Velvet Bond

“Say?” he asked hurriedly, puzzled and trying to cover the fact that he had not been attending.

Bronic’s blue eyes studied him. “As to Harrington? Think you he will leave well enough alone, now that King Edward has upheld your claim to the child?”

Raynor ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair. Guilt stabbed at him for worrying over Elizabeth when he had other, more pressing matters to attend. “Nay.” His voice was hard. “He will not. The man’s greed is too big to let go. He will not stop here. Harrington has already bled his tenants dry to fund his extravagant ways. He can get no more from that quarter. With Willow in his control, he would have access to her fortune.”

A frown crossed Bronic’s strongly handsome face. “You do not think he would try to reach Warwicke and take her before we can return?”

Raynor felt a moment of painful unease, then stifled it. He shook his head. “Nay, methinks not. Harrington is not a man to discommode himself by sleeping in tents, as we will. He will stay at every hostelry and monastery along the route north. Besides,” he added as much to reassure himself as much as Bronic, “you know I have left word that Harrington is to be killed on sight if he tries to so much as approach Warwicke in my absence. And he would not have time to gather an army to lay siege before we can return.”

Raynor turned to survey the two wagons behind them, his gaze going once more to Elizabeth. She laughed again, seemingly oblivious of him, and a black scowl darkened his brow. He turned back to the other man. “I had no concern before of beating Harrington back to Warwicke, but with these wagons, our progress will be slowed greatly. You, myself and the other four men could have been happily returned to Warwicke in half the time it will now take.”

Bronic swung around to look at the two women, Elizabeth on her white palfrey, Olwyn in the wagon. His tone was thoughtful as he answered, “We have made surprisingly good time thus far. The women have been of little trouble. Though we have been traveling for hours, neither has so much as offered a word of complaint.”

“Thus far,” Raynor reminded him.

“Soon we must begin to think about stopping for the meal.” Bronic looked at him with long-suffering patience. “The women are likely tired, despite their lack of complaint.”

Raynor colored. Inexplicably he had the feeling Bronic knew how upset he was about his marriage to Elizabeth. This displeased him not a little. He refused to allow his being wed to alter his life any more than necessary. “We have many leagues to go,” he replied woodenly.

With an expression of surprise and disapproval, Bronic replied, “Raynor, I myself am growing hungry, though I could ride on without stopping, and have done so under more discomfort. But there is no need to go on until the women drop. You said yourself that as long as we make reasonable haste, all should be well. It is only right to treat your lady wife with some deference.”

Raynor sat looking at him, Elizabeth’s husky laughter ringing in his ears. He didn’t care about her, and didn’t want anyone else to mistake that fact. But neither did he want to be deliberately cruel. She probably was exhausted. It was true they had ridden on well past midday, and she’d uttered not a word of complaint.

But even though such stamina was new in his experience with women, Raynor was not yet ready to completely unbend. “Aye,” he replied stiffly. “We will stop.”

As Bronic dropped back to tell the others, Raynor halted him with a raised hand. “But tell my wife that it will only be for a short time. She is not to dawdle. We have far to travel before making camp for the night. I must needs return to Warwicke ere many more days have passed.”

With raised brows, Bronic gave him a long look. “You may deliver that message yourself, Raynor. I will not. After all, you have not even spoken to the woman the whole morning. I know not what happened between you. I only know that Sir Stephen and the king’s men found you together. Surely you cannot hold her solely responsible and absolve yourself, Raynor. 'Tis not like you. Furthermore, if you wish to be unpleasant with your lady after first ignoring her, you may do so with your own tongue.” That said, Bronic moved off without waiting for a reply.

Raynor could think of no suitable answer, anyway. He knew he would have to speak to Elizabeth eventually, but he didn’t know what to say. As to the subject of his own culpability in the marriage, Bronic did not know what Raynor suspected Elizabeth had done. Somehow she must understand that he did not mean for theirs to be a true marriage. Raynor wanted nothing between himself and Elizabeth, not companionship, not friendship, and definitely not love.

Naught good had ever come of closeness between a man and woman, and Elizabeth was not the kind who could easily be used and discarded without thought. Those few moments when he held her in his arms had assured him of that.

He had no intention of allowing himself to care for her, or any other woman. Not now, not ever.

Louisa had been the one exception to that rule, and they had met as children. Early on, she had told him of the cruelty of her stepfather. Though he was nothing but a boy, Raynor had responded with kindness. And even then she had chosen Raynor over the older Nigel, following him about with sisterly devotion. How could he fail to respond in kind?

But there was no connection between that and what had passed between himself and Elizabeth. She was a woman in every sense of the word, clearly willing to use her mind and body as silken threads to bind a man to her.

Staying where he was, ahead of the others, Raynor looked back and saw Bronic speak to the man who drove the lead wagon. He pulled to the side of the road. The other driver followed his lead.

They were right next to a small clearing near the road, where the trees rested back a bit. The short grass grew thick and inviting. It was a suitable spot to rest and eat.

Lips tight, Raynor watched as Bronic helped Elizabeth’s woman from the lead wagon. The serving woman reached into the back and drew out a large woven basket. One of the other four men spread a blanket on the ground as another helped Elizabeth from her white mare. Bronic took the basket and carried it to the blanket where the two women took over and began passing out its contents.

Soon the small group was chatting amiably.

None of them so much as made a pretense of paying attention to Raynor. The five men seemed bent on seeing to the two women’s comforts, to the exclusion of all else.

If he’d thought his stomach was in knots before, he now had to make a conscious effort not to put a hand over the cramp in his guts. He sat up straighter, determined to conquer the feeling.

But the longer Raynor sat there atop his stallion, watching the others eat and talk as if this were some outing planned solely for the entertainment of his wife and her companion, the angrier he became.