Catherine Archer - Velvet Bond

He hesitated and Elizabeth frowned. “When, brother mine?”

“I know not. Raynor must return to his estates on the morrow.” He wouldn’t look at Elizabeth. Obviously he had hoped to avoid having to tell her they were leaving so soon.

She placed her hands on her hips, glaring her anger. “Do you mean that this is it? I shall not see him again?”

Stephen smiled encouragingly. “Mayhap he will come to London again in the future.”

“You know he will not.” She couldn’t seem to breathe past the unexplainable ache in her chest. It was as if something dear to her had died aborning. “All these years you have not seen him because Warwicke only chose to come to court when he was summoned. What chance is there that he will return before another ten years has come and gone? I shall be an old woman.”

He eyed her sternly. “Now, Beth, don’t carry on so. I told you that Warwicke is not for you. I but live up to my responsibilities in protecting you. Besides, I have no choice in whether I stay or go. The king does require me to see to my duty.”

She subsided then. What Stephen said was true. He must needs fulfill his duty to the crown. But she had wanted so badly to see Warwicke again. Not that she was under any illusions about what would happen between them. Elizabeth had hoped for no more than to make him take note of her as a desirable woman, nothing else. Stephen really had no need to warn her away again.

It seemed particularly unfair that Raynor could not come simply because Stephen would be late.

Then an idea came to her. She looked at her brother with an expression of cool reason. “Why can Warwicke not come here anyway? He has been invited. It would be rude to ask him to stay away now.”

But Stephen began to shake his head before she had even finished. “Nay, Beth, ’twould not serve. The man cannot come here and spend the evening with you unchaperoned.”

She faced him squarely. “It would not be the whole evening. I could simply entertain Lord Warwicke until your return. By your own mouth, he is friend to you. Can you not trust me to spend a few short hours in his presence?”

He scowled, his dark brows meeting over his straight nose. “'Tis not so simple, madame, as well you know. I am not blind. You have an interest in him that goes beyond any I've seen you show before. You as much as admitted it last eve.”

“But, Stephen—” She stamped her foot. “I am not a child to be ordered about. I am a woman full grown, with my own funds to support me. I have no need to be commanded by you.”

He stopped her with a raised hand. “What you say is true.” He looked into her eyes, and when he spoke again, his tone was reasoning. “But, Beth, I am your brother. In all conscience, I must not allow you to do anything that would be of harm to you. Please, I say again, the answer can only be nay. It is for your own good. You cannot be alone with him.” He paused for a long moment, obviously torn. She knew it was very difficult for her brother to deny her anything. Finally he shrugged. “There is one way, and one way only.”

“Yes?” she answered eagerly.

“We will ask Raynor to come at a later time. That way there can be no hint of impropriety. I'll write a note to explain the matter to him.”

Elizabeth rushed to her chest and removed a piece of parchment and a quill, which she handed to her brother. Quickly Stephen scratched out his message. “You will send this around to him at Windsor, please.” He held the missive toward his sister.

Elizabeth took the parchment between two fingers. She gave Stephen a sweet smile. “Thank you, brother.”

“I will see you ere long.” Stephen told her, with obvious relief at having the matter settled to both their benefits. “And now, I must be off. I go with two of the king’s own guard, and they wait for me in the lane outside.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek, then turned and dashed from the house.

When he had gone, Elizabeth stood there, the note to Raynor Warwicke in her hand. This was not what she had hoped for. If Warwicke was leaving in the morning, he would as like not stay for long now. Elizabeth sighed, her gaze lingering on the sheet of parchment. As she looked at it, she began to experience thoughts of mutiny. Why should she do as Stephen told her? He was only her brother, not her master.

What harm would it do for Warwicke to spend an hour or two in her sole company?

He was a knight and a nobleman. Surely there could be no harm in serving him a meal and speaking with him. She looked toward her companion, who had said nothing during her conversation with her brother. Olwyn was watching her with a frown, as if she knew what Elizabeth was thinking and liked it not.

Elizabeth tilted her chin. “You will be close by.”

“Nay,” she answered. “As your brother said, it will not serve.” Olwyn held out her hand. “I shall have that sent around to Lord Warwicke for you.”

Putting the missive behind her back, Elizabeth smiled. “I think not,” she said.

They argued for some time. But in the end, the message did not go out, though Olwyn never stopped frowning and muttering dire utterances about the consequences of behaving foolishly.

Raynor rode his charger through the narrow tracks that passed for streets just as the sun was beginning to set. Its early-spring light gilded the castle walls above and behind him, as if to give testament to King Edward’s belief that Windsor was somehow special. Having been born there, the king had a deep fondness for his home, and believed that King Arthur of old had once housed his knights of the Round Table on this very site. Looking back over his shoulder, Raynor studied the castle with appraising eyes. Four massive stone towers ran the length of the immense wall at equal intervals where it rested on the hill behind him. Nothing was visible of the magnificent round tower, begun by Henry II and finished by Edward, save the king’s flag, which fluttered golden in the gentle breeze.

Edward’s Windsor was awe-inspiring.

Raynor would certainly give him that. But it seemed as if a great deal had been spent on the castle to beautify it, as well as add to its strength. To Raynor’s way of thinking, England had already been drained dry by the war in France. There had been no money for the luxuries apparent in the spacious and well-appointed rooms of the round tower.

At least with King John now ransomed, Edward would have a source of income besides the backs of his own subjects. Knowing his opinion of the sovereign was not held by most of his fellow noblemen didn’t change Raynor’s thinking. Necessities came before comforts. It was one of the things Raynor had learned watching his father squander everything he had for his mother’s whims.

Lips tight, Raynor gripped the reins more securely in his hands and turned his thoughts to the present. Thinking of his father always brought on feelings of resentment and anger. But those emotions were also mixed with love and pity. If only Robert Warwicke had not been so weak. He shook his head to clear it. It would be best to center his mind on the coming meal with Stephen Clayburn and his sister.

Raynor didn’t know why he had accepted the invitation to sup. Mayhap because seeing Stephen again had reminded him of what he was like at fourteen. Then it had seemed as if he had any number of bright possibilities before him. On being fostered to the earl of Norwich, he had suddenly discovered that there were men who lived by the rules set out in tales of chivalry. Raynor had believed that he, too, might become one of those men. He might someday meet some fair maiden who would return his love with all faith and honor. But his father’s death had called him home to his mother and her daily attempts to control his every thought or action. He was determined to never put himself in the position of having to battle a woman for autonomy again.