time for a hunt! Go dress yourself now before that bastard Balmaine arrives and starts slavering over you."
The confession hovering upon her lips was quickly swallowed when Edward gave her a forceful push toward the stairs.
She nearly protested, then realized that the habit might well serve as a disguise if the man she had so wantonly given herself to was among Balmaine's. He would certainly not expect her to be a nun. Moreover, now was not the time to confront Edward. Soon, though.
Abovestairs, in the small, darkened room where her mother's meager belongings were kept, she threw back the lid of the old chest and dug down to where she had buried the habit earlier that morning. Dragging it out, she grimaced at its sorry state. Having thought never to don it again, she had bunched the whole thing in a ball and secreted it beneath the other clothing.
She shook it out, the corners of her mouth dipping lower when she held it from her and surveyed the damage. Not only was it terribly wrinkled, it wasn't clean.
She chastised herself for having been so careless with it the previous night. She should not have left it on the bank. Forcing her misgivings aside, she hurriedly stripped off the bliaut and returned it to the chest.
With great reluctance she donned each piece of the cumbersome habit, all the while mumbling prayers of contrition for daring to clothe herself as a bride of Jesus. Nevermore.
When the wimple was in place, she experienced the most awful feeling that she had sealed her fate. Ridiculous, she chided herself. Edward would have to let her remain with him. With that thought she descended to the hall.
The room was empty when she stepped from the stairs, all thought of the morning meal put aside for the time being.
Obviously, the decision had been made to await the baron's arrival, Graeye concluded with sudden resentment. Her brow knit, she hurried across the rush-covered floor and stepped out into the morning air. Everywhere the king's men and Edward's former retainers bustled about in readiness for the arrival of the new baron of Medland.
But where was Edward? she wondered. Had Sir Royce imprisoned him again now that Balmaine's arrival was imminent?
Her father had such an obvious presence that within moments she knew he was not in the inner bailey. Aye, the watchtower was where she would find him. Lifting her skirts, she hurried down the steps and broke into a half run to overtake those surging toward the outer bailey. Though she pretended not to notice the curious stares that followed her, she was uncomfortably aware of them.
Flushed, Graeye crossed the drawbridge to the outer bailey just as a colorful procession of armored and mounted men passed beneath the portcullis. The sight brought her to an abrupt halt.
Balmaine had arrived.
Panic rushing through her, Graeye lowered her head and slipped among the throng of castlefolk who had gathered to greet their new lord. Their voices were loud and raucous as each clamored to view the impressive spectacle. Not until she had found adequate cover, the stark white of her habit hidden amid the dull colors of the peasants, did Graeye dare venture another look.
She grimaced. Though she had managed to make herself less obvious pressed close to the others, because of her short stature she was forced to stand on tiptoe to catch the barest glimpse of the retinue as they surged within the castle's walls. Jostled from side to side, she unthinkingly took hold of a nearby arm and steadied herself. Haying gained a small vantage, she scanned the mounted knights in search of a dark-headed, bearded man.
With each elimination she was swept with relief. They were all either too short, their hair too long or straight, or their faces too soft.
"Milady." The tall woman beside Graeye lightly touched her shoulder.
Graeye recognized her as one of the serving wenches from the hall, and was embarrassed to discover it was her arm she clutched. She removed her hand.
"I am sorry," she
The confession hovering upon her lips was quickly swallowed when Edward gave her a forceful push toward the stairs.
She nearly protested, then realized that the habit might well serve as a disguise if the man she had so wantonly given herself to was among Balmaine's. He would certainly not expect her to be a nun. Moreover, now was not the time to confront Edward. Soon, though.
Abovestairs, in the small, darkened room where her mother's meager belongings were kept, she threw back the lid of the old chest and dug down to where she had buried the habit earlier that morning. Dragging it out, she grimaced at its sorry state. Having thought never to don it again, she had bunched the whole thing in a ball and secreted it beneath the other clothing.
She shook it out, the corners of her mouth dipping lower when she held it from her and surveyed the damage. Not only was it terribly wrinkled, it wasn't clean.
She chastised herself for having been so careless with it the previous night. She should not have left it on the bank. Forcing her misgivings aside, she hurriedly stripped off the bliaut and returned it to the chest.
With great reluctance she donned each piece of the cumbersome habit, all the while mumbling prayers of contrition for daring to clothe herself as a bride of Jesus. Nevermore.
When the wimple was in place, she experienced the most awful feeling that she had sealed her fate. Ridiculous, she chided herself. Edward would have to let her remain with him. With that thought she descended to the hall.
The room was empty when she stepped from the stairs, all thought of the morning meal put aside for the time being.
Obviously, the decision had been made to await the baron's arrival, Graeye concluded with sudden resentment. Her brow knit, she hurried across the rush-covered floor and stepped out into the morning air. Everywhere the king's men and Edward's former retainers bustled about in readiness for the arrival of the new baron of Medland.
But where was Edward? she wondered. Had Sir Royce imprisoned him again now that Balmaine's arrival was imminent?
Her father had such an obvious presence that within moments she knew he was not in the inner bailey. Aye, the watchtower was where she would find him. Lifting her skirts, she hurried down the steps and broke into a half run to overtake those surging toward the outer bailey. Though she pretended not to notice the curious stares that followed her, she was uncomfortably aware of them.
Flushed, Graeye crossed the drawbridge to the outer bailey just as a colorful procession of armored and mounted men passed beneath the portcullis. The sight brought her to an abrupt halt.
Balmaine had arrived.
Panic rushing through her, Graeye lowered her head and slipped among the throng of castlefolk who had gathered to greet their new lord. Their voices were loud and raucous as each clamored to view the impressive spectacle. Not until she had found adequate cover, the stark white of her habit hidden amid the dull colors of the peasants, did Graeye dare venture another look.
She grimaced. Though she had managed to make herself less obvious pressed close to the others, because of her short stature she was forced to stand on tiptoe to catch the barest glimpse of the retinue as they surged within the castle's walls. Jostled from side to side, she unthinkingly took hold of a nearby arm and steadied herself. Haying gained a small vantage, she scanned the mounted knights in search of a dark-headed, bearded man.
With each elimination she was swept with relief. They were all either too short, their hair too long or straight, or their faces too soft.
"Milady." The tall woman beside Graeye lightly touched her shoulder.
Graeye recognized her as one of the serving wenches from the hall, and was embarrassed to discover it was her arm she clutched. She removed her hand.
"I am sorry," she
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