Velvet Bond

by Catherine Archer

  Raynor turned away from Arthur, who had come to help him change for the evening meal. But he could feel the boy’s eyes on his back.

  Holding the note in his hand, Raynor hesitated. He did not know what reply he would give. It was true that he was coming to care for Elizabeth. But that care was new to him, and as yet untried.

  What was she about, to ask him to sup with her?

  He recalled the last time he had done so. That night at Windsor, when they had been found together.

  And this very morning, when they had breakfasted together. Though he could not quite put his finger on the reason, she seemed different. Elizabeth had spoken very little, and looked at him even less. Mayhap it was because the change in their relationship was as new to her as it was to him. Now he was not so sure.

  Uneasiness washed through him, and he shifted uncomfortably. Now that his wife had seen that he was coming to care for her, was she setting him up for some purpose of her own, to get him in a position of intimacy so that she could use his attraction to her against him? Would he now discover that she was indeed trying to manipulate and control him?

  The silence stretched on.

  “My lord?” Arthur questioned, standing ready with his clean tunic.

  Raynor glanced at him and away. “My wife has invited me to sup in her solar.”

  Arthur simply blinked at him, then at the brown tunic he held. “You would like something finer, my lord?” he asked.

  Raynor knew a moment of discomfort at the notion that Arthur would think him eager to please his wife by dressing more grandly.

  Then, irritated with himself, Raynor sat on the chair by the empty hearth. What did he care if Arthur assumed he might want something finer to wear for an intimate dinner with his wife? There was no reason to be embarrassed about being asked to come to her solar. It was not unheard-of for a wife to invite her husband for an evening alone.

  But even as he told himself these things, Raynor knew this was not so of himself and Elizabeth.

  It was no secret that they did not behave as a loving couple. They had been anything but close since Elizabeth’s coming to Warwicke, and despite his original efforts to make thing appear normal, everyone in the keep knew it.

  It was not surprising, really, that Arthur would assume this was a special occasion.

  Then something else occurred to the lord of Warwicke. Arthur had also assumed that Raynor would be accepting Elizabeth’s invitation.

  This was what finally swayed him. Since they had picnicked with Willow two days before, Raynor had felt closer to Elizabeth. He had told her things he’d never said to anyone else, never thought to say to anyone. And she’d listened without judging, and, even more importantly, without asking questions he did not wish to answer.

  Raynor could think of no good reason why he should not go. It seemed only right, when he had decided to try to be a husband to her. But Raynor’s trepidation did not completely leave him. The wounds of his past were difficult to leave behind him.

  He could not help asking himself why Elizabeth would care about him. Louisa, Bronic, and now Willow, were the only people who had ever really loved him. But they had clearly needed him as much as he had them.

  His wife was a different matter. She was strong, resourceful and intelligent. She had a family that would accept her return with joy. Of that he had no doubt. So why did she want him—need him? The lord of Warwicke had no answer. But mayhap he should try to find out.

  He looked at Arthur, who still waited with the appearance of patience. Raynor nearly smiled, knowing how difficult a pose this was for the boy.

  With a sigh of resignation, he said, “Get the green velvet tunic and the black pourpoint.”

  With a nod, Arthur moved to do as he was bidden.

  As he readied himself for the meeting with his wife, Raynor’s unease began to be overlaid by a growing sense of anticipation.

  Clearly he recalled the first time he had dined with his wife alone. It had ended in his being married to the maddening, beautiful, endlessly intriguing woman.

  Somewhere inside him lurked the question of whether the request had anything to do with her admitted wish to have a child. His child.

  * * *

  Elizabeth had prepared her chambers carefully.

  The table was set up in the middle of the solar. Her own pewter plate and glasses were arranged on top. A cool jug of wine waited to be poured. A host of candles had been lit and placed about the chamber. Their soft golden light flickered over the highly polished surface of the table and chairs, and created mysterious shadows in the dim corners of the room.

  Elizabeth moved restlessly to the window and peered out into the warm darkness.

  Would he come?

  She ran her hands over the scarlet velvet of her skirt, then checked the ribbon Olwyn had tied around her hair at the nape of her neck. She’d left the glossy mass loose except for that ribbon.

  As she lowered her hand, she realized it was trembling. Elizabeth clasped her fingers together to still the quivering, but it did no good.

  But the nervousness that had gripped her since she’d decided to invite her husband to dine would not leave her.

  Had she made a mistake in inviting Raynor to her solar? Would he even accept? What if he was not yet prepared to go so far as to put himself within her domain?

  Surely he would know that which was relegated to the back of her mind, but which was just as compelling as her need to have peace with him. Did he sense what she hoped for, desired with all her being?

  Her cheeks burned. How could he not know, after what she had told him the day of the picnic? She’d come right out and admitted that she wished to bear his child, their child.

  Her hand went to her flat stomach. What would it feel like to have Raynor’s baby moving inside her?

  Elizabeth only wished she knew what he would do. Raynor was a man who needed to make his own decision, act on his own desires and thoughts. Perhaps she should have waited for him to come to her. Would he feel she was pushing him, trying to control him?

  With a sigh, she put her hand to her forehead.

  There was no use in torturing herself this way. Either he would come or he would not.

  Her gaze went to the door.

  But surely, if he meant to come, he would be here by now. The portal remained firmly closed.

  Her attention strayed outside the window. Her gaze sweeping the inky blackness of the night, Elizabeth tried to force her stiff muscles to relax.

  Just when she thought she would scream with the tension, she heard the door slowly open.

  Afraid to turn, in case it was someone else, and not Raynor, Elizabeth stood perfectly still until he spoke her name. “Elizabeth.”

  She remembered the first time she had heard that voice, in the antechamber at Windsor. Even though it had only been a matter of months, the changes in her life made that time seem infinitely long ago. Now, as then, she knew an image of rough fingers in brown velvet when she heard him speak. That husky edge always set her senses on edge in a very sensuously pleasing way.

  Slowly she turned to face him, a soft smile curving her red lips. “My lord husband, you are come.”

  As she faced him, there was a heady sweetness in his gaze that made her head swim and her breath quicken. In that moment, she knew that she had done the right thing in asking him to come to her.

  He bowed formally. “I am most pleased to be invited.” Where he stood, his face was in shadow, but she knew he was watching her. She felt the touch of his gaze upon her face, her neck, then down over the deep neckline of her cote. A heady warmth suffused her, and she longed to throw herself into his arms.

  Slowly, Elizabeth thought, go slowly.

  She moved toward the table and picked up the jug of cooled wine. “Will you drink, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  She poured a cup and held it out to him.

  Without warning, she had several vivid flashes of memory of that first time they’d dined toge
ther in Stephen’s house...pouring him wine...talking...the kiss they’d shared.

  So much had happened since then, so many changes in her life and his.

  He took the offered libation, and she prepared one for herself. As Elizabeth turned back to him, he raised his glass. “To the future.”

  Surprised, she raised her own glass. “Aye, to the future.”

  Uncertainty kept her from tasting the wine as she took a drink, but she felt its heat course over her tongue and down her throat. Yet it was no more warming than his manner. Raynor seemed so accepting of her, and their being together here. This was more than she’d even dared dream of.

  To cover her confusion, Elizabeth motioned toward the meal awaiting them. “Olwyn brought this some time ago. The cook said you liked eels, so I asked her to prepare your favorite recipe. She was most eager to do so.” Elizabeth smiled at him, and heard him catch his breath.

  When Elizabeth looked at him askance, he said, “My lady wife, do you have any inkling of how lovely you are when you smile? Your eyes sparkle like the finest of sapphires.”

  She blushed to the roots of her dark hair. In her lifetime, she’d been flattered by many men, and more eloquently. But none of those compliments had meant so much as this one from her husband. Raynor was not a man who bandied pretty words about until they were meaningless from overuse. What he said came from the depths of his heart, and thus meant more than any poem or song of technical merit.

  Happiness dampened her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Raynor.”

  He looked away, suddenly seeming shy, and that surprised her. She’d not thought to see the powerful and commanding Raynor blushing like a young squire.

  But she could hardly fault him. She, too, felt out of her depth, with this new softness between them.

  Thinking to give them something to do, she asked. “Will you take your sup?”

  He sat in the indicated chair. Rather than take the other seat, Elizabeth moved to stand behind Raynor. Acting as his squire, she served her husband eels, venison and fresh white bread. He appeared surprised that she would perform this humble service for him, but he said nothing.

  It was as if neither of them wanted to break the sweet enchantment that held them in its gossamer spell.

  Finally he asked, “Will you not take your leisure with me, my lady wife?”

  “Nay, my lord. I have no hunger.”

  How could she tell him that at this moment she could not possibly eat? Her stomach was aflutter with hope and longing. Elizabeth could not say she wanted to run her fingers through the weight of his hair, where it grew along his nape. That she longed to push the dark mass aside and press her lips to the tender spot at the joining of neck and shoulder.

  He did not answer, but she could feel his attention on her as she stood beside his chair. Elizabeth wanted him to feel that she cared about him. That she wanted to be a wife to him, to see to his needs—and his desires.

  She closed her eyes on that last thought. Patience was what she needed. She and Raynor had experienced only the physical side of love. And while her body cried out for fulfillment, she wanted more. Elizabeth knew Raynor must come to see that she desired him for all he was, his smile, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, his kindness, his loyalty, his devotion.

  In short, the essence of Raynor.

  Elizabeth thought all of this as she continued to serve him from the dishes on the table. She was in such a state of agitation that she didn’t really know if the food was still warm enough. But if her husband found anything amiss, he made no comment.

  The room was quiet while she moved about, seeing to his comfort. But it was a sultry silence, evoked by their heightened senses and the warmth of the night. Only the occasional call of an owl came to them on the soft summer breeze that wafted through the window.

  Raynor was dazed by the soft rose scent of his wife as she stood so close behind him, her attention trained on his every need. When she leaned close to serve him another one of the eels he hadn’t even tasted, her hair fell over her shoulder, and a long strand clung to the velvet of his sleeve. Raynor wanted to reach out and grasp the stray curl, to wind it round his finger, thus bringing her close to him. He did not, swallowing back his growing need to touch her.

  But only a moment later, as Elizabeth reached across him to refill his wine goblet and her breast brushed against his arm, Raynor could no longer hold himself back. His large, callused hand closed over hers and he turned it palm up to face him. He looked down at her fingers, marveling at how pale they were, resting in his own sun-browned ones.

  She was so fair, his lady wife. Slowly he traced his own fingers over her palm.

  She closed her eyes, trying with all her might to remember that she must make Raynor see that she wanted him for all he was. That before they made love again, there must be some understanding and harmony between them.

  Then he raised her palm to his mouth, and she was lost, drowning in the heady sensation of his lips on the tender flesh. It was no use even attempting to resist, she thought, as her belly twisted in a spasm of longing.

  Bending close to his ear, she whispered, her voice raspy with ill-concealed passion, “Oh, my lord, my husband. How I long to feel you inside me again.”

  With a rough gasp, Raynor pushed back his chair.

  Neither of them paid any attention when it fell over onto the floor.

  His arms closed around her, his lips finding hers. Raynor’s kiss seared her to her very soul.

  Elizabeth’s breath came in ragged drafts as his open mouth left hers to press hot kisses down her throat. His tongue flicked over the rapidly beating pulse in her neck, and she moaned with sweet wanting as she tipped her head back to give him better access to the sensitive flesh.

  When his head dipped to the deep neckline of her gown, she held his dark head against her with both hands. Her fingers curled in the thick mane of his hair.

  He nudged aside the edge of her cote and tunic, exposing one deep pink nipple. As he raked it gently with his teeth, it hardened. Raynor sighed, taking the small raspberry firmness into his mouth to suckle.

  Elizabeth arched against him and felt the hard length of his manhood against her stomach. She was on fire, her body straining against his.

  As if aware of her struggle, Raynor put his large hand on her buttocks and lifted her high against him. Her legs felt boneless, and quivered as she tried to open them. Elizabeth whimpered softly when her clothing hindered her desire.

  Barely able to think over the throbbing in her blood, Elizabeth cried out, “Raynor, Raynor, I want you!”

  He raised his head, looking down at her with walnut eyes, dark with passion. Then he kissed her, hard and long, before scooping her up in his arms to carry her to her bedchamber.

  The room was dark, save for the light of one candle that Olwyn had lit earlier in the evening. The bed—her bed—was a huge, hulking shape in the center of the room, its hangings pulled back in welcome.

  Raynor held her face up for his kiss as he laid her in the deep shadows of the bed.

  “Take me now, my husband!” she gasped, arching against him.

  Her lips clung to his as he pulled away to look down at her. He cupped her fevered cheek in his large hand. Raynor longed to do just that. He was roused to the point of agony, his blood a rushing torrent of need in his veins. But he would not hurry this time. Pressing his fingers gently to her lips, he whispered huskily, “Softly, Elizabeth. I will not have you in such haste this night. I would love you properly, as you should be loved, here in your bed, where I have dreamed of having you since the first time I saw it in the back of the wagon. The fact that I could see nothing of its shape beneath the cloth that covered it only made my imagination work harder at visualizing you in it—naked and wanting.”

  As he spoke, Elizabeth shivered at the image he brought to her mind. “If only I had known,” she whispered, kissing his hard fingers, then leaning up to kiss his lips. “For every time I looked at it I thought of littl
e else but us there together.”

  He raised her up on her knees, his gaze holding her. “I shall see you as I thought of you—now.”

  Elizabeth kissed him again, her mouth open and inviting. “Aye, now.”

  He eased her clothing from under her, and before she knew it Elizabeth was indeed naked to his scorching gaze.

  Almost reverently, Raynor leaned forward and kissed the swell of her firm, high breasts, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You are lovely. So lovely my breath is taken from me.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard, feeling the honeyed dampness at her thighs. She leaned back into the softness of the bed, her hand held toward him in invitation. “I need you, Raynor. Love me.”