Free Virgin Bride by Tamara Leigh

muttered, and started to turn her attention back to the riders.
    "Nay, milady, I do not mind," the woman said. "I only thought to point out the baron 'to you."
    Odd, Graeye thought. She had been too intent upon discovering whether or not her lover was among his men even to seek, him out. Flushing crimson, she thanked the woman, took her proffered arm again, and craned her neck to look where the servant pointed.
    Her gaze settled upon the great white destrier that stepped to the inner drawbridge before the others, pro-claiming by that to be Balmaine's mount. Ice poured into Graeye's veins as she stared wide-eyed at the animal. With its purity of white, it was a rare horse. In fact, she had only ever seen one so untouched with any other color but white.
    With dread, she forced her stricken eyes over long, darkly clad legs, a vivid red-and-gold tunic, and up a bearded face to familiar eyes that were staring straight at her.
    Twas he!
    Time yawned between them. For those long, torturous moments, it was as if the whole world had paused inks toils to take note of the occasion.
    With a muffled cry of distress Graeye tore her eyes free, breaking the thread of recognition.
    Landing heavily on her heels, she stumbled backward and collided with the man behind. He steadied her, then loudly exclaimed when she trod upon his feet in her haste to push past him. Intent upon escape, she barely noticed the offense, though she was all too aware of the commotion that followed her slow progress through the crowd of people. As a result she trod upon many more toes in her reckless bid for freedom.
    Frightened, she did not spare even a glimpse behind, though she was certain he followed. An opening ahead spurred her on, though she did not know where she was going—did not even consider her destination. She knew only that she had to find a haven.
    When she at last broke free of the crowd, the destrier materialized before her, his huge eyes pinning her with their fire. A murmur of interest arose from the people as they directed their attention to this odd turn of events.
    A hand to her pounding heart, Graeye jumped back from the menacing beast and nearly collided with someone behind hen She managed to keep her feet beneath her and ventured a glance at the rider. The contemptuous look he swept her with spoke more than words could ever begin to.
    Cornered, the quarry of the black-hearted cur who was responsible for her brother's death, Graeye broke the stare and looked around anxiously for an avenue of escape. Beyond, the community chapel stood waiting, and with no more thought she skirted the horse and ran to the building on legs that threatened to give way beneath her.
    She mounted the steps two at a time and slipped inside. Pushing the door firmly closed behind her, she leaned back against it as she attempted to regain her breath. Moments later she resolutely pushed herself off and made for the altar.
    The sudden appearance of the chaplain directly in her path brought her to a standstill. "F-father," she stammered, then lowered her gaze to her tightly clasped hands.
    "What is it, my child?" he asked, his voice proclaiming his usual lack of interest in the members of his flock. "Something is amiss?"
    She looked up at him, then quickly away. "I must needs pray," she said, then stepped past him to the altar. She had barely settled herself upon the kneeler and clasped her hands before her when the door of the chapel was thrown wide. It crashed against the wall and issued in a swell of light that rarely knew the darkened interior of the chapel.
    Bowing her head, Graeye attempted to block the sound of boots upon the floor with an offering of fervent prayer.
    Still, the harsh voice that burst upon the chapel made her start violently. "Out!" the baron commanded the chaplain.
    Shuddering, Graeye fingered the knots of her leather girdle, offering a prayer for each that slid through her fingers.
    She heard the chaplain sputter incoherently for a moment before