Rexanne Becnel (35 page)

She felt his hands tighten on her arms, and he seemed to struggle for words. When he spoke it was a low, taunting whisper. “I wish to see whether you will make a better mother than you are a wife.”

With an angry cry Lilliane struck out at him. But he caught her hand before she even came close. Then he jerked her roughly against him. “As ill-tempered as ever. But I shall tame you, my little demon of a wife.”

“You are too crude and … and too stupid to ever tame me!” Lilliane panted as she fought to be free of his paralyzing grasp. But it was to no avail. As if he took pleasure in her useless struggles, he only pressed her more intimately to him.

“You’ve liked my crudeness well enough in the past,” Corbett muttered as he deftly stilled her flailing arms. Then she felt the possessive slide of his broad palm down to her backside, and she gasped at the confusing mixture of emotions that rose in her belly. He didn’t care about her at all; he didn’t trust her and, indeed, believed only the worst of her. And yet his first touch threatened to dissolve all her anger and leave her instead longing helplessly for him.

“Don’t do this,” she warned, trying to fight off the fire beginning to flare deep within her.

“You are my wife.” His voice was low and husky, buried somewhere within her hair as he nuzzled her neck. Then he tilted her face up and took her mouth in a kiss of brutal intensity.

Lilliane felt his anger. It was there in the way his lips took ruthless possession of hers and in the way his tongue boldly searched out every intimate place in her mouth. But there were other emotions too. She couldn’t clearly identify them or determine what they meant for she was too overwhelmed by her own unwilling response to him. Still, when she could no longer resist and her tongue came forward to meet his, she sensed the change in him from demanding to beguiling, from aggressive to enticing.

It was this more than anything that proved Lilliane’s undoing. She could fight his anger. But she had no defense against the tender side of his passion. Without conscious thought her arms crept up to encircle his neck.

At the new pliancy of her body against his, Corbett let out a low groan. “My God, when you show me this sweetness …” The rest was lost to her, and yet there was still a part of her that feared the exquisite pleasure they found in one another might mean nothing at all once the passion had passed.

The thought that he would have her his wife in their bed yet keep her his enemy otherwise stabbed sorely at Lilliane’s heart. In desperation she clung to him, willing him to love her and need her as much as she now loved and needed him. For a moment Corbett seemed taken aback by her sudden display of ardor. But he was quickly caught up in the fire that ignited between them.

She did not know how it happened, how they came to be on the hard, wintry ground, her sitting on his legs, half lying in his arms. “Oh, my love,” Lilliane whispered as he pushed her mantle aside and slid his warm hand along her side. He had started to kiss her again. But he hesitated when she spoke. Lilliane sensed a new tension in him and she opened her eyes. But the gaze that met hers had lost that smoky, glazed look of just moments before. Instead, Corbett’s eyes had cleared to a dark, unreadable gray.

“Am I your love?” he asked quietly. But there was a hard, biting edge to his voice that brought a blush to Lilliane’s face. When she did not answer he grew more caustic. “Then if I am not, who is?”

At that Lilliane struggled to rise. “Why must I love anyone?” she snapped, frustrated by this sudden turn of events. “You most certainly do not!”

“Ah, but I’m not the one whispering such endearments,” he replied blandly, watching her now as she stumbled to her feet.

“No,
you
would not do such a thing.” Despite her anger, it was the pain Lilliane felt that came through in her trembling voice. Humiliated by that inadvertent admission of her feelings for him, she tried to turn away. But Corbett was too quick. With a single grasp of his hand he caught her skirt, forcing her to an ignominious halt.

“So it is as I thought. You
are
trying to flee your wifely duties.” His sarcastic words fell as harshly as blows upon her, and Lilliane had to struggle to prevent her tears from spilling over. How could he be so tender one moment and so cruel the next? How could he touch her so lovingly then accuse her so wrongly of infidelity?

Caught as she was in the tangled sweep of her skirts, she had no choice but to respond to his taunt. “It is not one of my wifely duties to grovel in the dirt with you!”

“It is your wifely duty to please your husband.”

“And I clearly do not.” Then she jerked hard at her skirts, ignoring the ripping sound of the wool in her relief to be free of his hold.

Lilliane wanted to run as far and as fast as she could to some hidden, private place where she could succumb to the hot tears stinging her eyes. But that would only prove to him how much control he wielded over her emotions. She had to content herself with stalking stiffly away from him.

She did not get very far. Before she could even reach the road, she heard Corbett on his huge black war-horse behind her. But she was determined to thwart him, and she darted behind a linden tree on the pretext of gathering holly limbs.

She could feel his eyes upon her but she could not risk returning his steady gaze, for she knew his eyes would have that cool and mocking distance. It would be another blow to her battered heart, and she was sure she would not be able to bear it.

Lilliane bent down for the lowest holly branches, letting her loosened hair fall protectively about her face. She tugged at one branch ineffectually, then tried another, only to prick her fingers as she accidentally stripped off several of the glossy green leaves.

“You have servants aplenty for that sort of work. Your duty is to see them perform their tasks, and you’ve been away from the castle long enough. Come here and ride before me.”

Lilliane lifted her head proudly although she stared carefully at the road and not at Corbett. “The servants at Orrick are well enough trained that they do not turn slackards should I be absent from the castle. You need not tell me of my duty on that score. I’ll return to Orrick in my own good time.”

She knew that last would infuriate him, perhaps even goad him into some violent reaction. But she was too overcome with the pain of rejection to be cautious. It was only when the great war-horse came crashing through the underbrush that she looked up in alarm.

As easily as if she were but a slight child, Corbett plucked her from the midst of the holly and winterberry bushes. With complete disregard for her shrieks of protest, he sat her quite unceremoniously before him, then deftly turned the animal toward the road.

“Let me down, you great oaf!” she cried as she tried to twist from her husband’s grasp.

With a sharp tug Corbett drew her close against his chest. “Ride before me properly,” he muttered, “or enter Orrick a captive, facedown, tied hand and feet before me!”

Despite her fury, she was still aware that Corbett’s threat was no idle one. Stiff with anger, she stayed woodenly where he’d put her, but inside she was seething.

The ride home was pure torture for Lilliane. She was sitting sideways before Corbett, balanced somewhat precariously as the big horse picked his way along the path. With every slight change of direction she was thrown off balance and she might have fallen had it not been for Corbett’s sturdy arms around her. But every touch of him was a new form of pain for her, and her anger swiftly gave way to heartbreak once more. Pride would not let her clutch at him when the horse scrambled up a short embankment or stepped over a fallen log. Yet the feel of his broad chest, so warm despite the wintry air, and the rock-hardness of his arm steadying her only intensified the hollow feelings inside her.

He had proven to have every quality she desired in a husband, save one. He did not care for her at all. And the saddest part was that she had come to care for him beyond all reason.

An involuntary shiver shook Lilliane. At once she felt Corbett’s arms tighten around her. But that only made things worse for it was not the cold that made her shiver so. It was Corbett’s devastating nearness that was affecting her so profoundly.

His warm breath moved in her hair; the scent of his clean skin haunted her. Her bottom was pressed most intimately against his lap, and a drugging warmth seemed to be rising in her. He was the man who had taken her innocence and then lifted her to heights of passion far beyond her wildest imaginings. The thought of the exquisite pleasures they’d shared caused another quiver to shoot up her spine.

“Are you cold?” Corbett’s voice was gruff, almost as if he did not wish to inquire about her comfort. Lilliane did not answer but she sat up straighter, trying to get as far from him as she could.

At that futile response Corbett chuckled. Then he tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her closer than ever. “Shall we ride about our lands, my sweet lady wife? A good lord and lady should concern themselves with the well-being of their people.”

“You do not care about any of us!” Lilliane snapped as she tried to loosen his grip on her.

But Corbett only pressed his palm more firmly against her waist. “I care about every citizen of Orrick.”

“For what they may gain you!”

“My duty is to protect Orrick and make it prosper.”

“Yes,” Lilliane replied heatedly as she tried to lean as little as possible against him. “You will protect the shepherd so that you may have more wool. And the farmer so that you may have more crops. If you protect me it is only so that you may have your heir!”

There was only the briefest pause. “And will I have my heir soon?”

Lilliane had not expected such a question, and for a few moments she was at a loss for words. She wanted a child for them with an intensity beyond explanation. And yet … and yet she wanted him to desire her for more reason than simply to beget an heir. Her face set in a slight frown and she focused determinedly on a group of village men repairing a stone wall between two fields.

“I cannot be certain,” she finally replied in a low monotone.

“Then perhaps we must try harder.”

Had Lilliane not been so mortified by his blunt words, she would have noticed the tension edging his voice. But all she heard was the casual way he discussed their future children, much as he might discuss the breeding of his war-horses.

In self-defense she tried to mimic his careless attitude. “I’ll meet my marriage duties so long as you meet yours. I shall give you the heirs you desire and you shall keep Orrick safe for them.”

“Yes, I’ll keep Orrick safe for my children. But just mine.”

At that strange comment Lilliane chanced a look at him. “Of course … Oh. You mean Elyse. Why, she will be well provided for.”

Corbett did not reply and, after a hard searching stare that left her feeling completely exposed, he looked away. It was only then that she understood. William had made Corbett doubt her fidelity, and now he could not help but wonder about any child she might bear him. For a moment Lilliane felt sympathy for Corbett’s plight. He was a proud man and would want his own child. But she had been a faithful wife, she reminded herself. She did not deserve such suspicion.

As they rode on in an uncomfortable silence, Lilliane searched for the words to make him believe her. Finally as they approached the solid towers of Orrick she ventured to speak.

“You must not doubt my … you must not doubt me,” she faltered.

“Why not?”

She felt the chill of his suspicion far more keenly than that of the biting wind as she shrugged for the right words. “Because I was raised to be a lady. And a lady would never behave so wickedly as you believe I have.”

For a few hopeful seconds she thought he might believe her. But then he let out a dark laugh.

“Were you raised to disobey your father as you did when you fled our wedding?” He grabbed her chin and made her face him. “Yes or no?” Then he laughed again.

“Any girl so disobedient as that should be suspect. But then, knowing your father’s devious way, it would not be surprising if you learned such deceit at his knee.”

Corbett did not flinch at the sharp slap she landed on his cheek. Perhaps he knew he deserved it, but Lilliane would attribute no such decency to him. Taking advantage of his momentary pause, she slid recklessly from the horse’s withers. She stumbled to her knees but in an instant she was up and running toward Orrick.

Corbett did not follow until she had passed over the drawbridge and was well into the bailey. She did not linger there, however. Without a word to anyone she stormed through the great hall, up the drafty stone stairs, and into her chamber. There she slammed the door, dragged the chest to block it, then finally crumpled onto the floor in a torrent of tears and heartbreaking sobs.

H
E CAME TO HER
every night.

In the darkness and silence he came when the entire castle lay quiet and asleep. But Lilliane was never asleep.

It might have been a pact they shared, although they never spoke of it. By day she worked herself nearly to exhaustion preparing for the lengthy entertainments to come. Accommodations must be prepared. Torches and candles must be allotted. Menus and the food stores must be calculated. These preparations on top of the routine daily tasks she saw to kept her occupied from before dawn until well after nightfall.

She saw little of Corbett during these long, wearing hours. He was always gone before she rose, and except for the midday meal she rarely saw him at all.

But he came to her every night.

He would be freshly washed. His hair would still lay in damp curls along his neck and he would smell of soft soap, clean skin, and ale.

Lilliane knew he drank every night before he came. At first she thought it was because he could not stomach lying with her and that he came only to assure himself an heir. But his tenderness and his passion belied that reasoning.

Then she thought he drank to forget her supposed crime, so that he could come to her with no memory of his terrible suspicions. Yet his words whispered so hotly in her ears too often negated that idea. “You are mine, Lily. Only mine,” he told her every night, just before he took final possession of her.