speak with you."

"We can speak on the morrow," she said, wishing he would leave her be so that she could return to her search for a way out of her dilemma.

"Nay, we must needs speak now."

"Shh," she hissed. "Do not talk so loud. 'Twill awaken the others."

"Then come with me."

She drew back from the hand that attempted to urge her from the bench. "Be gone, Sir Michael. On the morrow will be soon enough for us to talk."

Without further word the young knight slid an arm beneath her and scooped her from the bench. Though Graeye's immediate response was to protest his boldness, she checked the indignant words for fear of awakening the others.

True, she was angered that Michael would be so free with her, but she did not fear him as she did William. Besides, the scrape of claws over the floor told her Groan was close on Michael's heels and had no intention of leaving her to fend for herself should she have misjudged the young knight

Resigning herself to the conversation Michael was forcing her to, she grabbed fistfuls of his tunic and held tightly to him as he picked his way over the sleeping bodies and carried her to the stairway.

Though not of a great height or build, Michael proved surprisingly strong, easily negotiating the stairs to the first landing, where a torch flickered. Grimacing at Graeye's undisguised anger, he lowered her to her feet.

"Forgive me, my lady," he apologized.

After adjusting the chin strap of her wimple, Graeye jerked the blanket closed over her shoulders and glared up at him. " 'Tis quite unseemly behavior, Sir Michael," she reprimanded, comforted by the press of Groan's body against her side.

"Aye, but it seemed the only way."

She stared at him a long moment, then sighed. It was, after all, her own fault. Had she but given him the time he had sought that day, all this would have been unnecessary. "Well... speak," she said, impatient to return to her solitude.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. "I would have you go away with me," he said in a rush.

Her eyes widened. "What? Go away with you?"

Oddly encouraged by her reaction, he reached out and laid his hand upon her shoulder. "Aye, there is naught for you here—nor for me. As the fourth of five sons, I have not much to offer, but 'tis more than that abbey can give you. Surely you do not wish to return there?"

She leaned back against the wall for support. "Nay, of course not," she breathed. Was this the answer she sought? "But ... is it marriage you speak of, Sir Michael?"

"I offered once before and you denied me," he said, bitterness creeping into his voice as his hand slipped beneath her chin to tilt her face up to his. "If I offered again, would you do the same?"

She stared into his imploring eyes. "Surely you know why I denied you," she said, hoping to erase his hurt. When he did not respond, she forged ahead. "Even had I expressed a preference for you, my father would not have agreed. I did not wish blood to be spilled for a lost cause."

"And you thought 'twould be I who fell?"

Apologetically, she shrugged. "I did not know, but 'twas not worth the risk."

"I am not a child unable to defend myself," he reminded her with great indignation. " 'Twould have been William's blood that was spilled, not mine."

"I am sorry," she said, trying to soothe his injured pride.

As if it had never been, his indignation was swept away and replaced with a smile. A moment later his mouth lightly touched hers.

"Will you marry me, sweet Graeye?"

Surprised at the gentleness of that fleeting kiss, she lowered her gaze, her mind setting itself to furious work. The young knight was, by far, a better man than William. And what he offered certainly held more appeal than returning to the abbey and leaving her father behind to fend for himself among his enemies. Edward ...

She looked up at Michael's expectant face. "What of my father?"

"Your father?" he repeated disbelievingly. "Your loyalty is misplaced, Graeye. You owe him no allegiance. Leave it to Baron Balmaine to decide his fate."

Graeye could not do that, leave Edward to the mercy of one of those responsible for Philip's death. He was still her father, and her only living km.

"His enemy?" She shook her head. "Nay, I cannot desert him."

Michael took hold of her shoulders. "Graeye, can you not see the evil in him? You my family would accept, but Edward?" He shook his head. "I could not ask that of them. Would not ask that of them."

Her hope extinguished, she eased out of his hold. "I understand," she said, "but I cannot leave him to the greater evil of this Balmaine." She offered him a weak smile, then placed one hand on the wall to guide her down the steep steps.

Groan followed, but Michael made no move to detain her. Clearly, his desire for her was not strong enough to change his mind on the subject of Edward.

Grateful to regain her bench, Graeye huddled back against the wall and wondered if she had made a terrible mistake in refusing Michael. After all, her only other option was to return to the abbey. Whether she went with Michael or back to the Church, the result was the same—Edward would be alone to face the cruelty of Baron Balmaine.

Wasn't there some way to save both her father and herself? She must convince Edward that she belonged at his side ... or make it so it would be impossible for him to force her back to the Church. The idea that followed upon the heels of that thought thoroughly shook the moral foundations upon which her life had been built.

Chastity. The breaking of that vow was unforgivable. Without it she could not be professed a nun. She clasped her arms tightly about herself as her conscience took up a vehement protest. Wanton! Blasphemous! Ungodly!

Time and again she tried to push the wicked idea aside, but it kept returning to her. In fact, it struck her that, had she not been successful in escaping William when he had tried to force himself upon her weeks earlier, there would now be no question regarding the taking of vows. It would be impossible, and Edward would have no choice but to keep her with him.

Nevertheless, she was still a virgin. And how was she to remedy that? As if in answer she saw again Michael's face and the longing in his eyes. He wanted her, but would he be willing to settle for the possession of only her body?

Chapter 4

O
ver the next three days Graeye searched for an opportunity to be alone with Sir Michael. Unfortunately, none presented itself, for the man seemed determined to keep his distance.

Desperate, she considered any number of the knights at Medland, but she simply could not bring herself to approach one. What was she to do? She had no experience with seduction. How, exactly, did one go about capturing a man's desire? If she was to succeed, it seemed it would have to be with Michael.

In the late afternoon of the fourth day following the arrival of the king's men, she was faced with the prospect of seeing her reckless plans forever spoiled when Sir Royce ordered her father's release from the watch-tower.

Immediately, Edward sought her out and informed her that arrangements had been made to return her to the abbey the following morning. He was calm— emotionless—until she attempted to convince him to allow her to remain with him. Then he had begun to rage so terribly, he probably would have hurt her had Sir Abelaard not interceded.

She frantically searched for Michael, but he was nowhere to be found, and late that evening a thoroughly defeated Graeye slipped out the postern gate, heading for the one place she knew might offer solace—the waterfall.

She had spent many sunny days there with her mother, before an untimely death had taken the one person who had loved Graeye unconditionally.

She was not running away, for life in the Church had become less daunting than the prospect of being on her own in a world she did not know, nor understand. She simply had to see the falls one last time and relive the wonderful memories left there ten years past. And on the morrow she would carry those revived memories with her on the long journey back to Arlecy.

Her mantle flying in the wind, she left the castle walls far behind and entered the woods. She picked her way down the sloping ground, and soon the sweet melody of falling water led her to the glorious white veil that swept from on high and fell to a large pool below.

For the first time in days Graeye smiled as the childhood memories came to her and urged her to venture nearer. Without hesitation she walked to the edge of the uppermost pool, knelt beside, and dipped her fingers into its cool, soothing water. Almost immediately all her worries washed away, making her feel like a carefree child once again.

She tossed off her habit and underclothes and entered the pool. With the stars and moon the only witnesses to her pleasure, she clumsily attempted the strokes her mother had taught her so long ago. They were not graceful, nor efficient, but they allowed her to cross the deepest stretch of the pool without mishap, and to venture into the biting spray of the falls.

She was so caught up in the enjoyment that, had the horse not whinnied loudly, she might not have noticed the intrusion until it was too late.

The past fell away abruptly, and she treaded water as horse and rider drew even with the grassy bank.

Her first instinct was to flee, but fear of discovery stayed her. Even with the width of the pool separating them, there would be little to deter the man from pursuit if he chose to give chase.

Shivering as the water lapped her bare shoulders, she berated herself for lingering so long. She glanced up at the moon and saw that it had traveled a good distance since she'd first come upon the falls. Exactly how much time had passed, she did not know, but she should have started back to the castle before now.

Praying the dim light of the moon would not reveal her, she pushed through the water to the protection of the long shadows of the bank. There she knelt in the shallows and trained her gaze upon the intruder.

Who was he? she wondered. Was he one of her father's former retainers, someone who had heretofore gone unnoticed? She did not think so, for she would certainly have remembered such a man—even if she'd glimpsed him only from a distance. And neither did she think he was one of the king's men.

Still, it was hard to be certain. All she knew was that he was no wayfarer. Nay, with his fine vest of chain mail and the well-fitting raiments beneath, he was certainly of the nobility. And his mount, a highly prized white destrier, further attested to that.

For a moment it crossed her mind he might be one of the dread Balmaine's men, but she quickly tossed the thought aside. The new lord of Medland was not expected for three days hence. Likely this was a knight-errant passing through.

Curiously fascinated, and secure in the belief she would not be found out, she used the cloak of darkness to scrutinize the man.

Dark of hair and beard, and sitting tall in his saddle, he appeared every bit the gentleman warrior as he looked around. But gentleman or no, with the breadth and certain height of him, he looked to be a formidable opponent. In fact, his strength, born on a wave of something ominous, was a tangible thing that caused a shiver of disquiet to course her spine.

Beneath the water she rubbed her hands briskly over her arms and pondered what it was he exuded. Anger?

When he suddenly dismounted, smoothly swinging himself to the ground, she nearly gave in to the impulse to scramble from the water and flee. Eyes wide, her breathing ragged, she quelled the urge and pressed herself more deeply into the shadows. He would leave soon, she assured herself.

As he walked to the pool's edge, she thought he limped, but could not be certain. It had taken little more than a single stride to carry him to where he now knelt to quench his thirst. Mayhap he was simply in his cups, she surmised as she conjured a vision of her father.

Straightening, the man placed his fists upon his hips and surveyed the pool.

Did he sense her presence? she wondered as she fought down her rising panic. Surely he could not see her; the shadows were too deep.

At last he turned back to his horse, but he did not remount. Instead he took off his belted sword and draped it over the back of the destrier. Then he began to remove his chain mail.

Dear God, the man intended to bare himself! Mouth agape, Graeye stared in disbelief as he drew the armor over his head. She knew she should turn away, should not cast her gaze upon him, but found herself transfixed by a curiosity Mistress Hermana would have severely punished.

Above the sound of the waterfall came the metallic rasp and glitter of thousands of joined rings as the chain mail was carefully laid aside. Next came the tunic and padded undertunic, leaving nothing save the gloss of night upon a broad, tapering back.

Graeye's maidenly senses protested, but then she reminded herself that he had intruded upon her sanctuary unwittingly. He was oblivious to her presence, unaware he shared with another the dark-mantled sky that danced stars upon the tumbling water.

When moments later she was faced with the sight of bare buttocks and sturdy legs, her pulse leaped unexpectedly, a gasp escaping her lips.

She was given no time to contemplate her wayward reaction, for the intruder instantly swung around, his sword in hand, his stance challenging. With a snort and a toss of its massive head, the great animal echoed its master's disquiet.

Warrior-alert, the man peered at the cloak of darkness where Graeye hid.

Was it possible he could have heard that small sound above the spill of water? she wondered frantically. Were she to flee now, would he give chase in nothing save his swarthy skin?

After an interminable time that had her chest burning from lack of air, the man finally turned back to his destrier. Muttering something unintelligible, he returned the sword to its sheath. However, he belted a dagger about his waist.

Her breath threading its way into her lungs, Graeye sagged with relief. Only then did her eyes confide to her what they had discovered in their journey over the darkly matted chest to the undulating muscles of the man's abdomen.

She would have liked to look away—knew she should—but found herself unable to. Her cheeks warming, she settled her untried gaze upon that dark place between his thighs. Only just, she sealed her lips against the sound that would have been her undoing.

Seemingly unaffected by the chill that had stolen Graeye's breath earlier, the man entered the water.

Would he keep to the lowermost portion of the pool? she wondered. How long would he stay?

Though his great height had been obvious at the outset, she was better able to gauge his measure when he stood at the center of the pool, his head and shoulders above the surface where she had treaded water.

He would stand more than a foot above the crown of her head, she guessed, and wondered at the sensations beginning to curl her insides. As she watched, he dived beneath the surface.

Now. If he stayed under long enough, mayhap she could ... She shook her head. Nay, she could not risk it.

At his reappearance she was swept with relief. It did not even bear thinking what might have happened had he swum upstream.

Leave, she silently entreated him. He did not accommodate her, seemingly in no hurry to finish with his bathing.

After a time, when it appeared he didn't intend to explore the uppermost portion of the pool, Graeye began to relax. Submerged to her neck, she leaned back against the sloping bank and followed the man's movements. Unbeknown to her, a smile curved her lips. When he turned onto his back, his darkly furred chest glistening in the moonlight, his lower extremities exposed to eyes fascinated by this new wonderment, her smile grew wider.

How little she understood the heat upon her skin, she mused, realizing she was no longer cold. Not so long past she had been eager to don her clothes again. Now every one of the prickly bumps that had sprouted upon her limbs had softened.

Desire? she ventured a guess, then promptly rejected such absurdity. It was simple curiosity to know that which had long been forbidden her. After all, had she not been pledged to the church, she would have wed years ago.

The smile fell from her mouth. And now, too, she would not wed. Never would she lie-in a man's arms, nor hear the laughter of the children she might bear him.

Tears gathered in her eyes. Hopeless. Now that she was no longer a pawn upon which to get heirs, she was to be thrown aside once more. On the morrow she would be returned to the abbey to profess herself a nun. Aye, truly hopeless. There was naught she could—

The thought shook Graeye with its force. Aye, she realized, here was a man she could offer herself to, an unknown who would not worry about her father's wrath.

But would he be willing? she wondered. Uncertain, she raked her teeth across her bottom lip. If he had been too long without a woman, perhaps.

She thought of the mark on her face and grimaced. How easily she had forgotten it. Surely he would reject her if he saw it.

She glanced at the quarter moon. Perhaps he would not notice Ah, of course he would. Had he not eyes? She shook her head.

Having nearly buried the whole preposterous idea, she suddenly remembered how her father had recently concealed the mark. He had seemed pleased enough.

Lifting her hands, she pulled the sodden mass of her hair over her shoulder and raked it forward, her fingers guiding it down her temple. Nervously, she lingered over the fall of pale strands, smoothing them as she considered, then considered again.

A shuddered breath left her as she finally gave over to the idea. What she planned was evil, but this man had been sent to her for a reason. Surely God would understand.

By the time she had committed herself, the man had gone to stand in the shallows, his back to her.

With a calming breath Graeye forced herself forward, the silt surging between her toes as if to prevent her from committing the wicked act. When the ground fell from beneath her feet, she fanned her arms out and swam closer.

She was still several yards away, her heart pounding furiously, when he spun about, his dagger violently rousing the air.

Searching the darkness for the being he sensed there, his gaze settled upon Graeye where her chin bobbed upon the surface.

"Who goes?" he demanded, even as his expression turned to disbelief. He blinked as if to dispel an unexpected vision, then leaned forward to see better.

He stood thus with the moonlight upon him, his short hair not simply black, but pitch—so much that the night bestowed a blue cast upon the unruly locks. Though more attractive than Graeye had gleaned from her hiding place, he looked hard and ... dangerous? Aye, his strength lay in the anger she had sensed.

Battling her fear, she raised her gaze and found herself staring into glittering eyes that held no kindness. Nervously, she wondered what color they might be, and if ever they shone with the light of a smile.

She shifted her scrutiny down the formidable length of his body, and easily found that which made him so incredibly different from her. Heat spilling upon her face and neck, she dragged her gaze away—lower to the thick ridge of a scar that started midthigh and curved downward to disappear beneath the water. So it was, indeed, a limp she had witnessed, and not a state of drunkenness. Still, that did not ease her mind, nor lift the great burden of shame from shoulders suddenly unwilling to support the weight.

'Tis the only way, she told herself as her mind urged her to abandon her plan. She must finish what she had begun. Only then would she be free to remain with her father. Assuring herself her hair still hid the mark, she lowered her feet, crouching so only her shoulders and head were visible above the water.