Bronic nodded, looking about the crowded antechamber with ill-concealed discomfort. “But we should find some more comfortable spot for the discussion to take place.”
Raynor eyed his friend in agreement. He had no love of the court and its crowds. In fact, he would not be comfortable until they were well on their way back to Warwicke on the day after tomorrow. “I stand with Bronic. We are sharing a room with several other knights, but me-thinks they would not mind us bringing you along, Stephen. I'm sorry we cannot offer you better hospitality, but Windsor is full to overflowing, even with all the new building the king has had done in the past years.”
Stephen laughed. “Do not apologize. I know the circumstances well. That is part of why I have a house in the village.”
They started from the chamber with Raynor in the lead.
Raynor stopped as a woman moved between him and the entrance. He paused, his head tilted to one side as he looked at her. She was quite beautiful, with her creamy skin, high cheekbones and long-lashed sapphire eyes. And she seemed somehow familiar, though Raynor could not think why.
“Elizabeth,” Stephen called out from behind him. His tone was sheepish. “I had forgotten you were here.”
The woman did not deign even to glance Stephen’s way. “Obviously.”
Then he remembered. It was Clayburn’s sister. He had been introduced on his way in to see the king, but he had been of little mind to take note of anything then. Even a woman as lovely as Elizabeth Clayburn.
His eyes met hers, and for a moment a strange sort of current passed between them, making his belly tighten pleasantly. But Raynor pushed it aside. This was his friend’s sister, a noblewoman. And Raynor had no intention of dallying in that direction.
His lips twisted in a self-derisive grimace. Though he was guilty of nothing where Louisa was concerned, he had just admitted to being so. He had no intention of becoming entangled with Stephen’s sister. Even if he did see a stirring of warm challenge in her lovely eyes when she looked at him. Long ago he’d decided no woman was to be trusted in his life. Raynor’s father had loved his wife blindly, giving up every shred of self-respect to please her. And if that was love, Raynor wanted no part in it.
With that thought firmly in mind, Raynor stepped aside so that Stephen could speak with her.
He pretended not to notice how her gaze lingered on him as Stephen told her where they were going and made arrangements for her to be taken home.
Chapter Two
Late that night, Elizabeth waited in Stephen’s bedchamber for him to come home.
She sat in his chair bedside the fire, a cup of warmed wine in one hand, drumming the fingers of the other in a steady rhythm against the seasoned wooden arm. She was still fuming over the way Stephen had sent her home, as if she were some child to be gotten out of the way. He had no right to treat her thus.
But truth made her admit, at least to herself, that Stephen was only a small part of her irritation. Most of it was directed at herself, because of her own reaction to Raynor Warwicke. Whatever had gotten into her?
Any number of men would fall upon their very knees to have her notice them. But she, fool that she was, looked to a man who acted as though he could not even see her.
But hadn’t there, just for a moment, been a spark in his eyes, when she’d stood before him as the men were leaving the antechamber? Yes, she was sure there had been more than indifference in his gaze as it slid over her. He’d covered it so quickly that another woman might not have noticed. But Elizabeth was not another woman. She responded to even the slightest of reactions in the baron of Warwicke. When he’d looked at her that way, seeing her as a desirable woman, her body had answered in kind. Elizabeth had been left achingly aware of him, the tanned flesh on the wide column of his throat, the very deep rhythm of his breathing. There was something about Lord Warwicke that made her feel alive as never before.
Why, she did not know. But Elizabeth was going to find out. She couldn’t just let this feeling go, this strange singing in her veins that she had heard spoken of but had never thought to experience.
And she meant to enlist her brother’s aid.
She simply had to see the baron again, speak to him, find out whence these stirrings came. What manner of man was he, to engender such feelings inside her? She knew he was handsome, with his dark eyes and unruly hair, but what of the person inside? Surely he must be a knight of great repute to awaken such amorous reactions in her so easily.
Then she forced herself to pause in her headlong thoughts. Mayhap he was not as he appeared. Her own girlish twitterings did not mean that Raynor of Warwicke was of good and noble character.
But Elizabeth could not make herself believe this. How could her own instincts be so badly askew as that? Surely, if she was to judge by her feelings, Raynor was truly a man among men. Else how could she explain how her heretofore-dormant emotions had been so suddenly awakened?
Just then she heard the sound of her brother’s booted feet coming up the narrow wooden stairs that led from the large living chamber below. Olwyn must have let him in. Elizabeth felt a stab of guilt at thinking about the other woman. She’d managed to avoid speaking to her mistress since Elizabeth snapped at her upon coming home from Windsor. But she had given Elizabeth many long, disapproving looks to let her know how badly she had behaved.
Elizabeth knew that as soon as Olwyn was ready to listen, she would need to apologize to the woman who was more friend than aught else. After all, it was Stephen she was unhappy with. Olwyn had been her companion since the day Stephen brought her to court, after their parents died, seven years ago. At seventeen, four years Elizabeth’s senior, Olwyn had just been widowed, and had needed a way to make her living. Her husband had been the youngest of six brothers and thus had left her with little but his horse and sword. Stephen had felt the older girl would be able to teach Elizabeth about the realities of living at court, and hopefully keep her out of trouble.
But Elizabeth didn’t want to think about that now. She and Olwyn had had more serious disagreements over the years, and had settled them quickly enough. At the moment, she wanted to concentrate her attention on Stephen.
Stephen opened the door of his chamber, his face taking on a pained expression as his gaze swept the room. The chamber was not large, and in the cheery glow of the firelight he could see that it was immaculate. The wooden floor had been scrubbed clean, the hangings on the bed had been pulled back, so he could see that the linens were tucked so tightly he could have bounced a sword upon them and not made a wrinkle. Not one single item of a personal nature was visible. The lids of his two chests were shut tight upon their contents, which were usually spilled about in happy disarray. “Ah, Beth, you've been cleaning again.”
She smiled with feigned politeness. “I thought your chambers in need of a good airing, dear brother. You would not have me neglect you.”
He grimaced. Not so much as a speck of dust dared lend a hint of casual livability to the room. The only objects she had let remain unhidden were the pitcher and cup on the table beside his chair. And, judging from the mug she held in her hand, that had not been for his comfort. He shut the door behind him with a sigh. “It will be weeks before I am able to find everything again. What has come over you now, woman? I asked you last time to stay clear of my personal chamber.”
Her chin tilted. “But think, dear brother, and you will have your answer. I was most laboriously occupied in helping you to fend off the attentions of your former mistress when I suddenly found myself banished for home.” She shrugged, her blue eyes wide with feigned innocence. “I but looked about for some way to make myself useful.”
“God’s blood, Beth. Do you mean you hold that against me? I hadn’t seen Warwicke for years.”
She arched delicate black brows. “I do mean just that.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “I do suppose I could have been more considerate of your feelings, but I didn’t think you’d mind. After all, yo
u had done nothing but complain about going up to the castle with me, as it was.” He lifted an apologetic hand. “I can but say I am most sorry for having offended you.”
Feeling that she had made him suffer quite enough, Elizabeth grinned. Stephen was really very good to her, and she did believe he had thought she would be happy to be gone from the castle. He could have no idea that she had become so easily enamored with his friend. She inclined her head. “You are forgiven. And if you like, I will go through your chests and throw everything about as it was before.”
He chuckled wryly. “Nay, help me no more. I knew where things were then. You could not put them back where they belong, did you try.”
She rose and poured him a cup of wine, then held it forth as a peace offering.
Stephen took the cup.
It was a long moment before Elizabeth got around to the next order of business. But get around to it she did. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
He grinned. “Aye, that I did.”
“And Lord Warwicke? He enjoyed the evening, as well?”
Stephen frowned. “I suppose. We caught up on many years. I had not seen him since we were both boys of fourteen.”
Ah, she thought. That might explain why Stephen had failed to mention the other man. “And has he changed a great deal from when you were younger? You recognized him readily enough, after so long a time. And he you.”
“You are right. I did recognize him, but as I think on it, it is not really so very surprising. Even though he is a man now, rather than a boy, his eyes are the same. One doesn’t forget those walnut-brown eyes so easily, they are most uncommon. And we were rather close as fosterlings. Both of us trained with the earl of Norwich, and shared a room for the year Raynor was there. He left upon his father’s death, when he was but fourteen.”
“He has been a baron since the age of fourteen. 'Tis a great responsibility,” she remarked thoughtfully.
Stephen cast her an assessing glance before he went on. “What you say is true. But what have you, Beth? What concern is it of yours?”
She looked toward the fire, hardly feeling its heat on her already flaming cheeks. “I am but curious because you never mentioned him before now. Please go on. Tell me all you know of him.”
Stephen’s expression told her that he was not wholly content with her answer, but he did continue. “He spoke little of his family. I do believe that he loved his father, but I felt there was some bad blood between them. Of his mother I know nothing. He seemed reluctant to mention her at all. I do know that she died some few years after Raynor inherited.”
'Tis most odd, Elizabeth thought as he took a sip of his wine. With a pang, she recalled the deaths of her own parents by plague. She and her brothers often spoke of them, even now. They had been a close-knit family. It had been hard to lose them both so quickly, but she felt her father would not have been happy without his beloved wife.
Perhaps Lord Warwicke was one who did not wish to share his personal life with others. That he was something of a mystery simply made him all the more interesting to Elizabeth. He only needed the right person to confide in. Not that Elizabeth would allow herself to think that she could be that someone. She refused to go that far in her imaginings.
“What is he like now?” she queried softly. “Is he noble and kind and true?”
Stephen watched her intently. “We spoke of general matters, Beth. Many years have passed since we knew each other well but if he is anything like he was as a boy, Raynor is a decent sort. Neither saint nor devil, just a man. He was more open as a boy, but then, life has a way of changing people, does it not?” Stephen stopped, obviously tired of pretending he didn’t see her too-avid interest. “Have you taken a fancy to Raynor?” He laughed. “That’s a tangle, when you could have half the men in England, did you but want them. You don’t even know the man, in fact barely spoke to him.”
“I...” She scowled, her delicate brows meeting over her slender nose. Then she shrugged, deciding to just come out with the truth. There was no sense in prevaricating with Stephen, he knew her too well. “He is quite fascinating, don’t you think?”
“Well, I couldn’t really comment from a woman’s point of view, but I'll be content that you might think so. But hear me, Beth, you’d best set your sights elsewhere. From what he said tonight, I got the impression that Raynor is in no hurry to wed. He told me his personal life has been more than complicated of late. Raynor has a bastard child by a noblewoman, though that is a tragic story in itself.” He went on to tell her of why Raynor was at court and what he had told Stephen about his child, Willow. He concluded by saying, “Though I do like him, you will stay clear of Warwicke, Beth. It would not be right for you to set your sights upon him. Though he meant to wed the child’s mother, the fact is, he did not.”
Elizabeth listened to all this with complete fascination. Many men tarried with serving women as a matter of course, but to get a gentle woman with child and then not marry her? That was another matter.
Yet Stephen had said circumstances had kept them from marrying. And hadn’t Lord Warwicke come to court to claim the child? Wasn’t that the act of a truly honorable man?
Far from discouraging her, Stephen’s remarks made her even more determined to know Raynor better. She had thought, simply by looking at him, that he was not a man to live by the rules of others. His long hair, his arrogant walk, the cool indifference in his eyes, set Lord Warwicke apart on first sight.
She smiled at her brother with not-inconsiderable charm. “I want you to invite him here to sup.”
Stephen stared at her. “I have already done so. But had I known then what I do now, I would not have. As I said, you must set your sights elsewhere, Elizabeth. Mayhap I will send a note and cancel.”
Sapphire eyes widened in horror. “You will not! When is he to come?”
Looking as if the reply were being forced from him, Stephen said, “On the morrow.”
“On the morrow!” Elizabeth rose in flurry of velvet skirts. “How could you give me so little time to prepare?”
His expression relaxed in relief. “I will simply go to him and explain that he can’t...”
She appeared not to hear him. “You must excuse me while I go speak with Olwyn. We will need every moment to prepare a proper meal. We will need fresh pastries and bread. And I shall certainly call in the butcher to kill a pig in the morning. We cannot feed Lord Warwicke salted pork.”
She passed through the doorway with a gentle sway of her slender hips, leaving Stephen staring after her. He knew he should be concerned for his sister, but the only sympathy he felt within him was directed toward Raynor Warwicke. Stephen would himself be here to see to Elizabeth’s well-being.
Raynor had no one to protect him from Elizabeth.
Besides Raynor had said he was returning to Warwicke on the day after the morrow. How much trouble could Elizabeth get herself into in one day?
* * *
The next afternoon found Elizabeth and Olwyn standing in Elizabeth’s bedchamber, looking at the array of gowns they had laid out on the high, wide bed.
“I think the red,” Olwyn said at last, tucking a stray lock of streaky blonde hair into her kerchief. Her gray eyes studied the scarlet cotehardie, with its embroidery of gold.
“Aye.” Elizabeth nodded. “It is my favorite, but I just wondered if the blue...or the saffron...” She turned to run her gaze over the nearest of the three trunks that stood open, their colorful contents spilling over the sides. “I did wear the other red yesterday.”
Tilting her head to one side, Olwyn frowned. “Nay, the red will do very nicely. Men never remember what you wore the previous day. Only that you looked well.”
Elizabeth grinned. Red was her favorite color. “Then that’s that. And I think I'll wear the new gold underdress.”
Olwyn eyed her mistress with surprise, then uncertainty. “But, Elizabeth, I thought you were going to have me loosen it. You told me yourself that it was too tight for common de
cency.” The slender blond woman went to the chest beneath the unshuttered window and took out a tunic of fine black samite. “I had thought you might want this one.”
Elizabeth blushed, but tried to hide it as she picked up and began to fold the blue cotehardie. “I have rethought the matter. 'Tis not so very tight.”
She would not have Olwyn know why she had changed her mind about the gown. The older woman seemed to think she must still look after Elizabeth as closely as when she had first come to them. But she was no longer thirteen, and would not be treated as such. Elizabeth hoped that if she made an attempt to be even slightly alluring, Lord Warwicke might find it harder to ignore her this night.
For the most part, her beauty meant little to her. It was not something she had earned or achieved by her own hand. It was something God had seen fit to gift her with, and until yesterday she accepted it as such.
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