The Bride Of Spring

by Catherine Archer

  His admission of what he had felt when they made love made her realize something that she had not fully understood. Benedict was distrustful of his feelings for her. What he described, what should have been a moment of beauty and joining, had only threatened his concept of himself as invulnerable.

  Her heart filling with disappointment and frustration, she cried, “You only love where there is no danger to you, where your heart is safe and secure.”

  He thumped his chest with his open palm. “How can you say such a thing? I love many, and well. I have come to love your own brother, William, as if he were my own.”

  The fact that Benedict did not mention her made Raine’s stomach tighten with pain, made her go on, speak more frankly than she had ever thought to do. “Is that what you really believe, Benedict? After what you have just admitted to me? Can you say that you could ever love me?” Once the words were said, Raine wished that she could take them back, for she did not wish to hear his reply. But that was not possible.

  He was silent for a long, agonizing moment. Finally he said, “That is not the same, Raine. You are so unpredictable, so impetuous.”

  She looked at him, in that moment uncaring of how much she revealed or did not reveal. “Love is not given where it is safe to love. It is given because your heart cannot do otherwise.”

  And who would know that better than she?

  Pity for herself and for him rose up inside her. “I do not wish to be married to Brackenmoore. I wish to be married to a man. How could you expect me to celebrate in bearing you a child if you are not human? A child needs a father who is real, not a figurehead.”

  His arm snaked out to sweep everything from the desk to the floor. Groaning out loud, he blanched, closing his eyes as he took a quick harsh breath. When he opened them again he was shaking as if taken with palsy. He raised one arm, pointing toward the door. “Out, woman! Get out of here this instant.”

  Raine did not wish to go. It galled her to run when she was so obviously right. But an inner sense of self-preservation told her Benedict had been pushed far enough.

  With a groan of outrage and frustration she took up her candle and stormed from the room.

  Yet as she went to her chamber she realized with a sense of unexpected sorrow that though much had been said, nothing had been resolved. The situation had, in fact, gone from dreadful to completely unbearable, for now she knew there was no hope for them.

  Benedict did not desire to include her in his life. He was Brackenmoore, and as such needed no one.

  Raine was not at all certain why this knowledge hurt so very much, why her heart ached as if it might surely stop beating. It was not as if she had ever expected him to love her.

  She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

  Benedict slammed his hand on the table, his body shaking with the force of emotions boiling in him like hot tar.

  How dare Raine speak to him that way? She understood nothing.

  Yet even as he told himself this, a creeping sense of misery began to penetrate his rage. Saints above, she could not be right. He would never deliberately withhold anything—including his love. He could not love Raine because of who she was.

  But who is she? asked that familiar voice inside him. She was wild and unpredictable, true. But was she not also loyal, honest, selfless to those whom she loved? Suddenly feeling as if his knees would not hold him, Benedict sank into the chair.

  Unconsciously he rubbed his hands over the arms, his mind seeking desperately for something familiar, something that could bring him back from the brink of complete self-doubt. It was a good chair, a solid chair. It had been his father’s and in it Benedict had made uncounted decisions concerning the lives of hundreds of people.

  Never once in all that time, even as a lad of eighteen, had he ever felt such an overwhelming sense of uncertainty and confusion. That this self-doubt was brought on by the woman who had just thoroughly and forcefully decried all that he stood for made matters all the more distressing.

  How dare she accuse him of only being able to love where it was safe? Why, he had loved his family and folk to the utter submergence of himself and his own needs. Why could she not see this, understand him?

  Mayhap she understands you all too well. Benedict heard the voice again, wondering from whence it came.

  From your heart. It seemed that although he did not wish to listen to it, the voice inside him would not be stilled.

  Because you love her and you are afraid of that love. With that Benedict put his face in his hands, feeling his world crumble around him as he realized that no matter how he wished he could deny the words, they were indeed true.

  He did love Raine, had loved her from the first moment he saw her. He had tried to convince himself that he had believed and protected her for numerous other reasons. None of them had been true.

  In that first instant when her golden eyes had met his, he had been lost. Then afterward, learning of her courage and love for her brother had only made him care all the more. Benedict realized that they two were more alike than not, both of them driven by their sense of responsibility and care for others. It was their way of accomplishing this that differed.

  But surely he was not afraid of loving her, had only denied it in himself because he had not realized that truth. But what kept you from realizing?

  Groaning, he leaned back in his chair, wishing for that almost forgotten sense of rightness and well-being, yet knowing that feeling was gone for all time to come.

  A sound at the entrance to the chamber drew his unintentionally hopeful gaze. It was not Raine, but Kendran. Benedict sighed, feeling slightly chagrined at the reproachful expression on his younger brother’s face.

  Kendran spoke first. “I was just coming in from…well, that matters not. What matters is that I overheard all you said to Raine. She is right, you know. You cannot keep putting your duties before your wife. Truth to tell, Benedict, many of them are not yours to take on. If there is some trouble that involves Tristan he would not thank you for keeping it from him. He should be informed.”

  Benedict scowled at his brother, realizing that he had likely been exercising that undeniable charm of his on some willing maid. He asked, “And where have you been?”

  Kendran shrugged. “It would not be chivalrous to reveal that. Let us stick to the subject at hand, please.”

  Looking into those eyes, which many said were so like his own, Benedict decided to leave the matter of his brother’s late return for another time. He replied, “I seek to save Tristan this trouble. He and Lily have known so many.”

  Kendran answered with a directness that gave evidence of the strong man he would soon become. “And you and Raine have also known troubles. Think on that and what it costs you to protect others who have no need of protecting.”

  “I but sought to—”

  He was more than a little surprised when his youngest brother interrupted him with open impatience. “What you intended is not in doubt. Yet it was not, and is not, necessary. Hear this—you are wrong in one thing. Father did not put Brackenmoore first. He put Mother first and then us, his sons.”

  Benedict’s brows arched. “How can you know such a thing? You were a small child.”

  He shook his head. “I may have been young but I recall the way it felt to be with them, the warmth of our being a family. Where else do you imagine you learned to care so much for your brothers? And ask yourself this—would a man who put his lands above all else take his wife to Scotland to visit her sister?”

  Benedict had no reply. He had been too caught up in doing what he must to consider such a thing.

  Kendran went on. “You need concentrate on your own marriage.” He paused, holding Benedict’s unhappy gaze. “She is a good woman, your Raine, if somewhat bruised about the edges. She does have difficulty in showing her care for anyone other than William, but that is changing. Methinks she need only be given a chance to show her care for you, my brother.”

  Benedi
ct started, then shook his head fiercely. “Me? Raine has no care for me.”

  “I never thought to call you a fool, Benedict. As you told her you felt about Father, to me you have been as near to a god here on earth as any man could be. But this day I will call you a fool. Her anguish and the tears she shed as she left this room after hearing you say that you could not love her are proof enough for me. Though you may be right that she has no tender feelings toward you now. After your making such a statement it would certainly be debatable.”

  “I did not mean—”

  Again Kendran interrupted. “What you truly meant matters not at all, lest you are prepared to try to mend the damage you have done.” Kendran paused before going on, his voice sounding weary. “I had come to tell you that I will be away from Brackenmoore for two days.”

  Benedict frowned. “A woman?”

  Kendran shrugged. “Perhaps you might mind your own affairs before worrying over mine.” He swung around then and left before Benedict could form a reply.

  For a long moment Benedict sat there immobile. His mind swirled with the things Kendran had said. He could not deny the truth in his assertion that their father had loved his family best. His actions did, in fact, prove that.

  Raine was right. Benedict had been a fool bound to a notion of duty that was not even real.

  Never in his life had he shied away from anything difficult. He would not do so now. He must face his feelings for his wife, commit himself to their marriage. Though after what he had said to her, there seemed little hope of her forgiving him. All he knew was that he must try. It was the only possibility of filling the ache of longing he felt whenever he thought of Raine.

  But first he must make a place for her in his life. Whether or not she would choose to occupy it was up to her.

  He reached for a sheet of parchment and a quill. He would write to Tristan, tell him of the situation with Alister Harcourt, and he would do so now.

  Raine walked slowly along the sand. The late spring sunshine was warm upon her head and the sky was a shade of blue that would make angels weep in reverence, but she felt no pleasure in her surroundings. She felt alone and submerged in an aching loneliness.

  At last she halted, taking a deep breath and looking out over the vast expanse of the sea. It was awe inspiring and eternal, as nothing in her life had ever been.

  First her mother, then her father had died, leaving her to care for William. She had been afraid of giving in to her own despair and fear, the despair at losing her parents, her fear of lacking the courage to go on. Now she must live with the uncertainty of her marriage to Benedict.

  Perhaps she could learn from William. He had lost the life he had known as well, yet he had found a place here. But she could not imagine that she would ever be able to accept Brackenmoore the way her brother had, for Benedict did not, could not love her. How could she be content with the meager portion of himself that he was willing to afford her?

  The events of the previous night were imprinted on her mind for all time to come. She now realized that she could never leave Brackenmoore. There was no point in being anywhere that Benedict was not. Yet the knowledge that she must indeed live out her life here so near him when he did not love her was devastating.

  Heaven help her, why must she care so? Because he was Benedict. His gentleness and kindness had helped her to understand herself. He was the rock Brackenmoore was built on, the one constant in all the heavens that could be counted on. Unfortunately, it was his very dependability and strength that made it impossible for him to love any one woman, even his wife, above any other in his care.

  Her hands went to her stomach as she felt the spot where she imagined the child must lie. Yet even in this she found little comfort. For however much she loved her babe, that could not replace the heartache of knowing that she was not loved by its father.

  She walked on, oblivious to her surroundings, until suddenly she realized the beach had narrowed greatly. It had in fact narrowed so much that she was now picking her way among the rocks in order to avoid walking in the sea.

  Turning, Raine moved to go back the way she had come. It was as she walked between two large boulders that she felt something heavy fall across her head and shoulders. She cried out in surprise even as she felt herself being pulled backward against a sturdy chest. That her captor was far stronger than she, Raine realized as soon as she began to struggle. Her efforts were further thwarted when her feet were lifted up by a second assailant.

  As she was lifted high, she ceased her struggles, aware of the babe inside her. Even if she were able to break free now it would mean a fall, and that might injure the child.

  Only a moment later she felt herself being laid across a saddle. One of her captors mounted behind her, keeping one hand on her back at all times.

  Trying to breathe evenly, to think, Raine attempted to fathom what was happening, why anyone would do this to her. The answer came in a flash of outrage.

  “Denley!” She called out his name, and even though the heavy fabric muffled the word, she knew they must have heard her. There was no reply. The blackguard would not wish to discuss the matter with her. He would want her far from the protective presence of her husband as quickly as possible.

  Anger rolled in her. Yet she felt a certain sense of relief in knowing that it was her half-witted cousin who had abducted her. She realized that he meant her no good, but did not believe that Denley would actually do her physical harm. The best course open to her would surely be to bide her time until they reached their destination.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The ride was uncomfortable and long, but not as long as Raine had anticipated. She had thought Denley would wish to be many hours, perhaps even days from Benedict’s intimidating reach before he halted his flight.

  While her captors lifted her off the horse, Raine prepared herself for dealing with her cousin. She was determined to present a reasoning attitude in spite of her anger. She knew how very obstinate he could be and wished to convince him to simply take her home with no more harm done. Whether or not she would be able to accomplish this remained to be seen. She had never thought that Denley would have the courage to kidnap her.

  She was aware of the fact that they entered a building when she heard the sounds of their booted feet on a hard wooden floor, then she felt herself being carried up a flight of steps that seemed to go on forever. When at last they reached the top, a door opened. The next thing she knew, she had been deposited quite abruptly onto the floor.

  Even as she reached to remove the covering from over her head, she heard the door closing. Hurriedly she pulled her head free, searching the small, dimly lit chamber for her cousin.

  Disappointment made her stomach clench as she realized that she was alone. Raine called out in desperation, “Denley! Denley! How dare you do this? Coward! I insist you speak to me this instant!”

  Silence was the only reply.

  She slapped her hand against the rush-strewn floor in frustration. How was she ever to make him see reason if he would not talk to her? He had to let her go before Benedict realized what had happened.

  For the sake of his woman and children she wished to see Denley come out of this unscathed. Only God in his heaven knew how furious Benedict would be when he learned that her cousin had taken her.

  Benedict found that no matter how hard he tried he could not concentrate. He kept getting up to look out the window of his library, seeing the blue sky overhead, the castle folk working about the grounds, the goats that nibbled at the grass. Yet it was not the fineness of the spring day that drew his attention, for in truth he saw little of what was laid out before him.

  His thoughts were of Raine. Raine and their babe.

  He, Benedict, was to have a child. Perhaps the babe would be a son, an heir to his lands and heritage. It was joyous news indeed. Yet he felt an inescapable sense of melancholy.

  Frustration swept through him. How was he supposed to feel? The mother of his child could not
abide being in the same room with him. It was his own fault that this was so.

  He recalled again Kendran’s certainty that Raine cared for him—had cared for him. If it had ever been true, which was very difficult for Benedict to believe, it could not be now after the way he had treated her.

  What woman would wish to be wanted only for the purpose of producing an heir? Which was precisely what he had led her to believe, had in fact led himself to believe. What a fool he had been.

  He could not even use the defense that his feelings for her had changed in recent days, for they had not. They had never been what he wished them to be.

  He had always wanted Raine for herself, for her honesty, her obstinacy, her loyalty and devotion to those she loved. He wanted her in his life and not just in his bed. That was why it had plagued him to see her care of those at Abbernathy. He had wished for her to feel that same sense of belonging, not just to the people of Brackenmoore, but to him. Mostly to him.

  Was Kendran right—that she had felt something for him—though he hesitated to believe it could have been love? Unfortunately, no matter what her feelings might have been, he had surely killed them.

  His fist hit the wall and he immediately drew it back to rub his scraped knuckles. There was nothing to be gained by hitting walls, or going over and over the difficulties in his mind. He suddenly realized that he must speak to Raine, try to make her see that he was sorry, that he wished to be a real husband to her, to put her and his child first.

  Would she accept his offer? Benedict’s gaze swept the chamber again. It was as if he could make some sign or answer materialize there simply by willing it.

  There was no sign.

  The answer could be found nowhere but in himself. It was his own fear of rejection that prevented him from going to her. Benedict squared his wide shoulders. He was many things—thoughtless, too driven and even obstinate—but he was not a coward.