For those short moments while he’d held her, losing himself in her body, she had felt how much he needed her. But she was sure his very need was what kept him away. Raynor could not trust any woman after the way his mother had treated his father. And only he could overcome that mistrust.
As it was, the more he cared for Elizabeth, the more desperately he seemed to hold her away from him.
She let Minerva have her head as they raced across an open pasture. The warm June breeze tugged at her wimple and the skirt of her crimson velvet gown. But even the freedom of riding with the wind did not dispel her melancholy.
It was as Elizabeth reached the top of a particularly sharp rise that a horse and a male rider came into view at the edge of the forest before her. She slowed, unsure of whether to go on. After refusing the company of the stable boy, the lady was more conscious of her aloneness than she might have been. She was not a timid woman, having lived so many years at court with Stephen. But she knew no one in the region, and did not wish to put herself in undue jeopardy.
She had just turned to ride in the opposite direction when she heard her name shouted out. “Lady Warwicke!”
She looked back over her shoulder and saw the man moving toward her over the greensward. She hesitated.
He called out again. “Please wait, Lady Warwicke. I will not harm you.”
Against reason, this convinced her. She knew that if he wished her harm, the man would certainly claim otherwise. But she felt no inner sense of disquiet, and that stayed her.
Then, for the first time in days, Elizabeth smiled. If naught else, living with Raynor had convinced her she could deal with most men.
The man who stopped before her on a dark brown stallion had a strongly made face, light brown hair and blue eyes, and seemed somehow familiar. She tried, but could not place him. “Have we met?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
He bowed. “Dear lady, we have. Though at that time you were Elizabeth Clayburn. It was some four years ago, at Windsor, when I came there. You were all of sixteen and newly arrived at court.”
“You were with a lady,” she replied, at last recalling the meeting. “Was she not your sister?”
“My stepsister, Louisa. I am Sir Nigel Harrington.”
At that moment, Elizabeth understood that this was Willow’s uncle, the very man whose name Raynor refused to even hear. And that would make his sister...”Louisa. Willow’s mother.” By concentrating, Elizabeth could call up a vague image of the other woman. If her memory served her, Louisa had been a small woman, with brown hair and eyes, like her daughter. This surprised Elizabeth, for she had always thought that Willow’s coloring must be a lighter version of her father’s.
He nodded as an expression of anger and pain passed over his features. “The very same.”
Elizabeth stated the obvious. “That means you are Willow’s uncle.” She studied him for a long moment. She remembered how furious Raynor had become when this man simply sent a messenger to the keep. “Why is my husband so set against you?” she asked bluntly.
He shook his head, looking away from her as if he could not bear for her to see the pain in his eyes. “I know not. I loved Louisa.” His voice took on a note of anger. “I have a right to see Willow. She is my flesh and blood, all that is left of our family. Warwicke thinks to keep her from me, but he has no right.”
“Why would he do so?” she asked.
He looked to her then, his expression filled with longing. “I know not. I only know that he will not allow me to take the child and care for her as she should be.”
Elizabeth knew she could ease his sadness on that score at least. “Have no more concern for that. I have taken over the child’s care, and I must add that Raynor has begun to understand what he needs do to be a good father, as well.”
Nigel’s lips tightened for a moment, but he took a deep breath, then smiled sadly. “For that much, I must thank you, Lady Elizabeth. It will indeed ease my mind to know little Willow has you with her.”
Then he went on, his gaze directed at the ground, and again she had the feeling that what he was saying was terribly painful for him to admit. “But I am a lonely man, with Louisa gone from this life. Willow is all I have in the world, and I've never so much as seen the little one. Just once, I wish to hold her in my arms. It would be like having a small piece of my sister returned to me. That is why I took my case before the king. Your husband refused me any access to her whatsoever. I had hoped Edward would understand my need to be with my niece. But the king did not listen to me.” Harrington’s voice rose in what appeared to be anger, but he quickly squelched it, shaking his head slowly. “His Majesty only heard Warwicke. He refused to see how much having the child would mean to me.”
Elizabeth fidgeted in confusion. She had no idea why Raynor would deny Nigel Harrington even some small access to his dead sister’s child. He seemed nothing but a lonely and hurting shell of a man.
Remembering the way Raynor had confessed his feelings for Louisa, Elizabeth could only think that Raynor was determined to keep his beloved’s child to himself.
An idea crept into Elizabeth’s mind. Mayhap she could do something to make Raynor change his mind about allowing Nigel to see Willow. That might teach him a lesson about sharing love, rather than clutching it so close.
She said, “I could speak to my husband on your behalf.”
Nigel leaned toward her, his eyes alight with some inner fire. “Oh, if only you could, dear lady. Would that you could help us make some truce.”
She raised a cautioning hand. “I must tell you true, before you take too much hope. I have little influence with my husband, and fear he will not heed what I ask of him.”
With raised brows, Nigel looked at her with flattering disbelief. “It is difficult for me to believe that such a lovely woman could have so little influence upon her husband. Be assured that were you mine, I would move heaven and earth to gain you your way.”
Elizabeth shrugged. This kind of ingratiating flattery was not unknown to her, thus she did not take it to heart. Her real concern was with making him see that he should not set his sights upon her ability to make Raynor change his mind. She said, “I do not speak out of false modesty, my lord Harrington. I tell you fact.”
“Nonetheless,” he told her, “I shall remain optimistic. This is the first sign of hope I have had. You must allow me that.”
Elizabeth pulled up her reins. “As you will.” Then she paused, as something else occurred to her. “How came you to be here this day? It is an odd thing that we should meet.”
He looked down at his hand, where it rested on the pommel of his saddle. “I have a confession to make. I often ride close to Warwicke, hoping against hope that I will get even a small glimpse of the child.” He looked at her, his eyes ingenuous. “It was only fortune that made your path cross mine.”
Elizabeth studied him, wanting to warn Nigel again not to be too hopeful, then thought better of it. Who was she to rob another of hope? “I shall send word when I have news.”
“I will take nary a breath in anticipation,” he said.
She realized there was nothing she could say that would dull his enthusiasm, so there was no point in continuing to try. She only hoped Harrington was not setting himself up for a grave disappointment. He did not understand as clearly as she how little her husband valued her opinions.
Glancing upward, she saw the sun had climbed high overhead. “I have tarried long enough,” she said. “I must return to Warwicke. I will be late for the meal as it is.”
He did not try to detain her. “Again you have my thanks,” he told her. “Go with God.”
“Goodbye,” she told him, and turned to ride for home.
For a moment after she left him, Elizabeth felt a glimmer of hope that she might actually succeed, despite her pessimism with Harrington. She clung to a vision of Raynor embracing her as he spoke of his gratitude for her bringing the two families together and ending their feud. But deep inside, Elizabeth knew it was not likely to happen. Now that she was alone, without the sadness in Nigel’s eyes to prod her, Elizabeth knew her husband was not apt to even listen to her. She was a fool to have thought otherwise, even for a heartbeat. Raynor was angry enough with her. Any hint of perceived disloyalty was sure to feed his distrust and set him even more firmly against her.
But she raised her head high, feeling the wind on her flushed face. She would not cower from doing what was right simply because Raynor would be angry. It was not in her to do so.
Besides, it wasn’t as if she risked their relationship by doing this. They had none to risk.
She relegated to the back of her consciousness the hope that this might bring her and Raynor closer together.
* * *
Elizabeth had resolved to broach the subject with her husband as soon as she had an opportunity. Unfortunately, one was not presented for several days.
When Raynor did not wish to see her, he was a master at making himself unavailable.
Finally Elizabeth knew she had to have it done or scream. With Olwyn acting as her scout, she waited up late one night. When the companion came to her with news that Raynor had returned to the keep, then gone to his chambers, Elizabeth gathered her courage about her and made her way there.
She did not bother to knock, knowing her husband would only refuse her admittance.
When she opened the door and stepped into his rooms, Raynor was seated before the fire, his long legs stretched out before him, a cup of wine in his hand. He started up from his slouched position as soon as he saw her.
“What do you here?” he growled.
She stood tall and straight, refusing to be intimidated. “I would have a word with you, my lord.”
He set his cup on the floor and turned to face her. “Surely whatever you have to say can wait until the morrow. You are not welcome here.”
A sharp stab of pain made her clench one fist to her chest. Then she told herself not to be foolish. She had expected no more from Raynor. Defiantly she faced him. “This will not wait, my lord. I have been trying to gain an audience with you for these four days now. It seems you are ever too busy.” She raised haughty black brows. “Or might it be that you are avoiding me, as usual?”
Raynor had the grace to look abashed. There was no way for him to deny the truth of her charge. Avoiding her was exactly what he had been been doing since the night they had made love. He was completely confused about his own feelings. On the one hand, he knew Elizabeth was right. He did judge all women by his mother, but he could not bring himself to put those fears aside. It was a matter of self-preservation. No matter how much he might be tempted to see the good in Elizabeth, her care for Willow, her unselfish ability to work toward the good of Warwicke, the gentleness of her. All were overshadowed with doubt when he thought of her other traits. The stubbornness, willfulness and headstrong attitude that were also a part of her. How could he be certain those characteristic could be overcome?
Wishing to see her gone as quickly as possible, Raynor nodded jerkily. “Have your say, then, and leave me in peace.”
She came a few steps farther into the room, but was careful to keep a distance between them. For some inexplicable reason, this annoyed him. But he forced the feelings aside, telling himself not to be a fool.
Elizabeth went on. “I want to ask you of a matter that I know will not please you....” She hesitated.
He stiffened, then shrugged with irritation. “Then why are you here, madame?” He looked away from her, telling himself not to allow her to provoke him.
She looked at him, her eyes meeting his challengingly. “Because it must needs be done. You do not frighten me, husband. I will not cower from a subject simply because you may not care to discuss it. What I do, I do because I feel it is right.” Then she added hopefully, under her breath, “Mayhap when all is done you might have occasion to thank me.”
He stared at her for a long moment that stretched her nerves to taut strings. Finally he nodded, and had she not known better, she would have sworn she saw admiration in his gaze.
He motioned toward the chair he had vacated. “Then, by all means, do what you will.”
She came toward him and sat in the proffered seat, then wondered at the wisdom of this when she looked up at him, so tall and powerful above her.
He folded his arms over his broad chest. “Well?”
“I want you to hear me out before you say anything,” she warned with a scathing glance. “I know you prefer not to listen to any other opinion besides your own, but this one time, you could try.”
He scowled blackly, his dark brows meeting over his straight nose. “Get on with it.”
She sat straighter in the chair and cleared her throat. “A few days ago, I was out riding, and I chanced upon a man.”
His lips tightened. “A man?”
“Yes, someone you know. He...he told me of a...problem he is having with you, and I offered to intercede with you on his behalf.”
His eyes had become dark pools of suspicion. “I hope, Elizabeth, that you are not talking of the one I suspect. It would be most foolish of you to even mention that name in my presence, or even in this keep, as I have forewarned you.”
She stood, facing him with equal heat. “Why, Raynor? Why do you hate Lord Harrington so?”