Читать книгу Velvet Bond - Catherine Archer - Страница 8

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?”

“Say?” he asked hurriedly, puzzled and trying to cover the fact that he had not been attending.

Bronic’s blue eyes studied him. “As to Harrington? Think you he will leave well enough alone, now that King Edward has upheld your claim to the child?”

Raynor ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair. Guilt stabbed at him for worrying over Elizabeth when he had other, more pressing matters to attend. “Nay.” His voice was hard. “He will not. The man’s greed is too big to let go. He will not stop here. Harrington has already bled his tenants dry to fund his extravagant ways. He can get no more from that quarter. With Willow in his control, he would have access to her fortune.”

A frown crossed Bronic’s strongly handsome face. “You do not think he would try to reach Warwicke and take her before we can return?”

Raynor felt a moment of painful unease, then stifled it. He shook his head. “Nay, methinks not. Harrington is not a man to discommode himself by sleeping in tents, as we will. He will stay at every hostelry and monastery along the route north. Besides,” he added as much to reassure himself as much as Bronic, “you know I have left word that Harrington is to be killed on sight if he tries to so much as approach Warwicke in my absence. And he would not have time to gather an army to lay siege before we can return.”

Raynor turned to survey the two wagons behind them, his gaze going once more to Elizabeth. She laughed again, seemingly oblivious of him, and a black scowl darkened his brow. He turned back to the other man. “I had no concern before of beating Harrington back to Warwicke, but with these wagons, our progress will be slowed greatly. You, myself and the other four men could have been happily returned to Warwicke in half the time it will now take.”

Bronic swung around to look at the two women, Elizabeth on her white palfrey, Olwyn in the wagon. His tone was thoughtful as he answered, “We have made surprisingly good time thus far. The women have been of little trouble. Though we have been traveling for hours, neither has so much as offered a word of complaint.”

“Thus far,” Raynor reminded him.

“Soon we must begin to think about stopping for the meal.” Bronic looked at him with long-suffering patience. “The women are likely tired, despite their lack of complaint.”

Raynor colored. Inexplicably he had the feeling Bronic knew how upset he was about his marriage to Elizabeth. This displeased him not a little. He refused to allow his being wed to alter his life any more than necessary. “We have many leagues to go,” he replied woodenly.

With an expression of surprise and disapproval, Bronic replied, “Raynor, I myself am growing hungry, though I could ride on without stopping, and have done so under more discomfort. But there is no need to go on until the women drop. You said yourself that as long as we make reasonable haste, all should be well. It is only right to treat your lady wife with some deference.”

Raynor sat looking at him, Elizabeth’s husky laughter ringing in his ears. He didn’t care about her, and didn’t want anyone else to mistake that fact. But neither did he want to be deliberately cruel. She probably was exhausted. It was true they had ridden on well past midday, and she’d uttered not a word of complaint.

But even though such stamina was new in his experience with women, Raynor was not yet ready to completely unbend. “Aye,” he replied stiffly. “We will stop.”

As Bronic dropped back to tell the others, Raynor halted him with a raised hand. “But tell my wife that it will only be for a short time. She is not to dawdle. We have far to travel before making camp for the night. I must needs return to Warwicke ere many more days have passed.”

With raised brows, Bronic gave him a long look. “You may deliver that message yourself, Raynor. I will not. After all, you have not even spoken to the woman the whole morning. I know not what happened between you. I only know that Sir Stephen and the king’s men found you together. Surely you cannot hold her solely responsible and absolve yourself, Raynor. 'Tis not like you. Furthermore, if you wish to be unpleasant with your lady after first ignoring her, you may do so with your own tongue.” That said, Bronic moved off without waiting for a reply.

Raynor could think of no suitable answer, anyway. He knew he would have to speak to Elizabeth eventually, but he didn’t know what to say. As to the subject of his own culpability in the marriage, Bronic did not know what Raynor suspected Elizabeth had done. Somehow she must understand that he did not mean for theirs to be a true marriage. Raynor wanted nothing between himself and Elizabeth, not companionship, not friendship, and definitely not love.

Naught good had ever come of closeness between a man and woman, and Elizabeth was not the kind who could easily be used and discarded without thought. Those few moments when he held her in his arms had assured him of that.

He had no intention of allowing himself to care for her, or any other woman. Not now, not ever.

Louisa had been the one exception to that rule, and they had met as children. Early on, she had told him of the cruelty of her stepfather. Though he was nothing but a boy, Raynor had responded with kindness. And even then she had chosen Raynor over the older Nigel, following him about with sisterly devotion. How could he fail to respond in kind?

But there was no connection between that and what had passed between himself and Elizabeth. She was a woman in every sense of the word, clearly willing to use her mind and body as silken threads to bind a man to her.

Staying where he was, ahead of the others, Raynor looked back and saw Bronic speak to the man who drove the lead wagon. He pulled to the side of the road. The other driver followed his lead.

They were right next to a small clearing near the road, where the trees rested back a bit. The short grass grew thick and inviting. It was a suitable spot to rest and eat.

Lips tight, Raynor watched as Bronic helped Elizabeth’s woman from the lead wagon. The serving woman reached into the back and drew out a large woven basket. One of the other four men spread a blanket on the ground as another helped Elizabeth from her white mare. Bronic took the basket and carried it to the blanket where the two women took over and began passing out its contents.

Soon the small group was chatting amiably.

None of them so much as made a pretense of paying attention to Raynor. The five men seemed bent on seeing to the two women’s comforts, to the exclusion of all else.

If he’d thought his stomach was in knots before, he now had to make a conscious effort not to put a hand over the cramp in his guts. He sat up straighter, determined to conquer the feeling.

But the longer Raynor sat there atop his stallion, watching the others eat and talk as if this were some outing planned solely for the entertainment of his wife and her companion, the angrier he became.