Her mouth dropped open. “Are you mad?”
What a gall she had, to ask that of him. He fought down his own anger and frustration. Not wanting her to see how very disturbed he was, Benedict simply stared at her.
With a gasp of outrage, Raine cried, “You cannot force me. I will never consent to go with you.” She swung around and raced away from him.
Benedict followed, not hurrying to keep her in sight, as his strides were so much longer. He was not pleased at the way his gaze centered upon the sway of her hips. He had no desire to think of anything besides making Raine understand that he would not put up with any more recalcitrant behavior on her part. She was the lady of Brackenmoore and would conduct herself accordingly.
At the far end of the long corridor, she opened a narrow oak door and disappeared inside. He heard the bolt slide home as he came to a halt before it.
Without hesitation he stepped back and threw his weight against the door. It swung open with a loud crash.
Raine was standing in the middle of the room, her hands over her mouth. It was with some satisfaction that he saw the expression of horror and shock on his wife’s face as she cried, “What are you doing?”
He folded his arms over his chest. All he could think of was that she was his wife and that he would no longer tolerate this insurrection. The calmness of his tone surprised even him as he said, “As I told you, make ready to return to Brackenmoore.”
She seemed completely taken aback at this, then her golden eyes narrowed with rage. “How dare you, you black-hearted knave. You cannot break down my door, then order me about in that cold way of yours. I will not have it.”
“You will not have it?”
She glared in hatred. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is that you do not even show any anger when you order me about? Why, you might be telling me that you did not care for dinner.” She tapped her chest with her open palm. “I and my feelings are of more significance than that and you will not dismiss me so summarily.”
Benedict could not prevent his eyes from widening in incredulity. She was enraged with him for being calm! Through tight lips he asked, “Would you prefer then that I turn you over my knee and lesson you as you deserve?”
Raine gaped at him, wrapping her arms about her, but quickly recovered enough to shout, “You would not dare.”
He took a step toward her. “Would I not—”
A voice interrupted from behind them. “Please, Benedict, do not.”
Grimacing, Benedict swung around to face an extremely agitated William. He wished the boy to know he did not mean to carry through with his threat, but would not admit as much before Raine. He chose instead to change the subject. “You are to make ready. We will be leaving forthwith.”
Raine broke in. “We will not.”
Benedict closed his eyes as frustration made his temple throb. Raine had accused him of being too calm. If only she knew what the effort cost him. He took a deep breath and looked at the boy, who shrugged and said, “I beg pardon, Benedict, for any worry we caused you.”
Benedict shook his head. “I thank you for that, but you are not to feel responsible for what has gone on here. It is Raine who should bear the guilt of this.”
William sputtered, “But Raine did not—”
Gently, but firmly, Benedict interrupted him. “You will please leave us now, Will. I must speak with your sister.” When he hesitated, Benedict ruefully added, “Go on, you know I will not harm her.”
The boy nodded, seeming relieved, though his gaze remained troubled. The moment he was gone, Raine cried out in anger. “I have no reason for guilt.”
Benedict rounded on her, his eyes narrowed. “Am I to take it then that coming here, with no escort to protect you, was William’s notion—or possibly Aida’s? It is only by God’s own grace that the three of you arrived safely. Any one of hundreds of disastrous events could have occurred.”
At his words she blanched, but raised her chin in defiance. “Nothing did.”
In spite of her bravado, he could see that his words had struck a vein. The journey must have been more difficult than she had expected. Even as he told himself that he was glad, as it might keep her from behaving so rashly in the future, he felt a stab of protectiveness.
Surprised at his own reaction, Benedict pushed it away. It would in no way benefit Raine for him to give way to such feelings now. She must see the error of her ways.
He leaned close to her, realizing even as he spoke that his voice was now too controlled, too tight, betraying his agitation. “If you have any sense at all in that beautiful head of yours you will cease baiting me and make ready for the journey.”
She shook her head, flushing. “Not after the way you used me.”
He sighed heavily. “I did not use you. You are my wife. My hope to have a child with you, that you will come to accept your place as my wife, is far from unreasonable.”
For a long moment she bit her lower lip, then to his surprise Raine reached out and clasped his hand. “Come.”
So shocked was he that Benedict followed as she led him out her door and down the corridor. What she could be doing and why was a complete mystery.
She opened a door at the far end of the corridor, pulling him inside. His gaze scanned the chamber, which was a large, richly appointed room with a wide curtained bed, a thick carpet and other fine appointments. Obviously the chamber was not in use, judging from the heavy layer of dust and the air of emptiness.
Raine released his hand. Something, a fierce tenseness in her body and face as she slowly stepped close to the bed, told him that he must go gently here in spite of his confusion over what she was doing. Thus it was very quietly that he spoke. “What are we doing here, Raine?”
She looked at him and he saw the sheen of tears that she so clearly did not wish to shed. Quickly she turned away. “This was my father’s chamber. It was here he died.”
Benedict was not surprised. But why had she brought him here? Without being asked, she went on. “It was in this room that I made the promise to care for William and his lands until he was able to do so.”
“And that you have done. Most admirably.”
She turned to him. “Have I, Benedict? Have I looked after them when you tell me that I no longer belong here?”
He nodded without wavering. “Aye, you have, Raine. No one could have done better. William and his lands will be safe until he is able to rule them for himself.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I have tried…wanted…to keep myself from faltering, to do what was right above all things.” She moved to stare out the window, her voice taking on a distant tone as she told him, “It was a terrible time after my mother died.”
He heard the gentleness in his own voice. “Tell me.”
She went on. “I was so small, not more than eight when mother walked into this room and never walked out. Father himself did not leave for many, many days after her death, and when he did emerge, it was in a drunken stupor.” She took a deep breath as if this next admission was difficult to make. “I was so frightened….”
Her words made Benedict recall the pain of losing his parents, the uncertainty he had felt at realizing he and he alone must hold the family together. But he had been a young man of eighteen. Raine had been a young child. He found himself saying, “It must have been terrible for you, especially as you had just lost your mother.”
She shook her head, not looking at him. “The baby, William, he cried and cried. Donalda, the head woman here at Abbernathy, found Aida to nurse him, but he would not stop crying. He seemed to somehow understand that Mother…she was gone. I soon found that if I stayed by him, touched him, he was better, did not cry so endlessly. I knew then that he was mine, that I must always care for and love him no matter what happened, that I would never leave him alone and frightened…as Father had me. For even when he was better, more himself, he needed me to help him with things, to be strong.”
Benedict moved to stand behind her, fin
ally understanding some of why she was so determined to look after Will and his lands. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but did not believe his gesture would be welcome. Raine felt he had interfered in her duty by insisting they live at Brackenmoore. It was doubtful that anything he could say now would change that, yet he tried. “I, too, had to take charge when my parents died. I knew I must honor the trust my father had in me. You need not take this upon yourself, Raine. You need not fear making your father’s mistakes. You are a woman, your obligations different from a man’s.”
She rounded on him. “Are they? Perhaps I do not wish for them to be. Perhaps I am proud to be strong and dependable as you are. Should I be content with simply being the bearer of the Brackenmoore heir, to put aside my own thoughts? Perhaps I do not wish to settle back and allow another to choose my life for me!”
He felt an overwhelming rush of sorrow and immediately covered it with a mask of arrogance as he held her angry golden gaze. “There is no shame nor degradation in being the mother to the heir of Brackenmoore. My own mother was proud to hold that position.”
“I am not your—”
“Raine?”
Benedict swung around to see that William was standing in the open doorway. His face was troubled, making Benedict wonder how much of the conversation he had overheard.
Before she could reply, William spoke again. “Your pardon, Benedict. Would you leave me to speak to my sister for a moment?”
Looking to his wife, Benedict saw that she had crossed her arms over her bosom. Meeting his glance, she glared in resentment, her stubbornly set chin an open challenge to his authority.
He wanted to refuse William’s request, to force her to see reason. But looking at the boy Benedict saw that he was completely in earnest, his green eyes pleading. Benedict nodded. “Aye, you may.” He then flicked another cool glance at his wife. “But be assured it will not change the fact that she will do as I say.”
Raine felt the tightness of anger in her chest as she watched her husband leave the chamber. As always, Benedict thought he could simply command and have his will become fact. And all without ever raising his voice.
Although her outrage burned, for he made no apology for believing she should be more than content to have no purpose besides that of bearing his offspring, there was another part of herself that was surprised and confused that he had come here after her. He had admitted that he had ridden for two straight days in order to do so, and he seemed somewhat ruffled. She knew a faint sense of pleasure at this. She quickly suppressed it. His state of mind was no concern of hers. And she was certainly not returning to Brackenmoore with him.
She swung around to face her brother. “You need not fear him, William. He cannot force us to accompany him.”
William looked at her with regret and sadness. “I am not afraid of Benedict, Raine. You cannot blame him for wanting his own wife to be home with him. He is not the one who is wrong in this. You…we brought this upon ourselves. He is only acting as any husband would.”
Raine felt the shock of his statement with a sense of resistance and betrayal. “William, how can you say that?”
He sighed. “Raine, do you believe I wish to say this to you? I love you best of all people on this earth, but it was wrong of us to return here. Somewhere inside you know it as clearly as I. Before God, you are Benedict’s wife.”
She wanted, needed, to deny him, to preserve her freedom and autonomy. But looking into his green eyes, so sincere, so certain, she could find no words to refute him.
Finally she turned away, not wanting to see that he was right, that she was indeed bound by honor and her own word before God to return to Brackenmoore, to live there with her husband.
Without another comment, Raine turned and went from the room, her heart heavy. Though she realized that William was right, telling her husband she would accompany him would not be easy. She wished there were some way of doing so without allowing Benedict to believe he had bested her.
Unfortunately, she could think of no way to accomplish this. Trying to hide her dejected state of mind, Raine went to the stairs. She could only assume that Benedict would have gone to the hall.
It was as she rounded the last bend in the stair that she heard the sound of raised voices. What, she wondered, was Benedict doing now? Biting her lip in consternation, she hurried forward. What met her gaze as she came to the opening to the great hall made her stop dead in surprise.
For there, waving his arms about like a madman, was her cousin Denley. Even as she watched, he shouted, “Where is she? Don’t try to hide the fact that Raine has come here, and without you, my lord Ainsworth. I have been told the truth.” There was no mistaking the anger and disdain in his voice as he looked at Benedict, who was seated at one of the trestle tables, calmly eating. “I can only assume that you arrived after my messenger left the keep last eve.”
“Spy, more like,” Benedict remarked placidly.
Raine was aghast, running forward without thinking. “You set a spy in my own keep? Who is it? Never will they set foot in Abbernathy again.”
Denley rounded on her, holding out his arms. “You have come to your senses and returned to me.”
Raine stopped short, her anger over having had a spy among her own folk forgotten for the moment. “Returned to you! You are without a doubt the most despicable and insensitive man in all of England.”
She heard the quick intake of her husband’s breath and cast him a quelling glance. Even in that instant she knew that he was surprised that she would admit to finding anyone more despicable and insensitive than him.
Then Denley was talking again and she was beset anew at his lack of judgment. “Raine, do not try to hide your regret over having made the mistake of marrying this man.” He moved to take her arm. “We will get an annulment.”
An annulment, she thought, shaking her head. “I cannot get an annulment.”
“Then perhaps—” he put his hand on the hilt of the sword she had not noted until that very gesture “—I will simply end our dilemma by making a widow of you.”
Raine felt herself pulled away from her cousin and pushed behind the solid wall of Benedict’s body before she could so much as take a breath. She rose up on tiptoe, attempting to see over his shoulder as he said, “I have warned you once too often, Trent. Now you will pay the price of your threats.”
Even as he reached to take his own sword from his belt, Denley ran at him, his face a mask of rage. Raine gasped, but she need not have worried, for Benedict met that charge with his blade.
The sound of the contact reverberated through the hall, even as it did her mind. “Dear God,” she whispered to herself, watching Benedict move forward, now on the ready. She gasped as Denley charged anew, his madness and desperation lending weight and force to his assault even though he lacked the finesse and grace that were so much a part of Benedict’s actions. Her cousin swung wildly, forcefully, cleaving a table with one blow.
Benedict did not seem perturbed by the sheer insanity of her cousin’s actions. He simply fought on, seemingly nonchalant in the face of the other’s wild attacks. He met each thrust with calm indifference.
Then slowly, as the fight raged on, Raine realized that Benedict was not nearly as indifferent to the other man as he appeared. She began to see that there was a deliberate purpose in his method. Where Denley was now panting and sweating profusely, Benedict appeared fresh, his breathing barely changed.
Raine watched as with each furious stroke Denley’s arm became slower and slower.
She saw the grim determination on Benedict’s face as he, too, noted the other man’s growing exhaustion. For a brief moment she felt sympathy for her cousin. He was, beneath all his bravado, a mere simpleton. Yet he had brought this ill upon himself. If Benedict killed him now, it would be no worse than he had asked for.
When Denley finally staggered backward, his sword falling to the floor, she caught her breath, her gaze going to Benedict’s face. There was no way of gaug
ing his intent, as his handsome features were set in that unreadable mask she had come to know too well. He held his sword out before him, taking two steps toward the other man.
Seeing this, Denley raised his own weapon once more, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was weary. In spite of this, he called out tauntingly, “Come and take me then, you bastard. You’ve stolen all else that matters to me.”
If the situation were any less serious Raine would have rolled her eyes. Never had she belonged to him, nor had she even truly mattered to him as anything beyond a means to gain Abbernathy for his own.
But her attention was fully fixed on Benedict, who said nothing. His eyes continued to hold his opponent with that same cold emptiness.
This only seemed to make Denley all the more desperate, for he called out again. “Well, then, come at me, Ainsworth. What are you waiting for?”
Again the silence stretched to the breaking point. Not only Denley, but all who had gathered around them now waited to see what Benedict would do next.
Finally, with a glance of sheer disdain, her husband replied, “You are not worthy to bloody my blade. Get you from this place and never return.”
His tone dismissed the other man as if he were nothing. Denley’s bulbous eyes grew even rounder as the insult of this statement finally struck home. Then his renewed rage seemed to give him strength. Raising his sword high, and with a shout of frustration, he ran at Benedict.
Raine’s heart leapt in her throat as a cry of warning issued forth from the depths of her being.
But she need not have worried, for Benedict swung around so quickly that his sword was a blur as he brought it up to ward off the downward stroke. All would have been well if Denley, in his fury, had not thrown himself against his opponent. When he did so, Benedict’s blade twisted, sliding downward and into Denley’s chest.
Raine cried out again, this time with horror as her cousin looked down with shock at the edge of the blade in his chest. Immediately Benedict pulled back. But the damage had been done and Denley sagged to his knees, his sword falling to the rush-strewn floor with a clatter.
The Bride Of Spring Page 16