Catherine Archer - The Bride Of Spring

She moved toward him and took his arm. “Let me help you.” In spite of her resolve she could hear the regret in her voice as she led him to the bed. Raine knew that she must put aside her own feelings, keep her mind centered on what she must do. She needed him on the bed and would not be able to move him once he was asleep.

Benedict was so far beneath the influence of the potion that he made no effort to resist her. He barely made it to the edge of the bed before he groaned and fell backward upon the coverlet, unconscious.

Raine breathed deeply as she looked down at the man, who seemed more large and imposing than ever. His shoulders alone would surely take two strong men to lift. Or one very determined woman, she told herself firmly.

Yet as she bent over him, Raine recalled that she must disrobe him first before getting him beneath the cover. And she was not at all sure about how she was going to accomplish such a feat.

Yet this, as the other difficulties, must be overcome.

Raine climbed up onto the bed. She would begin with his houppelande and tunic.

’Twas not nearly so bad as she had imagined. Until she actually got his golden chest bare, that was.

Though she told herself she would not touch him more than she absolutely must, she soon found her palms flat against the molded wall of his chest. Her busy fingers slowed as if of their own accord and she realized how very smooth that golden skin was, how very male and different from her own in the most…

A soft groan escaped him and she started, a deep flush heating her neck and cheeks. Whatever was the matter with her? She had no interest in this man. He was nothing more than a means to an end.

She closed her eyes firmly before finishing disrobing him. Even when she moved to tug off his hose, she first draped the sheet across his body. Raine told herself that she did so out of sympathy for his vulnerable state, not because she had any interest in looking at that, and certainly not because she was afraid to do so.

Then she was able to put all her concentration into rolling and tugging until she got him into the bed. The last thing she did was empty the small vial that Aida had hidden beneath the top corner of the bed.

The maid had said there must be blood in order to make the scene complete, yet Raine again felt the heat rise to her face as she sprinkled the chicken blood over the sheet.

“It is all for William. It is all for William,” she chanted silently as she did the deed, then threw the empty vial into the fire.

She turned and looked at Benedict then, his handsome face seeming troubled as he lay against the pillow. Quickly she told herself that she was simply being foolish. He knew nothing of what was going on. She must not allow guilt to make her fanciful.

She had only done what she had to do.

With grim resolve she began to remove her gown.

Raine was still lying there awake, her burning eyes staring up at the ceiling, when she heard the chamber door open the next morning. She did not move.

Just as they had planned, Aida approached the bed and pulled open the heavy draperies. First she glanced at the sleeping man next to her, then met Raine’s gaze with silent entreaty.

Raine shook her head. There was no going back now.

Aida nodded and opened her mouth wide, emitting a screech that would have wakened the very dead. The sound was so loud that it startled Raine, who had fully expected to hear it.

The unfortunate Benedict Ainsworth had not expected it. Even with traces of the sleeping potion still befuddling his mind, he reared straight up in the bed. It was a moment before his startled gaze could focus on Raine’s face. Shock became confusion as he frowned, looking down at himself, then took in their positions in the bed.

“What…” he sputtered.

And all the while Aida continued to scream, intermittently adding statements such as, “My lady, my lady, my poor despoiled lady.”

Even though Raine knew that this noise was indeed a very important aspect of her plan, that someone must come and see her here with Benedict, she wished above all things to tell Aida to cease in that caterwauling. She was so very tired from lying awake the whole long night, from being ever so careful not to actually brush up against the strange and oddly fascinating form of the man next to her.

More than once she had been forced to stop herself from reaching out to touch his smooth golden skin as she had while undressing him. Yet she had done so. How she felt about Benedict Ainsworth had no place in this.

For her to have perpetrated this hoax against him for any reason other than to protect William would be completely despicable.

Even as these thoughts were passing through her mind, Benedict moved to the edge of the bed. He was watching Aida with that scowl still firmly in place, and it became more intense with each shrill syllable she uttered. He stood, dragging the linen sheet with him as he shouted, “Why do you not cea—”

He was interrupted by the appearance of an obviously hastily clad older gentleman, whom Raine had seen going into the chamber next to hers on more than one occasion. “What is going on here?” the newcomer bellowed.

Only then did Aida stop screeching. The sudden silence was somehow almost shocking in its intensity. Benedict and the man exchanged bewildered and slightly relieved glances before the man looked to where Raine still sat in the bed. The gentleman’s gaze then went to the sheet Benedict clutched about his lean hips as he obviously searched for his garments, which Raine had put in the chest at the end of the bed.

Her attention followed the older man’s, and she saw the scarlet stain that had spread over it. Her gaze widened with horror. She had had no notion that the small vial of blood would look like so much upon the sheet.

She blushed, but forced herself not to cower. She had done this to herself.

Several more folk appeared in the open doorway as Aida spoke in what Raine considered a far too dramatic tone. “He has deflowered my mistress.”

All eyes then seemed to focus on the bloodied sheet, before turning to Raine. She felt herself blush even more deeply, from the roots of her hair to her feet, though she knew that no one else would know this as she had the coverlet pulled all the way to her chin.

Sweet Saint George protect her. She had indeed done this to herself, yet she had not expected the sight of that blood to be so very humiliating.

Aida had insisted upon it, though, if she were to have any part of it. She had asked Raine how, without any evidence, anyone was to be convinced that she was no longer a virgin and that Benedict was responsible. Raine had had no rebuttal.

As if reading her thoughts, Benedict looked down at the bloodstained sheet at that very moment, seeing what they were looking at with a gasp of amazement. He swung around to face Raine. When she saw the expression of suspicion that was beginning to replace his confusion she returned it with defiance.

An elderly woman stepped into the open doorway, where a crowd was rapidly becoming larger. She spoke to the older gentleman. “Ulric, this man is obviously a brute as well as a knave. I have never seen so much blood. You must do something.”

Raine had not known that it was possible for her cheeks to heat any more than they already were. Yet they did so.

The man, whom Raine believed to be the lady’s husband, answered, “I will, my dear, as soon as I am able to ascertain exactly what has gone on.”

Benedict gave Raine one last long measuring look, then swung around to face the others. His voice emerged as a command. “I will see to this now. You may all go.”

The elderly lady sputtered. “I think you have a—”

Benedict interrupted, albeit politely. “Your pardon, my lady, I wish to cause you no insult, but this is between the lady and myself.”