As the manorial court was sought only when the village courts had not proved successful, Raynor understood that his judgments were of great import to his people. He took their trust seriously, and usually gave them his full attention, no matter how insignificant some of the disputes seemed.
He had not done so this day.
* * *
The kitchen was hot, and Elizabeth wiped her brow with the back of her hand as she looked about her.
Several other women were working—peeling, mixing and kneading—about the rough-hewn tables. The fire in the hearth gave off a great deal of heat, but the large stone oven had to be hot for baking. A cauldron of stew hung over the flames, suspended on a chain that could be raised and lowered to regulate the heat. Along the walls hung various pots and cooking utensils. And despite the closeness of the chamber, there was an ordered air to the bustling activity.
Elizabeth had been here for the past hour, after being asked to portion out the spices for the day’s baking. The scents of cinnamon, cloves and ginger wafted around her, and she breathed deeply. Ever since she was a child, she had loved to help with the baking of sweets.
Her slight frame gave lie to the sweet tooth that had made her the brunt of good-hearted teasing from her family.
With childlike enthusiasm, the lady of Warwicke sucked a bit of mince from her finger.
Eva, the cook, a slightly pudgy woman of eternal optimism, laughed, pointing a flour-covered finger. “Lady Elizabeth, never have I seen the like.” She waved a hand to indicate her ample girth. “You’d best watch, or you'll be looking like me ere long.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have no fear, for I was thin as a child, and have worked mightily to fill myself out.”
Another woman spoke up, rolling her eyes to emphasize her point. “I've not heard any complaints from her husband. In fact, Arthur had a pretty tale to tell this very morning.”
A deep flush stained Elizabeth’s cheeks. Obviously the squire had not kept last eve’s events to himself. The castlefolk knew of the strain between her and her husband, and took Arthur’s tale as a sign that all would be well between master and mistress.
She wished they would not discuss her relationship with Raynor so openly. But she knew the castlefolk had a slightly bawdy view of life, and meant no ill. That they teased her was only a sign of their affection.
Elizabeth also knew that the women would never treat her so familiarly in the hall. But here in the kitchen, she had entered Eva’s domain. She accepted this with good grace.
Only one in the room seemed less than affectionate in her attitude toward the lady of Warwicke. Elizabeth was aware of Hyla, sitting beside the fire, peeling pears. She had not seen the woman since last night, when she had thrown her from her husband’s bed. There was no amusement on Hyla’s face as she listened to the women talking. She wore a stiff mask of anger, and jabbed her knife into a pear with barely suppressed resentment.
If the truth weren’t so painful, Elizabeth might have laughed. Hyla need have no fear that Raynor had rejected her out of any feelings for his wife. Obviously the squire had not thought to mention that Raynor had sent Elizabeth from him at the first opportunity.
When she felt a hand brush against her skirts, Elizabeth looked down to see Willow.
“Good morrow, dearest.” Elizabeth smiled, glad to see the little girl, but equally glad to change the subject.
“Will you play with me?” Willow asked, her wide brown eyes pleading.
Already Elizabeth loved the little one with all her heart, but she could not give in to that pleading. Willow must come to understand that there was a time for work and a time for play. It was an important part of her training. “Not now, Willow,” Elizabeth told her gently. “Mayhap later. I must finish here first.”
Willow’s bottom lip protruded, but she said nothing, and Elizabeth was pleased. The child was coming along.
At that moment, a hush fell over the room, and Elizabeth looked up from her work.
Raynor stood in the wide doorway, looking tall and handsome with the sun gilding his brown hair and outlining his broad shoulders. He came into the kitchen hesitantly, as if unsure of his welcome.
Elizabeth grew still, uncertain of her reaction to seeing him here, especially after what had just been said. Not to mention the scene of the previous night.
After the way her husband had treated her last eve, it would be difficult to try to hold on to her resolve to get on with him. Even if he did appear the epitome of manhood, standing there so tall and strong in the entryway.
The cook turned and hurried to Raynor’s side, bowing with deference. “What may I do for you, my lord Warwicke?” She was clearly pleased and honored that he should come into her kitchen.
Not once since she had been in Warwicke had Elizabeth seen him enter this chamber. Nervously she smoothed her hair back from her forehead, wondering what had brought Raynor here.
He answered very casually. “I wish for you to gather enough supplies to last three men for two days.”
Elizabeth frowned. This was somewhat odd. Why had Raynor come with such a request himself? It was the kind of thing he usually left to his steward to oversee. Even as he talked with Eva, his gaze wandered about the room.
When Raynor’s eyes met hers, he stopped, then glanced quickly away.
Stranger and stranger, she thought.
A moment later, he started toward her.
Elizabeth smoothed her hands over her skirt, knowing that the aged yellow tunic did not become her. She shrugged. There was naught to be done for it.
He stopped beside her and spoke pleasantly. “Good day, Lady Elizabeth.” It was as if last night had never been.
She nodded, not meeting his gaze. “My lord.”
He watched her add nutmeg to the vat of mince and stir. “You have no need to do this work,” he said. “Eva has enough women to do the baking.”
She stiffened, feeling she was being criticized. Facing him with a raised chin, she said, “I know that, my lord. I do this as my choice.”
He nodded, and her shoulders relaxed. For some reason, he was even more ill at ease than she. This helped her find her equilibrium.
Raynor replied slowly, as if searching for the right words. “You may do as you like here. You are the lady of Warwicke. I am most sure your assistance is greatly valued.”
Unaccountably, Elizabeth knew a surge of pleasure. She knew this was not an affirmation of affection, but she understood that Raynor was deliberately making an effort to be cordial. Was this his way of saying he was sorry for the way he had behaved last night? Judging from his nervous expression, it would seem to be. It was so unexpected that she could not remain unmoved in the face of such an overture. She met his gaze openly, smiling sweetly.
He returned the smile, then hesitantly reached toward her, wiping his finger across the skin beside her mouth. As her husband touched her, Elizabeth shivered, despite the heat of the room and the weight of the eyes that stared at them.
“You had mince on your face,” he told her, holding up the finger.
Elizabeth raised her own hand to the spot he had touched, giggling. “I—”
But she stopped when he raised his finger to his mouth and licked the mince from it.
A strange flush of heat swelled in her thighs and trailed upward through her body.
Unexpectedly, into the quiet that had settled on the room, came the sound of a slap. It was followed by a startled wail.
Elizabeth looked about in confusion. Even when she located the direction of the sound and saw Willow holding a reddening cheek and Hyla standing over her with an angry stance, it took her a moment to realize what had happened.
Hyla’s belligerent comment clarified the situation. “Brat! That will teach you to take food without asking!”
It was then that Elizabeth noticed the crushed mince pasty in Willow’s little fist.
Rage filled Elizabeth, undulating through her with the sounds of Willow’s crying. But before she co
uld act, Raynor sprang from her side. He grabbed Hyla and dragged her to the door of the kitchen, casting her out into the courtyard.
Elizabeth and the other women moved to follow him out.
As Hyla screamed, trying to gain her feet, he shouted, pointing a finger that shook with rage, “Get you from Warwicke, and never return!”
A gasp arose from the gathering crowd. A woman alone in the world, without protection, had little hope of survival.
“Nay, my lord!” she cried in horror. “Do not cast me out! Beat me, but do not throw me out, I beg of you!”
Raynor looked around at the crowd. “No one, and I mean no one, is to give her shelter or assistance. This woman has dared to strike my daughter. I would have it known now that the same punishment will come to any who are so foolish as to think themselves above my wrath. Willow is my child, and as such has my protection.” He pounded a fist against his wide chest. “I trust that will be remembered.”
With that, he strode back into the kitchen and tenderly scooped his still-wailing daughter into his arms. Raynor then carried her from the courtyard, leaving none to doubt her worth to him.
Elizabeth stood as stunned as the rest.
Hyla had not stopped sobbing, and she turned glazed eyes to the people around her. “Please, will no one help me?” But none would meet her gaze. She was not well liked as it was, and no one would risk Raynor’s wrath to offer her succor.
Though she had little sympathy for the woman, Elizabeth went into the kitchen and gathered some of the fresh-baked pastries and bread, wrapping them in a clean cloth. She then went to the shelf and cut a large slice of cheese. This she also wrapped in a cloth.
She took them out into the courtyard and handed them to Hyla. “Take this, and never come back,” she told her. “Lord Raynor has done right in sending you away. Mayhap if you try, you will attain God’s forgiveness for taking your own frustrations out on a helpless child.”
With a snarl that was nothing akin to gratitude, Hyla grabbed the food from Elizabeth and scurried off.
Turning away, Elizabeth put the other woman from her mind. There was no sense in worrying about the banished serving woman. Her kind was like a cat, always managing to land on its feet. Elizabeth only hoped that it would be far from here.
Her thoughts turned to Raynor. It was only meet that the castlefolk should see how dear Willow was to him. At last Raynor was beginning to be able to openly show more of the loving man within him.
She remembered the way her husband had come into the kitchen. It was almost as if he had been looking for her. And he had been so very different, almost as if he were reaching out to her. A delicate flutter of hope rose in her breast. Could Raynor be coming to like her, at least a little?
That was not what she desired from her husband, but it would be a beginning of sorts.
She tried not to dwell on all the things she did want from Raynor, the desire he awakened in her with just a touch, the need to share his life.
Unbidden, her mind went back to the moment in the kitchen, when he had tasted the mince that he had taken from her mouth. With a groan, Elizabeth rested her hand over her lower belly.
It served no purpose to think about these things. She would do well to center her thoughts on less inflammatory matters. She must hope for nothing above friendship and peace with her husband. To even consider more was to open herself to disappointment and heartache. Last night was proof of that.
* * *
The next evening, Raynor returned to the keep exhausted from a day spent riding about his lands. He was weary beyond measure, but for all his efforts, he had not washed the thoughts of Elizabeth from his mind.
He knew Elizabeth had given food to Hyla even after he forbade anyone to help her. But he would not reprimand her. It would be useless to do so, though the deed reminded him of how headstrong Elizabeth was and made him wonder anew at the wisdom of trusting in her.
Yet he could not completely fault Elizabeth’s kind act of helping a woman she had reason to despise.
Raynor realized banishing Hyla was a severe punishment. He had acted out of a pure, unsullied instinct to protect and defend his child. Nothing more.
Yet once he calmed, he’d felt a growing sense of responsibility for what had happened. If he had made it known all along that abuse of his daughter would not be tolerated, it might never have happened.
It had taken Elizabeth’s arrival and subsequent attention to Willow to make him see that a parent must be involved in a child’s daily life.
Elizabeth. She had changed so much in his life in the short weeks she had been at Warwicke. And it seemed that she was able to do so without even trying. Just by being herself, she made him see the world more clearly.
And therein lay Raynor’s problem. Was he seeing things more clearly than before? Or was he becoming infatuated with a beautiful and cleverly manipulative woman? On the one hand, he wanted to believe in her, but on the other, he could not allow himself to.
Had his father felt this way about his mother in the beginning? Had he become so enraptured by her that he lost all ability to see her as she truly was?
Raynor opened the door to his chamber with a tired sigh. If only he could have the answers to his questions. If only he could see Elizabeth without her beauty and sensuality to color his thinking. Unfortunately, it was impossible. He was attracted to Elizabeth, more than he’d ever thought to be to any woman.
Images of her filled his nights with fantasies of heated flesh and passionate responses.
Raynor stopped on the threshold of his chamber. The big wooden tub had been set before the fire. Steam rose invitingly from its depths.
Too tired to question such bounty, Raynor sat down on the bench by the fire and began to remove his clothing. First came his shoes, hose and cross garters, then his tunic and pourpoint.
Soon he was chin-deep in the pleasantly hot water, its heat and buoyancy relieving his tired muscles. Before long he could feel his lids growing heavy and allowed them to close. This night he would miss going to the hall to eat.
He was exhausted from fighting his feelings for Elizabeth, and not sure anymore of why he did so.
* * *
Raynor awakened when the door opened behind him. He knew not how long he had been asleep. Judging by the much cooler temperature of the water, it had been for some time.
“Arthur,” he said, thinking that it must be his squire, “did you finish cleaning my saddle?”
“It is I,” came Elizabeth’s voice, directly behind him.
With a start, he turned to face her.
She quieted him with gentle hands on his shoulders. “Nay, my lord. Do not get up, but let me attend to your bath.”
“I have no need of assistance,” he told her stiffly. For some reason, he felt painfully vulnerable with Elizabeth here like this. But Raynor would not let her see how shaken he was at the notion of her assisting him to bathe. He would prove, if only to himself, that he was capable of resisting his wife, that she held no sway over him. It was important for him to do so if he was ever going to be able to live with her in any semblance of harmony. He would be his own man!
He gave a brief nod, still struggling with the nearly overpowering urge to send her away. “My thanks for your help.”
Unaware of his motives, Elizabeth smiled as she dipped the cloth she held in the water and smoothed it over his wide shoulders. Dear heaven, but Raynor was beautiful, his skin golden and smooth in the firelight.
Since the day Raynor had sent Hyla way, he’d seemed different. There was a barely concealed hunger in his eyes when he looked at her, and more than that, a deep yearning that went beyond the physical. It was the awareness of that yearning that had given Elizabeth the confidence to have this bath prepared for her husband. For some reason, it had become very important for her to be with him, to perform this wifely task as any other woman would for her husband. It was as if it might establish a new foundation for them, if he could accept her in this way.
Careful to keep her tone matter-of-fact, she said, “Lean forward and I will wash your hair.” He did what she asked, allowing her to minister to his needs without demur. She felt hope rise like a new seedling in her breast.
Taking a pitcher from the floor beside the tub, Elizabeth poured water over his head, then lathered it with soap scented with sandalwood. The thick mass felt heavy in her fingers, and she knew a growing sense of wonder.
Never in the weeks they had been wed had she touched him so intimately, not even when they’d nearly been overcome by the force of their passion. Those times had been fraught with a tension and an overwhelming desire that blocked out all else.
Velvet Bond Page 18