Velvet Bond (17 page)

Then, as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noted the lines of tension around his mouth and knew this act for what it was.

Disappointment rose to block her throat. And only the fact that he held her so securely kept her from jerking her hand away.

What a fool she was to have believed his performance for even a moment! By now she knew Raynor better than to think he would really demonstrate such open affection for her without some reason.

But, deep within herself, Elizabeth wished that things could really be so. Angrily she chastened herself, knowing she should be grateful that he had been willing to put on this act to save her dignity. More than that she could not expect, and she’d best remember that.

So thinking, Elizabeth leaned close to her husband and whispered, “You have my thanks, my lord.”

Raynor was surprised at the warmth and gratitude in her eyes. He’d felt her fingers tighten in his, and for a moment he’d thought...

No, it was his own physical reaction to her that made him believe she felt the same. Just the touch of her slender fingers in his was enough to force Raynor to fight off images of those delicate hands on his skin.

As he looked into her eyes, she seemed so young and uncertain. It was a new side of the confident and assured Elizabeth. One that drew him as the night did the moon.

Before he could stop himself, Raynor gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then released it when he realized what he had done. He should not fall into the trap of believing Elizabeth was vulnerable. No matter how she appeared at this moment, he’d well experienced how this woman was able to look after her own interests.

With that, Raynor moved away from her. “We will go into the hall. My lady wife is tired after our long journey, and would rest before she greets you each in turn. I hope you will take no offense at this and understand that I wish to keep her in good spirit.” The last was said with a lascivious wink that brought a laugh from the crowd.

Elizabeth felt a deep blush steal over her cheeks as she glanced to Raynor and away. She’d had no idea he had a sense of humor of any kind, and now, suddenly, she found he did. And a bawdy one at that. The castle folk seemed not the least surprised by the remark, and she was reminded anew of how little she knew him.

As she peered around at the smiling faces, Elizabeth wondered what they would think if they knew the truth of it.

It was obvious to her that Raynor had done his utmost in presenting her at all. It would tax him beyond measure to keep up this charade for much longer. By saying he wished to conserve her strength, Raynor but sought an excuse to put his trial to an end.

And the people seemed only slightly disappointed by Raynor’s pronouncement, as the reason he had given was one they could understand and sympathize with. To Elizabeth’s immense relief, they began to disperse.

The hall was a long, wide chamber with a high, open-beamed ceiling. It encompassed the entire first floor of the three-story keep. A few of the castlefolk had followed them inside, but they went about their chores with only an occasional glance toward their lord and his new lady.

As Raynor led his wife across the floor, an attractive and lushly rounded young woman came from the other end of the hall, leading a small child by the hand.

She drew her up to Raynor and Elizabeth, then stood nervously before them. The fair-haired woman addressed only Raynor. “She wanted to go out into the courtyard, my lord, but I told her she mightn’t, for fear of her getting trampled by the horses.” To Elizabeth’s eyes, her smile was obviously ingratiating.

When the woman glanced in Elizabeth’s direction, her blue eyes were filled with resentment. Apparently the servant had heard of Raynor’s marriage and was not pleased. Elizabeth looked away from the pretty woman with a mental shrug. She could not expect all to accept her with open arms. Understandably, it would take time to gain their true loyalty.

For his part, Raynor seemed oblivious of his woman’s demeanor. “You did rightly, Hyla. She is far too reckless around the horses.”

Turning to Elizabeth, Raynor cleared his throat. “My daughter, Willow.”

Elizabeth looked at the child with rueful amazement.

She was dressed as a peasant, in a garment of undetermined shape made of threadbare gray wool. Smudges of dirt obscured her tiny features, and Elizabeth could not tell if she was a pretty child or not. Her brown curls were a tangle of snarls and even held some strands of straw. “What is this?” Elizabeth asked the woman, reaching to extract a piece.

“She’s been sleeping in the rushes, my lady,” the serving woman answered sullenly.

“On the floor?” Elizabeth queried with a scowl. The baron’s daughter, sleeping in the rushes? It was appalling. Surely, she thought, Raynor will upbraid this Hyla for not looking after the child more fittingly.

He did not. It was all too obvious that her husband did not see anything amiss in this.

Elizabeth’s frown deepened, but she bit back the words of censure that sprang to her tongue. As a new arrival here, she felt it was not her place to criticize what had gone before her. What she was resolved to do, though, was make sure such did not happen in future.

Now that she was lady of Warwicke, neglect of the child, even out of ignorance, would not be tolerated.

Going down on her knees, Elizabeth held out her arms to the little one. Her expression changed to one of gentleness. “Good day, Willow.”

The child stood staring at Elizabeth, her limpid brown eyes wide, her fingers worrying her full bottom lip.

Elizabeth realized that the girl was terribly shy. She ran a hand over the tangled mass of curls. “I am Elizabeth, but you may call me Beth.” She smiled with gentle encouragement.

Willow glanced to her father, and Raynor nodded.

She looked at the floor. “Beth,” the child whispered, so softly that Elizabeth could barely hear her.

“Well,” Raynor said, patting the little one on the head awkwardly. “I will leave you with Lady Elizabeth now. I have been gone for some time, and there is surely much that needs my attention.”

Elizabeth’s lips thinned, and she stood to face him. “Raynor, is this your only greeting for your daughter?” Despite her fierce expression, she spoke evenly, keeping her voice low, so as not to frighten the girl.

He stiffened at the censure implied in the words. “I have a bauble for her in my pack, but I must attend to some business before I can take the time to give it her.”

Obviously he had no idea that his behavior was in the least bit odd, for he was looking at Elizabeth as if she had sprouted an extra head. No wonder the little girl was so shy with them, she thought. It looked as though Raynor had need of some lessons in being a father. Her own father had taken an active interest in her from her earliest memories, and she had loved him dearly.

But now, on her first day at Warwicke, with a servant looking on, was not the proper time to mention this. Besides, Elizabeth knew when tact would best serve. This was for the child’s benefit, not for hers. Raynor must be made to see the proper way of treating his daughter, rather than be told.

All she said to her husband was “How very kind of you. I'm sure Willow will be most grateful for your thoughtfulness.”

She took Willow’s hand. “Come, dear, we shall get acquainted while your papa takes care of his business. I'm sure he'll have a big hug and a kiss for his girl later.”

As she said the last words, Raynor’s eyes widened in surprise. Clearly he had not so much as thought of embracing the little girl.

At Raynor’s startled look, she said, “I trust your women will show me to my chambers.”

He watched her, eyes narrowed, as if considering her previous remarks carefully, even as he answered her. “Of course. I will tell them where to put your belongings.”

Elizabeth stopped him with a haughty look. “I would not dream of keeping you, my lord. I can attend my own affairs. If you will just point me in the right direction, I will trouble you no further.”

Elizabeth started off with purpose. Already she knew she could be of some use here, no matter that her husband did not want her. Despite what he believed to the contrary, he did, at least in this one area, have some need of her.

For all that he seemed so sure of himself and all he ruled, Raynor had no notion of how to raise a child. But she meant for him to learn.

* * *

Wearily Raynor dismounted and handed his horse to a stable boy.

Since their arrival at Warwicke the previous day, he’d barely had time for thought, let alone rest. Last eve he had been called upon to settle a dispute among the men in the barracks that had lasted long into the night. There had been no opportunity for him to see Willow again.

Then, first thing this morning, the village council had sent a message begging his attendance.

Now he meant to find his daughter and give her the gift he’d brought. Much as he hated to take anything Elizabeth said as being significant, Raynor could not help thinking of what she’d said about his coming back to give the child a hug and a kiss. In all the time she’d lived with him, Raynor had not considered that the little one might be desirous of his affection. He provided food, clothing, caretakers, and protection from harm. Raynor had simply trusted to his women to see to her other needs.

The thought that he might show her affection was new, and somehow appealing. After all, he did feel a sense of love for the child. How could he not? She was an innocent pawn in what had been done to her mother.

Raynor was most eager to see how his attempts at demonstrating his caring might be met by the child. He quickened his pace, meaning to go to his chamber and retrieve the comb and the small mirror of polished silver he’d purchased for her in Windsor.

Surely even such a tiny female would not be unmoved by such treasures.

But as Raynor left the stable and approached the steps to the keep, he heard a commotion coming from around the east side. Curious, he looked in the direction of the noise.

The sight that met his eyes made Raynor stop dead in his tracks, his mouth agape in shock.

A group of his serfs and soldiers stood at the base of the keep. Above them dangled a bed, an enormous creation of dark seasoned wood with a high back and heavy posts. But what was even worse was that it was suspended on ropes that led from a gaping hole in the top floor of the keep. A hole where windows had been that very morning.

Without being told, Raynor knew whose hand was at work in this disaster.

Elizabeth.

As if thoughts of her had conjured her up, his wife’s face appeared in the opening above him. “Do be careful,” she was instructing, so bent on her task that she took no note of him below her. “I will not have it scratched.”

How dare she go so far? To remove the windows without even asking him for his leave to do so?

With a growl of anger, Raynor made for his adversary, barely conscious of his route as he went.

It wasn’t until he was in her chambers, which had previously been his mother’s, that Raynor became aware of his surroundings again. He took in the group of workmen who held the ropes, his wife, still half dangling out the opening, and Bronic, who stood to one side with Olwyn. And then the pile of stones that lay against the wall to his right. His rage flashed anew, dimming his view for a moment. Not only had the vixen removed the windows, she had taken out a goodly portion of the wall itself.

His voice emerged in a bellow of rage. “Elizabeth!”

She gave a start at the sound, then took an exasperated breath before turning to him with an expression of irritation. “Yes, my lord. Can you not see that we are busy? I will attend you presently.”

“You will attend me now,” he commanded. “Who gave you permission to demolish my keep?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing to slits of displeasure. “I have demolished nothing. The bed was too large to bring up the stairs. Even with the windows out, it would not fit.” She shrugged, as if any fool should be able to see that. “There was little choice but to remove a section of the wall. It will be easily repaired once we are through here. And as far as permission, I asked for none, thus could receive none.” Her slender nose rose arrogantly.

Raynor gestured toward Bronic, who stood with his arms folded over his chest as he watched this exchange with amusement. “And you, you gaping fool! Why did you not stop her?”

“Stop me?” Elizabeth said, interrupting. “He could not, did he try.” She strode to her husband, her hands on her slim hips. “That bed is mine, left to me by my grandmother on my mother’s side. It was brought to England from Normandy with my ancestor, when he came with the Conqueror. Think you that I mean to sleep on any other bed, my lord?”

Raynor’s chest burned with anger, but for this he had no answer. Such a bed was not just a possession. It was a symbol of her station and position, as well as a family heirloom. In truth, Elizabeth did have a right to expect to sleep in it.

But to take out the very wall! Sweet Jesu, but the woman would surely drive him mad!

He looked down at her as she faced him defiantly, her blue eyes flashing with outrage. A flush colored her creamy cheeks, and her breasts rose and fell with each heaving breath she took. In spite of his fury, Raynor found himself thinking of how beautiful she was in her anger. He longed to reach out and pull her into his arms, to turn that heat of anger to passion.