Catherine Archer - Velvet Bond

As they rode along through the village, the streets grew busier. Their progress was slow, which, judging from the frown on his face each time they halted to let a group of travelers or a loaded wagon pass, clearly irritated Raynor.

It was only as they started down the more open road outside the town itself that Raynor appeared to relax a little. After a time, he began to converse quietly with Bronic, who rode beside him.

Elizabeth didn’t want to admit it, but Raynor’s improved attitude caused her own stiff muscles to release some of their tension. Her buttocks, which had been aching with the tension of her body, relaxed in the saddle. She began to look around with some semblance of interest.

It was a fine, clear April day, despite the unseasonable morning chill. After the first couple of hours, their breath could no longer be seen as they went along. As the sun climbed higher in the blue sky, Elizabeth’s sable-lined cloak began to grow overwarm, and she let it slip down from her shoulders to lie over the horse’s white rump in a splash of scarlet color.

Now they saw few other travelers, only an occasional cart filled with produce. No words were exchanged with the drivers, who moved aside with meekly bowed heads and allowed the nobleman and his party to pass.

The fields beside the road were covered with the short green sprouts of new grain, which strained toward the sun. Oak, alder, ash and birch trees crowded the edges of the fields, offering up their own bright and tender buds in anticipation of the fullness of foliage to come. It was as if God were trying to tell her something with this joyous display of new beginnings. But Elizabeth could not be moved. Her own new life held no such promise of bounty.

The few cottages they saw sat far back from the road; thus, the occasional bark of a dog or the sound of a raised voice seemed distant and disconnected to Elizabeth and her life.

No one knew or cared that she rode north toward a life she knew nothing about and had not asked for.

But here she stopped herself with a jolt of self-examination. Had she not asked for what had happened? If not for her insistence on dining alone with Raynor, she would not now be married to a man who had no use for her.

No wonder Raynor resented her.

He’d made his attitude toward women abundantly clear at the outset. In no way was he responsible for what had befallen them. But, though honesty forced Elizabeth to admit her own guilt in the matter, there was little else she could do at this juncture.

If only in name, they were well and truly wed.

What she could do was try to heal the breach between them. Raynor was her husband, and she did not wish to spend her future years bemoaning her fate. All her life Elizabeth had been a doer, a fixer. It was not like her to just accept defeat. And she could not do so now.

With the example of her parents' joyous marriage to lead her, Elizabeth knew she did not wish to settle for what existed between her and Raynor now. It was up to her to try and make things better. Mayhap if she tried, Raynor would unbend and see that they must make the best of their lot.

And she knew this was the most she could hope for. Not for a moment did she believe that Raynor would ever love her as her father had her mother, or even as her brother Henry loved his beloved wife, Aileen.

Firmly she stifled any hint of loneliness at the thought.

Such was not for her. The best she could achieve was a truce. Looking to Raynor’s unyieldingly broad back, she had no idea how that was to come about. Yet try she must.

She was a Clayburn, and thus would show no sign of giving up, despite the adversity. Elizabeth straightened her spine, determined to present a brave front, no matter the sadness that tightened her throat.

Looking up to see Olwyn studying her with that worried expression again, Elizabeth moved to the side of the wagon.

She had made the decision to go forward with courage. Now she must begin to act upon it. No more would she avoid conversing with Olwyn, though she would draw the line at anything concerning her relationship with Raynor. What was between them was between them.

But Olwyn was an important part of her life, and Elizabeth would not forgo her friendship with her woman out of her own ridiculous ill humor.

From the front of the little troop, where Raynor rode beside Bronic, he was not able to look back at Elizabeth without being obvious. But he made much of keeping an eye on the wagons. Surreptitiously his gaze sought his wife.

Raynor watched as she moved up beside the first wagon and began talking to her woman. She laughed at something the other said, the sound pleasant and throaty, unwittingly drawing several pairs of male eyes. He frowned, feeling even more irritated with her.

Quickly he turned away.

How could she appear so unconcerned, when his own stomach was a coil of knotted frustration due to the events of the past two days?

He didn’t want to believe she had deliberately set out to force him into a marriage. But the evidence was there. Why else would she have arranged for them to be alone, shown such pleasure in his company, convinced him to stay when he discovered Stephen was not there? Even at the time, he’d wondered about her overt interest in him. He cursed himself for being fool enough to disregard his misgivings, even as he remembered how her regard had warmed him. As Raynor’s mother had been, Elizabeth was adept at getting what she desired without thought of the cost to others.

He’d seen his mother completely destroy his father with her manipulations. When Raynor was only an infant, Robert Warwicke had been called to serve his king in France. He had returned home two years later to discover that his wife had not only betrayed him with another man, but had bore that other a son, as well. Too much in love with her to cast his faithless spouse aside, Robert had forgiven her. Yet his compassion had not moved his wife to display any measure of gratitude or loyalty. She had seemed to see his kindness as a sign of weakness and disdain him for it. Completely in love with her, he had outwardly taken her manipulations with little or no demur. But over the years, Raynor had seen how deep the hurt had cut.

Elizabeth was obviously of the same manipulative bent, and had acted accordingly when she wanted a husband. Though why she had chosen him, Raynor had still to discern. The most logical explanation was that she was too accustomed to having her way, and he had denied her. Thus becoming a challenge. 'Twas the only thing that made any sense.

Yet even as these thoughts ran through his mind, he knew doubt. She had seemed as displeased as he at Stephen’s decision that they must wed, had gone through with the wedding white-faced and silent as snow. And her sorrow at parting with her brother this morning had appeared unfeigned.

An act, he told himself angrily.

Else why was she laughing and smiling unconcernedly with her maid, when he could think of nothing but the quagmire his life had become? The complication of a wife was one he had not needed at this point. Worry over what new devilment Harrington might get up to was already piled atop his usual concerns about the running of his lands and Willow’s. He had enough problems to occupy his every waking hour without Elizabeth to plague him.

And plague him she did.

Every time he was near her, including the few moments they had spent together becoming man and wife, he had relived over and over that kiss. That dratted moment when he had abandoned all rational thought and taken her in his arms. That cursed moment when he felt his gentler feelings stir for the first time in years.

Repeatedly he told himself the event could not have been the way he recalled. No single kiss could be so moving. But every time he looked at her, his heart remembered, and a warm, liquid feeling suffused his chest.