Velvet Bond

by Catherine Archer

  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.

  Then he halted himself. Was he indeed completely mad? Here one day, and already she had thoroughly disrupted his life.

  With a growl of frustration, Raynor spun around and left the room.

  He was halfway down the steps to the hall when Bronic hailed him from behind. “Raynor.”

  The lord of Warwicke stopped, turning to his brother with a black frown drawing his brows together. “Aye!”

  The blond man looked to his brother with a puzzled expression. “Raynor, you must see that she has the right of this. The wall can be repaired by the same masons who installed the windows for your father. It will not be such a great feat.”

  Without meeting his eyes, Raynor answered stiffly, “I was not consulted. That woman has no right to do as she pleases in my keep.”

  Bronic’s tone was coolly reasoning. “She is your wife.”

  “Not by my choice, as you well know.”

  Shaking his head, Bronic moved to pass his brother on the stairs. Then he stopped, throwing one last remark over his shoulder. “Methinks you make a hell out of heaven, brother dear. If I had a woman like that and a bed such as that one to take her in, I would not be bemoaning my fate. Of that you may be sure.”

  Raynor stayed there, looking after his brother with no small amount of confusion.

  He could not help remembering how restless had been his sleep on the journey here as he thought of Elizabeth’s bed beneath its cloth covering. How often had he thought of his wife, naked and willing, in that very bed, though at the time he had not so much as seen it. Was that why his anger had risen so quickly?

  Was the bed a symbol of his unwanted desire for Elizabeth?

  And what had Bronic meant when he said he would be glad of having a woman like Elizabeth? Had Bronic fallen victim to her feminine wiles?

  For a moment, he knew a fierce rush of resentment toward his brother. No matter that Raynor did not want her, Elizabeth was his.

  At this Raynor stopped himself, his hands going to his head, as if he could squeeze the thoughts from his mind. Nay, he would not let her make him doubt his brother. Never would Bronic betray him, in thought or deed.

  Raynor was certain of that.

  * * *

  A fortnight later, Raynor strode purposefully into the hall, then nearly backed out again. All the rushes had been removed from the floor, and several women were working with buckets of water and brooms to clean the stone of grime.

  But he resisted the urge to leave. This was his hall, and he was not going to be driven from it.

  This time Elizabeth had gone too far, and he meant for her to know it.

  At the far end of the hall, near the hearth, was a trestle table. A woman was bent over it, her gently curved backside in the air as she scrubbed it with a hard brush.

  Elizabeth. He felt an unexpected surge of approval toward his wife, however grudging. Not many fine ladies would demean themselves with physical labor.

  But Raynor soon found himself distracted from the thought as he stood there, unable to look away while the taut line of her bottom swayed back and forth before him. He felt a tightening in his loins as he wondered what it would be like to reach out and run his hand over that sweet curve. To lift her gown and bare the creamy flesh to his view.

  Sweat beaded on his brow, despite the coolness of the room.

  Then,
as if sensing his presence, Elizabeth turned and straightened, a look of uncertainty clouding her eyes as soon as she saw him. She wore an old wimple over her dark hair, but an ebony curl lay upon her forehead, and she pushed it back with trembling fingers. “Raynor.”

  He licked his lips, wiping his own hand over his face. Thank the Lord, she had no way of divining his thoughts. What was wrong with him? Mayhap it had simply been too long since he’d lain with a woman.

  “Elizabeth,” he answered lamely. For a moment, it was difficult to remember why he had sought her out. Ah, yes, the blankets.

  In the time Elizabeth had been at Warwicke, she had turned the castle upside down. She had begun with her chambers at the top of the keep, having them cleaned, aired and set up with her own belongings.

  Since the day he’d come home to find the bed being hauled up the side of the keep, Raynor had not ventured anywhere near her. He’d even forsaken his own chamber, on the top floor with hers, to bide with Bronic on the second floor.

  He had refused to answer any of his brother’s open gibes about the arrangement. Gladly would he deal with Bronic’s sarcasm, rather than the temptation offered by his wife.

  He clenched his teeth, then began, “Madame, I wish a moment of your time....”

  “Of course.” She called out to one of the women working nearby, “Jean, please bring wine and cheese to my solar.” Elizabeth set the scrub brush on the table and turned back to Raynor. “Please, my lord.” She motioned him toward the stairs at the end of the room. “We can speak more freely in my chambers.”

  Raynor hesitated for a moment, reluctant to venture into her sanctuary. Then he righted himself. This was his keep, every stone and beam of it. He was free to go where he would. He followed her.

  At the top of the stairs, she went through the door that led to the solar. As Raynor went after her, he realized that previous to the other day, when he’d confronted Elizabeth about the bed, he had not entered these chambers since the night of his mother’s death.

  He braced himself to endure the unpleasant memories of returning. But his eyes widened in surprise when he looked about. The room was completely changed, from the tapestry on the wall to the cushions on the window seat.

  The chamber seemed draped in rich color, the dark greens, golds, reds and blues of the tapestry’s forest scene reflected in the deep carpet, draperies and cushions. He watched as Elizabeth went to the door of the bedchamber, looked inside, then closed it again. Raynor wondered if the pastels his mother had preferred were gone from there, as well.

  Almost unwillingly, he realized the change was good.

  Elizabeth motioned toward the chair before the empty hearth, then settled herself on the window seat.

  He seated himself, feeling somewhat out of his element in such elegant surroundings. He’d never had much use for luxuries. Which reminded him of why he had come here with her in the first place.

  He cleared his throat. “Elizabeth, I must speak with you.”

  She smiled. “So you said, my lord. I am listening.”

  “There is a man unloading a wagon of blankets into the storage shed. Can you tell me something of this?”

  “Oh.” Her brow cleared. “Of course, the blankets. Is it not a wonderful circumstance? The old rags your people are using as coverings have quite outworn their usefulness. The peddler who brought them claims they are the work of Thomas Blanket himself, and come all the way from Bristol.”

  Raynor stood to give weight to what he was about to say. “That is all well and good, Elizabeth, but I cannot allow—”

  At that moment, there was a scratching at the door, and then Jean entered, bearing a tray of wine and cheese.

  “Just one moment, my lord.” Elizabeth stood and moved toward the table. “Please just put it here.”

  Jean set down the laden try. “Would you like me to look in on Willow?” she asked, nodding toward the closed bedchamber door. Obviously Willow was sleeping inside, Raynor thought.

  “There is no need. I did so only a moment ago,” Elizabeth answered as she poured out a cup of wine.

  “She has been sleeping for a long time.”

  Both women listened for a moment, and Raynor wondered that they were making such a fuss about the child taking a nap. Before Elizabeth came, no one had seemed to make such a to-do. His women simply saw that Willow was dressed and fed as she should be.

  Raynor recalled the gifts he had gotten for his daughter. The problem lay in the fact that the child was ever with his wife. In trying to avoid close contact with Elizabeth, he had not found an opportunity to give them to her. Guilt stabbed at him.

  Determinedly Raynor resolved to do so this day. He would not allow Elizabeth to control his actions.

  Seemingly unaware of Raynor’s thoughts, Elizabeth smiled fondly. “The little one plays and sleeps with equal vehemence.” She looked at the maid. “That will be all for the moment.”

  Jean nodded and left.

  Elizabeth turned to Raynor, offering the cup of wine. “You have thirst, my lord?”

  “Aye,” he answered, realizing that his throat was indeed dry. He took a long pull of wine as Elizabeth sliced cheese and laid it on a thick piece of fresh bread.

  “Would you care for some, my lord?” she asked sweetly.

  His stomach rumbled, and he held out his hand. He had missed the midday meal. “I...thank you, Elizabeth.” He sat down in his chair and bit into the delicious food.

  He watched as she took a piece of cheese to nibble on, seating herself behind him at the window once more. But she did not speak as he ate his meal, waiting patiently for him to decide when he wished to continue.

  Raynor sat up straighter, swallowing his food in two more quick bites. He wanted to have done with this and get on with his work. “About the blankets,” he began.

  “Well, sweeting,” Elizabeth said, startling him so badly his mouth dropped open and he swiveled around to face her. Then he saw that she was not speaking to him at all, but to his daughter, who stood in the now open doorway between solar and bedchamber.

  Raynor watched as Willow came forward shyly, her chubby fist against her rounded cheek. She looked warm and sweet and clean, in a white tunic over which she wore a cote of spring green. He’d never seen the garments before. “Willow has new clothing?”

  Elizabeth didn’t look at him as she moved forward to scoop the little girl up in her arms and kiss her rosy cheek. “I found several chests full of garments in these chambers when I cleaned them. The fabrics are of good quality, and should not be wasted. The best of them are being made into garments for your daughter, the others I am giving to the servants. The gowns were made for someone much shorter than myself, and thus can be of no use to me.”

  Raynor knew the clothing had been his mother’s, and wondered that Elizabeth would simply take it upon herself to use them as she thought fit, without asking him. “Did you not think to ask me before doing this?

  She glanced at him then, her eyes filled with genuine surprise. When she spoke again, though her tone remained even, there was no mistaking the irony in it. “Nay, I did not. I am not accustomed to gaining permission to act on what is only reasonable. The cloth would have moldered eventually. Why should it lie there wasting, when your daughter had no decent garments to call her own?”

  Smiling down at the child, Elizabeth hugged her tightly with encouragement. “Can you say hello to your papa?” she asked, turning Willow to face Raynor.

  “Hello,” Willow whispered, then buried her face against Elizabeth’s delicately rounded bosom.

  For a crazed moment, Raynor wished that he, too, could place his face there and breathe in his wife’s warmth.

  But sanity returned in a rush. It was ever so when he was with Elizabeth, wishing for things he refused to allow himself. And knowing he would be a madman to wish circumstances were any different.

  He stood. “Really, Elizabeth, I beg your attention for a moment.” He strove to keep the irritation from his voice, but could
not completely. He had no wish to argue with his wife before the child, though she tested him sorely.

  She turned to him, her cheek against Willow’s hair.

  They made a sweet scene, with the light from the window behind them, the tall, slender beauty and the delicate child.

  Why did she have to appear to be something she was not? He knew the truth only too well. She cared for nothing save her own will.

  Forcefully he turned the conversation to suit himself. “My lady, I do not wish to purchase blankets. And will not do so. You should have consulted me before making such a decision.”

  She looked at him in surprise and growing agitation. “Should have consulted you...” she began.