Raynor frowned. She had him there. From Elizabeth’s position, what he was saying could not make any sense. He wanted to, but could not, tell her the truth. He could not betray Louisa’s trust in him, even for Elizabeth.
He leaned closer to her, his eyes pleading for understanding. “Elizabeth, I have asked you for little in the time we have been married. This once I ask that you believe me when I tell that Louisa refused to marry me because she did not love me in that way and she knew I felt the same of her. She insisted that I be free to love where I would.” He shook his head sadly. “I did everything I could to convince her, and still Louisa would not be swayed. But it was not to hurt me. What she did was out of love for me.”
For a long moment, Elizabeth watched him. Then, as she looked into his dark eyes, she came to a decision. How could she doubt the truth of what he said? It was there for her to see in the unshuttered pain in his gaze. For reasons known only to them, Raynor and Louisa had taken comfort from each other in the form of physical love. But that love had not been enough to sustain a marriage, and they had known it.
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with emotion. There had been no constraint on Raynor to tell her of this. He had done so out of unselfishness. He had not been able to allow her to think ill of Louisa.
No matter what else Raynor might be, he was loyal and caring to a fault to those whom he had given his heart.
She did not know if Raynor would ever come to completely accept and trust in her that way, but he was no longer resentful of her presence here. That must suffice.
Unable to voice her thoughts aloud, Elizabeth looked to Willow. The child who had been produced by Louisa’s and Raynor’s devotion to each other.
Would that she could have Raynor’s child. That much, at least, would be something. If she could not openly show her care for him, she could love his child.
Driving her fear of speaking her thoughts into the deepest part of her, Elizabeth turned to her husband. “I wish I could someday bear a child. Your child and mine.” She held his gaze, her own blue eyes dark with longing.
For a moment, he did nothing. Then, slowly and inevitably he leaned toward her, pausing when his lips were a mere whisper away.
She could feel his breath, sweet from the wine they had drunk, and a heavy, honeyed languor oozed through her body to pool in her belly. She closed her eyes, feeling the perspiration that beaded on her upper lip. His tongue flicked out to lick it away, and she sighed.
His lips found hers, and she found herself pulled close to the hard wall of his chest. Squirming in Raynor’s arms, she tried to get closer to him, but her cote was tangled under her and she fumbled awkwardly, trying not to break the contact of their mouths.
With a deep chuckle, Raynor lifted her and settled her on his lap.
Elizabeth melted against him, glorying in the strength of his arms around her, his heart beating beneath her hand, as his tongue danced with hers.
Through the haze of longing invoked by his embrace, Elizabeth heard a muffled giggle. She started, drawing back from her husband.
Willow was sitting up, looking at them with amusement and a little surprise. “Papa, you're kissing Elizabeth.”
Slowly, and with obvious regret, he eased Elizabeth off his lap. “Aye, I was, moppet. Does that bother you?”
Jumping up with a cheery laugh, she threw her arms around Elizabeth’s neck to give her a hearty kiss on the cheek. “Oh, nay. I am most glad. Elizabeth is soft, and nice to kiss.”
His eyes met her over Willow’s head. “That she is, dearling. That she is.”
Chapter Thirteen
E
lizabeth did not know exactly what had happened between them the previous day by the river, but something had changed. Raynor’s gaze had a new warmth that dredged up hopes she was afraid to put a name to.
As Elizabeth paused in the doorway of the great hall, she saw that her husband was already seated at table. It almost seemed he might have been watching for her, because his gaze was trained on the spot where she stood, and a wide smile curved his lips.
Her own mouth quirked upward in response.
Seeing the pleasure in his dark gaze, Elizabeth felt a sense of happiness and genuine hope for their future together growing inside her.
Surely now things could only improve for them. This very morning she had sent a messenger to inform Nigel Harrington that she would not be meeting him again. Elizabeth did feel some guilt about not telling him in person, but nothing must be allowed to jeopardize the very new emotions between her and her husband. What they were experiencing was as fresh and fragile as a drop of dew on a rose petal and Elizabeth felt she must go very carefully, so as not to disturb it.
But Elizabeth was not the only one to take note of Raynor’s eagerness. The trestle tables were filled, the occupants of the keep breaking their fast in preparation for the day’s labors. Many elbows were pressed to fellow diners' sides while she made her way toward her grinning husband.
A newfound shyness made her avoid Raynor’s gaze as she settled herself next to him at table. But she felt his attention on her like a cloak, and she could not keep herself from glancing up at him.
He smiled softly. “Good morn, wife.” There was a note of possession in the word
wife.
Elizabeth looked down at her clasped hands. Though she tried not to, Elizabeth still felt the weight of all those pairs of watching eyes.
She answered her husband quietly. “Good morrow, Raynor.” His name felt strangely intimate on her tongue. Rarely had she called him by it, except in the heat of passion. A faint blush stole over her ivory cheeks.
Raynor’s smile widened, as if he knew her thoughts.
Looking to where Bronic sat, in his accustomed place beside Raynor, Elizabeth saw that his face showed both amusement and speculation. Clearly he was interested at seeing the couple getting along so well, especially after what Raynor had accused them of only days ago.
If Raynor was aware of his brother’s scrutiny, he gave no indication that it bothered him. He continued to gaze on Elizabeth with unconcealed pleasure.
When the tray of cooked venison was brought in, Raynor carefully chose the tenderest portions and placed them before Elizabeth. This he had done before, but now, unlike the other times, he allowed his hand to brush hers, where it lay on the table. Elizabeth felt an unexpected flush of heat through her body, and nearly gasped aloud. It never ceased to amaze her that Raynor could awaken her so with just a touch. From beneath the veil of her black lashes, she glanced toward him, and found her husband watching her with tender fascination, as if he were hungry for the sight of her.
“Is there aught else you desire, Elizabeth?” he asked, his tone low, as he poured out her drink himself. This new solicitude from Raynor was welcome, but disconcerting at the same time.
Hesitantly Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay, my lord, you have been most considerate.” She felt more unsure of herself and her position than at any time in her life.
“I trust you slept well?” he asked, as if sensing her confusion.
Elizabeth smiled hesitantly. It almost seemed he was trying to put her at her ease, and for that Elizabeth was grateful. But she also knew a sense of impatience. Why must they try to come to know each other before so many curious stares? She knew the castlefolk wished them well, but that did nothing to ease the strain of being the object of so much attention, however well-meaning.
And despite Raynor’s obvious approval of her at this moment, she felt unsure. There lurked in Elizabeth memories of other times when she had allowed her husband to see how much she wanted him. Those times he had reacted by pushing her away.
Would he do so again?
Elizabeth could not bear the notion of that happening with the whole keep looking on. As she looked up into her husband’s handsome face, which grew dearer to her daily, Elizabeth’s mind began to form an idea.
She only hoped that Raynor would understand it as a chance for a new beginning for them.
* * *
That eve, when Raynor returned to the keep, there was a message awaiting him in his chamber.
Elizabeth requested him to sup in her solar.
Raynor turned away from Arthur, who had come to help him change for the evening meal. But he could feel the boy’s eyes on his back.
Holding the note in his hand, Raynor hesitated. He did not know what reply he would give. It was true that he was coming to care for Elizabeth. But that care was new to him, and as yet untried.
What was she about, to ask him to sup with her?
He recalled the last time he had done so. That night at Windsor, when they had been found together.
And this very morning, when they had breakfasted together. Though he could not quite put his finger on the reason, she seemed different. Elizabeth had spoken very little, and looked at him even less. Mayhap it was because the change in their relationship was as new to her as it was to him. Now he was not so sure.
Uneasiness washed through him, and he shifted uncomfortably. Now that his wife had seen that he was coming to care for her, was she setting him up for some purpose of her own, to get him in a position of intimacy so that she could use his attraction to her against him? Would he now discover that she was indeed trying to manipulate and control him?
The silence stretched on.
“My lord?” Arthur questioned, standing ready with his clean tunic.
Raynor glanced at him and away. “My wife has invited me to sup in her solar.”
Arthur simply blinked at him, then at the brown tunic he held. “You would like something finer, my lord?” he asked.
Raynor knew a moment of discomfort at the notion that Arthur would think him eager to please his wife by dressing more grandly.
Then, irritated with himself, Raynor sat on the chair by the empty hearth. What did he care if Arthur assumed he might want something finer to wear for an intimate dinner with his wife? There was no reason to be embarrassed about being asked to come to her solar. It was not unheard-of for a wife to invite her husband for an evening alone.
But even as he told himself these things, Raynor knew this was not so of himself and Elizabeth.
It was no secret that they did not behave as a loving couple. They had been anything but close since Elizabeth’s coming to Warwicke, and despite his original efforts to make thing appear normal, everyone in the keep knew it.
It was not surprising, really, that Arthur would assume this was a special occasion.
Then something else occurred to the lord of Warwicke. Arthur had also assumed that Raynor would be accepting Elizabeth’s invitation.
This was what finally swayed him. Since they had picnicked with Willow two days before, Raynor had felt closer to Elizabeth. He had told her things he’d never said to anyone else, never thought to say to anyone. And she’d listened without judging, and, even more importantly, without asking questions he did not wish to answer.
Raynor could think of no good reason why he should not go. It seemed only right, when he had decided to try to be a husband to her. But Raynor’s trepidation did not completely leave him. The wounds of his past were difficult to leave behind him.
He could not help asking himself why Elizabeth would care about him. Louisa, Bronic, and now Willow, were the only people who had ever really loved him. But they had clearly needed him as much as he had them.
His wife was a different matter. She was strong, resourceful and intelligent. She had a family that would accept her return with joy. Of that he had no doubt. So why did she want him—need him? The lord of Warwicke had no answer. But mayhap he should try to find out.
He looked at Arthur, who still waited with the appearance of patience. Raynor nearly smiled, knowing how difficult a pose this was for the boy.
With a sigh of resignation, he said, “Get the green velvet tunic and the black pourpoint.”
With a nod, Arthur moved to do as he was bidden.
As he readied himself for the meeting with his wife, Raynor’s unease began to be overlaid by a growing sense of anticipation.
Clearly he recalled the first time he had dined with his wife alone. It had ended in his being married to the maddening, beautiful, endlessly intriguing woman.
Somewhere inside him lurked the question of whether the request had anything to do with her admitted wish to have a child. His child.
* * *
Elizabeth had prepared her chambers carefully.
The table was set up in the middle of the solar. Her own pewter plate and glasses were arranged on top. A cool jug of wine waited to be poured. A host of candles had been lit and placed about the chamber. Their soft golden light flickered over the highly polished surface of the table and chairs, and created mysterious shadows in the dim corners of the room.
Elizabeth moved restlessly to the window and peered out into the warm darkness.
Would he come?
She ran her hands over the scarlet velvet of her skirt, then checked the ribbon Olwyn had tied around her hair at the nape of her neck. She’d left the glossy mass loose except for that ribbon.