Velvet Bond (20 page)

Looking out across the field, which held targets, tilting posts, a list, and all manner of other devices necessary to practice the art of war, Raynor called to his squire. “Arthur.”

The boy laid down his bow and hurried toward Raynor. If he was surprised to see his intractable master holding his daughter, his green eyes offered no hint of it. A sturdy lad of twelve, Arthur was dressed like Raynor. He was as alike the powerful knight in all things as possible.

“I would have you go to my chambers and fetch the small pouch that sits atop my chest,” Raynor told him. “And bring it to me in the orchard.”

Arthur nodded and rushed off to do as he was bidden.

Raynor started across the grounds, as Willow squirmed excitedly against him. “What are we doing?” she asked, her brown eyes alight with curiosity.

He pressed a finger to the end of her button nose. “That is for you to see, minx,” he answered teasingly.

In the back of Raynor’s mind was one of the few happy memories he retained from childhood. One day when he was about six, his father had happened upon him trying to make a swing from a length of knotted rope. To Raynor’s surprise, his father had volunteered to help, and the two of them had spent an hour without tension, or interruption from his mother. The vision of that day, and his father’s relaxed smile, still lived in his heart.

Though Willow was somewhat younger, he felt a need to share some of that past happiness with her. He leaned close to her soft pink ear. “Willow, do you know what a swing is?”

She nodded, her eyes enormous. “I seed one in the village.”

“Would you like to help me make one here on the castle grounds? One that you could play with yourself?”

She laughed and clapped her chubby hands together. “Oh, yes! I would Papa! I would like that!”

First Raynor went to the stables and obtained a length of sturdy rope. Then he took Willow to the orchard at the rear of the castle behind the keep. There they found several rows of neatly trimmed apple and pear trees. It was to one of the small but sturdy apple trees that Raynor went.

There was a thick limb that ran parallel to the ground, some ten feet up. It was perfect for Willow’s swing.

He was just setting her down when he heard Elizabeth’s voice call out the child’s name.

Feeling somewhat dismayed at the idea of Elizabeth finding him playing with his child, Raynor answered hesitantly. “She is here.” He told himself not to be foolish. He had every right to spend time with Willow. But the discomfort remained.

He wondered if the feeling had anything to do with the fact that Elizabeth had been the one to point out his failings as a father. He had no desire to bear the brunt of her smugly approving attitude. It would simply add to his guilt that he had not done better in the past.

As Elizabeth came toward them, Willow ran to her. “Papa is making a swing! It is for me.”

Elizabeth took her hand. “Did he?” To Raynor’s surprise, there was not the least hint of condescension in her manner, only a quiet curiosity. “I met Arthur on his way here,” she said softly. “He told me he was bringing this to you.” She opened her free hand to expose a small black velvet bag.

Raynor took it from her, then turned to Willow. He handed the pouch to her, and she began to tug at the lacing at the top. Raynor leaned forward to offer his assistance, but Elizabeth halted him with a gentle hand on his arm. “Half of the pleasure is in the opening,” she told him confidingly. And, to his surprise, Raynor felt no rise of resentment toward her for offering him instruction.

At last Willow got the bag open, spilling the contents into her hand. The tiny mirror and comb were just perfect for one so small. She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around his leg. “Now I can be pretty like Beth!”

Raynor bent down and hugged her close, tears smarting in his eyes for the second time that day. “You are that already, love.”

The child moved off to play with her new treasures.

When Raynor rose and Elizabeth’s sapphire eyes met his, they were as warm as a lit window on a dark night.

Her warmth made him think of his talk with Jean. The head woman was convinced Elizabeth was what she appeared to be.

Mayhap he should at least give his wife an opportunity to prove herself. To do just that much would not be an irrevocable commitment on his part.

But what he might first do, Raynor realized, was beg forgiveness for the way he had spoken to Elizabeth the night Harrington’s messenger came. In all fairness, he should not have reprimanded his wife before the whole assemblage.

“Elizabeth,” he began, “there is something I have been wanting to say to you.” He cleared his throat as she looked at him with curiosity and speculation.

He went on, more forcefully. “That night in the hall. I must beg you pardon for the way I spoke to you before the castlefolk. You are my wife and their lady. I owe you more honor than that.”

Her eyes had grown rounder and rounder as he spoke, and her expression was one of amazement. Seeing this made Raynor slightly uncomfortable. Was she really so very surprised that he would admit to making a mistake? He bit back the comment that sprang to mind, then went on to finish what he had to say. “You know nothing of Harrington, and therefore can be excused that one mistake. I only ask that you be careful to refrain from mentioning the man or anything connected to him in the future.”

She smiled, looking down at the ground as she replied. “How could I do other than accept such a magnanimous apology?”

Raynor watched her closely, for he sensed a hint of amusement in her tone. But when she raised her head and looked at him, her sapphire eyes were bright with happiness.

Suddenly Raynor’s awkwardness left him, and he felt himself basking in the glow of her regard. Though he had been nervous as to how she would react to his apology, Elizabeth had not thrown it back in his face, as he had feared. Instead, she was behaving very well indeed. On impulse, he asked, “Would you care to help us make a swing?”

She smiled, and Raynor felt that the smile was for him and him alone. “I would be most glad to help.”

* * *

Elizabeth watched the man before her as he carefully knotted the end of the rope, making sure that it was secure.

This was a day she had never thought to see. First Raynor had brought himself to beg her forgiveness, although that had come hand in hand with demands for her compliance in the matter of Willow’s uncle. Then he had gone on to involve himself in an activity that had naught to do with either work or security.

Obviously, all things were possible.

This was her first indication that he might actually be willing to open up his heart. The knowledge was strangely exhilarating, though she knew his affection for his daughter had nothing to do with his feelings for her.

With the knot tied, Raynor took off his outer tunic, and Elizabeth felt a twinge in her lower belly. His tan pourpoint was open at the neck, revealing the strong column of his throat. As Raynor began to climb the tree, his wide shoulders flexed, and the rope tied about his flat belly grew taut. Elizabeth could not have moved from her stance beneath him had she tried while she marveled at the play of strong thighs in tight-fitting dark hose.

When he threw the rope down, it took her a moment to right herself and remember what she was about. Biting her lower lip, Elizabeth tried to calm her wayward thoughts as she held the bottom of the rope steady while he tied it to the branch.

What was wrong with her, that one noble action on Raynor’s part could have her panting after him this way?

But that was how it had been since the beginning. Raynor had only had to be himself, and nothing more, for her to want him physically. That she could not deny. Her body’s reaction to him had always been its own.

Once the rope was in place, Raynor flipped over the branch and slid down the rope. When he reached the ground, he grinned with evident pride in his accomplishment and said, “If it can hold my weight, there should be no problem with Willow. She’s such a mite of a thing.”

Elizabeth couldn’t answer. The easy amicability of his manner completely disarmed her.

Was this Raynor as he might have been, had his life been different? For a moment, Elizabeth’s heart tightened with sadness.

But she did not linger over the emotion. She knew that all the things that had shaped Raynor had made him the man who so irritated her, but so compelled her at the same time.

She also knew these feelings must stay hidden. Any hint of her attraction to him must be kept at bay, for it only seemed to drive him away. Elizabeth must control her reactions, not only for the sake of her pride, but for their relationship to retain this seemingly friendly footing.

Thus thinking, she answered offhandedly, “Mayhap I should try it out first.” She watched Willow’s small face.

The little girl had placed her mirror and comb carefully aside and was bouncing with excitement. “Me, me! Can I go first?”

“What think you, Raynor?” Elizabeth teased gently. “Should we trust our little treasure to your swing?”

His answer was unexpectedly low, and charged with an intense emotion that she could not identify. “Is she our little treasure, Elizabeth?”

When she glanced up at him, the look in Raynor’s eyes made Elizabeth pause. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pulse quickened. His expression was eager, and at the same time uncertain. She held still as he took a step closer to her, bringing them within mere inches of each other. She held her breath, feeling that any wrong movement on her part could break the spell of intimacy that hovered like mist in the air around the three of them. Raynor, Elizabeth and their child.

She nodded, then spoke softly. “Aye, Raynor. If that is your wish, she could be our treasure. Yours and mine.” The words hung between them, as real as an invitation. But Elizabeth knew not what to do from there.

She was dragged back to reality by a tug on her hand. “May I swing? May I swing now?”

Raynor recovered first, picking Willow up and setting her short legs over the huge knot of hemp. “Now hold tight,” he instructed as he pushed her off, very gently.

The three of them played there for a time, more like a real family than Elizabeth had ever thought they could be.

Not that she allowed herself to believe Raynor was coming to accept their marriage. It was more as if he had realized that it was important to be a father to Willow, and was making an effort to accept Elizabeth as part of that equation, because of his daughter’s love for her.

It was later, after Elizabeth called a halt to the game in order to make ready for the noon meal, that Raynor confirmed her belief.

As they walked back to the keep, Willow running on ahead, her black bag clutched in her hand, they were silent, but for once there was no tension in the silence.

It was Raynor who broke the quiet by saying, “Elizabeth, I have something to say to you.”

She stopped as he did, turning to face him. “Yes?”

He did not meet her eyes. Instead, his fond gaze followed his daughter across the bailey. “I wish to thank you for your care of Willow. She is come to life since you arrived at Warwicke.”

A warm glow washed over Elizabeth at his praise, but she could not take undue credit. “My lord, I have done nothing special. The child only had need of some attention. She was left too much to her own devices.”

“Still,” he said, as if the words cost him much, but had to be said, “I am grateful for your efforts. Many women would not have been so quick to take their husband’s natural child to their bosom.” He ended stiffly.

Elizabeth could not contain a self-conscious laugh. “But, my lord, can you not see that the circumstances of Willow’s birth are not of her making? 'Twas not her fault her parents were not wed.” She said this without thinking, simply wanting him to know that Willow’s parentage was not of the least worry to her.

But she could tell when Raynor answered that he had taken offense. “I beg you, madame, to remember that you do not know all of what occurred in that situation.” His tone grew thick with regret. “I would have wed Louisa in an instant, would she have agreed. But she, like many women, was set in her own mind and refused me.”

Elizabeth blanched, not only at the implied reprimand, which she had not deserved, but also at the love in Raynor’s voice when he spoke of Willow’s mother.

Obviously Raynor had desired a marriage to Louisa. His love had been so great that he had been able to overcome his natural aversion to the state. Elizabeth had assumed that her husband’s disregard for wedded bliss had always been a part of his makeup. Now she found that it was not, at least in connection to Willow’s mother. The thought was like a naked blade in her belly.

But she did not wish for Raynor to see how jealous she was at hearing this. Her own tone was cool as winter wind. “I had no wish to pry into your relationship with the child’s mother. I thought only to assure you that I did not hold her parentage against her, and add that she needed only the supervision and attention of a devoted parent. You, my lord, could have filled that void as well as I. I simply made the effort.”

He had the grace to flush, and then he nodded jerkily. “I fear I had no idea of raising a child. I thought to leave her to the women of the keep. Many have children of their own and look after them well enough.”