The Bride Of Spring

by Catherine Archer

  Before Raine could even think to do anything, Benedict had turned to the crowd of onlookers. “Bring water and bandages.” When they simply stood there, staring in horror, he shouted, “Now!”

  This seemed to break the shock and confusion that held them all immobile, including Raine. She rushed forward even as the servants hurried to do as he had bidden.

  She knelt beside the fallen Denley, seeing the blood that stained the front of his bright green houppelande. He looked up at her with eyes as confused as a truant child’s. “He’s done me in.”

  She shook her head firmly even as she pulled his garments aside to see the wound. “He has not.” She viewed the gash with relief. Barring infection, her cousin would recover. She met his gaze with a stern one. “Hear me now and never speak on this matter again. You have brought this upon yourself. You must go home and thank fortune that Benedict has not killed you this day.” She took a deep breath, then went on, realizing that she must say something that might keep him from ever acting so foolishly in the future. “My coming here to Abbernathy was not a sign of my displeasure with my marriage. You must understand that I am content. I do not want you to rescue me from my husband.”

  Denley looked up over her head, his expression a mix of pain, frustration and hatred, and she knew that Benedict was standing behind her. He had heard every word she said. She would not let that worry her. Her wish to squelch this madness in Denley before it ended his life and brought further pain to her was all that mattered.

  Her cousin looked back into her eyes. “Raine.”

  She shook her head. “Nay. No more will be said.” Rising, she turned to Donalda, her head woman. “Please, see that the wound is cleaned and bandaged, then have my cousin taken home.”

  Wide-eyed, the serving woman nodded. Raine was more than certain of the woman’s ability to perform this task properly. Raine felt that to have any more personal contact with her cousin might only cause more conflict. He was so very adept at seeing things the way he wished to, and for her to tend his wound might cause all manner of impossible fantasies to grow in his mind.

  Without looking at anyone, she mounted the stairs to the upper floor of the keep. She went directly to her room and moved to stand before the window. She gazed out upon the view that she had seen each spring of her life, without truly seeing the cloud-dotted blue of the morning sky, or budding trees in the garden that lay beneath her window, or the young shoots that pushed their way through the rich earth.

  She now knew that she had been a fool to come home. Things could never be as they had been.

  William had been right. Her life, however lonely, was now with Benedict. But even as this melancholy thought passed through her mind, she felt a strange thrill of awareness. Quickly she brushed it aside. She was not interested in the meager comfort Benedict was willing to provide her with his body.

  Chapter Ten

  When the door opened behind her, Raine knew who was there even before she turned to face him. Every room that Benedict entered took on a palpable feeling of barely leashed energy.

  “Raine.”

  Slowly she swung around, her eyes meeting his blue ones. Instantly she wanted to look away, for those eyes had the power to move her, to make her recall how it had felt to see them dark with passion. She resisted, giving him measure for measure, as she asked, “Is my cousin away now?”

  He nodded. “He is and the woman, Donalda, has confirmed your opinion that all will be well for him.”

  She sighed. “I am glad of that. Though he be a madman, I would not have his death on my hands.”

  Benedict shrugged. “’Twould be myself who must claim that ill, should he perish.”

  She shook her head, again catching his gaze. “Nay, it was my own rash thinking that brought this about. I should have realized that he would come once I had returned here.”

  “He is the very thickest of men.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush, knowing as she spoke that she was putting her freedom and autonomy behind her. “Please, Benedict, allow me to finish what I have to say before you speak. I have realized that I have been wrong about many things, including the fact that you have treated me ill in expecting me to abide at Brackenmoore. I should not have expected to marry a man, receive his protection and give nothing in return.” She paused to take another deep breath and said, “I will return to Brackenmoore without resistance. I give my word not to run away again.” Then she quickly added, “But there will be no more orders.”

  To her surprise she did not see the gloating expression she had expected, only a trace of surprise and another odd emotion she could only think of as remorse. But that made no sense. He could be nothing but gladdened by the news that she would accompany him without defiance.

  But there was no recrimination, only a decided softness in his voice as he answered, “I thank you for this, Raine, and tell you that what has been behind us will remain behind us. We will depart at your leisure.”

  At her leisure? From whence had come such a concession? Rather than reminding her that none of this would have occurred had she remained where she belonged, which she had fully expected him to do, he was behaving with more civility than she would have thought possible.

  This new and softer side of Benedict was strangely appealing. Her gaze slid over his powerful frame and she found herself pausing at his hands, hands that had brought her so much pleasure. She felt herself flush with both heat and chagrin. Benedict had hurt her by making love to her for the sole purpose of creating an heir.

  Yet a part of her knew he did not know how to be any different. Brackenmoore was and would always be first with him. Even before his own happiness. Though that pained her, she also realized there was good in him. Even as the stinging certainty that he would never love her, could not love her, settled over her, she wondered if they could have some life together.

  Benedict must learn to show her some measure of respect. The fact that he had not refuted her demand that there would be no more orders gave her some encouragement.

  Raine replied, “If it meets with your approval, my lord, I would remain here one day for the purpose of making sure all is well and informing the servants of what is going on. When we left we had expected to return….” She gulped past the lump in her throat. “I would say goodbye.”

  Benedict watched her for a long moment. Finally he nodded. “That would serve me well enough. I have driven the men hard and will send them to their rest.”

  The morning they left Abbernathy it was with grave ceremony. The castle folk came out to wave them off, but there was a feeling of heaviness in the air. Clearly Raine and William would be greatly missed. Benedict had seen her with her folk in the past day, had watched her genuine care and concern for those here, for the proper running of the estate. That her manner was completely in opposition to that at Brackenmoore he could not help seeing, and only hoped that might change with time.

  Although Benedict was still surprised and pleased at the fact that Raine had decided to accompany him without resistance, that she had, astounding as it was, conceded that he had not wronged her in asking her to go to Brackenmoore with him, he felt strangely deflated. Perhaps it was because he had finally understood why she behaved as she did. Her father’s heavy reliance on her had greatly affected her, understandably so, but there was no longer any need for her to worry. She would always have Benedict to see to her well-being now.

  He felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness and compassion, but knew she must accept the truth before there would be any relief inside her. Benedict glanced back over his shoulder to where she rode, silent and pale, beside her maid. As if feeling his gaze upon her, she looked up, her golden eyes widening as they met his, her lips turning up in a hesitant smile, a smile he had never expected to see directed toward him. His heart thudded in his chest and Benedict found himself smiling in return. A deep flush stained those creamy cheeks, before she looked down at her hands on the reins of her chestnut mare.


  Surprised and uncertain of what this might mean, Benedict nevertheless found that his body reacted as it always did to Raine. He felt a tightening in his lower belly that told him how very susceptible he was to her, to a mere smile from those lovely lips.

  The sky remained overcast and gray for the whole of the morning as they traveled. When the moisture in the air became so thick that it misted about them in damp pockets, Benedict decided that he would stop for the night. Although he knew that Raine would be perturbed at his halting their progress for her sake, Benedict could not allow her to go on for so long in poor weather. It had only been a short time since she made the journey to Abbernathy. Her strength was not boundless in spite of her wishes to the contrary.

  He did not allow himself to believe that he felt any hint of anticipation at what might lay behind his wife’s smile. Yet as he held up his hand to call the party to a halt, he found his gaze straying to her again.

  Without thinking, he dismounted and went to stand beside her. She flushed as he held out his hand. “Let me help you. The ground here is slippery from the rain.”

  Her searching eyes held his for a moment, before she reached out to place her hand in his. He was well aware of the collective gazes that watched them, but refused to acknowledge them. She was his wife.

  He held her closely as he helped her to the ground, felt that now familiar tightening in his lower body. Looking down into her wide golden eyes, he wondered if she, too, had felt something in that contact.

  Quickly Benedict told himself he must not think that way. Raine had made her wishes clear. He pushed his desire to the darkest core of himself. “I will see that your tent is erected immediately. You should get in out of the rain.”

  She glanced down at her folded hands. “I…thank you, Benedict.”

  He felt suddenly awkward as a young lad, glancing about them restlessly. His gaze came to rest upon a grinning William.

  Immediately he stepped back from her. He did not wish to give the boy any false hopes. He knew that Raine would not thank him for that. When he said, “Well, I must be about setting up camp,” she made no demur.

  Benedict made no effort to approach his wife as a meal was prepared. He busied himself with tending the fire and horses once the tents had been erected. But he remained infinitely aware of her where she sat with Aida on the log William had rolled close to the fire. It surprised him that though she wore her hood pulled up close to block the moisture that hovered about them, she did not seek shelter. What could be made of this Benedict dared not imagine.

  He instead concentrated on William, who for his part seemed quite cheery since Benedict had helped Raine from her mare. He had joined the men on the opposite side of the fire, laughing as they teased and talked with him. William was well liked already.

  But Benedict did not for one moment lose consciousness of every gesture Raine made as she talked to her maid, every bite she took from the roasted fowl he had taken earlier that morning. Her every breath held a fascination for him.

  Just as the sun was setting Raine stood and made her way to the edge of the forest. Believing he knew whence she was going, Benedict did not interfere or call attention to her as she ducked into the thicket.

  Yet as the minutes passed and she did not return, Benedict began to grow somewhat troubled. He knew that it was all too easy for one to take a wrong turn or step into a hole and twist an ankle.

  As if reading his mind, William looked up at him from across the fire. “Raine has been gone for a long time.”

  Casually Benedict nodded. “Aye. Methinks I will go and see what is keeping her.” Deliberately he kept his tone light. He knew how protective the boy was of his sister. He was sure there was no need for concern.

  Benedict rose and followed the path she had taken into the forest. When he had gone only a short distance into the dense wood, Benedict stopped in consternation. Here the trail branched into two equally well defined pathways.

  He looked right and shook his head, then with a nod of decision, turned and took the path to the left. If he knew anything at all about Raine it was that she was apt to take the least likely course. Well, he conceded with a trace of amusement, the one least likely to himself. He continued on. He wanted to call out to her when he did not see any sign of her after a few more moments, yet he knew Raine would not appreciate his acting overconcerned. He was still fairly certain that there was naught amiss.

  As he walked he began to be aware that the weather was worsening. The rain, which had been drizzling from the low gray sky for the last hours, began to fall in earnest.

  Luckily the temperature was unseasonably warm in spite of the moisture, and he felt no real cold or discomfort. Still he moved on through the forest with added determination. It would be best to find Raine before she got soaked.

  Striding on, he came to a particularly dense part of the woods. Here even the path was nearly overgrown. He wondered if he could have taken the wrong way, but something told him that he had not. He pressed on.

  In spite of feeling that he was indeed going in the right direction, Benedict was nearly ready to give up and go back the way he had come when he reached the edge of a clearing. His gaze searched the area, and came to rest upon her where she stood near a row of trees, her face turned to the sky, her eyes closed as if she was in silent prayer.

  Raine had needed some time to herself, time to think, to consider why she was reacting to Benedict so very strongly. Perhaps it was because he was at long last showing her some of the gentleness she had sensed in him that first day at court. Could it be that he might at last be coming to see how very difficult all of this—the conflict with Denley, her fears over doing what was right for William, over leaving her home—had been for her?

  Perhaps those were not the reasons. Perhaps it was because he now felt that her capitulation was complete. The thought was a painful one, but one she must consider, no matter how difficult it might be.

  Raine shook her head, finding herself no closer to making sense of it all. She told herself that it was simply because he was too near. The mere brush of his body against hers as he helped her to dismount was enough to set her blood singing. Having him close by had proved tumultuous for her emotions from the very beginning.

  Yet when she had come here to the wood, she had found herself no closer to a resolution. It was as if her emotions, her feelings were set alight, as if some strange flicker of awareness had entered her and would not be snuffed. She was beset by images of the night they had spent together, the way he had touched her, kissed her.

  Her face, her neck, all of her felt flushed and hot in a way she could not quite describe. Raine had walked on, unheeding of where she went, until she came to this quiet glade. Deep inside herself she had sensed the peace of this place and hoped it would ease the turbulence inside her.

  From her pocket she took the tiny clear stone she had found on her last walk with her mother. They had gone to the forest together, as they often did. Her auburn-haired mother had been laughing and beautiful in spite of the fact that her belly was growing so round. They had gathered roots, then sat beneath a large tree to eat freshly baked bread and talk of the birds and the sky and how much joy the babe would bring.

  Sitting here, Raine realized that those memories did not reside at Abbernathy, but in her heart. Yet leaving was so very hard. For the first time since her mother’s death her tears fell freely. When the rain began to fall, she wanted nothing so much as to ease the heat inside herself in its coolness. Somehow she felt the rain would wash away some of her sorrow, that she would be renewed by the sweetness of it on her face.

  Slowly a feeling of peace came over her. She knew a sense of oneness with her long dead mother; her weak but loving father; the forest, which stood in silent worship. Knew suddenly that all was in constant movement, that change was a part of life. She was revived and fed by the life-giving moisture of the rain. But then something, some indefinable stirring in the hairs at the base of her nape, made her look up. She w
as not surprised to find Benedict standing there, his eyes dark with an emotion she dared not name, for it answered one that blazed within herself.

  She met that gaze and held it. It was as if in some way her being here this way had empowered her, had freed her from the anxiety that had been so much a part of her thinking of late. She spoke from her heart. “I am sorry for many of the things I have said and done, Benedict. For a very long time all I could see was my own need to return to Abbernathy, to love and care for those who needed me, as I had for my whole life. The peace we knew then disappeared with my father’s death, for there are too many who do not respect nor understand the role I have played, being but a woman. I was a fool to believe your name alone would protect us from Denley and his ilk. I have owed you a debt of gratitude rather than antagonism and anger, for I think you have at least attempted to see my position. Have done all that you could.” He moved to speak but she forestalled him for a moment longer. “I also wish to thank you for allowing me to see that all was well before we left and for giving me the opportunity to say goodbye.”

  He came toward her, obviously moved by her words, for his voice was husky as he replied, “I require no thanks, Raine. It was not too much to ask once I understood what you had been, all that you had taken upon yourself.”

  She shook her head, her gaze unable to break contact with those blue eyes. “Nonetheless I am grateful.” She could hear the breathlessness in her own voice.

  He took a deep breath and another step toward her, “Raine, I…” Then he hesitated.

  It seemed only a natural part of the moment for her to hold out her hand, whisper, “Come to me, my husband.”

  When he continued to hesitate, she acted on the impulse that shot through her and drew her wet clothes from her body in a mere moment. Then, standing unashamedly before him, she spoke more urgently, reaching out her other hand. “There is no need for hesitation. Let us make love together in the spring rain, take part in the renewal of life.”