The Bride Of Spring

by Catherine Archer

  Her breathing slowed along with her steps, became deeper. She stopped still and raised her face to the early spring sunshine, which warmed her cheeks gently. There was no denying how very much the landscape affected her, how deeply she found herself responding, the tension in her shoulders and body easing with each breath she took in.

  She had heard that the ocean affected many thusly. She had not expected it to be so with herself. And she would definitely have said it would not happen at Brackenmoore.

  Far from pleasing her, this reaction of peace made her more confused. She did not wish to find any aspect of this place agreeable. She felt that to do so would be to give in, to accept Benedict Ainsworth’s authority as her husband, his right to keep her here.

  Yet she quickly told herself that it was foolish to feel thus. It was in no way disloyal to her own home and folk to enjoy this strangely peaceful sight. When she returned to Abbernathy she would love the familiar hills and dales no less because of it.

  But when she glanced up a moment later to see that none other than her husband was riding back toward her, her pleasure in her surroundings was completely forgotten. Drat him, why could he not leave her be?

  Because he was Benedict Ainsworth, and all things around him must fall into the places he had set for them. Including her, his recalcitrant wife. She could feel the peace draining from her like water from a gutter. It was replaced by irritation as she watched his approach. Though she did not wish to, Raine could not fail to note the sure and capable way he rode the large chestnut stallion.

  When he pulled his mount to a halt just a few feet from her, Raine met his gaze with deliberate scorn. For a moment, as he looked down at her, she thought Benedict’s expression was disappointed, but that impression was so quickly gone that she knew it had been a trick of the light upon his handsome face. He regarded her with displeasure. “What are you about, madam?”

  Archly, she returned his perusal. “I am attempting to enjoy myself, my lord, in spite of your proximity.”

  His gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared, but there was no hint of ire in his tone as he raked her with an arrogant glance. “I came only because William was concerned that you were hanging back. He loves you greatly and would not have you hurt for any reason, including the preservation of his own feelings.”

  She sputtered, “I would do nothing to harm William in any way. He means more to me than my own life.”

  Benedict took a quick deep breath through his nose, then answered with studied reason. “If that is true, that he means all things to you, then try to do what is best for him in this. He is attempting to be a man, to free you of some of the burden of caring for him. His loyalty is in no way affected by the fact that he wishes for me to fulfill the duties of a guardian. I wish William no harm and he is aware of that, even if you are not. And you only make things difficult for him with these childish displays of yours.”

  Anger surged in her, not only at what he said, but his superior manner of doing so. “Childish!” she cried. But even as she said the word she could not ignore a stab of uncertainty. William himself had spoken in the same vein.

  Utter frustration made her answer harshly. “Very well then, you have every answer, go on as you will. I will not attempt to interfere again.”

  Benedict heard her words of capitulation but was more than aware that Raine’s anger and resentment continued to burn. It was there in her golden eyes, which seemed to pierce him to the core. He hardly knew how to answer such an unwarranted outrage. Yet something, the part of him that realized how very much she loved her brother, made him try. “Raine, you must realize that your resentment in this makes not one jot of sense. Would you have me ignore or mistreat the boy?”

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “It is so like you to twist my words.”

  Benedict rubbed a hand over his face as he fought his own rising resentment. He did not twist her words, nor anyone else’s. Why must she be so very contrary at every turn? He really had no time, nor if he were honest, energy, to continue this confrontation with his volatile wife. Yet for some reason it was important to him that she agree to this out of a true understanding that it was for the good and not because he wished to rob her in any way. He spoke carefully and with more patience than he had even known he possessed. “I am not twisting your words, Raine. I simply wish to understand exactly what it is you want from me. Let us put William’s feelings aside for one moment. Do you wish for me to care for the boy?”

  She bit her lip. “Of course I want you to care for him and teach him. But…”

  Benedict felt an unexpected wave of sympathy when he saw the uncertainty and loneliness in her eyes.

  He realized that Raine, confident and determined though she was, needed her brother, even more than she thought he needed her. Benedict saw that she felt she was losing her brother, and he did not want that, felt an unexpected desire to preserve her from hurt.

  He shook his head slowly. “Raine, you need not worry. You are not going to lose William. He loves you too much for that in spite of the friendships he is forming here at Brackenmoore.”

  She did not reply, but he could see that he had hit the mark by the deepening pain in her gaze. He added, “Can you not do as William has done and see being here as an opportunity, not to give up anything but to gain? We, my family and I, would be a family to you now, Raine. You are my wife, will be the mother of my children.”

  As he said the last, he was instantly aware of the stiffening of her body. At that moment he realized Raine would never fully accept him until she had come to accept her new life. She had lost her father, her home, her existence as she had known it, and felt that to welcome the new would be a betrayal of the old.

  She affirmed his thoughts by saying, “I cannot rest, knowing that I am needed at Abbernathy.”

  Thinking to appease her on that score, he said, “You may rest well on that score. I sent a man to oversee your brother’s property the morning after we arrived here.”

  She gasped, “How dare you do so without allowing me to speak with him myself? There are so many things he will not know, that the common grounds must be distributed differently this year, that less barley must be planted and more wheat. We were expecting the delivery of a number of sheep and must be careful to pay no more than the correct amount or…” She threw up her hands. “He simply cannot know…”

  Benedict took a deep breath, surprised at the import of her concerns. He had thought…well, she was a young girl. He’d had no notion that she might actually be worried about specific details of running the property. He’d believed her incessant wish to return was based upon a girlish whim. Now he found himself speaking with more deference than before. “Forgive me, Raine, I did not understand that you were so involved in the work of running the keep. I simply assumed that things had been in turmoil since your father’s death.”

  There was no mistaking the resentment in her golden eyes. “What do you think I have been trying to tell you?”

  He could feel the chagrin on his own face as he said, “I…pray forgive me. If I had understood I would have allowed you to speak with Sir Max, whom I assure you is more than qualified after having looked to many of my own keeps for years.” Benedict saw that she was not assured by this and found himself adding, “If you have instruction for him and would care to put such on paper, I would have it taken to Abbernathy immediately.”

  An expression of surprise came into those eyes and she said, “You would do that?”

  He nodded. “Aye, I would.” He looked away from her, not caring for the way it made him feel to realize that there was more to this woman than he had thought. He also wondered why her father had expected so very much of her. Yet he knew Raine would never talk of such a thing to him. She saw him as the enemy. Even now, when she was so obviously heartened to know he would allow her to make sure that all was well at Abbernathy, her resentment was still present in the stiff line of her shoulders.

  Raine was afraid that any dependence
on him, even a physical one, would imply defeat, that she would relinquish control of her life. He clearly recalled what William had told him about his sister the first time they’d met. The lad was very bright and possibly too observant for his age. He had seen that Raine was pressing forward in order to keep from losing her courage. Her seemingly irrational impulsiveness was simply a way of making sure that she did so.

  Even her physical reactions must be kept under tight control, though they had proved too powerful for her to completely overcome them. He did not allow himself to be confused that the depth of her responses was a sign of any feelings for himself, though he did feel a certain unexplained regret at this knowledge. She was simply a healthy and passionate young woman.

  What he did allow himself to hope was that they could begin to have some peace in their lives if she would only accept being here, come to care about Brackenmoore as she did Abbernathy.

  If there were someone at Brackenmoore, someone who, like William, she loved and thought of as her own and who also belonged here, then she might begin to change her mind. If she had a child…Benedict felt a growing pleasure at the thought. Surely Raine would feel a similar gladness at having her own babe. Surely if they had a child she would feel differently about him, about living here.

  Her role as his wife, as an Ainsworth, would be far more acceptable to her. How he was to convince her of this, Benedict had no notion. He was not a man who knew the fine art of wooing a woman. He had spent his days in looking after his lands and people, with only the vaguest of thoughts about such frivolous things. His past relations had been those of mutual understanding between two adults.

  He knew that Raine was not indifferent to him no matter how distasteful this was to her. If she could only set aside her reticence for long enough to conceive a child, her feelings about him and Brackenmoore would surely change.

  As his gaze rested upon her bent head, and he saw the loneliness in the dejected set of her jaw, Benedict found himself wishing that he did know more about romance. He could not help feeling that Raine was more than deserving of a man who could woo her, make her understand how beautiful and desirable she was. He was not such a man and would simply have to do his best.

  But he was not ready to talk to her of this now. It was neither the time nor the place. With a gentleness that surprised him, Benedict said, “I am sorry for your losses in this, Raine, sorry that you feel you have abandoned Abbernathy. It is not my intention to hurt you in any way.”

  She looked up at him, her own amazement obvious. “I want to believe your sincerity. Yet why would you now show such concern for me when any previous attempt I have made to make you see my position has been met with insult and disregard? When you are kind and understanding I do not know how to…”

  Benedict felt a genuine sense of regret and yearning at her uncertainty, the vulnerability in the trembling of her chin. His response only served to further shock him. Before he could halt himself he reached out and touched her arm, surprised at the instantaneous thrill of awareness and, yes, tenderness that raced through him.

  Quickly he drew his hand back, something telling him that he must go carefully here. He did wish to be kind and gentle to Raine, as he was to all in his care. He did not wish to relinquish himself to her no matter how appealing that thought might be. He could not afford himself the luxury of putting anything before his responsibilities, not even a wife.

  Chapter Eight

  “My lord.”

  As his steward spoke, Benedict looked up from the figures and immediately focused on Alister Harcourt’s distinctive seal. He took the role of parchment from his steward with a feeling of misgiving. That seal had become too well known to him in the past weeks.

  The fact that this missive had arrived so quickly after his return from court did not bode well. Harcourt could not have debated long on his answer to the king’s offer. The fact that Benedict was hearing from him personally was another indication of ill, as it had been King Edward who made the proposal.

  He nodded to the tight-lipped messenger who stood in stony silence behind the steward. “You have my thanks. I will form a reply with haste. You may go down to the hall. There refreshment will be given you while you wait.” The man bowed with stiff formality and left the library.

  Benedict broke the seal and began to read. His expression became grimmer with each word. Finally he sat back, running a hand over his face.

  Why did the man insist on personal retribution? Why could he not accept the king’s will? It was mad for him to risk bringing Edward’s wrath upon himself by continuing to make demands for Tristan to face him in combat. Which was exactly what he had done in this latest missive.

  Benedict knew the answer to his own questions. Alister was Maxim’s brother, and was desperate to avenge his death. He did not understand the situation, did not realize the kind of man his brother had been.

  Benedict was honest enough to admit that if someone were to murder one of his own brothers they would face his retribution. Yet Alister Harcourt was not in the right in this matter.

  Benedict heaved a sigh. If only this were not happening now! If his relationship with Raine was not in such a turmoil he might very well go to Treanly and face the man in person. But he could not do so, not with Tristan and Lily away. In the unlikely event that something untoward were to happen to him, Kendran would be left in charge, and he was but sixteen. Benedict could not call Tristan home, either, especially as he still did not wish for him to know of the man’s threats.

  Benedict attempted to convince himself his reluctance to go to Treanly had nothing to do with Raine. Yet he knew it was not true. He was sure that if he left her alone, Raine would be off to Abbernathy ere he could return.

  He assured himself that he did not care because of any romantic feeling for her. He knew that in spite of her pain and vulnerability as far as her brother was concerned, she was as contrary and unpredictable as a woman could be. He needed more time, time to put his plan of their having a child into effect. In the last week he had racked his mind for a way to broach the subject, to no avail.

  Since that day on the beach, they had seemed to come to some silently acknowledged truce. He was reluctant to do anything that might jeopardize the peace, as he was more than aware of how precarious it was. He knew that his wife avoided his company whenever possible. He was also conscious of the fact that she watched him with an expression of wariness whenever he wasn’t looking.

  Benedict sighed heavily, looking down at the letter. Thinking this way did not get the matter of Alister Harcourt’s threats settled. Benedict hit his fist against the table in agitation. He had promised himself that marriage to her would not interfere in his duty.

  He looked down at the missive again. He had in the past avoided any personal contact with Harcourt. Mayhap if he was to send a letter of apology for the other’s pain and explain his own feeling that there would be nothing gained in more death, perhaps then the man could begin to let the matter go.

  Thus thinking, Benedict reached for a quill and parchment. Yet even as he poised his hand to write, another image of Raine came into his mind, Raine as she had been each time he had touched her, her lids heavy with desire, her mouth plump from his kisses. The vision brought a wave of passion and anticipation that was shocking in its intensity. Benedict took a deep breath to calm himself, knowing there was no use trying to deny his reaction. He wanted Raine, had wanted her from the first moment he saw her.

  Yet it was the fact that their coming together would surely bring about a child, and thus a real peace between them, that he must focus on. He would not let this desire he felt overcome him.

  Looking down he realized with a trace of impatience that the parchment still lay bare before him. Benedict knew that he could no longer delay his efforts to bring about a peace between himself and his wife. Too many other matters demanded his full attention, and though he wished it were otherwise he could not fully attend them while there was so much animosity between them.
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  Raine knew the hour was late, had sent Aida to her bed long ago. Yet she was unable to find her own rest. She sat before the fire, aware of its warmth on her face, but feeling apart from that warmth and the rest of her surroundings.

  She could not drag her troubled thoughts away from Benedict. He had been so gentle that day by the shore, making her almost forget how angry she was with him for the way he pressed her to accept him as her husband. He had made her realize that he was right about one thing: she was holding too closely to William. Benedict meant him no harm. His devotion to his own family, his ward, had been clear to her the night he had spoken of them. She had no doubt that Will would be safe in his care, until she and her brother were able to return to Abbernathy, at any rate.

  What had begun to disturb her greatly was her growing preoccupation with her husband, which had not been eased by her efforts to avoid him. In the past days she and Aida had spent long hours embroidering gowns that did not require embroidery and going over seams that were not parting.

  All to no avail. Whenever Benedict was near she found herself watching him, measuring the breadth of his shoulders with her eyes, listening for the sound of his deep voice, studying the movements of his supple fingers.

  For his part he seemed completely unaware of her interest. She knew she should be glad that he was blind to her obsession. He might take it as invitation to press his suit, a matter he seemed to have fallen silent on. Yet she was not glad. Some wayward part of her wanted him to pay equally close attention to her, but he did not.