The Bride Of Spring

by Catherine Archer

  Before she knew what he was going to do, he reached out and clasped her hands, raising them to hold them securely above her head. His gaze never left hers as he watched her. Then those unreadable blue eyes slid down from her face, grazing the line of her body.

  Raine was shocked at the rush of heat she felt, and she closed her eyes to hide it.

  His breath was hot on her cheek as he bent over her, nuzzling her. The thrill that coursed through her delayed her full understanding of what he whispered next. “Tempting though the offer may be, my lady wife, I do not care for the terms. I will await a more palatable proposition.”

  By the time Raine had fully realized what he had said, he was gone. With a cry of rage, she leapt from the bed, though her anger might well have been caused more by the erratic pounding of her own heart than anything Benedict had said.

  Chapter Seven

  After asking one of the women who were taking down the trestle tables to bring him something to eat, Benedict took his place at table in the great hall in solitude and silence. He was in no mood to talk. What had happened on the practice field several days gone by and then afterward had made him realize that Raine would do anything to be away from Brackenmoore. That her offer had been far more tempting than he cared to admit would remain his secret. Benedict wanted her, desperately. He did not want her to ever imagine that she had given herself as some sacrifice for her freedom, which he would never agree to.

  A painful ache settled in his chest. He told himself that it was because of Brackenmoore, because he now knew that she would never be able to release her past life and accept the new. He had been mad to marry her, though his desire for her seemed to increase with each passing day in spite of her ill temper.

  He sighed, wanting nothing so much as to be alone with his thoughts. Which was why he had come down to break his fast long after he thought the others would have gone. The meals he had taken here in the past few days had been fraught with tension, especially since Raine had taken his command to heart and remained in her chamber. Despite her absence, her presence was felt in the multitude of speculative glances that were directed at him, by William, Kendran and servants alike.

  Yet it was only a short time later that he glanced up to see Raine enter the hall, looking far lovelier than any woman had a right to. In a pale green gown, with her hair falling over her shoulder in one heavy braid, she seemed as a maiden from tales of old. When her gaze came to rest upon him, she frowned with consternation.

  He watched her shoulders square as she came forward. He forced a smile, not wanting her to know how unhappy he was, how little he slept each night with thoughts of her pressing on his mind. When he spoke, he was pleased at how unaffected he sounded. “Raine.”

  She nodded, her gaze not meeting his. “I am prepared to be polite but no more.”

  His tone belied his irony. “I suppose I must be grateful for that.”

  She ignored this, with a regally tilted nose, and he felt an unwilling admiration for her tremendous aplomb. She distracted him by glancing at the platter of food and asking, “May I?”

  He nodded, suddenly realizing that she, too, had come at this late hour hoping to avoid a meeting with him. The knowledge prickled, but he said only, “Please do.”

  Seeming oblivious to Benedict now, she sat down on the opposite side of the table and took some of the bread and cheese. He studied her, while pretending not to.

  If only her simple act of nibbling delicately at the cheese did not draw his gaze to those sweet pink lips. If only her lashes did not lie so full and dark against her cheeks as she carefully kept her gaze on her meal. So occupied was he in thinking these thoughts that it was some time before he realized that she was in actuality eating no more than he.

  He was taken completely by surprise when she glanced up at him and said, “Kendran is very like you.”

  He shrugged, glad to have something besides her beauty and the fact that she was so contrary to think upon. “So it is said.”

  She looked up at him, her brows raised, her expression measuring. “I know very little of your family. I did, of course, know of Tristan, and Maeve has said that Marcel is away.”

  Benedict frowned, the ache of missing his brother ever fresh in his heart, even as he wondered why she was suddenly interested in his family. “Why do you mention, Raine?”

  She shrugged, her glance grazing his briefly. “I grow weary of arguing with you at every turn. I thought we might have some common ground here. I love my brother. You love yours. And you have said that I must be pleasant if I am to leave my chamber. I grow tired of those same four walls. I did hope I might be alone when I came to the hall, but as you are here, I will do my utmost to abide by your wishes.”

  He was impressed with her honesty, as he had been from the start. “Do you always say what you think?”

  She shrugged, her expression now guarded. “Not always. Shall we talk of your brother?” As she finished, Benedict saw out of the corner of his eye that Maeve had come to the doorway of the hall. She cast an approving look at the two of them before motioning for the rest of the servants to keep their distance.

  Benedict knew she was aware of all that went on in the keep, and made it her place to see that all went according to her wishes. Obviously she approved of this interaction with his wife. Not sure how he felt about this, Benedict answered Raine’s question. “Aye, Marcel is away. I miss him greatly.”

  She nodded, her face suddenly bearing a solicitude he had not known in her before. “’Tis understandable. I do not know what I would do if I were separated from William. He is all I have.” For some reason her sympathy moved him more than he would ever have thought possible, that and her sincere admission that William was all she had.

  Almost without being aware that he would do so he found himself saying, “Marcel is troubled, though I have tried to spare him his discontent. The loss of our parents affected him greatly and he has never gotten over it. If he had his own lands, perhaps, more to occupy his mind…” Benedict sighed. “Marcel has fallen in love with…well, that is his own affair. Suffice it to say that he does not think the woman could care for him in return, as he feels he has nothing to give but himself.”

  She murmured, “Genevieve.”

  He looked at her closely. “How did you know?”

  Raine shrugged, her gaze defensive. “I was not prying. It was something Maeve said about his leaving and Genevieve not wishing to be here. Why would he imagine that she would not want him?”

  Benedict shook his head. “I was not accusing you, Raine.” But he was surprised that she had noted anything around her considering her all-consuming desire to return to Abbernathy. Because of this he found himself telling her, “Marcel is a landless knight, Genevieve a great heiress. Holding her in such esteem as he does, Marcel would offer her more, not believing that the only thing of value is himself. I…wish there were some way to bring them together, to make them see…” He paused. “I can only hope that Genevieve and Marcel’s love for one another will help see them through.”

  On finishing, Benedict felt a strange sense of longing as he wondered what it would be like to be loved that way. Marcel had no notion of how fortunate he was to be free to give his whole self to another. Brackenmoore must ever be first in Benedict’s heart and mind. Thus perhaps it was fortunate that he had wed a woman who would expect no more from him than he could give. Unfortunately, she had no wish to share his life.

  He was shocked to hear these very words coming from his mouth. “You, who are my wife, desire nothing of what I would share with you—my life, my body.”

  She stiffened. “You know my feelings on this matter.”

  He caught and held her gaze. “Your continued refusal to be my wife is an affront. I see the way the castle folk watch. They have taken note of the fact that I never enter your chamber nor you mine, that you have not left your room for these two days. When Genevieve returns and must find other accommodation because her chamber is occupied, it will be ev
en more obvious that you do not wish to be a proper wife to me.”

  Raine looked far from pleased at this. “At this moment there is more than sufficient room to house both myself and my brother at Abbernathy.”

  Benedict felt the twitching of the muscle behind his left eye and closed his eyelids. He would not react. Not to this jibe or any other. He opened his eyes and fixed her with an assessing gaze. “Your insistence on spouting such nonsense will change nothing. It is you who wished to be a wife, Raine. Now you do not care for the consequences.” He paused, then went on, pleased at the indifference in his voice. “There is more than sufficient space in my own chambers for you and you will end in occupying it.”

  Her gaze widened with horror and he could not deny that the very depth of that horror was far from laudatory. “Your reaction does you no credit, Wife. Your distaste is not so great as you would have me believe.”

  A gasp of sheer outrage escaped the lips that had returned his kisses so very willingly. Those golden eyes were filled with both outrage and, yes, he was sure of it, chagrin, which he knew was a result of the accuracy of his statement.

  To his disappointment she was saved from having to make a reply by the decidedly excited and cheerful voice of her brother as he raced up beside her. “Raine, I went to your room but you were gone. I am glad to see that you are feeling better. It must have been quite dreadful to be plagued by headache so soon after your arrival.”

  Benedict saw the way she kept her head carefully averted as the boy talked. Obviously she had told him this story to explain her staying in her chamber because she did not want him to know the truth. As ever, Benedict was moved by her protectiveness toward William. She could have attempted to alienate him from Benedict by telling him of their disagreement. She had not done so. As always her solicitude toward him outweighed her own concerns.

  But as William went on, Benedict turned his attention back to the boy. “I was hoping to find you,” he was saying. “Kendran has asked me to go riding with him this morn. He says that we might ride along the beach if I like.”

  Happy to have something, anything to think on besides the black-hearted knave near her, Raine turned to face her brother. “Along the beach?”

  But she continued to be aware of the maddening Benedict where he sat on the other side of the table. How had she actually been deranged enough for even those few brief moments to feel sympathy for him, to think that he was a special man to care so much for his brothers?

  She forced herself to pay close attention to William as he nodded, his eyes bright. “Aye, the beach, Raine. Brackenmoore lies close to the sea.” He pointed off haphazardly. “You are able to see it from the battlements.”

  She nodded, realizing that was one of the few places she had not gone on her tour with Maeve. She recalled how salty the air had seemed as they first approached Brackenmoore. Now she understood why.

  She cast a glance toward Benedict. He had not told her his home lay so near the sea and she had been too preoccupied with her own unhappiness to take note of the direction they were traveling in. Of course, she had given Benedict no real opportunity to tell her of Brackenmoore, had he felt such a desire. Which she was sure he did not.

  Benedict wanted her at Brackenmoore because she was his wife, his possession, as was everything else he held. He cared nothing for her as a woman. Even his desire for her to share his chambers stemmed from his need to keep others from knowing of their estrangement.

  Raine did not care for the strange wave of disappointment she felt at this knowledge. All she wanted was to go home. That she had gone so far as to offer her innocence to secure that end was now horrifying to her. But she had felt such desperation in that moment…

  She realized that William was speaking again. “Since you are feeling better, why do you not come with us, Raine? You have never seen the sea, either.”

  It was true she had never been to the sea and felt a certain amount of curiosity about viewing a body of water so vast. She found herself nodding. “Aye, I will accompany you and Kendran.”

  Will smiled at the older boy, who stood nearby. “You see, I told you she would not tell me nay. Raine does not try to coddle me.”

  Raine frowned as her gaze went to Kendran. Obviously they had had some discussion concerning this matter. She felt resentful at being talked of thusly, yet after her actions the first day on the practice field she should not be terribly surprised. Kendran knew nothing of her, and if he was anything like his brother would certainly judge her harshly.

  Quickly she told herself that it mattered not in the least what he thought of her. She and William would not be staying. Raine looked at Will. He seemed quite full of enthusiasm about her husband’s brother already, and she held much respect for William’s judgment as far as people were concerned. That being the case, she realized she should try not to hold her resentment of Benedict against Kendran.

  Then, to her utter consternation, she watched as William turned to her husband and said, “You must come too, Benedict, if you are not too occupied?”

  Raine did not dare look at him as she prayed silently that he would indeed say he was too busy. He did not.

  She listened with a sinking heart as he replied, “I will be happy to accompany you.”

  William’s enthusiasm was profoundly moving as he said, “Will that not be grand, Raine? All of us together.”

  With a desperation that bordered on fear, Raine wanted to say nay. But she did not want to disappoint William, not when that light was shining in his warm green eyes.

  Besides that, she did not wish to give Benedict that kind of power over her. If she did so now she would be setting a precedent that pride would not allow her to set.

  Yet how could she go with them? How could she pretend all was well, that she had not wed the most domineering, most obstinate, most uncaring of men? That Benedict was not, in short, the worst scoundrel who had ever been born?

  Of its own accord her attention centered on her husband. He was watching her with an expression she could not begin to read.

  Raine took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Heretofore nothing had been allowed to get the best of her, not her fear and loneliness after her mother’s death, when she had been forced to take up responsibilities that were far beyond her years. She had not succumbed after her father’s unexpected death, nor through her own anxiety over finding a suitable husband. Benedict Ainsworth would not quell her determination now. Deliberately she smiled. “I will join you most happily, William.”

  Raine was pleased that her voice sounded so calm and unconcerned. No one would imagine that her heart was beating far too fast as her husband continued to watch her in that maddening way of his. She was infinitely aware that both William and Kendran were watching the two of them. And Kendran, she feared, saw far more of the tension that existed between them than she would have wished.

  Raine told herself that as soon as she convinced Benedict to allow her to go home, none of it would matter. She felt less encouraged by this than she would have hoped.

  She sighed as William reached for a hearty portion of bread and cheese and began to eat eagerly. “You will hurry, won’t you, Raine? We must be off soon. As soon as we have eaten.” He grinned happily around a mouthful of bread.

  Pleased and surprised as she was by her brother’s appetite, she preferred that he chew with his mouth closed. Before she could remind him of this, Benedict spoke gently but firmly. “Do not speak with your mouth full, William.”

  Raine felt herself stiffen. She could not help the rush of resentment that made its way through her. Correcting William was her father’s place. And in his stead, her own. She said, “You may be the one to teach my brother the art of arms and battle. You will please leave the schooling of such things as manners to me.”

  All three of them, William, Kendran and Benedict, looked up at her in surprise.

  It was William who answered her. “It is all right, Raine. As I told you yesterday, I want Benedict to teach m
e things. He is kind to do so, for I must learn to behave as a nobleman. You need not worry that the responsibility for me rests all upon your shoulders anymore.”

  Raine could think of nothing to say to this, for the three of them sat looking at her as if she was the one who was not making sense. She rose, casting a resentful glance toward her husband. “Your point is well taken, William. I must ask your pardon now, for I find I have no more hunger.”

  William spoke up. “You do recall that we are going riding. You said you would come.”

  Raine felt the reminder like a blow. The last thing she wanted to do was go riding with the three of them now, but how could she refuse without marking herself a coward in her own eyes? She answered with forced calm. “I will accompany you. I but go to make ready.” She finished with what she hoped was an indifferent glance at Benedict.

  Coolly he watched her, assessed her. Damn him. Raine turned on her heel and left the hall.

  Quickly she assured herself that the ache of sadness in her chest was over William, not Benedict. Her brother’s defection was more painful than she could ever have imagined.

  Raine let the others get ahead of her and slid to the ground. Leading the mare behind her, she walked along the shore with determination. The less contact she had with her husband the better.

  She looked far ahead to where William was racing along between Benedict and his brother. He seemed as carefree as the breeze that fluttered the hem of her cloak. This marriage had been good for him. That she could be grateful for, at the very least. Now he could be a boy again for a time, rather than living with the constant fear that they might find themselves pressed beneath the thumb of Denley Trent or possibly worse.

  Though he had done his best to hide how great his concern was, she had known. And Raine could not help but see the change in him now. That the alteration had come because of Benedict did not please her, because it only served to remind her of his hold over her.

  Then slowly, in spite of her anxiety, she began to realize that she was seeing the ocean for the first time and allowing Benedict to ruin that experience. The sea lay there before her, enormous and awesome, the surface silvered by the sunlight. Her steps slowed and she began to be aware of the piercingly sweet blue of the sky overhead, the cry of a gull, the lap of the gentle waves against the shore. The air that filled her lungs smelled of salt, musky sea and a pleasant dampness. Almost against her will she realized the proximity of the huge and unchangeable expanse of water was beginning to soothe her.