This strong, virile man was her husband. By God’s laws, she had the right to touch him this way, to feel the weight of his wet hair in her hands, to know the contours and touch of his body.
But Raynor did not want their relationship to be an intimate one, and if ever they were to attain some peace, she had to respect his wishes. Elizabeth must content herself with this moment, and what little closeness he could give.
Then, as Raynor leaned back, giving her silent permission to do as she would, Elizabeth realized there was no fooling herself. The reality of him naked and acquiescent beneath her hands was as heady as strong red wine. How she wanted him—not just his friendship, but his passion.
Without conscious thought, she dropped the cloth, soaped her hand, then ran her fingers over his skin. He grew perfectly still. It was as if he were waiting for some desired event, but could not move toward it. Slowly, and with infinite sensuality, Elizabeth traced his shoulders, then moved both hands around to glide down his chest.
She heard him sigh, but there was nothing of contentment in it. The sound was ragged, and as full of tension as a strung bow.
Her own heart galloped in her chest at an alarming pace. Not stopping to ponder the wisdom of her actions, or what Raynor’s reaction might be, Elizabeth pressed her lips to the tender flesh at the back of his neck. She closed her eyes on the heat that filled her.
Raynor shivered beneath her lips, and her name escaped him in a desperate whisper. “Elizabeth.”
“Raynor.” She kissed him again, not knowing what she was doing, acting solely on her own impulses.
As her lips brushed his neck, Raynor knew he was lost. His body quivered with long-suppressed desire.
He turned to face her, wanting her to understand fully what was happening between them. Slowly he stood, his gaze never leaving her face as his body was exposed to her view.
Elizabeth drank in the sight of him, tall and golden, and beautiful beyond words. His manhood thrust proudly from a thatch of dark curls, and she marveled at the way it pulsed and reared toward her as she looked upon it.
Again he whispered her name, his voice husky with longing. “Elizabeth?”
She rose to face him, taking his hand. Her eyes were hot with her own passion. “Yes.”
He stepped from the tub and took her in his arms, unable to hold himself back anymore. This moment had been coming since the first time he saw her. It was as inevitable as the phases of the moon, and just as powerful.
With a groan, Raynor caught her in his arms and carried her to his bed. He laid her down upon it and reached to take her gown from her, but his hands trembled with desire, and he was uncharacteristically clumsy.
With a muffled curse, he ripped the gown down the front. When the cloth caught halfway down, Elizabeth raised desperate fingers to help him. Soon her clothing was a ruined pile on the floor. But she was naked beneath her husband, and where his body touched hers there was fire.
As he lowered his dark head to suckle at her breasts, she gasped at the subsequent melting heat in her lower belly. Raynor’s large hands traced her flesh with wonder and barely restrained passion. Where they lingered, the tender undersides of her breasts, her flat stomach and tapered hips, her skin flamed with awareness.
Unable to wait for another moment, Raynor rose above her. Telling himself this was her first time, and he must go slowly, so as not to hurt her, he moved carefully. Holding back with every ounce of his will, he took uneven, deep breaths, trying to think past the fierce erotic pounding of his blood. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he shuddered with the effort it cost him to control himself.
Elizabeth was on fire, her body aching and hungry for Raynor, needing to feel him inside her as she had never needed anything before. She knew in the deepest part of herself that only by being fully joined to him would this agonizing craving be eased.
With a gasp of desperation, she rose up, engulfing him in the hot moistness of her body. There was only a momentary hint of pain, as distant as the stars, before the pleasure engulfed her. She rocked toward him, feeling a spreading warmth of piercingly sweet tension rising up to block all thoughts of anything beyond the joy of it. And then she was lost as the rapture surged up to drown her.
Raynor cried out as he felt Elizabeth shudder beneath him. He could no longer keep back the tide of his own fulfillment, thrusting deep inside her as his seed burst forth in a raging torrent.
She held him to her, sobbing out her happiness. “Now you are mine.”
For a moment, Raynor lay still, barely hearing her past the throbbing pleasure still pulsing inside him. Then her words sunk deep, wiping the fog of passion from his mind.
Now you are mine.
He rolled away from her and rose to kneel beside her on the bed. Not seeing the confusion and hurt in her eyes, he stared down at her as if she were a stranger.
He shook his head wildly and growled in frustration. Even now, as he looked at Elizabeth, overwhelmed by his dread of being owned and controlled by her, Raynor could not stop the tightening of desire in his body. He could not still the rush of wanting that the sight of her, flushed from his passion, brought to the fore.
He turned away, in an agony of confusion and hurt.
“Raynor.” She sat up, holding out her hand. “What is it? What is wrong?”
He stood, picking up his discarded clothing from the floor, then began to pull them on.
“Raynor,” she called out desperately, “answer me. You owe me that much.”
His walnut eyes were dark and deep as a forest at midnight. “I owe you nothing.” He went to the door. “And make no mistake, my lady, I belong to no one save myself.”
The door shut behind him with a sickening finality.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, Elizabeth began to cry. They had gone from the heights of pleasure to the depths of despair too quickly. Reaction made her shake as if with palsy.
What had she said? It had been nothing more than a simple declaration of her own happiness at finally being with him. That and that alone had called up Raynor’s fear of being subjugated by her.
Tears fell in hot trails down her pale cheeks. Dear God, what was to become of her?
She had become his wife at last, only to be rejected in the next moment. And so long as Raynor refused to overcome his misgivings about being ruled by a woman, naught would change. He had to see that giving of his heart did not mean thralldom.
Chapter Ten
Over the next days, Elizabeth did all she could to stay out of Raynor’s path. It was not really a problem, because he seemed as bent on keeping clear of her.
One morning she awakened early to realize that she was allowing Raynor too much power over her. Since she had not done anything wrong, she could not change him. Her husband had to come to see her as she truly was and not as he imagined, and only he could make that happen.
She decided to go riding. Minerva had been sadly neglected over the past few days, and was surely eager to resume their morning rides. Even more, Elizabeth felt she could take some comfort in being with her old friend.
The mare did not look on Elizabeth with helpless sadness, as Olwyn did. The companion was aware of the trouble between Elizabeth and her husband. She had taken note of the torn gown Elizabeth had tried to hide in the bottom of her chest. But when the golden-haired woman questioned her, Elizabeth had refused to be drawn.
Though she took comfort from her woman, Elizabeth refused to discuss her marriage. It was for herself and Raynor to right the wrongs between them, thus telling Olwyn would serve no real purpose other than venting her spleen.
And, truth to tell, it would have hurt Elizabeth to admit how bad things were. She did not want to explain that Raynor was angry over having made love to her, that he felt doing so was somehow a detriment to his self-government.
For Elizabeth, the experience had been a glorious awakening. Raynor had seen it as an attempt to bind him.
Going to the stables, she asked for Minerva to be saddled.
It was as she was waiting that Elizabeth realized she had forgotten her gloves. Hurriedly she made her way to her chambers to retrieve them.
The sight that met Elizabeth’s eyes when she opened the door to her solar made her stop short in surprise. Olwyn and Bronic stood in the middle of the the room, locked in a passionate embrace.
Hearing her gasp, they started apart. As soon as Olwyn saw that it was Elizabeth, she stared at the stone floor, a deep crimson flush traveling up her neck and over her face.
Bronic had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable, but he was slow to take his arm from around her companion’s slim waist.
This evidence of his care for Olwyn heartened Elizabeth. She met his proud gaze and smiled. Here was a man who knew how to share his feelings with a woman. Would that her own husband had learned the same trait.
Bronic grinned in return, obviously relieved that she did not disapprove. Though something did tell her that he would not have curtailed his pursuit of Olwyn even if Elizabeth had been against the relationship. As he drew his arm from around the golden-haired beauty, his hand lingered in a tender caress. He spoke to Olwyn gently, intimately. “I will see you when I return to the keep this eve.”
Only then did Olwyn glance toward Elizabeth, and what she saw made her smile shyly. She nodded to the man. “Aye.”
As he left them, Bronic paused at the door. “Good day, Lady Elizabeth, and thank you.”
She inclined her head. “Good day.”
When he was gone, Olwyn turned to Elizabeth, her face flushed, her light blue eyes clouded with renewed uncertainty. “It has never happened before. He simply came to ask me something.... I cannot even recall what now.” The blush darkened again. “And I'm not sure what—”
With a raised hand, Elizabeth halted her. “There is no need to go on, Olwyn. He is a most agreeable knight, and I can well understand why you might succumb to his attentions. I well like him myself.” She laughed, with teasingly arched brows. “Though clearly not as much as yourself.”
As she finished, Elizabeth knew that what she said was true. Since learning that he was Raynor’s brother, she’d watched the other man closely. In his pursuit of her companion, Bronic had made his presence known, turning up all the time. And he’d shown himself to be of good and honorable character.
Olwyn beamed, her whole being lighting up as she looked at the door through which he had recently left. “Aye, he is most agreeable.”
Seeing the happiness on her face, Elizabeth knew a momentary twinge of loneliness. If only she were as free to express her affection for Raynor.
Olwyn spoke earnestly. “I would not leave you now, when you have no one else, my lady. I will continue to serve as your companion.”
With a shake of her head, Elizabeth hurried to reassure her, though she felt a stab of pain at the truth of Olwyn’s statement. She pushed down the emotion, for nothing could be gained by feeling sorry for herself. “Nay, you must go forward with your life. Have no fear for me, I will see to my own problems. You will allow your feelings for Bronic to take their own course.”
Olwyn seemed unconvinced. “Elizabeth, you need not remain here. Either Henry or Stephen would have you, and gladly. There you might be happy again.”
For a moment, Elizabeth was shocked beyond reason at such an idea. Then she wondered whence such a violent reaction had come. Surely it was not such an unreasonable notion that she might go to one of her brothers. They would indeed have her gladly.
But Elizabeth could not go. Her determination to make a marriage with Raynor had gone beyond the original stubborn determination to set her mistake right. Now the idea of living without Raynor, no matter how exasperating and unpleasant he might be, was abhorrent. The few glimpses she’d had of the lonely and hurting man inside him made her long to fill the void. “Nay.” She held up a commanding hand. “Warwicke is my home now. I must make what I can of that.”
With a smile of what she hoped was complete assurance, Elizabeth fetched her gloves and went to collect her mount.
It was only a few short minutes later that she was outside the keep and turning her horse away from Warwicke and her problems.
But they did not remain behind her, despite her intentions. Raynor’s unhappiness and distrust of her hung over her like heavy, stifling smoke.
What Elizabeth had told Olwyn was true. No matter how painful things were for her here at Warwicke, the thought of leaving was excruciating. To never see Raynor smile at her in that sweetly yearning way, to never feel the touch of his hands... She shook her head. No. Difficult as it was, as long as she remained at Warwicke there was hope of making a life with him. Even if that hope was as distant as it now seemed.
She kneed her mount to a gallop, trying to clear her mind of the pain of remembering the coldness in his eyes after they’d made love. Her face burned at the memory of how she had given herself to him, losing all thought of anything save the way he made her feel. When he touched her, Elizabeth became nothing more than a creature of need and desire. No matter how she tried to block them out, the tormenting memories refused to leave her.
For those short moments while he’d held her, losing himself in her body, she had felt how much he needed her. But she was sure his very need was what kept him away. Raynor could not trust any woman after the way his mother had treated his father. And only he could overcome that mistrust.
As it was, the more he cared for Elizabeth, the more desperately he seemed to hold her away from him.
She let Minerva have her head as they raced across an open pasture. The warm June breeze tugged at her wimple and the skirt of her crimson velvet gown. But even the freedom of riding with the wind did not dispel her melancholy.
It was as Elizabeth reached the top of a particularly sharp rise that a horse and a male rider came into view at the edge of the forest before her. She slowed, unsure of whether to go on. After refusing the company of the stable boy, the lady was more conscious of her aloneness than she might have been. She was not a timid woman, having lived so many years at court with Stephen. But she knew no one in the region, and did not wish to put herself in undue jeopardy.
She had just turned to ride in the opposite direction when she heard her name shouted out. “Lady Warwicke!”
She looked back over her shoulder and saw the man moving toward her over the greensward. She hesitated.
He called out again. “Please wait, Lady Warwicke. I will not harm you.”
Against reason, this convinced her. She knew that if he wished her harm, the man would certainly claim otherwise. But she felt no inner sense of disquiet, and that stayed her.
Then, for the first time in days, Elizabeth smiled. If naught else, living with Raynor had convinced her she could deal with most men.
The man who stopped before her on a dark brown stallion had a strongly made face, light brown hair and blue eyes, and seemed somehow familiar. She tried, but could not place him. “Have we met?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
He bowed. “Dear lady, we have. Though at that time you were Elizabeth Clayburn. It was some four years ago, at Windsor, when I came there. You were all of sixteen and newly arrived at court.”
“You were with a lady,” she replied, at last recalling the meeting. “Was she not your sister?”
“My stepsister, Louisa. I am Sir Nigel Harrington.”
At that moment, Elizabeth understood that this was Willow’s uncle, the very man whose name Raynor refused to even hear. And that would make his sister...”Louisa. Willow’s mother.” By concentrating, Elizabeth could call up a vague image of the other woman. If her memory served her, Louisa had been a small woman, with brown hair and eyes, like her daughter. This surprised Elizabeth, for she had always thought that Willow’s coloring must be a lighter version of her father’s.
He nodded as an expression of anger and pain passed over his features. “The very same.”
Elizabeth stated the obvious. “That means you are Willow’s uncle.” She studied him for a long moment.
She remembered how furious Raynor had become when this man simply sent a messenger to the keep. “Why is my husband so set against you?” she asked bluntly.
He shook his head, looking away from her as if he could not bear for her to see the pain in his eyes. “I know not. I loved Louisa.” His voice took on a note of anger. “I have a right to see Willow. She is my flesh and blood, all that is left of our family. Warwicke thinks to keep her from me, but he has no right.”
“Why would he do so?” she asked.
He looked to her then, his expression filled with longing. “I know not. I only know that he will not allow me to take the child and care for her as she should be.”
Elizabeth knew she could ease his sadness on that score at least. “Have no more concern for that. I have taken over the child’s care, and I must add that Raynor has begun to understand what he needs do to be a good father, as well.”
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