Velvet Bond

The other woman cleared her throat, her gaze fixed on her mistress’s face. “Oh, aye, my lord Warwicke. Sir Stephen spoke exactly thus.” With that, she swung around and left the room.

Elizabeth turned back to him with another one of those sweet smiles. “You see. All is well.”

Raynor watched her, mesmerized by the strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder to end in a curl on her right breast. He tried to think clearly. Certainly Stephen had set great store in his friendships as boy. It could be so now. Mayhap Stephen did trust him to be alone with his sister.

Dragging his wayward gaze from that gently rounded breast, Raynor determined to be worthy of that trust.

Elizabeth Clayburn was trouble. More lovely and compelling than any woman he had ever met.

There was no way around the matter though. Raynor must fight this strange attraction. He could not, would not, become involved with her, or any other woman who would expect more than he was willing to give.

It was this that helped Raynor to come to his senses. He could eat this meal with her and go on his way, for her good, as well as his.

He turned to her then, his eyes refusing to see the lovely vision of her. With silent precision, he raised a wall between himself and the golden glow of her warmth. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less.

Elizabeth felt the change in him immediately. It wasn’t that he said or did anything that let her know, it was simply that he turned to stone. One moment his eyes were alive on her, the next there was nothing.

Confusion made her hesitate as she looked up at him, the words she had been going to say gone from her mind.

When Raynor first arrived, she hadn’t been able to contain her happiness at seeing him again. It was just as before, that same crazed rush of awareness that made her blood sing and her heart pound. She’d been so afraid that she had imagined the way she felt when she looked at him.

And for a few moments, Raynor had seemed different, more open than the previous day. He’d looked at her as if seeing her for the very first time, and he hadn’t seemed displeased.

Rot, but she couldn’t think of what she might have said or done to make him change.

She was saved from having to say anything when the door opened to admit Olwyn carrying a heavily laden tray. With shaky legs, Elizabeth moved to the table as Olwyn set the tray down. “Thank you, Olwyn.”

As the other woman left, Elizabeth realized that she could not allow Raynor to see that he had upset her. Obviously she was not to his liking. The best she could do now was to get through the evening without making a complete fool of herself. Keeping her voice and manner carefully polite, Elizabeth turned to Stephen. “We can begin now, if you like.”

The first part of the meal passed in a blur as Elizabeth served them both, then used her eating knife to toy with her food. She barely tasted the bites of roast pork, eels and assorted pastries that she did take, though they had been painstakingly and well prepared.

But as the moments stretched onward, Elizabeth began to grow angry with herself. Whatever Lord Warwicke’s annoyance might be, this silence was fair driving her mad. She would stand no more of it. She was a Clayburn, daughter of a proud and noble line. No man could be allowed to render her so self-conscious.

Elizabeth met his gaze directly as she lifted the pitcher from the table between them. “Would you care for more wine, my lord?”

He looked down at his plate, then nodded, passing her his cup. “My thanks, Lady Clayburn. It is the best I've tasted in some time. It is warm in here, and the wine is refreshing.”

As she filled the vessel, Elizabeth thought about what he had said. The room seemed a trifle cool to her, rather than warm. March’s recent arrival had brought no rise in temperatures. They had kept the window open most of the day to catch the light as they readied the room for the evening, and along with it the cold. Just before Raynor arrived, she’d had Albert light a fire in the hearth to take the chill from the room.

Feeling Raynor’s gaze upon her, she looked up at him and paused. The intensity in his dark eyes rocked her. She felt she was being studied with appreciation, yes, but also with doubt. Her tunic suddenly felt too tight across her breasts, and she shifted restlessly on her cushioned chair.

He was right, the room was quite warm. Her tongue came out to lick at the perspiration that beaded on her upper lip, and his gaze followed. He swallowed, taking a ragged breath as he closed his eyes, releasing Elizabeth from their spell.

She turned away, trying to still her beating heart even as she felt a rush of elation. So he was not completely indifferent to her as he pretended.

That left the question, why was he making the pretense?

Elizabeth didn’t know, but she was through with trying to fathom the answer. The anger that had been directed toward herself a few minutes before now shifted to him. If Raynor Warwicke wanted to keep to himself, that was fine with her, or so she told herself. And she was determined for him to see that it didn’t matter. She would go on with the meal as if he were any other guest, then see him on his way.

But there was a nagging awareness in her that told Elizabeth it would not be so easy as she thought. Why, he had only to look at her and she melted like butter in sunshine.

Elizabeth picked up her own cup and took a long drink of the wine. He was right, it was cool to the tongue, even as it trickled a liquid courage into her veins. If need be, she could surely drink enough wine to get her through the hours in his presence. She had heard it could be of help. She poured herself another cup and drained it, as well, before deigning to speak to Raynor again.

Taking a deep breath, she began politely. “My brother tells me you are leaving tomorrow for Warwicke Castle.”

He gave her one of those long, enigmatic looks. “Yes.” Then he turned back to his plate.

Elizabeth took another sip of her wine. She was growing quite relaxed, her arms and legs pleasantly heavy. It was beginning to matter less and less that Raynor was rude and distant. In fact, she was feeling almost amused by the whole situation. What Raynor needed was to allow himself to loosen up just a bit. He might benefit from a few glasses of wine himself.

Arching a fine black brow, she lifted the pitcher in offering. “Would you care for more?”

He barely nodded, handing her the cup. Elizabeth filled it for him.

“My thanks,” he told her, taking a long pull before setting it down next to his dish.

At least he was being polite now, she thought, settling back in her chair, her own cup in her hand. She sipped at the wine, no longer caring to make the pretense of eating.

He glanced over at her, frowning as if she had done something to irritate him in some way. “You aren’t eating.”

“Nay,” she replied languidly. Her own gaze went to his plate, and she saw that for all his studied concentration, Raynor had managed to eat very little of his own dinner. She laughed huskily. “My lord Warwicke, it appears you are not hungry, either.”

With an angry grunt, he pushed the dish aside. “I am not.”

She drained her cup, then watched as Raynor did the same, her eyes never leaving his. This time it was he who leaned forward to refill the vessels, without speaking.

He took another drink of his own wine, his gaze fixing on the tapestry behind her. His lean profile was hard, but undeniably handsome in the glow of the fire, leaving her with a desire to run her hand over the strongly etched jaw. Despite his best efforts, there was an air of loneliness about him that even his confidence and self-possession could not disguise. From somewhere inside her came the thought that this strong man needed someone to share the weight of his troubles. And even though it was obvious that that someone was not her, she couldn’t help wishing he had given her a chance to at least know him better.

Suddenly Elizabeth found herself speaking. It was as if she couldn’t halt her wayward tongue. “You would not have come here tonight, knowing Stephen was gone?”

He turned to her, his brows knit in surprise at her frankness. He took a long pull of his wine before answering. “Nay, I would not have come.”

Even though she had known the answer, Elizabeth felt an unbidden twinge of chagrin. She couldn’t keep herself from replying with the first thing that popped into her mind. “I am really not so very wicked.”

His grimace belied his polite answer. “Of that I am most certain, Lady Elizabeth.”

She laughed. The words were so blatantly at odds with his expression. “Methinks you do not answer truthfully, my lord. What do you hold against me?” She raised her arms wide, then lowered them, feeling recklessly daring for talking so openly. “Am I not pleasing to you? Do I bring to mind some long-despised woman from your past?”

His gaze moved over her with slow deliberation, his eyes dark with some undefined emotion that made her pulse quicken. His voice was husky as he spoke. “You are most pleasing to me, Elizabeth Clayburn. And you remind me of no one I have known in my entire life. In fact, I find you too pleasing.”

Elizabeth knew a moment’s elation before he went on, his tone grown cool.

“But therein lies my problem. You are a noblewoman, and thus can be nothing to me. I want no complication in my life such as you would bring. I have troubles enough to keep me till the end of my days. Why would I willingly bring more upon myself? I know your type. You gently bred damsels think nothing of leading a man a merry chase until he is caught, then you show your true colors by taking all he can give you and more. Don’t try to deny it.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to argue. Raynor’s gaze caught Elizabeth’s, and would not let go. “When I take a woman, it is of necessity, a thing of the body, no more no less.” He laughed harshly at her shocked gasp, then released her gaze and paused to fill his cup before draining it.

As if his anger were too much to contain, Raynor pushed back his chair and went to stand before the fire, unmindful of the cushions he scattered in his wake. “No woman will own me.” He hit the wall above the hearth with a white-knuckled fist. Then he took a deep breath, turning back to her.

He came to stand beside the table, his face dark and unreadable with the fire low and behind him.

Elizabeth could only sit there, her wine-fuddled mind trying to make sense of what he had told her. “Obviously someone has betrayed you in some way, my lord Warwicke. But you cannot blame all noblewomen for the actions of one.”

He didn’t even try to answer her, simply shook his head. “You know naught of what you speak. I don’t even know why I am telling you of this. Perhaps I have had too much wine, or mayhap I needed for you to understand that, though I find you more than comely to look upon, I cannot allow myself to see you as anything more than that, a well-favored thing.”

That did not set well with Elizabeth. Obviously Raynor was not the man for her, if he felt thus. She was a woman who needed to be appreciated for all of herself, not just her face and form. Groggily she peered up at him. “I can see that we have completely opposite views on this most important matter,” she told him, as soberly as she could, considering the way her head was swimming. “I need someone who will love me as my father did my mother, with his whole heart and mind. Aye, they fought, but then Father would pick her up and take her up into the tower. They would be gone for hours at times, but when they came back they would be smiling. Mother wasn’t like the women you have known. She was my father’s friend and helpmate. They discussed their problems and took care of each other. My oldest brother, Henry, is married, and he has found the same happiness with his wife Aileen, though they had their problems in the beginning. You are most wise to keep your distance from me, my lord Warwicke. What you are willing to give would not be enough for me. I am no well-favored thing.”

Even though Raynor knew she was simply reacting to what he had said to her, the words stung. Flung back at him that way, the statement sounded worse than he’d thought. But Raynor had no intention of retracting it.

He looked at Elizabeth and saw that her head had tipped forward and her eyes were closed. He looked more closely. The vixen was asleep. Surprise wiped his self-deprecating thoughts from his mind.

In his lifetime many things had happened in the presence of a beautiful woman. But rarely had one fallen asleep with so little warning, and then only after he had thoroughly made love to her.

Raynor looked about the room. First he would move her to the rug before the fire, and then he would be on his way. Enough had been said between them, far more than Raynor had ever told anyone or ever meant to.

He went to her chair and pulled it away from the table, then bent and scooped her up into his arms. Though she was tall, Elizabeth was delicately formed, and her weight was no strain for his hardened muscles.

When he reached the carpet, he used his foot to rearrange the cushions he had scattered about, then went down on one knee to lower her onto them. She stirred in his arms, and he looked down. The heavy fringe of her lashes lifted, and she gazed up at him, the expression in her eyes flirtatious and all woman. “My lord Warwicke, am I to believe you have overcome your scruples concerning young noblewomen?” She giggled, putting her hand over her mouth.

But not before Raynor had caught the heavy scent of wine on her breath. Of course, how could he have been so incredibly stupid? She’d gotten drunk before his very eyes, and he hadn’t even noticed. Now that he thought back, Elizabeth had drunk a fair amount, but not nearly as much as he. Raynor wanted to absolve himself for not stopping her, on the grounds that he had been too occupied at first with his need to keep his distance, and then with his efforts to convince her he was not right for her, but it wouldn’t suffice. Mayhap his lack of perception had partly to do with his having consumed a fair amount of the strong liquid, also. Raynor was feeling more than a little muddled himself.

The firelight was rosy on the delicate plains of her face as she turned toward the flames and began to speak. At first he was confused, but then he began to understand that she was continuing their conversation of a few minutes before. “I love my brothers dearly. All three of them are good, strong, but fair men, even Peter, who is only sixteen.”

She cast a glance toward Raynor, her gaze holding his over the few inches that separated them. “I could only give my heart to one such as they.” She gave a self-derisive laugh, and lifted her hand, only to have it fall back into her lap. “But for reasons I don’t understand, it is you who draws me like a bee to a buttercup. There is something I would ask of you. And please know, if you choose to comply with my request, I will not take this a sign that you are interested in me.” Her lashes fluttered. “You see, I have never been kissed, have not wanted anyone to do so, that is until yesterday, when I saw you.” She looked up at him beseechingly. “I was wondering if you would kiss me just once, before you go. We will never see each other again, and so it seems a little thing to ask.”

For a long time, Raynor just knelt there, looking into her eyes. What she had requested was completely beyond the realm of sanity, wasn’t it? After all, he had already acknowledged, if only to himself, that Elizabeth was the most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever met. He would be stepping beyond the boundary he had set for himself by kissing her. Such an act might just release some of the passion she awakened in him.

But as he looked down at her, at the ingenuous hope in her blue eyes, he knew he could not hurt her by refusing. She seemed so utterly vulnerable at this moment, with her inhibitions stripped away by too much wine. What harm could there be in giving her one chaste kiss? He doubted that Elizabeth would even remember on the morrow.

Slowly, and with a tenderness that surprised even him, Raynor placed his lips on hers. Elizabeth’s mouth was soft and warm, and her skin smelled sweetly of rose petals. Her softly rounded breasts pressed close to him as she opened herself to his embrace. There was not the least bit of resistance in her, only soft, giving female. Raynor felt the hot cramp of desire, there in his gut, threatening to burst free and consume him. But he held it at bay. He drew away from her with infinite care, fearing that if he moved too quickly he would lose control.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, sighing with contentment. “I shall never forget.”

He raised a hand to brush a silken curl from her brow. His voice was softer than a whisper as he answered, “Neither shall I, Elizabeth Clayburn.” And he knew it was true. Raynor didn’t understand what had happened here between them, but he knew she had awakened tender feelings he’d thought long dead.

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.”