Chosen for the Marriage Bed (19 page)

Without questioning the urge, Richard applied his spurs, at the same time pricked by remorse that in recent weeks he had deliberately pushed her away from him so that he would not be drawn to burden her with the worries that gnawed incessantly at his mind. He had proved neither a good husband nor an attentive lover, even knowing that his with drawal hurt her. The thought of her willingness to accept the demands of his body brought a surprising surge of lust to his loins. It was time he made amends. Elizabeth deserved better than his recent neglect of her. He found himself smiling as he approached the gate house.

The smile was wiped from his face when Richard strode into his home to where Master Kilpin bowed him welcome.

‘My lord. I thought it might have been the lady—but perhaps she’ll stay the night after all. The light is already falling.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Gone to Bishop’s Pyon, my lord.’

‘Bishop’s Pyon!’

‘Master David has gone also, my lord,’ Kilpin replied, suddenly wary at the fierce response. ‘And Commander Beggard took her with a strong escort.’

‘What!’ The reply was as sharp as a viper’s strike. ‘Why in the Devil’s own name should she find a need to go to Bishop’s Pyon?’

‘Well, my lord…’

‘The roads are dangerous. If there are a dozen bands of thieves on the prowl, there are two score. I shall fetch her home.’

Richard rode to Bishop’s Pyon with a terrible fear in his heart.

Chapter Fifteen

E
lizabeth did not stay over night at Bishop’s Pyon. She did not know why she had wanted to go there in the first place, an inexplicable whim that she could only put down to the fidgety, uneasy mood that drove her, unless it was to relive some of the happier times of childhood when her mother lived. The brief visit gave her no satisfaction, and she was glad to return to Ledenshall. Besides, Richard might be home.

There had been another reason for her desire to be gone from Bishop’s Pyon. To her amazement she had found Nicholas Capel there. He had offered no explanation, other than that he was sent there on an errand by Sir John.

He had been polite and respectful. Elizabeth recalled their cursory meeting with a frown between her brows. He had asked after her health. He surveyed her with some deep interest, lingering on her face, her cloak-shrouded figure, from her toes to the crown of her head. It had been hard not to squirm under the blatant appraisal. Thrusting out his hands, he had seized hers before she could resist, his fingers enclosed around her wrists, and searched her face as if he would read something there.

‘Master Capel!’ She would have pulled her hands away, but he tightened the hold.

‘The last time that we met, lady, at Talgarth, I was concerned for your health.’ His words were soothing enough. ‘I merely wished to satisfy myself that you are restored to the best of health.’

‘Yes. I am well. Why should I not be?’

‘No reason, lady. My mind is relieved.’ He released her.

There was no threat there and yet… The horoscope lingered in her mind. Her flesh crawled. And then David had joined her, put ting an end to any personal discussion.

‘Your uncle would welcome a visit from you to Talgarth, my lady.’

‘Thank you, Master Capel. I’ll consider it.’

But she would not. She had nothing to say to Sir John. And, yes, she would be glad to be home at Ledenshall. How strange that she would think of it as home. And that she should feel this deep desire to see Richard waiting for her in the court yard, his strong hands ready to lift her down from her mare. His smile, for her alone, enhancing his striking features. What had happened in so short a time? There was no other man who had ever touched her senses as he did. No other man could trip her heart and steal her breath, who could inflame her blood with a single look, a single brush of his fingers. No other man had ever stolen her heart other than this marcher lord who held her happiness and contentment in the palm of his hand, who was intent on creating a distance between them, and was at this time God knew where!

She had never loved any man as she loved Richard Malinder. There! She had finally spoken it in bold words, if only within her own head. Elizabeth felt the familiar heat rise to her cheeks at the thought of him holding her in his arms again, kissing her into a miraculous state of joy. Even now she could taste him, scent him, imagine the splay of his fingers on her naked flesh. Her mind lingered unnervingly on the delight she could find with Black Malinder.

And then, as they approached the brow of the rise before the long slope down into Ledenshall, there he was, drawing rein before them. Mud-splattered and sweat-stained, as was his escort, the Malinder pennons lifting sluggishly in the still air. There he was as if her thoughts had magicked his appearance from the shadows.

His brow was black with anger. The muscles of his jaw rigid.

‘It’s Richard. Come to meet us,’ David said unnecessarily at her side.

Elizabeth felt her heart miss a beat. And her breath catch, just as she knew it would. The flush deepened in her cold cheeks as she braced herself for the approaching confrontation.

But Richard simply fell in beside them, so at least the clash of wills was postponed. Beyond a curt acknowledgement, he was clearly in no mood to discuss whatever ill humour rode him and Elizabeth, angling her chin, made no attempt to engage him in conversation. What would be the point? She left it to David.

By the time she reached her chamber, Elizabeth was less sanguine. A half-hour of horse flesh appreciation between her brother and husband had peeled away any tolerance. She stripped off her cloak, her gloves and flung them on the bed. To be all but ignored on the journey home, by both of them. Beneath the chill he had been furious. Beneath the calm discussion with David, anger had bubbled. She had seen it in the tight grip of his fist on the rein, in the cold fire in his eyes. Well, she wouldn’t have it. She might have admitted to loving him to distraction, but if she was to have a frank exchange of views with Richard, she was in no mood to be compliant. She was tired and ruffled and in no good temper. First Capel studying her as if she were some strange creature from his magic charts, then Richard riding beside her with a brow as black as thunder, no doubt furious at her decision to travel to Bishop’s Pyon. She would have some thing to say about that when he deigned to present himself.

The door to her chamber opened to admit her serving woman’s sturdy figure, carrying a jug and ewer.

‘Jane. I’m frozen half to death and weary to the bone.’ She tried to push her edgy mood away as Jane poured the hot water. Sat silently as Jane began to prepare a cup of mulled wine, added logs to the fire that had been allowed to burn low. Came to help Elizabeth remove her gown, stockings, rub some warmth into her cold feet and hands. Produced soft slippers and a houppelande that enveloped her in its soft folds from chin to floor, loosely secured with a plaited girdle. Took away her light veil and brushed out her hair, grunting as the silken black length of it at last reached to her shoulders. When the wine was hot and the pungent scent of the spices filled the room, Jane ladled it into a cup.

‘Lord Richard, I take it, is not pleased.’

‘No. I know not the reason. Our exchange of words so far has been brief.’ Elizabeth sipped. ‘Whether it be my visiting Bishop’s Pyon… But, no, he is not pleased.’

‘Hmm.’ Jane stood before her, fists on ample hips, beady gaze intent.

Unaware, Elizabeth continued, focusing on the swirl of cinnamon in the wine. ‘He won’t talk to me. He shuts me out as if I were a servant. Or one of his hounds that gets under his feet. How can I help him if I do not know what the problem is?’ It suddenly felt good to release the issues that had been layering silently inside her. ‘If he would only tell me…’

On a thought and with narrowed gaze, Jane lifted a candle stick to move it closer. Then stood with it in her hand, her eyes fixed on her mistress’s face.

Elizabeth caught the look. ‘Now what is it?’

‘Let me look at you, lady.’ Mistress Bringsty held the candle stick higher to cast light more evenly over Elizabeth’s face. The clearly marked brows, the dark eyes a little strained, the oval face, now more comely and rounded, but still with sharply elegant cheek bones. Then she put the candle down and took Elizabeth’s hand. Looked long and care fully at the palm, running her fingers over the soft skin, tracing any pattern that she could detect in the lines. ‘Well, now…’

‘Well, now, what?’ Unusually petulant, Elizabeth pulled her hand away. That was the second time this day someone had peered at her as if she were a strange insect in a cup of ale. ‘I swear, Jane, I’m in no mood for riddles either.’

‘No riddles, my lady.’ Mistress Bringsty’s face creased in a rare smile. ‘It’s clear enough to those who can read such things. I wager you’ve fallen.’

‘What?’

‘Perhaps it was a good season for walnuts after all.’

‘No! It cannot be. I didn’t know…’

‘Since when do you need to
know
to fall for a child? I can see it in your face. As clear as noonday at Midsummer.’

‘No!’

‘No point in arguing, mistress. It’s done. Early days yet, though.’

‘Yes. Early days.’ Elizabeth’s mind tried to pin down the emotions. Stunned, yes. Shocked. And de lighted.

‘His lordship might not have been doing much talking, but he appears to have been proficient in other matters.’

Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips. Was this the cause of her restlessness? And what would Richard say? Her eyes lifted to her servant were rapier-keen. ‘Jane! If it is so… You are to talk to no one about it.’

‘Not my place to gossip, my lady.’

Elizabeth angled a glance ‘When I want anyone to know—’
when I want
him
to know ‘
—I’ll be the one to say.’

When Jane left, Elizabeth remained in the chair by the fire. The cat sprang to her lap as if sensing her need for comfort, purring at the soft cloth beneath its paws. Was this not what she wanted? Perhaps. A little warmth grew below her heart to spread and enfold. It was what Richard would want. A Malinder heir. But she would not tell him. Not yet, until it was a reality in her own mind. Until she knew what was in his heart. She spread her fingers over her flat belly and hugged the thought to herself with not a little joy.

But first she and her husband must come to terms.

When Richard entered her room without knocking, he found himself the victim of a direct attack, swift as a sparrow-hawk. Elizabeth rose to her feet, tipping the cat from her lap without compunction, and advanced. Her head was raised, her shoulders braced and spine straight, her arms stiffly at her side. Ready to do battle.

His intentions were not quite clear even to himself as he flung back the door, but the blaze of fear caused by her thoughtless journey, not to mention her damnably stiff-necked refusal to appear in the slightest contrite, goaded him into taking her to task. If he remembered his earlier decision to talk to her, open his heart to her, even accept some comfort from her, it was swatted away as a troublesome horsefly. So he had stayed only to remove his cloak and his sword before taking the stairs with hot urgency, his thoughts tumbling one over the other in justification of his anger. She would not take herself off around the county on a whim. She would not put her life in danger so that all other thoughts were instantly driven from his mind, his heart frozen, a solid lump in his chest. She was his wife, his woman, and he loved her. He had a need to protect her. He could not imagine his existence without her. She had no right to put herself in danger. He loved her, obdurate as she was. When he had seen her ride towards him, all he had wanted to do was sweep her up and carry her home. Until she had raised her chin in sheer defiance.

And still, in spite of that, because of that, he loved her…

Loved her?

No! Love had no place in his emotions. Love weakened a man, compromised his choices. Life with Elizabeth was far simpler if based on respect, affection even.

But his heart thudded against his breast bone. What he felt for Elizabeth was far stronger than affection, far more forceful than a desire to protect. But when had this happened? He had no idea. Richard was still reeling from the shock of that one incontrovertible fact, of that ultimate acknowledgement, when her first words met him, as subtle and conciliatory as a punch to the jaw.

‘Before you say anything, I wish to make it clear, Richard. I can go to Bishop’s Pyon if I choose, when I choose. I do not need your per mission.’

He knew he should mind his temper, bite his tongue. She was his love, was she not? But the latent fear got the better of him. It still had him by the throat. But he would try to remain calm, reasonable, even if she would not. Like hell he would! His reply mirrored his tumultuous thoughts. ‘Not if it puts you in danger, lady. You are not free to risk your life and safety as and when you choose. You will do as I say.’

‘In danger? I was in no danger!’

‘From robbers. Brigands. Any of the riff-raff who swarm over the county in its present state.’

‘Surely you trust Simon to escort me.’

‘Yes. But are you aware of the target you would make?’

She raised her chin again. A gesture that she thought might just set light to his temper. A wicked impulse urged her on. She was in the mood for lighting a few flames. Elizabeth firmed her mouth against a little smile as she watched her lord struggle for control.

‘For God’s sake, woman. Are you not aware of the value of your person as a hostage? Or even for the simple matter of robbery. Did you even think about the value of your cloak? That damned brooch that I was foolish enough to give you. The horse flesh. Law and order hardly exists in the March with the King under armed guard, and with the marauding Welsh thrown into the mix it’s impossible to keep travellers safe. And you would deny the existence of danger!’

‘Well! I had not thought.’ Elizabeth was furious that he was right. Touched by his concern for her.

‘When did you ever?’ Fury compromised his control so that he felt it slipping through his fingers, so that Richard found himself spilling the words he had determined to keep to himself. To paint for her the horror that faced him when he heard she had gone to Bishop’s Pyon alone. ‘This day I saw the terrible result of such a robbery not five miles from here, on my own lands. Shall I tell you? Naked bodies in a ditch, innocent travellers, women and children as well as their men, stripped of all dignity, hacked and de spoiled to remove jewellery. Robbed of their lives. That’s what I feared for you.’

Her heart clutched. But she would not back down. Here was no cold distancing, no deliberate stepping back. Ripe fury vibrated, his eyes alive with it, his whole body primed for action. As if he would spring forwards, a hunting cat on its quarry. They faced each other, focused and hissing as cats on the stable roof, whilst her own animal, coward that she was tonight, re treated to crouch beneath a rush chair. The air in the room positively crackled. Where had seduction got her? Now defiance! This was far better for causing a conflagration. Even though she might tremble at the outcome, even though she might be consumed by it.

‘You will not put yourself in danger,’ Richard continued, face vividly ablaze. ‘I expect you, as my wife, to be discreet. You don’t know the meaning of the word discretion. The Malinder’s Black Vixen is the talk of the March.’

His control was now balancing on the narrowest of edges. Elizabeth sensed it. ‘I shall do as I please.’ That should do it. She waited, breath held.