Velvet Bond

by Catherine Archer

  Why had she not told him?

  His embarrassment deepened as he thought back to those moments before he had taken her up on his horse. He had to admit, at least to himself, that mayhap she had tried. He had simply misconstrued her words for arrogance, when she must have been trying for tact.

  He pulled hard on the reins, halting his mount with unexpected swiftness and bringing her rigid back into contact with his chest. But the contact was brief as she hurriedly slipped down from the horse without his aid.

  Something, some inner impulse, compelled him to reach out and grasp her hand, where it lay on the stallion’s broad back. She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes steady on his, her composure unwavering. Even in the bright light of day, her skin was fine as the petals of a white rose, her lips cherry red and sweetly formed. Only the dusky flush along the perfect curve of her cheek gave any hint of agitation.

  God, but she’s lovely, he thought before he could stop himself.

  He felt a tightness in his chest.

  “My lord?” she queried when he continued to hold her.

  Quickly Raynor gathered his scattered wits. What was he about? He did not wish to feel anything for her, and he would not. Mayhap in this case he had wronged her, but the truth remained that he was wed, and against his will, through this woman’s fault.

  And yet he felt compelled to apologize for what he had done. “I... Forgive me for not understanding your need.”

  She gave no verbal answer, only inclined her head with regal elegance, then strolled into the woods that grew a few feet from the road side. She had removed the scarlet cloak she’d worn earlier, and her slender hips swayed enticingly in dark blue velvet.

  For some reason, this irritated him immensely. He had no wish to see anything noble in Elizabeth, and even less to be attracted to her. He must remember what he suspected, that she was a scheming woman who would do whatever she must to attain her goal.

  At the same time, Raynor could acknowledge that he had behaved badly. Although he did not suffer disobedience or foolishness lightly, he was generally slow to anger, able to mete out justice with calm deliberation. He had not done so today, and for that he was truly sorry. In all fairness, he must treat Elizabeth with at least a modicum of decency, if only to live up to his own standards of behavior.

  Elizabeth came out of the forest and approached Raynor with some trepidation, though she gave no outward sign of this. She was striving desperately to hold on to her resolve to try to make a marriage with Raynor, though that was proving difficult. He was indeed a prickly one, this man she called husband. But she would not allow him to intimidate her. That was not part of her plan to bring them together. He must learn to see that she was a woman deserving of his honor and respect.

  As she approached Raynor, where he sat atop his stallion, waiting for her, Elizabeth looked back the way they had come. To her immense relief, she could see Bronic and the wagons only a short way back. Now she would not have to ride with Raynor any longer. She could see her own mare tied to the back of the wagon, beside the driver’s.

  Elizabeth had no desire to sit before Raynor on his horse. Despite the fact that he acted like a brute and a spoiled child in one incarnation, she could not control her response to him. She had been unable to quiet the tingle of awareness that raced up her spine every time the horse’s movement caused her to brush against Raynor. Heavens above, she wished he did not affect her so.

  Nay, she would not go before him. If she waited here for only a few moments, she could then mount and ride her own horse.

  Biting her lip, Elizabeth glanced at Raynor, who had followed the direction of her gaze. If he knew what she was thinking, he said nothing.

  What could he have been thinking, she asked herself, to carry her off that way? Why did he have to behave so, when she was trying so very hard to learn to tolerate him? It was especially irritating as Raynor seemed disinclined to make any overtures of peace toward her.

  She thought of his apology, then dismissed it as insignificant. It was only decent that he had done so, and nothing to recommend his good nature.

  As the wagon came toward her, Elizabeth stepped into the road, forcing the driver to stop. It was Bronic and not Raynor who helped her to mount her palfrey.

  To her surprise, Raynor stayed with them as the party started off again, instead of riding on ahead.

  They traveled on in silence for a time and that was fine with her. She had no more goodwill to offer her husband this day. Mayhap by the morrow she could think of trying to come to terms with him.

  But Bronic seemed unaware of her need for solitude, and spoke cheerily. “My lady Elizabeth, your companion tells me that you are quite a horsewoman.”

  Elizabeth nodded modestly. “I have some skill.” The truth was that her father had first set her on horseback at the age of two. None of her brother’s save the youngest, Peter, had beaten her in a race for years. They all said that no horse was immune to Elizabeth’s ability to manage everything and everyone to suit herself.

  “That is not what I am told,” Bronic insisted. “Is it true that you once dressed as a boy and won a race at one of the king’s own tourneys?”

  Elizabeth could not help smiling at the memory. “I did, though now I realize how very foolish I was.” She shrugged. “But I was only sixteen, and newly come to court. And Lord Hastings did lay it about that no one could beat him. How could I resist?”

  Glancing toward her husband, Elizabeth saw that he was looking from her to Bronic with a frown of displeasure. Her own smile disappeared.

  Why did he have to be so very unpleasant?

  Bronic seemed to sense Raynor’s disapproval, but, unlike Elizabeth, he was clearly amused by it. “Raynor is ever a one for a race. I have given up trying to outdo him. Mayhap you would care to try, my lady?”

  Elizabeth turned to look into her husband’s walnut-dark eyes. Raynor gazed over at her with a mocking smile. When he spoke, his tone was slightly condescending. “Though beautiful and intelligent, Elizabeth is still a woman, and not likely to be able to best me on horseback. I am a knight, trained in such matters.”

  Bronic smiled slowly. “I suggest a race.”

  Raynor laughed then, though Elizabeth found nothing pleasant in the sardonic sound. “Surely you jest, Bronic. Race Elizabeth? 'Tis preposterous.”

  Suddenly she wanted to race him, to wipe that superior grin from his lips. She held her head high and said with a barely disguised challenge in her voice, “Are you afraid you will be outdone by a woman, my lord Warwicke?

  Raynor’s dark eyes narrowed, and his lean jaw flexed as he slanted her a glance of disdain. “I am afraid of nothing and no one. Make no mistake of that, madame.”

  He turned to Bronic with cool intent. “As you suggest, I will race against my wife.” Then he swung to Elizabeth and inclined his proud head. “That is unless you would prefer not, my lady. If ’twas a jest on your part, I will accept your withdrawal.”

  Elizabeth’s hands tightened on the reins. Withdrawal? Did he really think she would turn coward, that she would run from the thought of contesting him? Not while there was breath in her body. “I accept, my lord husband, and with pleasure,” she answered, taking up the proffered gauntlet.

  His eyes flashed with barely disguised excitement when he heard her reply, and she felt an unbidden thrill within herself.

  Now that the thing had been decided, Raynor seemed bent on the game. “If I don’t mistake myself,” he told her, pointing down the road before them, “there is a bridge some two leagues hence. The first one to the opposite side shall be declared the winner.

  Originally Elizabeth had only been needling Raynor. But now she found herself wanting to best him, to show him what she was made of.

  Raynor was too sure of himself, and his abilities.

  He looked at her. “Whenever you are ready, damsel.”

  Elizabeth gazed back at him for a long moment. Everything around them seemed to still. She could feel his excitement, hi
s wildness, beating her own blood to a pulse of exhilaration. This was what had drawn her to Raynor in the beginning. This was what she had sensed in him that first day at Windsor. No matter how he tried to cloak it, inside this man was a core of passion that would not be denied.

  Without breaking eye contact, Elizabeth shouted, “Now!” and prodded her horse forward. But he was right beside her, having reacted with her, as if he knew what she would do as it was done.

  Elizabeth leaned low over her horse’s back. She was at one with the rhythm of the animal beneath her as they galloped over the the hard-packed track. Her hair came loose from the knot Olwyn had pinned atop her head, to tumble down her back.

  For the first time since the night Stephen had found her with Raynor, she felt free. Free as the wind that whipped her tangled black curls about her.

  On they rode, the sound of the horses' hooves no louder than the erratic beating of her heart. Before long, she knew she was gaining on Raynor, only in the smallest of increments, but gaining. First it was by a nose, and then by a head.

  When she was a whole length in front, Elizabeth knew the lord of Warwicke was beaten. He’d said the bridge was only two leagues ahead. Surely they were nearly there.

  She had won.

  But as she rounded a bend and the bridge came into sight, Elizabeth knew something was dreadfully wrong.

  Where the center of the span should be, there was nothing.

  With only seconds to consider, she knew she had to make a decision. There was danger no matter what she decided. They were thundering along at an incredible rate. If she halted too quickly, she would risk the horse taking a fall, and if not quickly enough, they could go careering over the edge. On the other hand, should she risk making the jump with no time to judge the distance? Never would Elizabeth willingly put her mount in such unwarranted jeopardy.

  At that thought, the decision was made.

  She must trust in Minerva to respond to her signals correctly.

  The edge was very near now.

  Calling upon all her skills as a horsewoman, Elizabeth drew back on the reins while gripping tightly with her legs. She closed her eyes, willing the mare to react as she must if their lives were to be spared.

  Responding almost as if she and Elizabeth were of the same mind, the horse came to a delicate but precarious halt on the very edge of the missing bridge.

  With a whoop of exhilaration, Raynor sailed past her and over the gaping span.

  Her heart in her throat, Elizabeth watched as horse and rider hung in the void between sky and land for what seemed an eternity. Then they landed, still at a gallop, safely on the other side.

  A deep laugh rang out as Raynor wheeled his stallion and galloped back. To her complete amazement, he didn’t even pause, leaping back to her side of the river with reckless abandon.

  His horse reared and pawed the air as they landed near her, and once more she heard Raynor laughing.

  Anger burned in her chest like a hot iron. But at the same time, she could not deny the rush of excitement brought on by the wild sound of his laughter. It was as if it called up some desire within herself to abandon all caution and fly over the chasm herself. To feel the rush in her blood the danger would bring.

  All this she could imagine for herself, but not for Minerva. She had no right to take such chances with her beloved animal.

  And how dare Raynor take such chances with his mount? With hers? Surely he’d known all along that the bridge was out. She could have been hurt, or even killed.

  Raynor was coming back to her now, the smile of triumph on his handsome face making her even more furious.

  He came to a stop and leapt from his horse, restless with excitement. He reached up before she could stop him and lifted her from Minerva’s back. “I have won.”

  It was then that Elizabeth found her voice. “Lackwitted madman,” she cried, balling her fist struck him full on the hard wall of his chest.

  He reacted with unadulterated surprise. “What have you, damsel? Are you so angry at having lost the race?”

  “Lost the race?” she sputtered. “You nearly killed me! You knew the bridge was out, and wished to be rid of me!”

  He dropped her on her feet, backing away as if stung. “I knew nothing of the bridge, woman. When last we came here, some days ago, it was fully intact, if a trifle rickety.”

  His surprise at her accusation was so great that Elizabeth could not but believe him.

  But Raynor wasn’t finished, her words having cut deep. “How dare you accuse me of deceit? It is you who have proved to be the less honorable of we two. It was not I who tricked you into marriage. You but judge me by your own mode of thought and deed.”

  “My own?” she yelled, then closed her eyes. So now it was said. He did think she’d purposely entrapped him, just as she’d suspected. Elizabeth took several long breaths. She would not, could not, allow him to rile her this way. With every ounce of her will, she collected her scattered emotions. Not for all the stars in the heavens would she willingly have Raynor see her behaving hysterically. It was completely unlike her to allow herself to become so overwrought.

  Her anger eased as she willed it out the tips of her fingers, just as she’d learned to do as a child, when her brothers enraged her. She’d discovered long ago that the way to best handle a male was to stay rational, in spite of his irrationality.

  She opened her eyes, her gaze searching out and locking on his with determination. She would make him listen to her. When Elizabeth continued, she was pleased to hear the evenness of her tone. “I did not behave dishonorably. Foolishly, yes, but not dishonorably. How can you think I would willingly tie myself to a man who had made clear that he did not want me?” She gestured to herself with an open hand. “Do you find me so displeasing yourself that you can believe no other man would desire me, or have me to wife?”

  He watched her for a long moment, then broke the contact of their eyes. Slowly he shook his head, his attention on some distant object in the sky. “Nay, Elizabeth, I do not believe such a thing. I am most certain that you have been desired by many.” Then his jaw tightened in anger as he turned back to her. “Therein lies my dilemma. Why, then, did you allow me to dine with you, when you knew Stephen would not approve, that he had ordered you not to?”

  Not now or ever would she willingly have him know how attracted to him she had been. He would only use that knowledge against her. “I... He should not have ordered me. I do as I will, not as others choose.”

  Ah, this Raynor could well believe. Elizabeth did seem to cherish her own wishes all too well. “And thus here we are, trapped,” he said, putting his hands to lean hips. “Because of a fit of pique.”

  An unexpected needle of pain pierced her throat at the word trapped. She told herself not to be foolish. Raynor had never made any secret of his feelings about their marriage.

  But then he continued, his dark eyes studying her carefully. “Is that all there was, Elizabeth? Were you simply angry with Stephen for telling you nay? At the time, I thought you might... You seemed to...” He stopped, as if uncertain of how to go on.

  As what Raynor was trying to say hit home, Elizabeth flushed. Dear heavens. She put her hand to her burning cheek. He had guessed at her attraction to him. 'Twas what she had most feared.

  Then, doing her utmost to hide her embarrassment, Elizabeth raised her head high. It really mattered very little that he knew. What did matter was how she reacted to that knowledge. She spoke coolly, hastily. “My lord Warwicke, there is no point in denying that I was, shall I say, interested in you.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, and she raised her hand to forestall him. “But I must tell you that your behavior toward me has changed my feelings greatly. You are rude, overbearing, and disdainful of women. What meager attraction I felt for you has certainly been laid low. You may rest assured that I have no designs on you.”

  She stood there looking up at him, her regal bearing an open challenge.

  Raynor knew
he should be pleased by what she had said but he was not. He felt an unexpected rush of irritation. Which was completely ridiculous, because he wanted nothing between himself and Elizabeth.

  Unbidden, he knew a flashing memory of the kiss they had shared. But it wasn’t the passion of the moment that haunted him so relentlessly. It was the tenderness, the protective instincts that had risen up to claim him.

  In frustration, he reached for her. He would show her and himself that she was nothing to him. He would wipe those softer emotions from his memory, prove that he felt nothing for her beyond the physical, no more than he would for any beautiful woman.

  As Raynor pulled her to him, Elizabeth guessed his intent, and resisted, but only briefly.

  The moment his mouth touched hers, she sighed and melted against him like warm honey. His body reacted with alacrity. His pulse quickened, and a fierce river of pleasure rushed through him, making him deepen the kiss.