He’d seen his mother completely destroy his father with her manipulations. When Raynor was only an infant, Robert Warwicke had been called to serve his king in France. He had returned home two years later to discover that his wife had not only betrayed him with another man, but had bore that other a son, as well. Too much in love with her to cast his faithless spouse aside, Robert had forgiven her. Yet his compassion had not moved his wife to display any measure of gratitude or loyalty. She had seemed to see his kindness as a sign of weakness and disdain him for it. Completely in love with her, he had outwardly taken her manipulations with little or no demur. But over the years, Raynor had seen how deep the hurt had cut.
Elizabeth was obviously of the same manipulative bent, and had acted accordingly when she wanted a husband. Though why she had chosen him, Raynor had still to discern. The most logical explanation was that she was too accustomed to having her way, and he had denied her. Thus becoming a challenge. 'Twas the only thing that made any sense.
Yet even as these thoughts ran through his mind, he knew doubt. She had seemed as displeased as he at Stephen’s decision that they must wed, had gone through with the wedding white-faced and silent as snow. And her sorrow at parting with her brother this morning had appeared unfeigned.
An act, he told himself angrily.
Else why was she laughing and smiling unconcernedly with her maid, when he could think of nothing but the quagmire his life had become? The complication of a wife was one he had not needed at this point. Worry over what new devilment Harrington might get up to was already piled atop his usual concerns about the running of his lands and Willow’s. He had enough problems to occupy his every waking hour without Elizabeth to plague him.
And plague him she did.
Every time he was near her, including the few moments they had spent together becoming man and wife, he had relived over and over that kiss. That dratted moment when he had abandoned all rational thought and taken her in his arms. That cursed moment when he felt his gentler feelings stir for the first time in years.
Repeatedly he told himself the event could not have been the way he recalled. No single kiss could be so moving. But every time he looked at her, his heart remembered, and a warm, liquid feeling suffused his chest.
He glanced behind him, his gaze flicking from his wife to the second wagon, where that enormous bed reposed under a protective covering. Elizabeth’s bed. Raynor nearly gasped aloud as an image of Elizabeth naked, her blue eyes heavy with desire, sprang unbidden to his mind.
By the true cross, what was wrong with him?
He became aware of Bronic asking him a question. “What say you, Raynor?”
“Say?” he asked hurriedly, puzzled and trying to cover the fact that he had not been attending.
Bronic’s blue eyes studied him. “As to Harrington? Think you he will leave well enough alone, now that King Edward has upheld your claim to the child?”
Raynor ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair. Guilt stabbed at him for worrying over Elizabeth when he had other, more pressing matters to attend. “Nay.” His voice was hard. “He will not. The man’s greed is too big to let go. He will not stop here. Harrington has already bled his tenants dry to fund his extravagant ways. He can get no more from that quarter. With Willow in his control, he would have access to her fortune.”
A frown crossed Bronic’s strongly handsome face. “You do not think he would try to reach Warwicke and take her before we can return?”
Raynor felt a moment of painful unease, then stifled it. He shook his head. “Nay, methinks not. Harrington is not a man to discommode himself by sleeping in tents, as we will. He will stay at every hostelry and monastery along the route north. Besides,” he added as much to reassure himself as much as Bronic, “you know I have left word that Harrington is to be killed on sight if he tries to so much as approach Warwicke in my absence. And he would not have time to gather an army to lay siege before we can return.”
Raynor turned to survey the two wagons behind them, his gaze going once more to Elizabeth. She laughed again, seemingly oblivious of him, and a black scowl darkened his brow. He turned back to the other man. “I had no concern before of beating Harrington back to Warwicke, but with these wagons, our progress will be slowed greatly. You, myself and the other four men could have been happily returned to Warwicke in half the time it will now take.”
Bronic swung around to look at the two women, Elizabeth on her white palfrey, Olwyn in the wagon. His tone was thoughtful as he answered, “We have made surprisingly good time thus far. The women have been of little trouble. Though we have been traveling for hours, neither has so much as offered a word of complaint.”
“Thus far,” Raynor reminded him.
“Soon we must begin to think about stopping for the meal.” Bronic looked at him with long-suffering patience. “The women are likely tired, despite their lack of complaint.”
Raynor colored. Inexplicably he had the feeling Bronic knew how upset he was about his marriage to Elizabeth. This displeased him not a little. He refused to allow his being wed to alter his life any more than necessary. “We have many leagues to go,” he replied woodenly.
With an expression of surprise and disapproval, Bronic replied, “Raynor, I myself am growing hungry, though I could ride on without stopping, and have done so under more discomfort. But there is no need to go on until the women drop. You said yourself that as long as we make reasonable haste, all should be well. It is only right to treat your lady wife with some deference.”
Raynor sat looking at him, Elizabeth’s husky laughter ringing in his ears. He didn’t care about her, and didn’t want anyone else to mistake that fact. But neither did he want to be deliberately cruel. She probably was exhausted. It was true they had ridden on well past midday, and she’d uttered not a word of complaint.
But even though such stamina was new in his experience with women, Raynor was not yet ready to completely unbend. “Aye,” he replied stiffly. “We will stop.”
As Bronic dropped back to tell the others, Raynor halted him with a raised hand. “But tell my wife that it will only be for a short time. She is not to dawdle. We have far to travel before making camp for the night. I must needs return to Warwicke ere many more days have passed.”
With raised brows, Bronic gave him a long look. “You may deliver that message yourself, Raynor. I will not. After all, you have not even spoken to the woman the whole morning. I know not what happened between you. I only know that Sir Stephen and the king’s men found you together. Surely you cannot hold her solely responsible and absolve yourself, Raynor. 'Tis not like you. Furthermore, if you wish to be unpleasant with your lady after first ignoring her, you may do so with your own tongue.” That said, Bronic moved off without waiting for a reply.
Raynor could think of no suitable answer, anyway. He knew he would have to speak to Elizabeth eventually, but he didn’t know what to say. As to the subject of his own culpability in the marriage, Bronic did not know what Raynor suspected Elizabeth had done. Somehow she must understand that he did not mean for theirs to be a true marriage. Raynor wanted nothing between himself and Elizabeth, not companionship, not friendship, and definitely not love.
Naught good had ever come of closeness between a man and woman, and Elizabeth was not the kind who could easily be used and discarded without thought. Those few moments when he held her in his arms had assured him of that.
He had no intention of allowing himself to care for her, or any other woman. Not now, not ever.
Louisa had been the one exception to that rule, and they had met as children. Early on, she had told him of the cruelty of her stepfather. Though he was nothing but a boy, Raynor had responded with kindness. And even then she had chosen Raynor over the older Nigel, following him about with sisterly devotion. How could he fail to respond in kind?
But there was no connection between that and what had passed between himself and Elizabeth. She was a woman in every sense of the word, clearly willing to use her mind and body as silken threads to bind a man to her.
Staying where he was, ahead of the others, Raynor looked back and saw Bronic speak to the man who drove the lead wagon. He pulled to the side of the road. The other driver followed his lead.
They were right next to a small clearing near the road, where the trees rested back a bit. The short grass grew thick and inviting. It was a suitable spot to rest and eat.
Lips tight, Raynor watched as Bronic helped Elizabeth’s woman from the lead wagon. The serving woman reached into the back and drew out a large woven basket. One of the other four men spread a blanket on the ground as another helped Elizabeth from her white mare. Bronic took the basket and carried it to the blanket where the two women took over and began passing out its contents.
Soon the small group was chatting amiably.
None of them so much as made a pretense of paying attention to Raynor. The five men seemed bent on seeing to the two women’s comforts, to the exclusion of all else.
If he’d thought his stomach was in knots before, he now had to make a conscious effort not to put a hand over the cramp in his guts. He sat up straighter, determined to conquer the feeling.
But the longer Raynor sat there atop his stallion, watching the others eat and talk as if this were some outing planned solely for the entertainment of his wife and her companion, the angrier he became.
How dare she insinuate herself into his life in this manner? These were his men, bound to him and no other. Yet here she was, making him feel unwelcome in his own camp.
It was more than he was willing to accept.
Without stopping to think about how ridiculous he might appear, Raynor rode up to the group, his horse nearly treading on the blanket. “It is time to go. We have dallied here long enough.”
Elizabeth swung around from her place on the blanket. She faced him with regally arched brows, but her tone was pleasant enough when she spoke. “It will be as you say, my lord. But first I must beg your indulgence for a slight delay. I need a few moments to myself.”
He scowled, his horse prancing dangerously close to the blanket, sensing his master’s foul humor. “We will leave now. I will brook no delays, madame.” He turned to Olwyn. “You there. Get these things cleared away and get back in the wagon.”
Though he first looked to Raynor with a frown of consternation, Bronic quickly turned to assist Olwyn as she began to repack the basket. Clearly the blond man felt it would serve no purpose to comment, and Raynor was glad of that. He had no wish to argue with Bronic before his wife.
The other men said nothing as they moved to get under way, obeying their lord without question.
Elizabeth stood slowly and gracefully, only her hands, which were clenched tightly around the edges of her skirts, giving any hint of her agitation. She made no move toward her horse.
Clearly she meant to defy him. Anger seethed in his belly. Raynor leaned close to her, not sure where his rage was coming from, but unable to stem it. “My lady, you have already made me two days late in returning to Warwicke. I will not have you playing games with me to prove you can have your way.”
She shrugged, unaffected by his offensive manner. When she answered him, her voice was as pleasant as if she were discussing the weather. “If you are in such dread haste, my lord, please feel free to go on without me. I will catch up to you in a short time.”
Her aplomb only served to enrage him further. No one, save Bronic, ever openly defied him. She was too certain of herself, and totally confident of gaining her own way.
Just as his mother had always been.
His lips thinned. This woman who had made herself his wife was not going to manipulate him further. “You will come with me, and now!” he roared.
Before Elizabeth could react, Raynor reached down and dragged her up before him. Turning his mount, he thundered down the road at a gallop, trusting in the others to follow.
To his surprise, Elizabeth made no move to fight or argue. For a time, they simply rode along in silence. She kept her back so straight there was only a bare minimum of physical contact between them, just the occasional brush of her back against his chest.
Gradually Raynor began to calm down and realize that, though he had shown them all, including Elizabeth, that he would not tolerate insolence, he had perhaps overreacted. He had allowed his men—and, even worse, Elizabeth—to see how much she had provoked him.
That had been a mistake. Raynor had no desire for Elizabeth to think she could have any power over him, even that of angering him. He would control himself better in the future, no matter how difficult that proved to be.
Mayhap sensing his changing mood, Elizabeth took that moment to speak, her voice stiff, as if the words cost her dearly in effort. “My lord husband, I really must ask that you stop. I must needs answer nature’s call, and without much more delay.”
As she spoke, Raynor felt a hot flush creep up the back of his neck. He had little experience traveling with women, and had thus thought nothing of such matters. Yet the truth was there for him to see, did he but wish. They had been riding for hours, and he had not seen her go off to the forest after they stopped. Raynor had been forced to do so himself once during the morning. It had been easy for him to ride off for a moment, then return to the others.