The Bride Of Spring

by Catherine Archer

  Raine would have been hard-pressed to keep her agitation to herself that evening, and was more than relieved when her husband did not appear at table. If Kendran noted her preoccupation he made no remark on it and seemed to eat quite heartily. As did William.

  Though Kendran did make a point of saying that Benedict had certainly been busy during mealtimes of late. Raine, feeling his gaze on her as he spoke, met his blue eyes with what she hoped was a guileless expression. He watched her for another long moment, grinned that oh so dazzling grin of his and promptly went on with his meal. The exchange left Raine feeling as if he knew far more about what was going on around him that he appeared to.

  Feeling slightly unnerved, Raine waited until the meal was finished and William was leaving the table to ask him to come to her chamber for a moment. He waved the still smiling Kendran on and turned to follow her.

  She knew it would be difficult for him to leave the older boy without saying goodbye. But that was what they must do.

  Her informing him of her plan at the last moment had been deliberate. She did not wish to try his powers of deception by expecting him to act normally before the Ainsworth brothers. It was too much to expect from him, especially as he had become so attached to the two. She tried not to appear to hurry as she took him to her chamber and firmly closed the portal behind them.

  William frowned darkly as Raine told him what she had decided. Clearly shocked, he studied her for a long moment, then said, “You want me to take a ride alone in the morning. I am to go down to the edge of the sea. And you intend to meet me there, with the plan of you and Aida and me escaping to Abbernathy alone?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  He took a quick breath. “Do you think that we should attempt such a thing? What will we do, the three of us, unescorted on such a journey? What will Benedict think?”

  She did not care for the dejectedness in his voice, but having some sympathy for his feelings, tried to answer evenly. “William, I told you when we came here that we would not be staying. You know what my husband will say. It was only under duress from him that we came. As far as being unescorted is concerned, I cannot possibly take the chance of alerting your men. We will simply travel by night and hide in the forests during the daylight hours.” Raine could hear her own growing desperation as she went on.

  Clearly he sensed her dismay, for he said, “I can see that you have thought it all out. And yes, Raine, I do know that Benedict forced your hand in coming here. But why now?” He looked at her closely. “I had thought that you might…that perhaps you might be coming to…It seemed that being Benedict’s wife was not as displeasing to you as it had been in the beginning.”

  She could feel the heat in her own cheeks. “What do you mean?”

  He blushed in turn. “I…well, I saw Benedict leaving your chambers last eve.”

  Raine felt herself flush all the way to the tips of her toes. It would be impossible for her to make him understand that Benedict was not completely abhorrent to her in every way. It was indeed the fact that he was not that forced this decision.

  Her gaze met her brother’s. His confused and questioning green eyes did not leave her own in spite of his obvious embarrassment over speaking of such a thing.

  Again she told herself that William simply could not understand the very real need she felt to keep herself from falling beneath Benedict’s complete control, as all others here at Brackenmoore seemed content to do. Raine could hear the strain in her own voice as she said, “William, I cannot explain all of this to you.” She raised her chin. “Please, simply try to understand that we must leave. And also try to understand that I believe it is best not only for myself but for you.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “As you will. I shall do what you ask.”

  Raine felt such a rush of relief that for a moment she found it difficult to speak. Again she looked away, not wanting her brother to see the tears that stung her eyes. Only now did she realize how very much she had feared that he would not be willing to follow her lead as he had before her marriage to Ainsworth. She could not hide the huskiness of her voice as she answered, “Thank you, William, for your loyalty.”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and realized that he had seen far more than she wished to reveal. She was determined to keep herself from breaking down, from making him fearful that she might do so. As always, she must stay firm, must never allow William to experience the terror and loneliness she had known when her father had fallen into despair.

  He spoke softly. “My first loyalty is and will always be to you, Raine. We share the same blood. No matter what occurs I pray that you will never question that.”

  This time she did look at him, uncaring that he might see too much. She was overwhelmed by a sweet rise of warm emotion in her chest. “I love you, William.”

  “And I you,” he replied with a blush, suddenly seeming embarrassed by this display of emotion. “Now tell me again exactly what you mean to do and how.”

  Raine felt another rise of affection for her brother. For all his sensitivity he was still just a boy. Taking her cue from him, Raine began to describe her plan.

  Despite her happiness and relief that William had indeed made clear his devotion to her, Raine could not completely disregard a nagging sense of regret. She had felt it when she made the decision to leave, had thought it was because of her anxiety over what William might say.

  Yet now that he had agreed to her plan and with such a clear declaration of his support of her, she was not so certain. Somehow she suspected that it was connected to her leaving Brackenmoore. She told herself her feelings had nothing to do with Benedict. Nor did they have anything to do with the fact that she had resolved to never again allow herself the pleasure she had found in his embrace.

  Chapter Nine

  It had been a journey of sheer determination. Nothing else could have kept her going through those two long miserable days when she had lain awake praying that no one would discover their hiding place beneath the trees. Nor had the nights been any better as they had ridden on, unable to do more than trust the horses to find their way over the uneven roads.

  When they had at last arrived the previous night, Raine had been unable to summon even a hint of joy. She’d no energy for anything beyond the relief that they would sleep in their own beds, no longer uncertain and fearful.

  So tired had she been that she was incapable of answering any of the questions posed to her by the servants, who were clearly overjoyed to have them home again. Raine was sure that Aida would be happy to satisfy their curiosity come morning.

  But when the sun coming though the tall windows prodded her lids open the next day, Raine was instantly and eagerly awake. Sitting up in the bed she had slept in since she was a child, she looked about her bedchamber and waited for that expected feeling of contentment and security to swell within her. It did not come. Her gaze ran over the chamber with bewilderment. What was wrong?

  The ivory hangings were pulled back, as she had not bothered to close them in her exhaustion the previous night, and the whole of the room was exposed to her view. All was exactly as it should be. The spring sun slanted through the window, casting a warm glow upon the table that stood beneath it. The lovely tapestries her grandmother had stitched before she was even born hung upon the walls. The silver mirror and comb her father had given to her one special Christmas sat atop the chest at the foot of the high oak bed. A fire had been laid in the hearth at some hour and flickered cheerily.

  All was as it should be. And yet it was not. For reasons she could not explain, Raine had an uncomfortable feeling that something was missing. What it might be she dared not even allow herself to imagine. For deep inside her there gleamed a trace of anxiety that this feeling might be connected to one Benedict Ainsworth.

  As soon as the thought entered her mind, Raine leapt from the bed, took up her bed robe and strode to the door. She would not sit here and allow herself to think such impossible thoughts. S
he did not care one jot about that too controlling and domineering man.

  She went to William’s chamber. He was just combing his deep auburn hair as a final measure to dressing. He swung around as she entered, obviously eager to see her. “Raine.”

  The depth of the pleasure in his gaze told her all too clearly that he, too, might have been feeling lost. His words as he continued confirmed her suspicions. “It is very quiet here this morning. At Brackenmoore Kendran and I woke early and went straight down to break our fast together.”

  Raine bit her lip at the yearning in his voice. She knew that he had become attached to the older boy. Never having had a brother, he found it a new experience to share such things. Even she could not deny that Kendran had been quite kind to the younger boy.

  Slowly she moved to sit on the end of the bed near where he stood at the washstand. “Aye, it is quiet here, Will, but that is not only because we have grown somewhat used to life at Brackenmoore. We must realize that it will feel strange and lonely here until we become more accustomed to—” her voice broke but she forced herself to go on “—to Father’s being gone.”

  He looked at her closely. “I suppose you are right, Raine. His being gone was not so hard when I was able to play chess with Kendran of an evening, ride with him or Benedict during the day.” His shoulders slumped. She saw that the manly pose he had adopted when Kendran was present had lapsed here alone with her.

  Damn Benedict for making them go to Brackenmoore! If it had not been for him, William would have been growing more accustomed to their loss, as would she. Yet in the face of William’s confidences, Raine did not wish to give voice to the resentment she felt toward her husband.

  It was through no fault of William’s that Benedict had failed to treat her with any consideration. She put her arm around her brother’s slight shoulders. “I know how difficult this is for you, Will. But we managed before going to court and meeting Benedict, and we shall again. This is our home and father would wish for us to remember that.”

  William nodded. “No doubt that is true.” The words were spoken calmly enough, but she could not mistake the lingering loneliness in his tone. Not long ago her own company had been all that William required to make him happy. Yet even as she told herself this, she wondered at the truth of it. William had spent much of his time buried in a book, or with the horses. Even when her father was alive it had been thus.

  Being with Kendran and Benedict seemed to have made her brother realize that there were other, less solitary pursuits to occupy his time. And even Benedict, for all that he had estates of his own to run, had made an effort to spend time with the boy.

  Well, all she wanted now was for herself and William to be as they once had been—relying upon no one but each other. She was not a boy of sixteen, but she would do her utmost to be a good companion.

  She was also determined that William would be enough for her. The fact that she had relived each and every moment of the night she and Benedict had been together over and over again did not rest easy in her mind. Yet she would put that from her. There was naught else to do.

  Benedict rode on, pushing himself, his men and their mounts beyond the point of common sense. He knew that his animal was exhausted, just as he could feel every mile of the journey along the dusty road in his own aching body. Yet he could not stop—not until he reached Abbernathy.

  Anger surged in him as he again recalled the moment he’d realized Raine had gone. He had looked at Maeve, standing in the doorway of the library at Brackenmoore, and been unable to comprehend her words until she repeated them. The head woman’s tone was incredulous. “My lord, they are gone—your lady wife, her brother and the maid.”

  “Gone?” He stood, shaking his head. “What mean you?”

  Maeve took a deep breath, her gaze filled with regret as she faced him. “I know not where they have gone, my lord, only that they have. No one has seen them since they went out riding this very morning.”

  Benedict threw up his hands, causing Maeve to stare at him in surprise. “I gave orders that I was to be informed should they attempt to leave together for any reason.”

  “They did not leave together, and no one thought—”

  “Her men, are they missing as well?”

  “No, my lord. They seem to have no notion of where their lady might be.”

  Benedict felt a twitching behind his left eye. He could question the men, but his instincts told him that Raine had not confided in them. If she had they would not have allowed her to go off unprotected. Benedict knew he could have the castle grounds searched and the area all ’round, but would not find them. He knew whence they had gone and why.

  He paused only long enough to order his men and William’s to their mounts. The latter would be able to guide them directly to the Abbernathy keep.

  Benedict’s fingers tightened on the reins and he urged his mount to an even faster pace. Raine would soon learn that she was not a law unto herself. She could not simply leave without warning, taking her eleven-year-old brother off across the countryside without any guard to keep them from harm, worrying not only Benedict, but everyone else at Brackenmoore. He could not even allow himself to think that she had not managed to reach Abbernathy. The depth of anxiety he felt at considering the alternative was numbing.

  Surely the reason could only be his own feelings of responsibility toward her. He was married to Raine, had joined their lives by that act. It would be completely mad of him to have any personal care for what she did. The fact that the night he had spent with her had been the most physically satisfying of his life did not enter into it.

  She had run away simply because he had tried to make her see that they two must set aside their differences for the good of his heritage, provide an heir. It was another sign of her own irresponsibility and selfish need to have her own way at all costs. It would please him in no small amount to arrive at Abbernathy before her, to welcome his wayward wife as she deserved. It was doubtful that Raine, an eleven-year-old boy, and the maid had been able to make such good time as he and the men.

  He had no idea how much more time had passed when the castle wall came into sight. Benedict rode straight to the gate and called out, “Open.”

  A man came out to peer down at him in the darkness. His immediate appearance pleased Benedict, for it meant he had not been sleeping upon his watch. It indicated that Sir Max, whom he had sent to Abbernathy, was seeing to his duties properly. Then Benedict had no more time to think on this as the fellow answered in a tone of authority, “And who demands entrance?”

  Again he was glad for the attention to security, but he had no patience for any discussion. “’Tis I, Benedict Ainsworth, husband to your lady Raine.”

  There was a long silence while the man obviously pondered this news. Then, with more hesitancy than before, he said, “You are my lady’s husband?”

  Benedict replied with calm but unwavering demand. “I am and I will brook no further delays in this. If you do not open the gate, I will take this wall down stone by stone. Mark me well, by then I may be angry.”

  The man spoke hurriedly, the pleading in his tone obvious. “Please, my lord, but wait while I summon someone to come and allow me to do your bidding. I cannot act without first doing that no matter how you might threaten me. I will summon Sir Max or the lady Raine. If you are telling the truth my lady will certainly wish for you to enter.”

  She was here. Benedict refused to acknowledge the depth of his relief, holding tightly to his anger.

  He answered as evenly as he could, understanding that it was not this fellow’s fault that he was angry with Raine. “I will wait for the count of one hundred, and hear me, not a moment longer.”

  The man disappeared without further discussion. Benedict did not count off the time. He knew that the guard would be doing so. It was not long before the sentry, his breathing labored, called down, “You may enter, my lord, and I beg your forgiveness of the delay.”

  Benedict did not reply, bu
t moved closer to the gate, hearing the wheel squeak as it was raised.

  Having been warned that he had come would not give Raine any advantage. For Benedict did not require surprise to accomplish his purpose. He would take her home to Brackenmoore no matter what she might say or do.

  In the courtyard a silent and wide-eyed crowd had already begun to gather. Benedict ignored them. He motioned for his men to dismount, then told them to take their horses as well as his to the stables, even as he noted that the grounds were in good order.

  Inside the keep the castle folk stood at the far end of the hall near the tall, wide hearth. They watched him with open curiosity. News that he had come had obviously spread throughout the keep. Benedict was not of a mood to explain himself. He moved toward the far end of the room, where a wide set of stone steps led upward. He could only assume the family’s rooms would be up those steps.

  He met Raine before he even reached the top.

  Seeing him, she halted in her own headlong rush down the stairs, her hands going to her hips. “Well, you do have a most charming way about you, Benedict Ainsworth. Did you have to attempt to intimidate the guard at the gate?”

  He glared at her, even as he took in the pallor of her creamy skin, the faint dark shadows beneath her lovely golden eyes. Against his will he felt a stab of sympathy, realizing the journey must have been very difficult. He brushed it aside as he answered, “I was not making an attempt to intimidate. I but made my wishes clear, which as your husband I may do.” His blue eyes examined her. “It would appear that you are far more perturbed than was he. It troubles my mind not in the least to have given you some measure of displeasure. I have spent the last two days in the saddle.”

  “By your own stubborn will,” she replied with heat. “No one forced you to come after me.”

  Benedict clamped his mouth shut on the angry words that clamored to issue forth. He would not argue with her. He raised dark brows. “Prepare yourself to return to Brackenmoore immediately.”