would not forgive him for? He tried to murder the baron, Graeye."
" 'Tis Philip's death—" As the serving girls exited the chamber, Graeye halted the flow of words to defend her father's madness and took a step back from Michael.
It was Michael who resumed their hushed conversation. "Graeye," he coaxed, taking back the distance she had put between them, "'twill likely be death for the offense Edward has committed. Come with me this night that you do not have to witness his end."
Death? She shook her head. Nay, not tf her plan went well. "I have told you," she said with conviction, "I will not abandon my father to the likes of Baron Balmaine."
A mixture of disappointment and frustration coming upon his face, Michael cupped her chin in his palm. "You are being foolish, sweet Graeye."
Aye, she knew that, but she was not going to give up so easily. "I—"
"Are you finished?" Balmaine interrupted.
Eyes wide, Graeye spun around to face him where he leaned in the doorway, his forearm resting against the frame. Although his brows were lifted questioningly and a tight smile curled his hard mouth, he looked ominous.
How much had he heard? she wondered. It had been unwise to allow Michael to pull her into such a conversation with him so near. Foolish.
"We are finished," she said, stepping toward the chamber. The baron remained unmoving, his great bulk denying her access while his gaze probed both her face and Michael's.
Her ire rose at his arrogance. "If you will step aside, I will tend your wound," she said between clenched teeth.
His eyes, which seemed more black than blue at that moment, lifted from her face and fell again upon Michael. "I will see you belowstairs," he told the young knight, then stood away to allow Graeye to pass before him into the chamber.
She checked the items the serving girls had laid out upon a table beside the stool, then washed her hands, all the while aware of the eyes boring into her back. The tension cloaking the room only grew worse when Balmaine resumed his seat upon the stool, his thigh coming to rest against her leg.
Though Graeye's first thought was to step away, she pushed it aside, determined not to let him know the effect he had upon her. She dipped a strip of the cloth in water, wrung it out, then wound it about her hand.
"Joseph, leave us," Balmaine ordered his man.
"But, my lord—"
"Leave us!"
" 'Tis heartening to see I am not the only one you treat so rudely," Graeye observed once Joseph had gone. Still, she was sure the young man lingered not far down the corridor, prepared to defend his baron should she make an attempt upon his life. That thought nearly made her laugh. As if she posed a threat to a man such as he ...
Unwilling to meet the stare Balmaine leveled on her, she moved his hand aside and set herself to cleaning the wound. It was only seeping now, the flow having been suspended by the pressure he'd applied to it. Careful lest she start it welling again, she wiped the cloth lightly across it.
Though Balmaine continued to stare at her, she refused to look at him, even shifting her body sideways so the shadow from the postered bed fell upon her face, offering her some protection from those probing eyes.
The wound cleaned to her satisfaction, she picked up the needle, momentarily disconcerted to find it unthreaded. She turned back into the light, holding the needle and thread close to her face. "I have not done this before," she murmured as she attempted to thread the elusive eye of the needle.
"What?" Balmaine bellowed.
She looked at him, then quickly away when she encountered his thunderous expression. "I have seen it done," she said. " 'Tis simply sewing, and be you assured, I am proficient at mat."
He did not look assured, but he said no more.
"What is to become of my father, Baron Balmaine?" she asked, touching the thread to her tongue before making a second attempt at forcing it into the small eye.
"You would ask that before laying a stitch to me?" he
" 'Tis Philip's death—" As the serving girls exited the chamber, Graeye halted the flow of words to defend her father's madness and took a step back from Michael.
It was Michael who resumed their hushed conversation. "Graeye," he coaxed, taking back the distance she had put between them, "'twill likely be death for the offense Edward has committed. Come with me this night that you do not have to witness his end."
Death? She shook her head. Nay, not tf her plan went well. "I have told you," she said with conviction, "I will not abandon my father to the likes of Baron Balmaine."
A mixture of disappointment and frustration coming upon his face, Michael cupped her chin in his palm. "You are being foolish, sweet Graeye."
Aye, she knew that, but she was not going to give up so easily. "I—"
"Are you finished?" Balmaine interrupted.
Eyes wide, Graeye spun around to face him where he leaned in the doorway, his forearm resting against the frame. Although his brows were lifted questioningly and a tight smile curled his hard mouth, he looked ominous.
How much had he heard? she wondered. It had been unwise to allow Michael to pull her into such a conversation with him so near. Foolish.
"We are finished," she said, stepping toward the chamber. The baron remained unmoving, his great bulk denying her access while his gaze probed both her face and Michael's.
Her ire rose at his arrogance. "If you will step aside, I will tend your wound," she said between clenched teeth.
His eyes, which seemed more black than blue at that moment, lifted from her face and fell again upon Michael. "I will see you belowstairs," he told the young knight, then stood away to allow Graeye to pass before him into the chamber.
She checked the items the serving girls had laid out upon a table beside the stool, then washed her hands, all the while aware of the eyes boring into her back. The tension cloaking the room only grew worse when Balmaine resumed his seat upon the stool, his thigh coming to rest against her leg.
Though Graeye's first thought was to step away, she pushed it aside, determined not to let him know the effect he had upon her. She dipped a strip of the cloth in water, wrung it out, then wound it about her hand.
"Joseph, leave us," Balmaine ordered his man.
"But, my lord—"
"Leave us!"
" 'Tis heartening to see I am not the only one you treat so rudely," Graeye observed once Joseph had gone. Still, she was sure the young man lingered not far down the corridor, prepared to defend his baron should she make an attempt upon his life. That thought nearly made her laugh. As if she posed a threat to a man such as he ...
Unwilling to meet the stare Balmaine leveled on her, she moved his hand aside and set herself to cleaning the wound. It was only seeping now, the flow having been suspended by the pressure he'd applied to it. Careful lest she start it welling again, she wiped the cloth lightly across it.
Though Balmaine continued to stare at her, she refused to look at him, even shifting her body sideways so the shadow from the postered bed fell upon her face, offering her some protection from those probing eyes.
The wound cleaned to her satisfaction, she picked up the needle, momentarily disconcerted to find it unthreaded. She turned back into the light, holding the needle and thread close to her face. "I have not done this before," she murmured as she attempted to thread the elusive eye of the needle.
"What?" Balmaine bellowed.
She looked at him, then quickly away when she encountered his thunderous expression. "I have seen it done," she said. " 'Tis simply sewing, and be you assured, I am proficient at mat."
He did not look assured, but he said no more.
"What is to become of my father, Baron Balmaine?" she asked, touching the thread to her tongue before making a second attempt at forcing it into the small eye.
"You would ask that before laying a stitch to me?" he
Similar Books
The Creation of Inequality: How Our Prehistoric Ancestors Set the Stage for Monarchy, Slavery, and Empire
Kent Flannery, Joyce Marcus
