The Bride Of Spring

by Catherine Archer

  William stopped him with a hand on his arm. “How do you know that he has not already hurt her?”

  Benedict looked down into those frightened green eyes, feeling love well up inside him for this new brother of his. “I swear to you, my brother, that has he done so, I will cleave Treanly to the ground and all there will know the sorrow that is ours.”

  With that he turned and called for a fresh horse. When his men moved to do the same, he halted them. “Nay, I will go alone.”

  Raine was somewhat surprised when the door of her prison opened the very next day to again reveal Alister Harcourt. His expression was no less angry or resentful than the previous day, but something, some unknown sense, told her that he was not here to further berate her.

  So why had he come? She could not prevent herself from asking. “Why are you here, my lord?”

  He answered immediately. “Why did you place your arms about me yesterday?”

  She shrugged, surprised at his question. “Simple human kindness.”

  His face bore an oddly restless and confused expression as he said, “What you call a simple human contact is as foreign to me as the moon.” His lips twisted with pain and anger. “You assume that I miss my brother. You have no notion of my feelings for him. You see my horrifying form. Until yesterday Maxim was the only one who had ever touched me in my memory, though it was most oft in anger. He loved me not well, was perhaps not capable of such. He did not pity and fear me, but treated me with the same contempt as anyone else, was more likely to club me about the shoulders than hold them. But he was not afraid to touch me, as all others have been until yesterday.”

  Raine hardly knew what to say to a man who had never been touched except in anger. “I am not afraid to touch you, my lord, and I know others who would not be so.”

  He frowned at her fiercely. “Did you think it would gain your release?”

  Surprise made her answer with complete candor. “I did not think such a thing, but if I had considered that showing a small amount of human compassion might gain my release, I would have done so.”

  He seemed completely taken aback for a moment before his features hardened. “And you would have me believe that you did not think that?”

  She shrugged. “Believe what you will. I do not hold out any real hope of convincing you of anything. I want only to return to my husband.” She heard the yearning and misery in her own voice as she finished, but did not care. She did love Benedict and would hide it no more.

  At that moment there was a pounding at the door and a man’s voice called, “My lord, a rider approaches.”

  A trace of uncertainty entered those green eyes for a brief moment before it was covered by a mask of anger. “Ainsworth has answered my challenge to combat, at last.”

  Raine’s heart leapt. So he had sent word of her capture to Benedict!

  Harcourt reached out and took her by the arm as he cried, “Open the door.” She made no effort to resist him as he then swept through the open door and down a winding stone stair. She knew who the rider would be.

  She was hampered only by the slower gait of the man who held her, for she wanted to fly down that stair and into Benedict’s arms. That this poor man had no hope of besting him in a contest of arms she did not doubt.

  Then, suddenly, Raine knew that she must try to prevent Alister Harcourt’s death. It was true that he had done wrong in taking her, but so much wrong had been done to him in his years upon this earth. She had no wish to see his life end because of her.

  But she did not know how to stop what was about to occur. He had sent his challenge and Benedict had answered.

  Unless perhaps she could convince her husband that he must not do this, must walk away from this fight, for not only Alister Harcourt’s sake but their own. To begin afresh here they need leave no trail of blood behind them.

  For beginning afresh was just what she intended to do. She would set aside her pride and tell Benedict of her love for him. What he chose to make of that was up to him. This whole incident had shown her that life was too short to hold back. She would not raise her child in an atmosphere of resentment and fear, even if that fear were only of her own feelings.

  When they reached the bottom, Harcourt threw open the door and pulled her out with him. They were at the base of a tall, narrow tower situated in a grove of trees, their new leaves still not fully grown.

  As she searched for Benedict she saw him ride out of the forest to her right. Her gaze drank in the sight of him even as she saw fatigue in the lines about his beloved mouth, the dark circles beneath his eyes, eyes that found hers instantly. His relief at seeing her eased those lines and brought a look of determination to those features as he slid to the ground and reached for his sword. “Come then, Harcourt. I am here.”

  Alister Harcourt pushed Raine away with a growl. “And about time it is, Ainsworth.”

  As they approached one another, she tried to think, for she could not allow this to go forth. Tired though he obviously was, Benedict would make easy work of disposing of his opponent. She called out, “Do not go on with this. More death will solve nothing.”

  They paid her no heed. Raine ran her hands through her hair in utter frustration. Desperately she moved to stand between the two of them, her eyes holding Benedict’s. “Please, my lord, do not do this. Let us have an end to this feud. I would not have you kill this man in my name. He has done me no real harm.”

  Benedict shouted, “No harm, Raine? He took you from me, meant to kill you if I did not answer his summons.”

  She looked at Harcourt, pleading with him, praying that he would swallow his pride and answer with what she knew was the truth. “My heart tells me that he would not have killed me. You would not have, would you, my lord? I beg you speak true. Your death aids no one.”

  She could see the indecision on his face. Turning to Benedict again, she said, “Please, my lord husband, put down your sword.” She could see the warring emotions on his face, the rage that drove him on, needing some outlet, needing the spilling of blood in order to be appeased.

  Yet knowing this, she whispered, “Please, my husband, if you bear me any goodwill at all, do not fight him.”

  Then, as his gaze remained trained on hers, an outraged cry filled the stillness. “You will not cheat me of my revenge, Ainsworth.”

  Benedict watched as his beloved Raine, unkempt but apparently unharmed, spun around to face Alister Harcourt, who was moving forward with hatred and purpose. To Benedict’s utter horror she leapt to block his path, her gaze now holding his.

  Benedict shouted, “No, Raine!”

  But she did not answer him nor look around as she faced the other man. “Do not do this, my lord. Killing will not ease the ache inside you. Only forgiveness can do that.” When he stopped, studying her with both rage and confusion, she moved toward him slowly, holding out her hand, her gaze unafraid and determined.

  Again Benedict cried, “No!”

  But she did not turn to face him as she said, “Please, my husband. I beg you. This man has known nothing but pain in his life.” Then she again said to Harcourt, “Tell him true. You would not have killed me.”

  The misshapen man seemed unable to look away from her gaze as his eyes dampened. “Nay, I would not have killed you. How could I when you treated me as a human being, me the man who had taken you from all you held dear?”

  Benedict could not credit this. He shouted back with outrage, “Aye, you say that now, my lord, but you did mean to when you took her.”

  Harcourt barely glanced in his direction and spoke with a depth of pain that was shocking. “You ignored me, treated me as all others have. As if I were nothing. Your lady wife saw me as something more even than my own brother, and with no hope of gain.”

  Benedict was unable to doubt him further. Raine had accomplished in a matter of days what he had not been able to do in all the months since Maxim Harcourt had died. By following the message of her heart she had brought about peace.

 
His anger slipped from him as he realized that he was as much to blame for this situation as Harcourt. How could he, Benedict, kill him when he had ignored the very instincts that had told him the man was acting out of grief? Long ago he should have gone to him and offered his regret. But he had been too occupied in defending his heart against the woman he loved.

  With his anger gone, what remained was regret that he had been so much a fool, and an undeniable sense of love and admiration for his wife. He watched as, with no trace of fear, she placed her hand upon Harcourt’s shoulder. And when she did so the man lowered his head, a sob escaping him.

  Aware of him as she was, Raine could feel the change in Benedict’s demeanor. Loving him all the more for his willingness to show mercy here, she whispered gently to Alister Harcourt, “Pray forgive the wrongs done you, my lord, by all of us. And accept my hand, my friendship, however small a gift it may be, in place of your revenge.”

  He looked up at her, clearly uncertain. “Your kindness I understand. It comes from inside you. But why would you offer me your friendship?”

  “Because you are a man who is in need of a friend, I think.” She waved at Benedict, who stood with his sword pointed to the ground. “My husband is a man who befriends all those who come to him in need of care, and for no other reason than that. He befriended me, when I most needed someone, though it took me some time to appreciate his actions as they were meant. His compassion is one of his very best qualities, although not the only one. I would be like him in that respect.” She cast Benedict a glance she knew revealed all she had heretofore tried to hide, then turned back to the other man. “You knew your brother. Believe that Benedict would not uphold the harming of anyone if he felt there was another way. He will end this fight with you even though you stole me away from him, and not only me, but his coming child.”

  She saw the shock that registered in the other man’s gaze, and pressed on. “Benedict knows that you are owed an explanation of all that occurred, though ’tis not from him but from his brother. You will have your explanation, my lord, on my honor.”

  For a long moment he hesitated, then his sword fell. She looked into those fine green eyes, whispering, “Thank you.”

  Then, with a cry of joy, she turned to Benedict. Before she could take two steps, she was enveloped in his arms, her face pressed to the solid and beloved wall of his chest. She breathed deeply of his scent, sweat and fear and relief, and reveled in it. For he was here holding her close, her husband, the center of her world—her very existence. But after a joyous moment when she felt as if he would never let her go, his arms loosened. As he pulled away she looked up at him, bereft without his nearness.

  Benedict dropped his hands to his sides, stepping back, his face full of sadness and regret. She shook her head in confusion. “What is wrong? Are you not happy?”

  His misery was clearly unabated by her words. “I am pleased, overjoyed, that you have suffered no harm, but it has been through no credit of mine.”

  “What are you saying, Benedict? You saved my life.” Her hand went to her belly. “The life of our child.”

  He raised his hands to cover his face, a sob of agony escaping him. “And nearly lost you both through my own folly. If I had not been so bent on doing everything, taking care of everyone myself, none of this would have occurred. I nearly lost the one I love most in my need to keep those I loved too closely beneath my care.”

  She felt a strange sense of unreality at what he was saying. “Love. Are you speaking of your love for the babe?”

  He looked up at her, shaking his head as if confused by her question. “Aye, how could I not love my own babe? But it is you I speak of, Raine, my beloved wife. The thought of having lost you nearly drove me mad.”

  Her heart thudded to a stop as she stared up at him. “You love me? You love me, Benedict?”

  His deep blue eyes grew damp, as they seemed to drink in her face. “Aye, Raine, I love you with all of my heart and soul. You are my soul.”

  Joy flooded her in an all-encompassing wave. She held out her arms. “And I love you. Will always love you.”

  Pain and happiness warred on his handsome features. “But how could you love me when I have not—”

  She put her finger to his lips, feeling joy in the simple act of touching him so intimately. “Shh, my love, not now. Let us do no more than love for now.”

  He closed his eyes, then gently, tenderly kissed her finger. “I love you, too,” she whispered, her voice husky with emotion.

  Then he was grabbing her to him. Raine closed her own eyes, knowing that this was where she wanted to be for the rest of her life, right here in his arms, her cheek pressed to his heart. There could be no more happiness than this.

  Yet as his lips found hers she realized there was more, more than she had ever imagined.

  When she thought to look for Alister Harcourt sometime later, he was gone. She felt no worry over this. The time would come to make a permanent peace with him.

  This moment was for her and Benedict, and the start of their new life together.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-5934-1

  THE BRIDE OF SPRING

  Copyright © 2000 by Catherine J. Archibald

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  * Velvet Series

  † Seasons’ Brides