She was sure the people of the keep knew most every detail of their lord and lady’s private life. It would be near impossible for them not to. They all lived and worked in this small world called Warwicke together.
Just when Elizabeth was thinking that it was surely time to tell Jean that she could go no farther, the serving woman went on. “I've not seen lord Raynor so alive since before Lady Louisa died.”
Now Elizabeth’s attention was pricked, and she knew that no matter how far this conversation strayed, she would not halt it. Everything in her longed to know of Raynor’s relationship with Louisa. Surely understanding that would help her to know the man she had married. Thus thinking, she found herself encouraging the other woman. “What do you mean?”
“Why, just that, my lady. Lord Warwicke had just begun to come into himself after his mother died. She was a one, I can tell you.” Jean shook her head sadly. “Never gave the boy a moment’s rest from her nagging and demanding. He was nineteen when she passed on, and it was the first real peace he’d ever known. While she was alive, she prodded and pushed and tried to control her son as she had the old lord.” The servant sat up straighter, smiling with pride. “But Lord Raynor, he’d have none of her controlling his every act. Though I know it took much out of him, her never letting up. As I said, in the years after her death, he became more cheerful, like. You see, he didn’t have to fight her anymore, and guard his back against her manipulations. I'm sure it was like the weight of the castle being taken off of his shoulders.”
Elizabeth tried to imagine her husband’s mother and what she must have been like. It was difficult. Her own mother had been a partner and friend to her father. And as far as her children—including her daughter—were concerned, she’d taught them to think and act for themselves. Elizabeth frowned. “Was she really so very terrible? 'Tis hard to believe anyone could be.”
Jean’s lips thinned in condemnation. “Aye, that one was. Her, she couldn’t love anyone but herself. In my whole fifty years, I've not seen another who had so little care for anything or anyone around her. 'Tis hard to believe she birthed two such men as Lord Raynor and Sir Bronic. Never would so much as even tell Bronic who his father might be, though I heard them arguing about it often enough when he grew old enough to understand.” The woman hesitated. “I know ’tis not really my place to criticize my betters this way, but that one was no lady. Mayhap by birth, but not in her heart.” Her face was slightly defiant when she turned to Elizabeth.
For the first time, Elizabeth wondered what it would have been like for Bronic, not even knowing his father’s name. No wonder he and Raynor were close—they’d had no others. But curiosity about Louisa pushed even this thought aside. “Tell me of Louisa. What happened when she came? What did she do to change Raynor back to the way he had been?”
The serving woman shook her gray head. “'Twas not that way. Lady Louisa, she was sweet as spring, and as kind.”
“Mayhap it was her death that turned him sour toward life,” Elizabeth offered, thinking aloud.
“Nay. It happened when she arrived.”
“When she arrived?” Elizabeth asked, incredulous. It made no sense. If Raynor loved her, and she was all Jean said, he should have been overjoyed to have her with him.
Jean looked as puzzled as Elizabeth felt. “Aye, my lord Raynor seemed to grow angry again at just that time, though he treated his lady as if she was made from glass. That, you see, was only six months before Willow was born. I was here that day, helping to deliver the child. Louisa was a wee thing, with narrow hips, and the babe was large. A plump, healthy babe she was, our Willow.” Jean’s eyes clouded over with sorrow. “Lady Louisa took two days to birth her, and after that we couldn’t stop the bleeding.”
Though she felt sadness at hearing of Louisa’s death, Elizabeth also knew a growing confusion as the story sunk deep. It took more than six months to conceive, then birth, a plump healthy child. Elizabeth had seen a six-month babe her mother had helped deliver once. It had been a small, weak infant, and had died within a matter of hours. “So Louisa must have already been with child when she came here to live with Raynor,” Elizabeth mused aloud. “How and where did they meet? Surely not at Harrington.”
Jean shrugged. “Lady Louisa was never a guest in this keep before that time. I would have known of it. But she and my lord could have met anywhere, for aught I know, though I did not hear of him riding to Harrington. It had been a long while since my lord Warwicke was like to visit with Louisa and Nigel. Though they had been great companions in earlier years, we’d seen naught of them in quite a time.”
Elizabeth’s black brows drew down as a new thought came to her. “Could Raynor have been angry because he suspected the child might be another’s?”
“Oh, no, my lady. As I told you, Lord Raynor treated Lady Louisa as if she was made of glass. He was ever helping her about and asking after the babe, making sure Lady Louisa had everything she could want. Besides, Lord Raynor has never denied being little Willow’s father. In fact, he has proclaimed that he was from the very beginning.”
That Elizabeth knew was true. Raynor was ever clear on the fact that he was Willow’s father.
Jean went on, oblivious of Elizabeth’s thoughts. “But something was wrong. Lord Warwicke had a mad in him that all could see. And when Lord Harrington came to the keep, demanding to take his sister home, Lady Louisa set up such a fuss, screaming and carrying on. Lord Raynor became so crazed, we all thought he might go out and kill him with his bare hands.”
“Well.” Elizabeth arched her brows. “What did Raynor expect Lord Harrington to do? Louisa was his sister, pregnant and living with a man who was not her husband. How would Raynor feel in the same situation? Lord Harrington must have been beside himself with worry. I can only wonder why Raynor would choose to turn his unexplained anger on him. Even though Louisa did not wish to return home, Raynor might have tried to understand the other man’s position.” Elizabeth knew her own brothers would raze the very keep of any man who tried to hold her under similar circumstances.
“I know nothing of that, my lady. But I do know that when Lord Harrington brought his men and stood outside the keep, calling for his sister, it was Lady Louisa who cried and threatened to throw herself from the battlements did Lord Raynor give her over.”
Elizabeth sat down on a barrel of last year’s apples. Threatening to throw herself from the battlements seemed more than a hysterical remark made simply to get one’s way. Raynor had said Louisa would turn over in her grave at the idea of Elizabeth trying to help her brother see Willow. At the time she had wondered if mayhap Raynor was only projecting his own dislike to Louisa. Obviously that was not the case. For some reason, Louisa had hated her stepbrother, hated him to the point of threatening to kill herself to keep from going home. Whether this was because she couldn’t bear to lose Raynor, or due to some fault of her stepbrother’s, Elizabeth had no idea.
But one thing was clear. For some reason known only to herself—and, most certainly, Raynor—Louisa had not wanted Nigel to have contact with herself or her child.
This would bear some considering. But, though the reasons for Louisa’s attitude were still unclear, Elizabeth knew she had no right to overlook the wishes of Willow’s own mother. If Louisa had wanted them to have no contact, she would certainly not try to interfere by helping the knight in his quest to see Willow. Nigel was on his own.
No matter how hurt he was over being without the child, Louisa had wished it this way. And Elizabeth would see to it that her wishes were carried out.
But even as she made this decision Elizabeth knew it was more for Raynor than any other reason. Even though he refused to tell her anything about what had happened between Louisa and Nigel—and she was now certain that therein lay the crux of the feud—Elizabeth was coming to see that Raynor did not act without reason.
Despite his ill nature and quick temper, he was a man who made the utmost effort to judge and behave fairly.
Raynor always acted from his own logic. It was one of the things that drew her to him, even as it irritated her. Even when Raynor was angry with her, he’d felt he had reason. Whether it was that he thought she had trapped him into a marriage he didn’t want, or even that he was vehemently set against being manipulated as his father had been.
Raynor seemed to have a deep-seated reason for disliking Nigel Harrington, and that had become good enough reason for her.
If they were ever to have a real marriage, she must learn to put her faith in her husband. One of them must try to have a little faith in the other, and it might as well be her. Perhaps if he saw her making an effort to believe in him, he could begin to believe in her—in them.
* * *
Once outside the cold cellar, Elizabeth felt the heat of the day like a blanket over the keep and grounds.
There was an unrelieved stillness to the air, and the castlefolk moved about their daily work listlessly. The underarms and backs of their rough-woven wool garments were dark with perspiration. There was no hum of conversation to distract from the hot, radiant sun that rode high in the afternoon sky. Flies buzzed noisily about the goats that roamed the bailey, eating grass. Even the goats showed little energy as they flicked the pests away with their tails.
Taking a deep breath, but finding no relief in it, Elizabeth pushed her hair back from her forehead. Olwyn had braided the thick mass to keep it back, but it still felt heavy and hot. Never could Elizabeth remember such a warm day, even in July.
Willow came across the yard toward to her, her wild curls tousled and damp with perspiration. She looked up at Elizabeth with apathetic brown eyes. “It is hot.”
The statement could not have been more true. Elizabeth ran a gentle hand over the tousled curls. “Yes, dearling, it is. Why don’t you go to my solar? I'm sure Olwyn has opened the windows.”
Willow sighed heavily. “'Tis hot there too.”
Elizabeth realized that the child needed to cool off badly.
And, aside from that, Elizabeth could do with a little cooling off herself. She’d been through much in the past days, and could use a little time to think, away from the busy life of the castle.
First she fetched a blanket. Then, going to the kitchen, she asked Eva to prepare a basket of food for them. Taking the food with a smile of gratitude, for she knew Eva was already busy with the preparations for the evening meal, Elizabeth grasped Willow’s hand and led her from the keep.
She waved to the watchman as she went through the gate. He returned her salute, but seemed no more enthusiastic about moving than anyone else.
They followed the path that led toward the village, before turning off to go toward the river. It was then that Elizabeth saw a rider approaching them from the direction of the village. Even at a distance, Elizabeth could see it was her husband. There was no mistaking that thick, dark hair, or the mount he rode.
“Papa!” Willow called. She ran down the path toward him.
Elizabeth hung back, not certain as to how Raynor would behave toward her today. After the way she had given herself with such abandon, she felt uncharacteristically shy.
And she also felt slightly uncomfortable about the things she had discussed with Jean. She was now closer to really understanding her husband than ever before. But Elizabeth had a feeling Raynor would not approve of her conversation with the head woman.
She watched as Raynor stopped his horse and dismounted, walking the last few feet to meet his daughter. He scooped her up in his arms and moved toward Elizabeth as he gave Willow a kiss on her pink cheek.
Now Elizabeth could see the warmth and pleasure in his eyes. But she was not reassured about how he would react to her. His happiness was surely from being with his daughter.
But as he came closer, Elizabeth saw that his smile did not fade. He seemed not wary at meeting her, as in the past, but a little unsure himself.
Even as Elizabeth wondered at this, her heart gave a tiny flutter of hope.
Raynor stopped a few feet from her. “Elizabeth.”
She nodded. “My lord.”
Willow looked to Elizabeth, her arm looped trustingly around her father’s neck. “Can Papa come with us?”
Raynor indicated the basket and blanket in Elizabeth’s arms. “You are going on a picnic.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling silly now for taking the time out of her busy day for a picnic. Surely Raynor would not wish to occupy himself with such pursuits. She turned to Willow. “Sweeting, your father is a busy man. I am sure he has no time for picnicking today.”
Raynor stopped her with a surprised look. “Nay, Elizabeth. I would like to accompany you, if I am welcome to do so. But perhaps you do not have enough for three.”
A flush of pleasure colored Elizabeth’s pale cheeks, though she told herself he was coming with them for Willow’s sake. “You would be most welcome my lord.” She raised the basket. “Eva has sent more than we two could eat.”
“Oh, yes, we have much,” Willow agreed her brown eyes earnest on his. “If there is not enough, you can have mine, Papa. I'm not so very hungry.”
Raynor’s face softened in an expression of abject love as he reached out to pull his daughter close against his neck. “I thank you for that, little one,” he said huskily.
Elizabeth had to turn away to hide the tears that started to fill her eyes at the expression of overwhelming love, tenderness and gratitude on his face. How cruel fate was, that this gentle man should feel such gratitude for a child’s kindness.