“Can you not understand what I am attempting to tell you, Raine? What must be done to rectify this kind of situation may seem perfectly clear, but that does not mean it is. I have learned that it is best to allow others to take care of their own love affairs. Surely time will bring all to the correct order.”
She stamped her foot, her frustration at his inability to fully involve himself in his own marriage making her speak sharply. “Will you not hear me, Benedict? We cannot simply stand by and hope for the best. This is one moment when you must act in spite of your belief. And it must be done now, without further thinking.”
She paused to glare at him again, and when he made no immediate reply, said, “Have I not made myself clear on this? I fear for the girl’s well-being. When I found her there she was staring out into the sea as if…I fear she means to end her life.”
A dark frown marred his brow as he took her arm in a tight grip. “Did she say as much?”
Reluctantly Raine shook her head. “Nay, but I am certain—”
His face relaxing somewhat, he interrupted her. “Though I do believe you most sincere in your intent here, it is possible that you have misread her purpose. What you have asked of me goes against all I have experienced in such situations. I must think on it, Raine.”
Outraged that he would be so very obstinate, Raine threw up her hands. “I quit you then, my lord. I cannot stand by and watch as you consider this matter until it is too late.” With that she swung about and stormed out.
Benedict watched her go with a dark scowl. Surely she was overreacting. How many times had he seen her rush headlong into disaster?
Her anger at the way he had turned from her after they made love was more than apparent, in spite of his efforts to treat her with every courtesy due a wife. Though he did regret that, Benedict had, as yet, found no solution to the problem. He could not risk losing himself—his very existence as he knew it—in the unpredictable Raine. That he was capable of doing so was more apparent with each passing day. For far from forgetting the incident in the forest as he had hoped, he had become consumed by it, thought of it incessantly, woke dripping sweat from dreams of it.
As the days had passed he’d attempted to busy himself with the running of the keep, with answering the steady stream of letters that continued to pour from the angry quill of Alister Harcourt. All to little avail. Benedict knew the situation with Harcourt must be concluded. He simply could not focus on a solution, which was more distressing than he would ever admit, even to himself. He had always been able to think, to act, as he must. Until now.
As Benedict moved to call his waiting steward, he could not quite ignore a nagging feeling that in this matter of Leandra, Raine might be correct. It galled him to admit, in even the smallest way, that her method of jumping into murky waters without thinking could be correct.
Yet her assertion that Leandra might be contemplating a permanent way out of her dilemma was worrying. If Raine was correct, any delay could well end in disaster.
What were the chances that she was correct? Raine was far too impulsive for her own good. She very well might be reading more into the situation than there was, simply because she had not stopped to ponder the matter for a moment.
But what if she is correct? he mused.
It was highly unlikely. Yet again he realized that his hesitating here could end in tragedy. He had made a vow to remain neutral in such matters. But perhaps there were times when…The woman was driving him mad.
With a groan of frustration, Benedict went to the door and called for his steward. “Are you ready to go on then, my lord?” the man asked.
Benedict frowned darkly, his tone far sharper than he intended. “Nay, I am not. I want the maid Leandra found and brought to me here.”
The steward’s surprise at Benedict’s uncharacteristically agitated manner could not be mistaken, as he replied, “As you wish, Lord Benedict.”
Benedict pretended not to see this, bringing another assessing glance his way as he began to pace, adding, “And see that she is found immediately. Understand that this is a matter of extreme import. If there is any difficulty in finding her, I wish to be informed without delay.”
The steward bowed and hurried away without another word. Benedict continued to pace, running a weary hand over his face. He did not care to be making such a spectacle of himself by behaving like an overworried maiden aunt. He knew how important it was for his people to know that he was in control, that all would be well with his guidance.
He had no reason for such anxiety and told himself that he was simply allowing Raine’s own fearfulness to affect him. Yet Benedict could not rid himself of the pressing need to make sure that Leandra was indeed well.
Benedict rubbed his tired eyes. The last hours had been emotionally charged ones. Leandra had been found, and had reluctantly admitted Raine’s worst fears were indeed correct. After first assuring her that such a solution was never the answer to anything, Benedict had eventually and with much coaxing been able to gain the name of her babe’s father. That young man, who had been away at one of his other keeps these last months, had been sent for, and had agreed to wed her before Benedict could finish telling him of her plight.
Now, relieved though he was that the issue had been settled, Benedict could not rid himself of a sense of regret. Raine had been right and he had treated her like a child. And the reason for that was very likely his own guilt over what he had done to hurt her.
A heavy sigh escaped him.
“My lord?”
He looked up to see Maeve standing just inside the open doorway of the library. With more difficulty than he cared to admit, he dragged that accustomed mask of composure over his features. Despite his troubles with Raine, he still had this keep to run, his people to care for.
He answered softly, not caring for the slight note of despondency that colored his tone in spite of his resolve to mask it. “Yes, Maeve. Is there aught that needs my attention?” He could only hope that she would not be aware of how troubled he was.
Her words did not encourage him. Nor did her worried and sympathetic expression. “There is nothing amiss, my lord. I but came to thank you for your care of Leandra. She is family to me. The daughter of my cousin.”
This did not surprise him. Maeve seemed to have an endless supply of cousins. He nodded. “Your thanks is well met, though Raine was the one who brought this to my attention. I admit that it took some convincing on her part before I was persuaded to do my duty.” As he said the last he knew it was true. Again he sighed, thinking of the way they had parted.
Coming a few steps into the room, Maeve said gently, “Is all well with you, my lord?”
Benedict looked away, unable to hold that gaze as he shook his head in denial. Even though Maeve was the closest thing to a mother that he and his brothers had known since their parents’ deaths, it was difficult to accept her concern. He was responsible for too much to allow himself to fall apart now, to leave anyone, including Maeve, in any doubt as to his ability to go on, to do what he must no matter what occurred in his private life.
He replied with forced reserve, “All is well. You need not concern yourself about me.”
Maeve remained silent for a very long time, though he could still feel the weight of her gaze upon him. Finally he raised his eyes to hers. The care he saw there made his heart ache all the more. She said, “I know, my lord, that you are a strong and independent man, that you wish to remain ever in control and calm. Yet there are times when even you must have difficulty keeping all inside.”
He began to shake his head in denial, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “I know I overstep myself in speaking thus to you, but I love you as if you were my own son, you and your three brothers. You are the children I have never borne. I know you too well to be indifferent to your pain. And I know its cause.”
Benedict focused on that raised hand, which was broad and rough from the many hours of work done in his service. He knew there was no point i
n continuing to try to avoid the truth with this woman. She did indeed know him too well. He sighed. “She will never come to accept her life here.”
“Lady Raine will eventually come to do just that. She is only afraid to love us because she thinks it would be a betrayal of her past.”
His lips twisted wryly. “She is not capable of loving us—of loving anyone but her brother.”
Maeve smiled gently. “There you are wrong, my lord. It is love for her brother that makes me certain she is capable of loving others. No one could give such devotion from a miserly heart. That heart will not forever be denied no matter how she tries. See how she put herself forward for Leandra this very day, a stranger of no consequence to herself.”
“Aye, that is true. And mayhap that is why she was able to do so. Helping the girl did not threaten her loyalties in any way.”
Maeve sighed, watching him as she said, “You know my love for you is not in question, thus I tell you this. If you wish for Lady Raine to love you someday, you might show her that she is of some worth to you.”
Benedict spoke in surprise. “I have shown her every deference. I cannot coddle her, neglect my duties to write poems to the damp gold glory of her eyes.”
He stopped as Maeve’s eyes grew sadly knowing. “Forgive the forwardness of an old woman, my lord.” She bowed and left him.
Benedict was glad of her exit. It served neither of them to argue this matter. Raine did not intend to love him no matter what he did, had shown very clearly that she did not wish to love anyone but William. He felt a shockingly painful ache of sadness at this. Roughly he brushed it aside. He did not require his wife’s love. He was the head of his family and could not afford such self-indulgence.
Surprisingly, his certainty did not bring the same feelings of confidence that it always had in the past. To his utter devastation all he felt was emptiness.
Chapter Twelve
Raine went immediately to her room. The hours passed, but her anger did not abate. Benedict Ainsworth was a knave, accusing her of all manner of infractions whenever he found opportunity to do so, while completely ignoring his own very obvious weaknesses.
It was only a short time later that Raine looked up from the sewing she was attempting to concentrate on as a knock sounded at her door. Her heart thudded even as she called out, “Come.”
The portal opened to reveal Maeve. Raine’s brows rose in question. The head woman hesitated for a brief moment, then came forward, determination on her face.
Raine had the distinct feeling that she did not wish to have any part of this encounter, yet she found herself saying, “Yes?”
The woman spoke both respectfully and directly. “There is something I believe you should know, my lady.”
Raine sighed impatiently. “If Benedict sent you there was no need.”
The woman’s surprise could not have been feigned. “Lord Benedict would not send me to plead for him.”
Immediately Raine realized that she had been foolish to say such a thing.
For the sake of this woman, who had been kind to both her brother and herself, she should have some consideration. She spoke gently. “Pray forgive me, my position as your mistress does not afford me the right to be rude. Please, Maeve, do tell me what you wished to say.”
The head woman seemed much mollified by this and looked at her with a long and approving glance as she said, “I came to offer my thanks for your help in the matter of Leandra. She told me of what had occurred this day, of how you went to my lord Benedict with her troubles, which he was, I am glad to say, able to resolve.”
Raine could not help interrupting with amazement. “Benedict has resolved her problems?”
Maeve looked as though she was quite surprised by this question. “Of course, Lady Raine, why would he do aught else after you had convinced him there was a need?”
Raine did not know what to say. No one could have told Maeve this but Benedict….
Maeve went on, oblivious to her mistress’s thoughts. “Leandra was worried about what you must have thought of her.” She shrugged with resignation. “She is the daughter of my cousin and a good if somewhat silly girl and very dear to me. She told me how adamant she had been in her desire that her lover marry her without knowing of the child. Because of you, Lord Benedict was able to gain the father’s identity, and the man agreed to marry her—with enough enthusiasm to appease her. She did not realize she had not seen him again because he had been sent to serve at one of Lord Benedict’s other keeps.” Maeve paused, blinking back sudden tears. “Leandra also told me that she had been contemplating ending her life when you came upon her. I tell you, my lady, that you will ever be held in gratitude by my folk for the service you have done us this day.”
Raine found herself flushing not only with discomfort, but also with unexpected pleasure. She had not been trying to gain anyone’s loyalty. She had only acted out of the need of the moment, because she could not do otherwise. She said, “I thank you for your kind words, but I did nothing to gain your gratitude.”
Maeve smiled. “Nonetheless you have it.”
Raine looked at her for a long moment, seeing how freely her thanks was given. In that moment Raine knew there was something she, too, must say. “If that be the case, then you must also hear me. Your kindness to my brother and me, your coming here today in spite of things I have done that may seem, shall I say, less than loyal toward your master, have been most gratifying.”
Maeve nodded gravely, obviously weighing her next words. “I understand that there is much between you and Lord Benedict that I have no right to speak of. But there are things I would have you know. All here at Brackenmoore are a family. Lord Benedict has always treated his folk as such and encouraged all to do the same to one another. He is a very special man, is my lord. Took not only the raising of his brothers to heart when their parents died, but the well-being of all on his lands, and has not once wavered in that trust.” She paused for a long moment. “He will care for you in the same dependable manner. Though he may be somewhat preoccupied with many responsibilities at times, he will not waver in his duty to you.”
Raine was aware of Benedict’s love and care for his family, his dependability, had sensed these qualities that first day when she had listened in on his conversation with the king. What she had not known then was that these were all he could give. Brackenmoore and all it stood for possessed Benedict as surely as he possessed it. She had no wish to be a duty, but a wife. Unfortunately, Benedict did not truly have room in his life for such things as a wife.
His cool indifference to herself was evidence of that. Even anger would have been preferable, in her mind. That Benedict did not afford her enough credit for even that expenditure of emotion was obvious in the way he had treated her in the last weeks, showing her every honor and civility but naught else.
Unexpectedly, Raine felt an odd sense of longing. If only things were different…She halted that thought immediately. She did not require more from Benedict.
Instantly an image of them together, their bodies entwined, so wild and abandoned in the falling rain, came to her. She felt herself flush to the roots of her hair. Perhaps that experience and the memory of it were distorted in her mind. Perhaps he had not wanted her as she had thought. Perhaps he simply had not known what to say at her overt offering of herself, for that was exactly what she had done. Raine could not allow herself to pretend otherwise.
Her face grew even hotter. He had neither touched her since nor given any sign that he had desired what had occurred.
Realizing that she had remained silent for far too long, Raine looked at the expectant face of the head woman. Knowing how she, along with every other soul at Brackenmoore, was bound to Benedict not only by duty but by love, Raine could say nothing of her thoughts, her isolation. “I thank you for your consideration in coming here, Maeve, and for your encouragement.” She smiled overbrightly. “I will certainly think on all that you have imparted.”
Maeve continued t
o regard her, but now her expression seemed somewhat sad. “As you will, my lady. I will leave you to your thoughts.”
Watching her go, Raine realized that above all things she dreaded being left alone with her thoughts.
The day passed in a strange haze for Raine. Now that she had had time to take it in she could not deny her amazement that Benedict had actually acted on her advice about Leandra. Yet Raine could not allow herself to believe that it actually meant anything, that he was beginning to have some regard for her.
She tried to busy herself with mending the torn hem of one of her gowns, but was twice forced to remove the threads. It was as she was attempting this task for the third time that Raine heard a knock upon her door.
William would never knock. And he was away.
Even as her mind went to Benedict, the portal opened and there he stood in the doorway to her chamber, looking powerful and larger than life as he always did. “May I enter?” The words were said with a surprising hesitancy.
She wanted to send him on his way, tell him that she did not wish to speak to him, in spite of the fact that he had come to his senses and done what was right for Leandra. He had been so rude to her, dismissing her as if she did not matter. Something, perhaps the uncertainty in his blue eyes as he raked a hand through his uncharacteristically unruly raven hair, would not allow her to do that.
She murmured only, “Aye, my lord.”
Immediately she reprimanded herself for that gentle tone. No matter what occurred, no matter that Benedict might actually see that he was not treating her as he should, she would not allow herself to display any soft emotions or to be moved by any seeming indications of such on his part.
To do so would bring her nothing but pain, as it had after they had been at Abbernathy. It would be foolish to let her attraction to him, or her own feelings of loneliness, so weaken her that she left herself open to the hurt he was able to inflict without even thinking.
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