Virgin Bride by Tamara Leigh Page A

directive.
    "Joseph," Gilbert said, "bring some torches within."
    Casting Graeye a look of warning, the squire straightened, then turned on his heel and went to do his lord's bidding.
    Graeye turned back to Balmaine and noted, with some alarm, the ashen color shadowing his face. Though the prospect of seeing his body bared unsettled her, she knew the tunic and shirt beneath it would have to go. "You must needs remove these," she said, lightly touching the material.
    He nodded. "With your assistance, of course."
    Her unease must have shown, for his mouth twisted derisively. Removing the belt with its sword and dagger, he laid it carefully aside, then waited for her to attend him.
    In a failed attempt to disguise her nervousness, she moved only as close as she needed to in order to grasp the garments. Eyes trained on the task, she drew the garments up, baring Balmaine's magnificently sculpted chest. He made not a sound when the material pulled from the wound and passed over ids head, but the sudden tension that stiffened him told her of his discomfort.
    She paused, her gaze moving from his most recently acquired injury to a jagged ridge that slashed across his breast, then another lower. She had not noticed them the night before, though well she remembered that which was responsible for his limp. Lord, he had so many scars.
    "Hold your hand to it," she instructed. Shaking out the garments, she laid them upon the rumpled bed, grateful for the reappearance of the baron's squire when she turned back around.
    Quickly, the torches were placed around the room in the wall sconces, throwing fight into every corner of that dismal place.
    Returning to where Balmaine was seated, Graeye bent over him and examined the nasty wound. Truly, it was a wonder her father still lived after inflicting it, she thought, her stomach turning.
    Though she had spent time in the infirmary at the abbey, she had rarely been responsible for caring for the sick and wounded unless another had first seen to the stitching, medicating, and bandaging. Still, she had watched the sisters perform the duties required to mend such wounds, and was certain that if she could keep her stomach settled, she could see to this one.
    "Milady," a young voice called to her.
    Turning, she saw that two serving girls stood in the doorway, their arms laden with the items she had requested, their eyes growing wide and round as they fell upon the baron's naked chest. Behind them stood Michael.
    "Come," Graeye beckoned to the girls, trying to ignore the young knight's presence.
    Their eyes never leaving Gilbert, the two entered, their hips swinging provocatively. Graeye frowned, speculating on now they made their bodies flow so smoothly.
    Could she do that? Ashamed of her wandering thoughts, she pulled herself back to the present And for what purpose? To seduce again this man who thought her the vilest thing? Nay, she would never again subject herself to such humiliation.
    "Baron Balmaine," Michael said, stepping just inside the chamber, "with your permission I would have a brief word with Lady Graeye."
    Astonished that he would be so forthright with the man who was to become his new lord, Graeye turned to catch Balmaine's reaction to the request.
    Save for the narrowing of his eyes and a lapse of several seconds, he gave nothing away. "Be quick about it," he said.
    Reluctantly, Graeye stepped out into the passageway. "You should not have done that." She spoke low so none but Michael would hear.
    With a hand to her elbow, he urged her from the doorway. "There is no need for you to tend his wound," he whispered. "There are others capable of the task."
    Taken aback by his concern, she could only stare at him for a long moment. Why did he seek her out after avoiding her for so long? Had he changed his mind about Edward?
    " Twas my father who did the deed," she explained. " 'Tis I who should mend it."
    Michael sighed. "Still you make yourself responsible for that old man. Is there naught you