If she tried, it was possible that she could start to unravel some of the problems in her life. If Raynor was truly acting for some good reason, then perhaps she could find some equal ground with him.
Mayhap then they could try to come to terms with what was really keeping them apart—Raynor’s inability to believe in himself and his own feelings.
Chapter Eleven
When dawn broke outside his window, Raynor gave up trying to sleep, and dressed. He made his way past the barely stirring occupants of the hall and out to the stables.
After a bracing ride, he went to the practice field. The intense physical activity did nothing to clear the night’s events from his mind. Though the sweat soaked his hair and dripped from his back, Raynor could find no peace.
Calling for Arthur, he had a horse brought forth. This day was as good as any to begin the boy’s training with the lance. He could not allow his personal problems to keep him from fulfilling his responsibilities.
Though Raynor saw the barely restrained excitement on his squire’s face, he did not share it, as he might have.
The man could think of little save the heated words he had exchanged with his wife.
Had he been fair to Elizabeth? If he considered the situation, he had to ask himself what she really had done, aside from bringing up a subject she’d agreed had been ordered not to.
Elizabeth had spoken with Harrington. Raynor could not stop the spasm of anger that tightened his stomach at the very idea of his wife conversing with the knave. But in all fairness, she had not gone looking for Harrington. The bastard had approached her.
Yet what was important was that she must understand that she could not continue with this plan of uniting them. It could not happen, now or ever. Surely Raynor had convinced her to go no further with the matter.
If he could not trust Elizabeth to help him keep Harrington away from Willow, there was no hope for them. She must see that he had the right of this, without knowing any more than she did right now.
But was it his own fault that she had not listened to him? Her accusations echoed in his mind. Was it true that he had not tried to let her into his life?
He knew it was difficult for him to speak of things like his mother or his relationship with Louisa. But the fact was that he had told Elizabeth more than he had anyone in his life. Even with Louisa, who had been his friend since childhood, he had not spoken of his mother. And she had never pried. It was one of the things that had drawn them together. She had had her secrets, and he his. It had been understood between them.
He had already told Elizabeth something of his relationship with Louisa. More than that he could not do, not without risking Willow’s secret.
Had Elizabeth spoken true when she said she hadn’t lied to him since that fateful night in Windsor, when she’d told him Stephen wanted him to stay and dine despite his absence? Raynor could not help feeling he knew the truth of this. Ofttimes they had fought and disagreed, but she’d never cowered from telling him exactly what was in her mind. No matter how it angered him.
Even now, when she knew how enraged he would become if she brought up the subject of Harrington, Elizabeth had sought him out and had her say.
Raynor raked his hand through his dirt-encrusted hair. If only there were some way out of this dilemma.
As Arthur rode to the end of the list, he called out to his overlord. Raynor shook his head to clear it, knowing he should be more attentive to the moment. He could recall how excited he had been on first taking up the lance.
If Arthur was anything like himself, he would not admit to the ache in his leaden arms at the end of the day.
And so it was. Raynor kept him charging at the target until the boy was making a visible effort to hold the long weapon steady. Arthur would be so sore on the morrow he would do well to lift his own hands. But that was as it must be. In battle a knight must needs hold his lance for hours without tiring. This was only the beginning for Arthur.
And as he worked with the boy, Raynor wondered if such a beginning could be made with his wife.
Was it thus with a marriage? Did one have need to work to the point of pain in order to gain? He had seen all the pain on one side in the case of his father and mother.
What Raynor did know was that he had been very hard on Elizabeth.
Perhaps if he went to her, tried, not to explain more fully, but to speak with less anger. Might she then be more acquiescent to his wishes?
The concept was a new one for Raynor. And he felt no small amount of anxiety at the thought of facing Elizabeth, after the way he had treated her last night. Would she reject his attempt at a reconciliation?
In the past, Elizabeth had accepted any small overtures of friendship graciously. He remembered the day he had apologized for reprimanding her before the people in the hall. She had made no cutting remarks, nor any attempt to condemn him. It had been completely unlike the way his mother had treated his father. That woman had used every situation to further her dominance over her husband.
Nay, Elizabeth had not given him reason to think she would use any sign of kindness on his part against him. Now that he looked at it, Raynor could see that she had in fact acted openly to try to attain some peace with him.
Even knowing these things, Raynor did not think he would have an easy time of coming to trust in her. Nor could he force Elizabeth to feel any fealty toward him. What he could do was earn it, by showing some for her.
Raynor knew it would not be easy to overcome his old self-protective habits. But he had to try, if not for his sake, then for his daughter’s. In the matter of Willow’s safety, his pride was secondary.
He must somehow convince Elizabeth that he had only Willow’s happiness at heart, even though he could not explain why.
Some hours later, after giving Arthur leave to go ease his muscles in the river, Raynor turned toward the keep.
There was no sense in putting off what must be done.
When he questioned the head serving woman as to his wife’s whereabouts, Jean told him Elizabeth was in her solar.
Going to the stairs that led to the third story of the keep, Raynor wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his filthy tunic. Looking down at himself, he realized he had best go to his chamber and cleanse himself.
As he hurriedly washed and changed into fresh garments, Raynor knew it was foolish to feel such sickening nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Elizabeth was his wife. But he could not slow the erratic beating of his heart. This was the first time in his memory he had ever deliberately acted to appease any woman, and the idea was not a restful one.
On reaching the door to her solar, Raynor stood perfectly still for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he opened it.
What Raynor saw when he opened the portal caused his heart beat to escalate to a deafening thrum in his ears. For the space of a drumbeat, he could only stand there, struck dumb with shock and betrayal.
Elizabeth and his brother, Bronic, stood locked in an intimate embrace beside the window. The whole scene was illuminated in startling detail by the afternoon sunlight. Bronic was close against her back, his hands on the white flesh exposed by her torn gown. Elizabeth was making no attempt to break away, but squirmed toward him wildly.
A hot slice of memory pierced his pain—Elizabeth’s hands over Raynor’s own as she had helped him rip her gown from her body in her haste to be naked beneath him.
In the blink of an eye, the vision was gone, but the gut-wrenching agony of what he was seeing remained. Of all people, he had trusted Bronic most. And Elizabeth. God, but her licentiousness struck as deep as a lance.
All this Raynor observed in no more time than it would have taken to cough. Immediately Bronic swung around to face him. “Raynor, come. You must help me.”
Staggered as he was by the lack of remorse on his brother’s face, it was a moment before Raynor understood what Bronic was saying. But even then he stood rooted to the stone floor, unable to grasp what the words meant.
Elizabet
h looked around as Bronic spoke, her beautiful sapphire eyes glazed with passion. Raynor felt his stomach roll with nausea. The perfidy of the woman.
Still he could not move.
Through the fog of despair covering his mind, Raynor heard a voice behind him. “Excuse me, my lord Warwicke.”
He frowned in confusion. What was this now? Someone else wanted to come into the solar, to view this unholy melee? Surely the whole world had gone mad.
He swung around and looked into Olwyn’s face.
“Your pardon, my lord,” she said again. She held up a tray laden with wine, bread and meat.
The sight of the mundane items freed Raynor from the spell that held him immobile.
With lightning-quick speed, he leapt across the room and tore Bronic away from his wife.
Raynor heard Olwyn gasp as she saw what was happening. But, to Raynor’s surprise, her voice was full of concern as she hastily set the tray on the table and rushed to her lady’s side. “Lady Elizabeth, what has happened?”
Raynor looked to her with fury as he jerked Elizabeth back against him. “Is that not obvious?” His tortured gaze went to Bronic. “And with my own brother!” Elizabeth struggled against his grasp, but he held her fast.
Bronic gave a grunt of surprise and irritation. “Have you lost what sense you were born with, Raynor? If I was less fearful for your wife, I would throttle you. As it is, the accusation is so ridiculous I would not dignify it with a reply.”
Curling his lips, Raynor indicated his wife’s torn cote. “Then pray tell what is this?” So furious was Raynor that he didn’t even notice Elizabeth’s indrawn breath of outrage.
Elizabeth jerked herself free, then swung around to land a stinging blow on Raynor’s cheek. “How dare you, you insufferable knave?” She moved some distance away and stood staring up at him, her hands on her hips. A white ring appeared around Elizabeth’s red lips, so tightly did she press them, and her chest heaved with the agitation of her breathing.
Raynor knew a twinge of unease at this show of self-righteous rage, but he quickly dismissed it. How dare he? It was she who had dared too much. There was no way for her to disprove the evidence of his own eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, Raynor took a step toward her.
Bronic stopped him by sliding between them. “Do not, brother, else you will make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have.”
Then, as if Raynor were not even important enough to warrant his continued attention, Bronic turned worried blue eyes to Olwyn. “Your lady has been bitten on the back by a spider.” At Olwyn’s cry of fear, he raised his hand. “There is no real danger, as it was not poisonous. I am certain, because I found and killed it. But you should have a look at the welt. It may need dressing.”
As realization of what he had done sank deep, Raynor stood there, his breath escaping in a hiss of shock.
A spider.
He looked to Elizabeth, but she would not meet his gaze. But as she raised an unsteady hand to pull her torn gown higher on her shoulder, the truth was evident in her hurt expression.
Heaven above, what had he done? Raynor ran shaking hands over his face.
Torment clouded his features as he looked to his brother. “Bronic, I...”
Bronic would not face Raynor, and his lean jaw flexed with the effort it took to speak evenly. “Only out of the love I bear you do I forgive what you have thought this day, Raynor. I would not now or ever take to your wife’s bed. I thought we two knew each other better than for you to think so. In all these years, you have never before, by deed or word, caused me to think you did not hold me in deepest regard. Because of that, I will do my utmost to forget what has been wrought here this day.”
The blond man turned to Elizabeth, who stood silent and pale, as Olwyn looked on helplessly. “It is your lady wife who must have the most trouble in absolving you, Raynor. For she has had none of the good of you.”
With that, he strode from the room.
Olwyn went to Elizabeth, going behind her to gently pull aside the torn remnants of her amber velvet cote.
Spurred to action, Raynor moved to set the companion aside. Guilt and anguish at what he had just done drove him to whisper huskily, “Nay, I will see to her.” But as he touched her, Elizabeth flinched. And Raynor did, too.
Olwyn waited for Elizabeth to tell her what to do, her uncertain gaze on Raynor.
“Tell her to go,” he pleaded, his voice raspy with pain.
Elizabeth looked at the floor. “Do as he says.”
As soon as Olwyn was gone, Elizabeth moved to stand some feet from her husband, facing him with a defiantly raised chin, despite the sorrow in her blue eyes.
He reached toward her. “I... Forgive me, Elizabeth. I saw Bronic, and I thought... I lost control.”
She snarled, “'Tis obvious what you thought, husband.” Her throat tightened around threatening tears that she had no wish to shed before this madman. “How could you, Raynor? Have I ever given you cause to believe I would—?”
His fingers curled around handfuls of his own hair. “Nay, you have not. It was me, only me. But what was he doing here? Why was Bronic with you?” His voice was wild with desperation.
It galled her to explain anything to him after what had happened just now and the previous night. He gave nothing of himself, simply expecting her to trust in him and his judgment. It was intolerable, especially when Raynor had not even a modicum of faith in her.
She said as much. “My dear lord, I feel no responsibility to appease you, when you tell me nothing of what you do and why. But for your brother’s sake I will say this. He comes to see Olwyn. You are so blind to everything but your own problems that you see nothing of what others feel. Bronic loves Olwyn, and she him.”
As soon as the words were out, he knew she spoke fact. It had been there for him to see. When he looked back on it, every time he had seen Bronic with Elizabeth, every single time, Olwyn had also been present. He recalled the many excuses Bronic made to visit the keep in the middle of the day, times when Elizabeth would not be there.
He beat his fist against his palm. “God, but I have been a fool. I have no defense, Elizabeth. I know this will make no difference now, after what I have done, but I want you to know that I came here not to make more war with you, but seeking peace.” He shook his head in self-derision. “I know not what has come over me in these last months since we met. As you have accused, I seem to have lost my mind.”
“Indeed you have,” she told him coldly. “Now I would thank you to leave me.”
He knew she had a right to ask him to go, but he couldn’t, not like this. He had to try and set things right, not because of Willow, but because he had wronged Elizabeth, and terribly.
For weeks now he’d been able to concentrate on little save Elizabeth. Never had he had such overpowering feelings for a woman.
Why, he’d been willing to fight his own brother for touching her. Two short months ago he’d not have believed such a thing possible. He would have said no woman was worth a conflict with his brother, and that Bronic would be welcome to have any woman who might come between them.
For Raynor, women were nothing more than a means to satisfy a natural bodily urge, no one more special than any other. But what he felt for Elizabeth went beyond that. There was no sense in these emotions he was experiencing. When he saw Bronic with her, he’d known a feeling of possession he’d never imagined possible.
Until Elizabeth came into his life, he’d known neither peace nor laughter. And what little he had now was only in her presence.
He moved close to where she stood, stiff and unyielding, staring out the window. In the past, Elizabeth had been quick to forgive him his boorish ways, but somehow he knew this time was not the same. And Raynor could not fault her for that. He’d done the unpardonable in accusing her of dallying with Bronic. He only wished there were some way to make amends.
Elizabeth’s tattered cote had slipped down to bare one silken shoulder. At the e
dge of the cloth, he could see what looked like the spider bite, an angry welt that must hurt her. Would that he could take that pain to himself.
Remorse made him reach out to her. Tenderly he pushed the garment aside and bent to place his mouth to the spot in a show of contrition. “Elizabeth, please forgive me.”
She gave a start as his mouth touched her, then grew still.
Slowly, then, so slowly he almost felt he was imagining the motion, Elizabeth turned to face him. Only when she spoke did he know it was real. “Raynor.” Her tone was filled with confusion and bitterness. “Why do you behave thus? What have I done to make you hate me so? I am sorry you were forced into a marriage you did not desire, but must I pay for that mistake for the rest of my life?”
An ache settled in his chest at hearing how much he had hurt her. A contrite Raynor raised his hand and placed a finger over her lips. “Nay, Elizabeth. You have done nothing. The marriage was no more your fault than mine. I have come to see that. I made my own choice in staying with you that night, when I knew Stephen would not be present. That decision was mine, and mine alone. And hate you I do not—never that. My feelings toward you are vast and uncountable, but hatred does not number among them.”
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