Rexanne Becnel (20 page)

Last night he had done this. He had moved down her body like that and then teased her and touched her and kissed her to the point of madness. Her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed in tremulous anticipation as she felt his hot wet kiss move past her breast to her belly. Then a horn sounded from somewhere without and he lifted his lips from her sensitive flesh.

“Corbett,” she whispered, willing the distraction away. But then they were interrupted by a heavy pounding on the door and the moment was ruined.

She heard his short muffled oath and his sharp reply to the knock, but she could hardly believe it when he rolled to his side then rose from the bed and crossed to where his clothes still lay.

It was the last thing she expected, and for several shocked seconds Lilliane could do no more than lie there, staring at him. Then cool air washed over her heated skin and she was even more painfully aware of the absence of his strong, warm body.

With an angry jerk she pulled the coverlet over her. She wanted to bury her head beneath its protective warmth, but pride would not allow it. When she finally risked a glance at him in the soft light of the breaking dawn, he had already donned his braies and was securing his hose over his well-muscled calves.

Despite her anger—and her hurt—Lilliane could not deny the masculine beauty of this man. Oh, she recognized well enough that his beauty was not the same as Sir William’s. He was too scarred, too marked by the hard life he’d lived. Yet that only seemed to strengthen the attraction she felt for him. He was hard as granite, as unyielding as the oak, as tested as the steel of his war tools.

“I must leave you now.” His abrupt words interrupted her thoughts.

“’Tis clear enough already that you leave,” she answered in a more petulant voice than she intended.

He looked up then and she could see the frown that creased his brow. “No, Lily. I mean I must leave Orrick. I’ve business that cannot be delayed.”

As pained as she had been at his removal from the bed, it was as nothing compared to the shock of this new blow. Her disbelief was so great she did not at first react, but only lay there staring dumbfounded at him.

For his part, Corbett seemed quite busy with his garments, and there was a prolonged silence between them. Lilliane’s heart seemed to plummet as she finally absorbed his words, and she could barely restrain her tears. As it was, she turned her face away from him and squeezed her eyes tightly against the telltale stinging she felt.

Damn him! she silently railed. Damn him for treating her so! Barely married and already abandoned, she would appear quite pathetic to the guests who rightfully expected at least another full day of celebration. Yet it was not the thought of their pity that left the awful hollowness within her chest. From the heights of passion to the dreadful depths of abandonment he had plunged her. He’d given her hope that their marriage might succeed, then turned right around and proven his lack of concern.

She’d been so filled with wonder and delight, and now she felt only empty and drained. But she would not cry, she vowed as she fought back the tears. He would never make her cry again.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was low, held under tight control. It took all her effort to sit up in the bed.

He did not answer at once, but only concentrated on the lacings of his boot. “I’ve business to attend to.

A matter of duty to the king. Something you would not be interested in,” he added offhandedly.

He finally looked over at her as he settled his short leather tunic over his wide shoulders. His expression was unreadable, and it nearly broke her composure. Duty to the king? What could possibly be so important? And what of his duty to his wife? Why, oh why couldn’t he care just a little for her? He’d seemed well pleased with her, yet if that were so he would not leave her this way. What business could be so pressing that he must leave his very marriage bed?

All her insecurities came to the surface as Lilliane sat on the edge of the bed, the linen sheet held tightly up to her chin. He had wanted a virgin heiress, and she had come to him so. The passion had been a surprise to him—and to her—and it had helped to heal the wounds their marriage had started with.

But now it was even worse. At least before she’d harbored no foolish hopes for them. She had been wary, her guard had been up. Then he had broken through her defenses with his tender touch and whispered words. He had drugged her with his kisses then swept her away with his ardor. She had been lulled into sweet complacency by his false-hearted deceit.

But morning with its hard light brought reality back into focus. Now he showed his true self, and all she could do was try to defend her heart from him.

Corbett buckled on his sword of Damascene steel then shouldered his leather satchel. “I regret leaving you so, Lily.” His voice was husky and it sent an unwilling shiver up her spine. Not trusting her voice, Lilliane only shrugged. But when he crossed to the bed in three long strides, she flinched away from him.

He frowned but she forestalled any questions. “Hurry on your way. Your business awaits.” She stared up at him, trying hard to mask her feelings with a show of indifference.

Corbett rocked back on his heels, and for a moment she thought she saw indecision in his expression. But so quickly was it gone that she wondered if it had really existed at all. He studied her for a second longer with his impenetrable gray stare before he reached to finger one wayward lock of her chestnut hair.

“I cannot say with certainty when I return. I apologize for any inconvenience this causes you.” He paused and Lilliane held her breath. Already her anger had weakened under his casually possessive touch. She wanted to beg him to stay, but pride held her back. Still, she hoped for some word from him—anything at all—that would fill this hollowness she felt.

It was not meant to be. With a vague frown Corbett released the silken strand and took a step back from her.

“Keep well, Lily.” Then he was gone.

The sun was but a red glow beyond the distant forests when Lilliane hurried into the bailey. She had dressed hastily, throwing on the same sapphire-blue gown she had been married in but this time without benefit of kirtle, then had slipped on her embroidered silk slippers and draped a woven wool shawl over her shoulders.

She was not sure why she had followed Corbett. Part of it had been the silence in the empty bedchamber. His absence had made it feel even colder than it was. Part of it had been her decision that she would look less pathetic to their guests if she were there to see him off. At the least she could give the illusion of a united front with him. No one else need know how she’d been abandoned so abruptly.

She did not want to admit to herself that she still sought some sign of his approval, so she firmly pushed that idea aside. Yet, when Corbett turned to watch her approach, she could not deny the heavy thumping of her heart or the fear and uncertainty that gripped her.

He had paused in the midst of conversing with a select group of his knights. After only a brief hesitation he finished his instructions to them. Then he immediately strode across the busy yard to where she stood alone in the fresh morning air.

Lilliane’s heart quickened as he stopped before her. He was dressed as he had been when he’d first ridden into Orrick, in the garb of the warrior. She’d been awed by him then. Now she could hardly believe that this fierce knight was the same man who had held her so tenderly.

“I did not expect you to see me off.”

Lilliane looked up into his serious face. She pursed her lips uncertainly then hugged the shawl tighter about her. “I do not want to appear abandoned,” she answered grudgingly.

“I’m not abandoning you!” He reached for her but she stepped back.

“Then why must you leave?” she blurted out.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Lilliane had no ready answer for that. But as the silence stretched out between them his lips curved in a faint knowing grin.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked again, more softly.

Unable to face his curious stare, Lilliane turned her face away, pushing her wind tossed hair back from her cheek. “It doesn’t … it isn’t seemly for a bridegroom to ride off so abruptly from his … from the …”

“From the marriage bed?” Corbett asked. This time he did take her into his grasp with one warm hand on each of her shoulders. “Believe me, Lily. If it were not so important I would not go.”

“What could be so important?” she cried, unable to stop herself. “Surely it could wait at least one more day!”

For a moment he only stared at her. Then a slow grin lighted his face. “Does this mean you shall miss me? Perhaps if I promise that my first duty upon my return will be to take up where we left off in our bed, I might coax a little smile out of you.”

But Lilliane could not jest when she felt herself unaccountably being torn apart. She tried to pull away but his hands tightened on her.

“It cannot wait,” he said more seriously. “You must trust me in this matter.”

“Trust a Colchester?” she scoffed. “I’d be a fool to do that.”

He frowned at her words and his scarred brow lowered. “As I would be a fool to trust the very wench I found digging through my belongings,” he reminded her harshly. “Make up your mind, Lilliane. Either be my wife truly … or else declare your opposition to me now. You may not have it both ways.”

Lilliane was torn. She should not trust him. She should not! Yet there was a directness about him that she could not help but respect. A shiver shook her.

“Well, Lily, which is it to be?” His eyes were wary, their gray darkened almost to black. They seemed to pierce almost to her very soul.

“I am your wife,” she finally admitted. Despite the reluctance in her tone and the challenge yet lingering in her eyes, she knew she could not ignore reality. They were married and they would remain so for many years to come. It would be foolish to antagonize him constantly.

He pulled her closer then, and without realizing it her expression softened. “When will you return?”

“As quickly as is possible,” he murmured as his eyes swept her face. “Knowing what awaits me here will give me wings.” Then he bent down to her and took her lips in a deep, stirring kiss. Like one drugged, Lilliane was incapable of resistance. Indeed, as the kiss deepened, she found herself clinging to him in the most wanton and willing of fashions. When they finally broke apart she was breathless and flushed and, to her complete bewilderment, consumed by desire for him all over again. Was she mad to want him so?

Then, still dazed, she let him lead her to the gatehouse where several people, including her father, William, and Aldis had gathered to watch the knights’ departure. She saw the disapproval on William’s and Aldis’s face and the delight on her father’s. If only her own feelings about her husband could be so simple, she thought as she watched Corbett return to his waiting band of men.

Corbett was traveling with only half his knights and a handful of his retainers. As he mounted his great destrier to depart, he raised a hand in salute to Lilliane. Then his attention was drawn by Sir Dunn’s hand on his steed’s bridle.

“I like nothing about this expedition,” Dunn said with a growl.

“Do you think I do?” Corbett answered curtly.

“Then let me go in your stead. I’ve no wish to lay about in this place … as you clearly do.”

Corbett looked down at his disgruntled second in command. “I must handle this, as you well know. Besides, I need you here to keep a watch on things.” Corbett’s eyes lifted to where Lilliane stood, flanked by her father and Sir William. “William bears watching.”

“And your new wife does not?”

Corbett’s gaze dropped furiously to Dunn. “Be careful what you say! She is mistress here now—yours as well as everyone else’s—and deserving of your loyalty.”

“But not my trust. Have you already forgotten her spying? How she hid her identity? And what of her love for William?” he continued despite Corbett’s fierce glower. “She could well be as much a part of this as William.”

“Hold your tongue, Dunn! I warn you once only.” Enraged, he wheeled his heavy horse away. “Time will flush out the villains,” he said with a growl. “You know your duties. See them done.”

As the contingent of men rode across the heavy drawbridge, Lilliane climbed the steep stone stairs to the battlements. She was bewildered and confused, still torn by the many conflicting emotions that beset her. The last thing she needed was her father’s robust praise of her new husband or William’s undisguised dislike of him.

William had been fuming ever since Corbett had kissed her, and she knew he wished to get her alone. But Lilliane was too baffled by her response to her husband to try to justify her feelings. Besides, she decided as she hurried up the last flight of steps, she owed William no explanation. He had married another. So had she.

She found a spot between two crenels and leaned out beyond the face of the stone. The double line of men proceeded down the turnpike in an orderly fashion, all the men clearly trained as warriors. But there was no mistaking Sir Corbett. Tall and straight, he sat a dappled-gray destrier. But it was more than his physical presence that set him apart. More perplexed than ever by this strange man she had wed, Lilliane ran her tongue lightly over her still-sensitive lips. He was harsh and demanding; he was tender and gentle. He had forced her into this marriage and into his bed.

But she could not be honest and yet deny the pleasure she received from him. He revealed very little about himself; even the purpose of this journey was a complete mystery to her. But although she knew he was an enigma and very likely a most dangerous man, still, she could not truthfully say that she did not await his return with considerable anticipation.

“L
IE STILL. LIE STILL
,” Lilliane crooned to Lady Verone. Quickly she mopped the beads of sweat from the younger woman’s brow, wincing from the tight grasp she kept on her other hand.

“Here’s the brew Mother Grendella sent,” Ferga said as she hurried to the bedside. While Lilliane held Verone’s head up, the stout serving woman fed her the thick decoction of yarrow.