He turned to her, his brows knit in surprise at her frankness. He took a long pull of his wine before answering. “Nay, I would not have come.”
Even though she had known the answer, Elizabeth felt an unbidden twinge of chagrin. She couldn’t keep herself from replying with the first thing that popped into her mind. “I am really not so very wicked.”
His grimace belied his polite answer. “Of that I am most certain, Lady Elizabeth.”
She laughed. The words were so blatantly at odds with his expression. “Methinks you do not answer truthfully, my lord. What do you hold against me?” She raised her arms wide, then lowered them, feeling recklessly daring for talking so openly. “Am I not pleasing to you? Do I bring to mind some long-despised woman from your past?”
His gaze moved over her with slow deliberation, his eyes dark with some undefined emotion that made her pulse quicken. His voice was husky as he spoke. “You are most pleasing to me, Elizabeth Clayburn. And you remind me of no one I have known in my entire life. In fact, I find you too pleasing.”
Elizabeth knew a moment’s elation before he went on, his tone grown cool.
“But therein lies my problem. You are a noblewoman, and thus can be nothing to me. I want no complication in my life such as you would bring. I have troubles enough to keep me till the end of my days. Why would I willingly bring more upon myself? I know your type. You gently bred damsels think nothing of leading a man a merry chase until he is caught, then you show your true colors by taking all he can give you and more. Don’t try to deny it.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to argue. Raynor’s gaze caught Elizabeth’s, and would not let go. “When I take a woman, it is of necessity, a thing of the body, no more no less.” He laughed harshly at her shocked gasp, then released her gaze and paused to fill his cup before draining it.
As if his anger were too much to contain, Raynor pushed back his chair and went to stand before the fire, unmindful of the cushions he scattered in his wake. “No woman will own me.” He hit the wall above the hearth with a white-knuckled fist. Then he took a deep breath, turning back to her.
He came to stand beside the table, his face dark and unreadable with the fire low and behind him.
Elizabeth could only sit there, her wine-fuddled mind trying to make sense of what he had told her. “Obviously someone has betrayed you in some way, my lord Warwicke. But you cannot blame all noblewomen for the actions of one.”
He didn’t even try to answer her, simply shook his head. “You know naught of what you speak. I don’t even know why I am telling you of this. Perhaps I have had too much wine, or mayhap I needed for you to understand that, though I find you more than comely to look upon, I cannot allow myself to see you as anything more than that, a well-favored thing.”
That did not set well with Elizabeth. Obviously Raynor was not the man for her, if he felt thus. She was a woman who needed to be appreciated for all of herself, not just her face and form. Groggily she peered up at him. “I can see that we have completely opposite views on this most important matter,” she told him, as soberly as she could, considering the way her head was swimming. “I need someone who will love me as my father did my mother, with his whole heart and mind. Aye, they fought, but then Father would pick her up and take her up into the tower. They would be gone for hours at times, but when they came back they would be smiling. Mother wasn’t like the women you have known. She was my father’s friend and helpmate. They discussed their problems and took care of each other. My oldest brother, Henry, is married, and he has found the same happiness with his wife Aileen, though they had their problems in the beginning. You are most wise to keep your distance from me, my lord Warwicke. What you are willing to give would not be enough for me. I am no well-favored thing.”
Even though Raynor knew she was simply reacting to what he had said to her, the words stung. Flung back at him that way, the statement sounded worse than he’d thought. But Raynor had no intention of retracting it.
He looked at Elizabeth and saw that her head had tipped forward and her eyes were closed. He looked more closely. The vixen was asleep. Surprise wiped his self-deprecating thoughts from his mind.
In his lifetime many things had happened in the presence of a beautiful woman. But rarely had one fallen asleep with so little warning, and then only after he had thoroughly made love to her.
Raynor looked about the room. First he would move her to the rug before the fire, and then he would be on his way. Enough had been said between them, far more than Raynor had ever told anyone or ever meant to.
He went to her chair and pulled it away from the table, then bent and scooped her up into his arms. Though she was tall, Elizabeth was delicately formed, and her weight was no strain for his hardened muscles.
When he reached the carpet, he used his foot to rearrange the cushions he had scattered about, then went down on one knee to lower her onto them. She stirred in his arms, and he looked down. The heavy fringe of her lashes lifted, and she gazed up at him, the expression in her eyes flirtatious and all woman. “My lord Warwicke, am I to believe you have overcome your scruples concerning young noblewomen?” She giggled, putting her hand over her mouth.
But not before Raynor had caught the heavy scent of wine on her breath. Of course, how could he have been so incredibly stupid? She’d gotten drunk before his very eyes, and he hadn’t even noticed. Now that he thought back, Elizabeth had drunk a fair amount, but not nearly as much as he. Raynor wanted to absolve himself for not stopping her, on the grounds that he had been too occupied at first with his need to keep his distance, and then with his efforts to convince her he was not right for her, but it wouldn’t suffice. Mayhap his lack of perception had partly to do with his having consumed a fair amount of the strong liquid, also. Raynor was feeling more than a little muddled himself.
The firelight was rosy on the delicate plains of her face as she turned toward the flames and began to speak. At first he was confused, but then he began to understand that she was continuing their conversation of a few minutes before. “I love my brothers dearly. All three of them are good, strong, but fair men, even Peter, who is only sixteen.”
She cast a glance toward Raynor, her gaze holding his over the few inches that separated them. “I could only give my heart to one such as they.” She gave a self-derisive laugh, and lifted her hand, only to have it fall back into her lap. “But for reasons I don’t understand, it is you who draws me like a bee to a buttercup. There is something I would ask of you. And please know, if you choose to comply with my request, I will not take this a sign that you are interested in me.” Her lashes fluttered. “You see, I have never been kissed, have not wanted anyone to do so, that is until yesterday, when I saw you.” She looked up at him beseechingly. “I was wondering if you would kiss me just once, before you go. We will never see each other again, and so it seems a little thing to ask.”
For a long time, Raynor just knelt there, looking into her eyes. What she had requested was completely beyond the realm of sanity, wasn’t it? After all, he had already acknowledged, if only to himself, that Elizabeth was the most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever met. He would be stepping beyond the boundary he had set for himself by kissing her. Such an act might just release some of the passion she awakened in him.
But as he looked down at her, at the ingenuous hope in her blue eyes, he knew he could not hurt her by refusing. She seemed so utterly vulnerable at this moment, with her inhibitions stripped away by too much wine. What harm could there be in giving her one chaste kiss? He doubted that Elizabeth would even remember on the morrow.
Slowly, and with a tenderness that surprised even him, Raynor placed his lips on hers. Elizabeth’s mouth was soft and warm, and her skin smelled sweetly of rose petals. Her softly rounded breasts pressed close to him as she opened herself to his embrace. There was not the least bit of resistance in her, only soft, giving female. Raynor felt the hot cramp of desire, there in his gut, threatening to burst free and consume him. But he held it at bay. He drew away from her with infinite care, fearing that if he moved too quickly he would lose control.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, sighing with contentment. “I shall never forget.”
He raised a hand to brush a silken curl from her brow. His voice was softer than a whisper as he answered, “Neither shall I, Elizabeth Clayburn.” And he knew it was true. Raynor didn’t understand what had happened here between them, but he knew she had awakened tender feelings he’d thought long dead.
And that was exactly why he must go from here and never look back. Raynor had no place for such weakness in his life. He had to stay strong and in control of his own destiny. Willow, and many others, depended upon him.
He moved to lay her back.
Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with a drowsy frown. “Nay, my lord, hold me yet a while. It does feel good to be in your arms, and this is all I shall have of you.”
His reply was unexpectedly regretful. “But I must go.”
Her gaze cleared then, for a moment, and her expression was filled with a sympathy so deep it startled him. “Nay, Raynor. Abide here with me for a time. You will come to no harm. I wish you nothing but good. Rest, if only for a while. It will serve you well.”
She reached up to run her soft hand over his cheek, and Raynor was lost. It was as if she gave him a modicum of peace simply by reaching out to him. Never in his life had he been touched with such tenderness.
It almost seemed that Elizabeth was absorbing some of his cares into the softness of her woman’s flesh. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and languid. “Kiss me again, my lord.”
His arms tightened, and he lowered his dark head, one of his hands slipping down to cup the delicate curve of her bottom, unable in that moment to deny her or himself.
* * *
Stephen led the other two men around the back of the house, to the shed where he kept his horse and Elizabeth’s. The animals could feed and drink while the men were having their own meal.
Their mounts had been hard-ridden, but Edward had wanted the archbishop’s reply to his letter without delay. He and the other two knights had made very good time to return so quickly. Once the message was delivered to the king’s chamberlain, Stephen had suggested some refreshment at his home, and they had agreed most readily. His invitation had not been solely out of hospitality. He thought that with these two present there could be no question of Elizabeth being too forward in regard to Raynor and giving him the wrong impression.
Stephen dismounted and led his charger forward into the low building, with its two stalls. He stopped short. Dancer’s stall was not empty as he had expected. A strange chestnut stallion reared and pawed at the air upon seeing Stephen approach. Obviously Raynor had already arrived. Though he could not have been here for long, as Stephen’s note had specified one hour hence.
Stephen backed Dancer from the shed.
He tied the white stallion outside and helped the other two men do the same to their horses. After they were fed and watered, he hurried to the house.
It was only a moment before his pounding at the door was answered. He heard the heavy bolt drawn back, and Olwyn’s pale face appeared in the opening.
But it wasn’t until she opened the door all the way and Stephen saw the very real apprehension on her face that he felt the first twinges of unease. What had Elizabeth done? Drat his impulse in asking the other two men to join him!
He took a step into the room, trying to appear casual. “Lord Warwicke has arrived?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes, my lord.”
“I see.” He smiled. “We will go up, then.” He refused to even contemplate the question of how long Raynor had been here.
She looked from him to the other two knights, biting her lower lip. Olwyn stared at the brooch on his cloak. “My lord, I think it best if I talk with you in private.”
The other two men looked at each other, then at Stephen. They were members of the king’s personal guard, and trained to be suspicious of anything unusual. Clearly they wondered what must be kept secret from them.
Having no wish to have to explain Olwyn’s bizarre behavior to the king, Stephen gave a groan of impatience and strode across the room. Distantly he heard himself explaining, “She is a shy girl, much given to whispering and such. I find her a trial at times.” He had no choice now but to take them up to the solar. Stephen could hear the men muttering in commiseration as they followed him. They had to hurry to keep up as he took the stairs to the upper floor, but he didn’t care. He hoped to put at least a small distance between them, so that he might arrive first.
On opening the door of the solar, he stopped dead. There on the carpet where Elizabeth usually read before the fire were Raynor of Warwicke and his sister. And they were kissing, one of Raynor’s hands resting possessively on his sister’s backside. They started and looked up at Stephen, then each other, in dazed but abject horror. If it hadn’t been for the fact that a nightmare was unfolding before his very eyes, Stephen would have laughed.
Though he moved to block their way, he heard one of the men behind him take in a sharp breath.
Elizabeth looked toward the door at the sound, her blue eyes going wide with misery when she saw the men with her brother. Her veil had come out of her hair, and the ebony mass tumbled about her in wild disarray. As she moved to her knees, she groaned and put a hand to her head.