Velvet Bond

And if that wasn’t enough, there was one other reason he should turn and go back to the castle. Stephen’s sister, Elizabeth. Though Raynor had barely allowed himself to even think of her, he did recall that one moment when he had looked at her with startling clarity.

Elizabeth Clayburn was most certainly the kind of woman he had learned to avoid—young, beautiful, and sure of her female power.

As he approached the structure, his gaze ran over the whitewashed walls as if, did he but look hard enough, he would be able to see inside. In that house, Elizabeth would be in her own element, where she was most comfortable and self-assured. Not that Raynor felt she was any real threat to him. He just preferred to avoid such as her. He knew her kind, wanting everything from a man, his life, his fortune, his heart, but unwilling to give anything of themselves in return.

Most assuredly it would have been wiser to decline this invitation. And he was still free to turn around and go. What matter if he offended folk he was not likely to see again?

But the moment to depart was taken from him. As Raynor came to a halt before the house, an older man in worn but clean and neatly patched clothing scuttled out to meet him. He looked up at the knight with a polite nod of his gray head. “Good day, my lord.”

Raynor nodded in return. “I am seeking Stephen Clayburn.”

“Aye, you have come to the right house. I can take your horse out back to the shed, my lord.”

Dismounting and handing him the reins, Raynor said, “My thanks,” and moved to enter the dwelling. Passing through the door, he had to stoop, but he stood to his full height once inside.

The living chamber was wide and long, with a fireplace in the center along the north wall. A trestle table was set up at one end, ready to receive the meal, but there was no one about. The rushes underfoot gave off the sweet scent of herbs as he took a few hesitant steps inside, wondering if he should call out.

Just then two women entered from the back of the chamber, one bearing a jug, the other a tray with cheese and meat. The older woman with the tray, obviously a servant, judging by her coarse clothing, moved to place her burden upon the trestle table.

The younger of the two women came forward, shifting the heavy jug she carried. “My lord Warwicke,” she said, greeting him with deference. Her dress was of better quality than the other’s, and he wondered who she could be. Her blue eyes smiled in her pretty face as she looked up at him. “I am Lady Elizabeth’s companion, Olwyn. You are expected above. Will you please come with me.”

She turned, and Raynor moved to follow her up a narrow set of stairs.

He took note of the golden hair that fell from her kerchief, and her trim waist and hips. Now here was the type of woman Raynor might be inclined to dally with. She would provide a release for his body and expect no commitment in return. Not that Raynor would force her. In his twenty-seven years, he’d had no need of that.

But the moment he stepped through the door of the solar, all thoughts of the blond woman fled his mind.

Elizabeth Clayburn came forward to great him, her cherry lips turned upward in a smile of welcome. “Lord Warwicke.” When she spoke his name, a chill of awareness ran down his spine. Her eyes were the color of deepest sapphire and fringed with thick black lashes. But the way she looked at him was what gave him pause. The expression in her gaze was one of happiness and barely repressed excitement, and from the way she focused her whole attention upon him, Raynor could only feel that he was the cause of her pleasure. Unaccountably he felt himself basking in the glow, like a lynx soaking up the sun. Not once in the conscious years of his memory could he recall anyone looking at him with such uncomplicated approval. He marveled as the color in her cheeks went from palest cream to dusky rose. She looked down, and the sheer golden veil she wore over her tumbled mass of black curls fluttered forward to hide the delicate flush.

“Lady Elizabeth.” He swallowed, managing to sound almost normal, though he did not know how. Fighting off an urge to wipe his sweaty palm against his tunic like some unschooled lad, Raynor briefly clasped her slender hand in his. Her fingers were smooth and cool, but she drew them back quickly to press her hand against her bosom.

She seemed to have some difficulty communicating herself, for she started, stopped, and began again. “My lord...I... You are most welcome.”

“My thanks,” he replied. He didn’t know what had come over him. Raynor was well accustomed to women, had believed himself long over the nervousness that now assailed him. He could only tell himself that it was slightly unnerving to be greeted with such enthusiasm. Elizabeth Clayburn could not know what she was about. Though he hoped that she did not meet her other male visitors with such warmth. Not all men had learned self-discipline, as Raynor had. They might take her obvious pleasure in a way it was not meant.

For, judging by the innocence in her eyes, it was clear she had no idea of her effect on him.

Unaccountably he felt a moment’s worry for her. But he quickly told himself not to be ridiculous. Stephen was her brother, and thus her rightful protector, not Raynor.

As Elizabeth turned to tell her woman to place the pitcher upon the table, he allowed his eyes to study her as he had not the day before. She wore a cotehardie of scarlet that was slashed wide at the sides to show off a gold velvet tunic that caressed the sweetly swelling curves of her breasts and hips. He felt a tightening in his loins and envied the fragile fabric its contact with her flesh.

Whatever had he been thinking yesterday, when he met this woman, not to notice how truly lovely she was? He knew he had been nervous about his coming audience with the king, but could any man worthy of the title have seen Elizabeth Clayburn and failed to take note of her uncommon beauty?

Thank God Stephen would be present this eve. The last thing Raynor needed was to be alone with this siren. Elizabeth was enough woman to give rise to the name.

Raking a hand through his hair, he forced his gaze away. Not in years had Raynor reacted to any woman this way. Gladly would he see the end of this visit.

He looked about the solar, saw the table, with its two chairs, set up as if for a meal. He took note of the warmth of the fire and the pillows that were piled on the carpet before it. He admired the rich tapestry that hung upon the outside wall, with its rich colors and fine detail. There were two doors besides the one through which he had entered. They must lead to sleeping chambers.

It was an appealing scene. But something appeared to be missing. Frowning, Raynor rubbed the side of his head as he glanced about, his gaze going back to the two chairs at either side of the table. Two chairs.

Stephen!

He cleared his throat as he turned to Elizabeth. The servant named Olwyn paused in the act of leaving and faced him. “Lady Elizabeth?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him as she moved forward to pour a cup of wine. And if he wasn’t seeing things, her hands were shaking. “Yes, my lord Warwicke?” she said.

Raynor frowned, surprised that she seemed as unsettled as he.

He reached out to take the cup from her, willing her to look at him. But she didn’t. “Where is Stephen?” he asked bluntly.

She did glance up at him then, but only for a moment. With a bright smile, she waved a hand airily. “Oh, my brother. He was called away most unexpectedly, but he shall be returning ere long.”

Raynor knew a prickling of unease. Stephen had told him that he and Elizabeth lived alone here, with only Elizabeth’s companion and their servants. It seemed unlikely that Clayburn would want Raynor to be alone here with his beautiful sister. “He knows I am come in his absence?”

“Of a surety.” Finally she looked at him, those bottomless sapphire eyes ingenuously wide. “Stephen felt so badly about having to go. You see—” she spread her hands “—he has his duty to the king. But he had no wish to appear rude, and thus asked me to attend you until his arrival. He felt it would be wrong to call off the meal, when he will not be so very long.” She gave a nervous laugh as she moved to stand before the fire, her slender body bathed in its warm light. “Stephen mentioned that you were returning to Warwicke on the morrow and said he would not miss this chance to see you before you go. My brother is ever like this. His friends have always been of great importance to him. Is that not so, Olwyn?” Elizabeth looked to her companion.

The other woman cleared her throat, her gaze fixed on her mistress’s face. “Oh, aye, my lord Warwicke. Sir Stephen spoke exactly thus.” With that, she swung around and left the room.

Elizabeth turned back to him with another one of those sweet smiles. “You see. All is well.”

Raynor watched her, mesmerized by the strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder to end in a curl on her right breast. He tried to think clearly. Certainly Stephen had set great store in his friendships as boy. It could be so now. Mayhap Stephen did trust him to be alone with his sister.

Dragging his wayward gaze from that gently rounded breast, Raynor determined to be worthy of that trust.

Elizabeth Clayburn was trouble. More lovely and compelling than any woman he had ever met.

There was no way around the matter though. Raynor must fight this strange attraction. He could not, would not, become involved with her, or any other woman who would expect more than he was willing to give.

It was this that helped Raynor to come to his senses. He could eat this meal with her and go on his way, for her good, as well as his.

He turned to her then, his eyes refusing to see the lovely vision of her. With silent precision, he raised a wall between himself and the golden glow of her warmth. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less.

Elizabeth felt the change in him immediately. It wasn’t that he said or did anything that let her know, it was simply that he turned to stone. One moment his eyes were alive on her, the next there was nothing.

Confusion made her hesitate as she looked up at him, the words she had been going to say gone from her mind.

When Raynor first arrived, she hadn’t been able to contain her happiness at seeing him again. It was just as before, that same crazed rush of awareness that made her blood sing and her heart pound. She’d been so afraid that she had imagined the way she felt when she looked at him.

And for a few moments, Raynor had seemed different, more open than the previous day. He’d looked at her as if seeing her for the very first time, and he hadn’t seemed displeased.

Rot, but she couldn’t think of what she might have said or done to make him change.

She was saved from having to say anything when the door opened to admit Olwyn carrying a heavily laden tray. With shaky legs, Elizabeth moved to the table as Olwyn set the tray down. “Thank you, Olwyn.”

As the other woman left, Elizabeth realized that she could not allow Raynor to see that he had upset her. Obviously she was not to his liking. The best she could do now was to get through the evening without making a complete fool of herself. Keeping her voice and manner carefully polite, Elizabeth turned to Stephen. “We can begin now, if you like.”

The first part of the meal passed in a blur as Elizabeth served them both, then used her eating knife to toy with her food. She barely tasted the bites of roast pork, eels and assorted pastries that she did take, though they had been painstakingly and well prepared.