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And that was exactly why he must go from here and never look back. Raynor had no place for such weakness in his life. He had to stay strong and in control of his own destiny. Willow, and many others, depended upon him.
He moved to lay her back.
Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with a drowsy frown. “Nay, my lord, hold me yet a while. It does feel good to be in your arms, and this is all I shall have of you.”
His reply was unexpectedly regretful. “But I must go.”
Her gaze cleared then, for a moment, and her expression was filled with a sympathy so deep it startled him. “Nay, Raynor. Abide here with me for a time. You will come to no harm. I wish you nothing but good. Rest, if only for a while. It will serve you well.”
She reached up to run her soft hand over his cheek, and Raynor was lost. It was as if she gave him a modicum of peace simply by reaching out to him. Never in his life had he been touched with such tenderness.
It almost seemed that Elizabeth was absorbing some of his cares into the softness of her woman’s flesh. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and languid. “Kiss me again, my lord.”
His arms tightened, and he lowered his dark head, one of his hands slipping down to cup the delicate curve of her bottom, unable in that moment to deny her or himself.
* * *
Stephen led the other two men around the back of the house, to the shed where he kept his horse and Elizabeth’s. The animals could feed and drink while the men were having their own meal.
Their mounts had been hard-ridden, but Edward had wanted the archbishop’s reply to his letter without delay. He and the other two knights had made very good time to return so quickly. Once the message was delivered to the king’s chamberlain, Stephen had suggested some refreshment at his home, and they had agreed most readily. His invitation had not been solely out of hospitality. He thought that with these two present there could be no question of Elizabeth being too forward in regard to Raynor and giving him the wrong impression.
Stephen dismounted and led his charger forward into the low building, with its two stalls. He stopped short. Dancer’s stall was not empty as he had expected. A strange chestnut stallion reared and pawed at the air upon seeing Stephen approach. Obviously Raynor had already arrived. Though he could not have been here for long, as Stephen’s note had specified one hour hence.
Stephen backed Dancer from the shed.
He tied the white stallion outside and helped the other two men do the same to their horses. After they were fed and watered, he hurried to the house.
It was only a moment before his pounding at the door was answered. He heard the heavy bolt drawn back, and Olwyn’s pale face appeared in the opening.
But it wasn’t until she opened the door all the way and Stephen saw the very real apprehension on her face that he felt the first twinges of unease. What had Elizabeth done? Drat his impulse in asking the other two men to join him!
He took a step into the room, trying to appear casual. “Lord Warwicke has arrived?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes, my lord.”
“I see.” He smiled. “We will go up, then.” He refused to even contemplate the question of how long Raynor had been here.
She looked from him to the other two knights, biting her lower lip. Olwyn stared at the brooch on his cloak. “My lord, I think it best if I talk with you in private.”
The other two men looked at each other, then at Stephen. They were members of the king’s personal guard, and trained to be suspicious of anything unusual. Clearly they wondered what must be kept secret from them.
Having no wish to have to explain Olwyn’s bizarre behavior to the king, Stephen gave a groan of impatience and strode across the room. Distantly he heard himself explaining, “She is a shy girl, much given to whispering and such. I find her a trial at times.” He had no choice now but to take them up to the solar. Stephen could hear the men muttering in commiseration as they followed him. They had to hurry to keep up as he took the stairs to the upper floor, but he didn’t care. He hoped to put at least a small distance between them, so that he might arrive first.
On opening the door of the solar, he stopped dead. There on the carpet where Elizabeth usually read before the fire were Raynor of Warwicke and his sister. And they were kissing, one of Raynor’s hands resting possessively on his sister’s backside. They started and looked up at Stephen, then each other, in dazed but abject horror. If it hadn’t been for the fact that a nightmare was unfolding before his very eyes, Stephen would have laughed.
Though he moved to block their way, he heard one of the men behind him take in a sharp breath.
Elizabeth looked toward the door at the sound, her blue eyes going wide with misery when she saw the men with her brother. Her veil had come out of her hair, and the ebony mass tumbled about her in wild disarray. As she moved to her knees, she groaned and put a hand to her head.
Obviously Warwicke fared no better, for he looked as though he were not quite sure what was happening. Stephen watched while realization dawned and Raynor’s lips thinned to a grim line as he rose to his feet facing the door.
Why could Elizabeth not have heeded him? And why had Raynor acted so foolishly himself? Now that the king’s men had seen the two together, Stephen had little choice as to what must be done. Though both were clothed and gave no indication that they had been otherwise, Elizabeth’s reputation was in question. Raynor was already the subject of much talk concerning his illegitimate child.
Damn her, but he’d tried to warn her. But Elizabeth had ever been one to make her own decisions, and usually proved right. The problem was that this one mistake might cost her more dearly than all the others in her life combined.
But there was nothing to be done now. Stephen addressed only Raynor. “I hope you are prepared to right the wrong you have done this night.”
Raynor straightened his shoulders, his eyes direct on Stephen’s, but giving no hint of his feelings. “I am.”
“Nay!” Elizabeth cried, tossing her hair out of her eyes. “I will not.”
Raynor went on as if he hadn’t heard her, the expression on his handsome face cold as frozen marble. “I will marry your sister.”
But even as Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, one of the king’s guards raised his hand and said, “I will bear witness to his promise.”
She looked to Stephen, but he could offer no assistance. She had brought this upon herself. If the other men had not been here, things might have been different, but not now. Word would spread throughout the court by midday.
Stephen almost reached out to comfort her when Raynor would not even meet her gaze.
Elizabeth cried, “Stephen, surely you must see that a marriage between us is impossible. Nothing happened here. We had too much wine and shared a kiss. That is all.”
Raynor addressed Stephen. “I can delay only one day. I have responsibilities awaiting me at Warwicke. It must be done by tomorrow.”
Stephen nodded. “It will be so.”
Chapter Four
Elizabeth’s black palfrey stamped and snorted, expelling a cloud of breath into the chill morning air. It jerked restively, pulling at the reins she held in her gloved hands.
The weather had turned cold overnight, as cold as Raynor Warwicke’s demeanor since he’d uttered his agreement that he would wed her two day ago. It was as if spring knew its warmth would find no welcome in his eyes.
Elizabeth’s gaze went to her husband, where he sat atop his stallion at the front of the wagons. He never even glanced in her direction, but made his impatience to be gone known in the stiff line of back and shoulders.
The wagons were ready, had been since dawn. All that delayed them was Elizabeth’s goodbye. She turned to Stephen, who stood stony-faced, only his dark green eyes betraying his sadness. That was until she reached up to put her arms around his neck. Then he broke down, holding her close as he said, “I am sorry, Beth. There was no other way.”
She hugged him tightly, comforted by his embrace. Despite wanting desperately to retain this feeling of love and safety, she answered him bravely. “I know, brother. This trouble is of my own making, and I must live with the consequences.”
He held her head close against his shoulder for a long moment before letting her go. There was nothing more to be said. In the hours since he had found her and Raynor together, they had been over it all.
As she swung around to mount her horse, still without a word from her new husband, Elizabeth raised her chin. She would not let him see how his coldness hurt her. If that was what he desired, they would be like two strangers. And that did seem to be the way he wanted things. Looking at the rigid line of his wide back, it was difficult for her to believe they were even wed.
Only the hollow ache in her chest told her the truth of it. This was not some horrible dream from which she would awake to find herself in her own bed.
The marriage had been accomplished without circumstance in the king’s own chapel. Elizabeth had not garbed herself finely, nor had her bridegroom. When word came that the deed was to be done, they’d gone up to Windsor as they stood.
Not since the priest had declared them wed had Raynor so much as spoken to her.
He’d left her at Stephen’s side without even a backward glance. It was only after her brother took her home that Elizabeth had received word to inform her that she and her belongings were to be ready to travel by the next morning.
Which brought her to this moment of leaving her home, with little thought of hope for her future.
Studying her husband’s unyielding posture ahead of her, Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering yet again if Raynor believed she had deliberately trapped him into the marriage. From the cold way he had behaved, she could not but think he did. If only there were some way of making him understand that nothing could be farther from the truth. But he had given her no opportunity to explain, and seemed unlikely to.
If only he could see that the idea of marrying a total stranger was as distasteful to her as it appeared to be to him.
As soon as that thought entered her mind, she tried to ignore the voice of doubt that rose in her heart. The one that reminded her of how often she had relived the hazy memory of Raynor’s lips moving against hers. Even though the image was not clear, the tightening of desire in her lower belly was more than sufficient reminder that she did not find this man completely abhorrent.
Raynor swung around, probably to see if the small entourage was at last ready to leave. His gaze barely grazed Elizabeth, and her cheeks blazed as she stiffened in reaction. Her gaze followed the path of his as he took in the two loaded wagons. His tight lips told of his disapproval.
God’s eyes, she thought angrily, straightening her slender shoulders. If he was going to treat her thus, she refused to let him see that it bothered her.
Elizabeth knew that Raynor was thinking the wagons would slow his progress home, but there was nothing for it. She would not leave her household goods behind. The idea was unthinkable. As her husband, Raynor could fairly demand that she go where he told her, but he could not make her leave her belongings. Two of the four soldiers who had traveled to Windsor with Raynor and Bronic were to act as drivers. Their horses were tied securely to the back of the wagons.
Raising his hand in a farewell to Stephen, Raynor urged his mount forward as a signal to the others.
They started off.
Elizabeth sent a last glance backward, waving to Stephen and the two servants who stood in the tiny yard before the whitewashed house that she would likely never see again. Her heart ached at the realization. For a long moment, Elizabeth did battle with feelings of uncertainty and fear of facing the future with a virtual stranger.
She could feel Olwyn watching her closely from her seat in the lead wagon. She knew her companion was concerned for her. Over the past two days, the woman had tried repeatedly to speak with her mistress about what was happening, but Elizabeth had refused to be drawn out. Raising her chin, she avoided meeting Olwyn’s eyes. She needed all her strength to fight back the sting of tears, like shards of glass behind her eyes.
Even at the early hour, many people came out to watch the passing entourage. The folk of Windsor were more than accustomed to the comings and goings of nobility, but never seemed to lose interest in watching them.
More than once she saw fingers pointed at the rear wagon, where Elizabeth’s great bed rode in splendor. The cloth that had been draped around it to protect the massive piece of furniture from the elements did nothing to disguise it. Such a bed was a symbol of both position and wealth. Many of the nobility took their beds with them as they moved from one holding to another.
As they rode along through the village, the streets grew busier. Their progress was slow, which, judging from the frown on his face each time they halted to let a group of travelers or a loaded wagon pass, clearly irritated Raynor.
It was only as they started down the more open road outside the town itself that Raynor appeared to relax a little. After a time, he began to converse quietly with Bronic, who rode beside him.
Elizabeth didn’t want to admit it, but Raynor’s improved attitude caused her own stiff muscles to release some of their tension. Her buttocks, which had been aching with the tension of her body, relaxed in the saddle. She began to look around with some semblance of interest.
It was a fine, clear April day, despite the unseasonable morning chill. After the first couple of hours, their breath could no longer be seen as they went along. As the sun climbed higher in the blue sky, Elizabeth’s sable-lined cloak began to grow overwarm, and she let it slip down from her shoulders to lie over the horse’s white rump in a splash of scarlet color.
Now they saw few other travelers, only an occasional cart filled with produce. No words were exchanged with the drivers, who moved aside with meekly bowed heads and allowed the nobleman and his party to pass.
The fields beside the road were covered with the short green sprouts of new grain, which strained toward the sun. Oak, alder, ash and birch trees crowded the edges of the fields, offering up their own bright and tender buds in anticipation of the fullness of foliage to come. It was as if God were trying to tell her something with this joyous display of new beginnings. But Elizabeth could not be moved. Her own new life held no such promise of bounty.
The few cottages they saw sat far back from the road; thus, the occasional bark of a dog or the sound of a raised voice seemed distant and disconnected to Elizabeth and her life.
No one knew or cared that she rode north toward a life she knew nothing about and had not asked for.
But here she stopped herself with a jolt of self-examination. Had she not asked for what had happened? If not for her insistence on dining alone with Raynor, she would not now be married to a man who had no use for her.
No wonder Raynor resented her.
He’d made his attitude toward women abundantly clear at the outset. In no way was he responsible for what had befallen them. But, though honesty forced Elizabeth to admit her own guilt in the matter, there was little else she could do at this juncture.
If only in name, they were well and truly wed.
What she could do was try to heal the breach between them. Raynor was her husband, and she did not wish to spend her future years bemoaning her fate. All her life Elizabeth had been a doer, a fixer. It was not like her to just accept defeat. And she could not do so now.
With the example of her parents' joyous marriage to lead her, Elizabeth knew she did not wish to settle for what existed between her and Raynor now. It was up to her to try and make things better. Mayhap if she tried, Raynor would unbend and see that they must make the best of their lot.
And she knew this was the most she could hope for. Not for a moment did she believe that Raynor would ever love her as her father had her mother, or even as her brother Henry loved his beloved wife, Aileen.
Firmly she stifled any hint of loneliness at the thought.
Such was not for her. The best she could achieve was a truce. Looking to Raynor’s unyieldingly broad back, she had no idea how that was to come about. Yet try she must.
She was a Clayburn, and thus would show no sign of giving up, despite the adversity. Elizabeth straightened her spine, determined to present a brave front, no matter the sadness that tightened her throat.
Looking up to see Olwyn studying her with that worried expression again, Elizabeth moved to the side of the wagon.
She had made the decision to go forward with courage. Now she must begin to act upon it. No more would she avoid conversing with Olwyn, though she would draw the line at anything concerning her relationship with Raynor. What was between them was between them.
But Olwyn was an important part of her life, and Elizabeth would not forgo her friendship with her woman out of her own ridiculous ill humor.
From the front of the little troop, where Raynor rode beside Bronic, he was not able to look back at Elizabeth without being obvious. But he made much of keeping an eye on the wagons. Surreptitiously his gaze sought his wife.
Raynor watched as she moved up beside the first wagon and began talking to her woman. She laughed at something the other said, the sound pleasant and throaty, unwittingly drawing several pairs of male eyes. He frowned, feeling even more irritated with her.
Quickly he turned away.
How could she appear so unconcerned, when his own stomach was a coil of knotted frustration due to the events of the past two days?
He didn’t want to believe she had deliberately set out to force him into a marriage. But the evidence was there. Why else would she have arranged for them to be alone, shown such pleasure in his company, convinced him to stay when he discovered Stephen was not there? Even at the time, he’d wondered about her overt interest in him. He cursed himself for being fool enough to disregard his misgivings, even as he remembered how her regard had warmed him. As Raynor’s mother had been, Elizabeth was adept at getting what she desired without thought of the cost to others.
He’d seen his mother completely destroy his father with her manipulations. When Raynor was only an infant, Robert Warwicke had been called to serve his king in France. He had returned home two years later to discover that his wife had not only betrayed him with another man, but had bore that other a son, as well. Too much in love with her to cast his faithless spouse aside, Robert had forgiven her. Yet his compassion had not moved his wife to display any measure of gratitude or loyalty. She had seemed to see his kindness as a sign of weakness and disdain him for it. Completely in love with her, he had outwardly taken her manipulations with little or no demur. But over the years, Raynor had seen how deep the hurt had cut.
Elizabeth was obviously of the same manipulative bent, and had acted accordingly when she wanted a husband. Though why she had chosen him, Raynor had still to discern. The most logical explanation was that she was too accustomed to having her way, and he had denied her. Thus becoming a challenge. 'Twas the only thing that made any sense.
Yet even as these thoughts ran through his mind, he knew doubt. She had seemed as displeased as he at Stephen’s decision that they must wed, had gone through with the wedding white-faced and silent as snow. And her sorrow at parting with her brother this morning had appeared unfeigned.
An act, he told himself angrily.
Else why was she laughing and smiling unconcernedly with her maid, when he could think of nothing but the quagmire his life had become? The complication of a wife was one he had not needed at this point. Worry over what new devilment Harrington might get up to was already piled atop his usual concerns about the running of his lands and Willow’s. He had enough problems to occupy his every waking hour without Elizabeth to plague him.
And plague him she did.
Every time he was near her, including the few moments they had spent together becoming man and wife, he had relived over and over that kiss. That dratted moment when he had abandoned all rational thought and taken her in his arms. That cursed moment when he felt his gentler feelings stir for the first time in years.
Repeatedly he told himself the event could not have been the way he recalled. No single kiss could be so moving. But every time he looked at her, his heart remembered, and a warm, liquid feeling suffused his chest.
He glanced behind him, his gaze flicking from his wife to the second wagon, where that enormous bed reposed under a protective covering. Elizabeth’s bed. Raynor nearly gasped aloud as an image of Elizabeth naked, her blue eyes heavy with desire, sprang unbidden to his mind.
By the true cross, what was wrong with him?
He became aware of Bronic asking him a question. “What say you, Raynor?”
