Virgin Bride Read Online Free Page B

the Charwycks that which had been awarded to them nearly a century past was unthinkable. Surely this was some kind of trickery by which another thought to wrest her father's lands from him now that he was without an heir.
    "Methinks you lie," she said boldly.
    Sir Royce's brows arched high. "Lie?" he repeated.
    "Aye, King Henry would not do such a thing. My father is a loyal subject. He—" The parchment thrust into her face halted her torrent of words.
    "Can you read?" Sir Royce asked, his tone patronizing.
    "Of course I can read," she replied, uncertainty creeping over her as she stared at the document he offered.
    When he waved it at her, she took it, her gaze falling immediately on the broken wax seal gracing the outside. Though she had never seen the royal signet, she knew with certainty that what she held had, indeed, come from the king. Heart sinking, she unrolled the parchment and read the first lines, but could go no farther.
    "Why?" she croaked, groping for something to hold to, but finding naught. If the Charwyck properties were lost, what was to become of her father, an old man no longer capable of lifting his sword that he might earn his fortune? And what of her? She would not be needed to produce a male heir—thus, of little value. Certainly William would not wed her without benefit of the immense dowry she would bring to their union.
    "For offenses committed by your brother, Philip Charwyck," Sir Royce explained as he pried the document from her fingers before she damaged it.
    Graeye swayed, but managed to stay on her feet. Taking a deep breath, she looked entreatingly at the man. "I do not understand. What offenses do you speak of?" She stole a glance over her shoulder to where her father had grown quiet.
    "Murder, pillaging ..."
    Remembering her brother's disposition, the accusations should not have surprised Graeye, but they did. "Surely you are mistaken," she said, desperation raising her voice unnaturally high. "'Twas my brother who was murdered. Why do you not seek out the perpetrator of that crime?"
    Looking bored, the man rolled his eyes back as if he sought guidance from a higher being. "As I have told your father, Philip Charwyck was not murdered. His death is a result of his own deceit."
    "What did—"
    Sir Royce held up his hand. "I can tell you no more."
    "You would take all that belongs to the Charwycks and yet refuse to tell me what, exactly, Philip is accused of having done?"
    Sir Royce folded his arms across his chest. "Your fate rests with Baron Balmaine of Penforke. " 'Tis his family the crime was committed against, and King Henry has given the care of these properties to him."
    Graeye barely had time to register this last shocking news before her father erupted again. "Curse the Balmaines!" he yelled, renewing his struggles. "With my own sword I will gut that bastard and his whore sister."
    His patience worn through, Sir Royce signaled his men to remove Edward.
    Rushing forward, Graeye came to her father's defense as best she could. "Nay," she cried, following the knights as they half dragged, half carried Edward across the hall. Her efforts to halt their progress were to no avail, for she was thrust aside each time she stepped into their path. Neither William, nor the steward, were of any help. As if great pillars of earth, they remained unmoving.
    Desperate, she hurried back to where Sir Royce stood watching impassively. "Where are they taking my father?" she asked, touching his sleeve. "Surely he has committed no offense."
    "He must needs be held whilst he is a danger to others," he said, looking pointedly to where her hand rested on his arm.
    She dropped her hand but continued to stare into his hard, unmoving face " 'Tis a great blow he has been dealt," she said. "Not only has the king taken everything he owns, but he has given it into the hands of my father's avowed enemy."
    "Lady Graeye," the man began, running a weary hand through his cropped silvery hair, "I do not fault your father