Rexanne Becnel (15 page)

“Hold, man! Give me a minute!”

“Be quick, Corbett,” came the voice of Sir Dunn. “Aldis rides not far behind me. He is none too happy with your marriage to begin with. It will take very little to push him to violence if he should find out you’ve—” The man cleared his throat as he considered his words. “If he should find you abed.”

Lilliane’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment at his words, and she pulled her meager cover tighter beneath her chin. Across the room Corbett grinned at her rose-flushed features and tangled chestnut hair. With quick efficiency he pulled on his hose and boots.

“Rouse yourself, Lily. Your brother-in-law will soon be upon us, and he’s itching for a fight.” He paused and let his eyes roam over her. “It would not do for him to find you thus, as appealing as I’ll admit you are.”

Lilliane had no reply nor did she appreciate his poor attempt at humor. She was too mortified by the memory of her passionate response to him, and too awestruck by the vision of him in the early-morning light, to think clearly. He was bare from the waist up; every muscle was lovingly outlined as he bent to pick up his chainse and slip into it. His black hair was falling in his face and curling at his nape, but he was obviously not concerned with his appearance. As he shrugged into his stiffly dried tunic, he turned to face her.

“Dress quickly. I’ll wait outside, but not for long,” he warned, his expression turning stern. He wrapped his girdle about his waist then paused. “You may tell your tale of woe to your father, but no other. Is that clear? You’re to keep any complaints about me to yourself when we join Sir Aldis. I’ll not have my men endangered because of our differences.”

Lilliane wanted to rail at him as he stood there so calmly preparing to face this day, as if nothing of any importance had happened in this cottage. And to further insult her, he expected her to be silent. To save him from Aldis’s wrath! Lilliane’s eyes glittered with anger as well as pain when Corbett moved the trunk away from the door and left the cottage without a backward glance.

For several long seconds she just lay among the wool-covered hides, petulant in her need to disobey him. But the thought of Sir Aldis and his men finding her completely unclothed quickly drove her to rise. Although her gown was somewhat damp, Lilliane was forced to don it on top of her poor kirtle. That pitiful garment had been tossed unceremoniously into a far corner, and she blushed to remember everything that had happened after that.

She was without hose or shoes, having lost them both during her failed flight. She managed to lace her gown with what remained of her laces, then tried to put her hair into some order. But when she heard the distant sound of horse hooves, she gave up on that task and hurried outside.

The early-morning sun was so bright as to blind her. The ground was still wet and very cold on her bare feet, but the sky was a clear and vivid blue. In the brilliant morning light the massive Middling Stone rose huge and forbidding beyond the shepherd’s fields.

Near the shed Corbett was speaking to a small group of his men. They were all mounted save for Corbett and an older man who was examining the injured Qismah. It seemed a calm enough scene, but as Sir Aldis and his group of eight knights rode into the small yard, Lilliane sensed the tension in the air.

“I see you received word of my safe recovery of Lady Lilliane,” Corbett began. His tone was friendly as only one who truly does not fear his opponent can be friendly. There was no threat in his words, and yet his very size and confidence seemed to make Sir Aldis hesitate. The contingent from Orrick outnumbered Sir Corbett’s men by half. But even Lilliane was sure they were not anxious to cross swords with the more experienced knights.

Sir Aldis glared at Corbett then shot an angry glance toward Lilliane. “And has she been, thus, safely recovered? Has there been no … no damage done her?” he asked with a sneer.

Corbett stiffened. “Do you cast doubt on the honor of that fair maid—sister to your own wife—that I intend to marry this very day?” This time the menace in his quiet words was unmistakable.

For a long tense moment the two men stared at one another. It was Sir Aldis who broke the silence. “It is not Lady Lilliane’s honor I question.”

“Then perhaps mine?”

On both sides the knights were alert, and Lilliane was certain they would erupt into battle. It occurred to her as she ran across the yard to them that she was once more succumbing to Sir Corbett’s will, but she knew she could not bear to have anyone’s blood spilled over her.

“Hold, Sir Aldis. I beg you!” She placed a hand on the bridle of his horse as she stood, a small, slender figure in the midst of the mighty knights. “I am unharmed, as you may well see. And I want no more than to return to my father’s house.”

She knew Sir Corbett’s eyes were upon her, but Lilliane refused to look at him. She kept her wide amber-gold gaze locked upon her brother-in-law’s ruddy face, determined that he should back down from his belligerent position. She knew she looked very much the wanton with her bare feet and wildly tangled hair. Never had she appeared in public so, and Sir Aldis did not miss that fact. But thankfully, he seemed to reconsider the situation and he finally relented.

“As you will have it, Lilliane. But your bridegroom has much to answer for.”

“His horse was lamed,” Lilliane explained, at last glancing toward Corbett. To her chagrin, a small smile was curving his mouth and she bit her lip in vexation. She was playing right into his hands, and he was enjoying it immensely! She was irked to no end that she must play mediator when she would like nothing better than to see him put in his place. Still, if she did not calm Sir Aldis, she risked seeing bloodshed, and that she would not do. “We were fortunate to find shelter here,” she finished weakly.

Sir Aldis only grunted, then signaled one of his men to lift her up behind him. But it was a quiet group that made their way up the turnpike to Orrick.

The sun was past its zenith when they finally made Orrick Castle. Lilliane was mortified to be returned thus: sitting sideways behind an aging knight, her bare feet dangling, her derriere sore beyond belief, and her hair a wild tangle of chestnut and gold. The fields were empty, and the village little better. It wasn’t until they entered the castle walls that the full extent of her shame was driven home. Every last citizen of Orrick—from tradesman to servant, freeman to serf—was dressed in his finest, prepared to celebrate this great wedding of two of the old lord’s daughters and to witness the introduction of the new lord. And once she ran this humiliating gauntlet, she still must face her father and all their highborn guests.

As they rode across the bailey, a low hum of whispers followed them. Lilliane’s cheeks were stained with color and her eyes were bright with the threat of tears. But she would not cry. Her head was high and her back was straight as they rode to the entrance of the great hall.

Her father was not there to greet her, and she could only wonder at his terrible anger with her. But Odelia was there, and her horrified expression cut Lilliane deeply. She and the other women guests drew back in seeming distaste as the knights halted before them with the recalcitrant Lilliane.

Lilliane was not sure what to do. She was almost ready to slide from the high rump of the old war-horse without waiting for assistance when a hand reached out to her.

Sir Corbett stood respectfully before her, the epitome of courtly manners and gallant behavior. Lilliane’s breath caught in her chest as she stared down at him in surprise. Indeed, the entire company seemed to wait with bated breath for her response to his gesture.

A part of Lilliane wanted to ignore him, to slap away his hand and throw his manners back in his arrogant face. But there was still the long walk to be made through the disapproving throng. She was sure they all knew of her disobedience, and although many might privately disagree with the decision her father had made, they would be united in their conviction that a daughter must always obey her father’s will.

Her face must have reflected her indecision, for Sir Corbett stepped nearer until his chest brushed her bare feet.

“If you would truly be mistress here you must pass this test they set before you now,” he murmured quietly, for her ears only. “Take my hand and let us present a strong and united front before this company.”

She did not want to take his hands. She did not want to touch him or be near him or … or present a strong and united front with him. All through the long uncomfortable hours of the ride back she’d been haunted by memories of what he and she had done in that humble cottage. No matter how she had wanted to forget it or pretend it had not been real, she had only to look at the broad-shouldered knight who rode at the head of the column of men to know how very real it had been. And a strange quiver would snake through her, leaving her insides trembling and her emotions tied in knots.

Now as she looked down at his dark unsmiling face she wondered what thoughts were hidden behind those slate-gray eyes. With a sigh Lilliane -squared her shoulders. Her eyes swept the watching crowd one last time before she hesitantly reached her hand to him. For one electric moment they remained thus, seeming to meet in truce yet fully aware of the terrible hostility—and powerful attraction—between them.

Then with one easy motion he moved his hands to her small waist and she leaned down to him, her hands braced on his shoulders. He did not lower her quickly to the ground. Rather, he seemed to linger at his task until her heart was thudding in her chest. When at last he did set her on her feet, he deftly tucked her hand under his arm and led her into the great hall.

Neither of them looked at the gaping assembly save to ascertain that Lord Barton was not among them. Corbett led her directly to her chamber, his expression defying interruption from anyone. Once there, however, he turned to her and placed a hand on each of her shoulders.

“I will speak to your father directly. You shall prepare for our wedding.” One of his hands moved to stroke her thick, wind-tossed hair. “Although it is no longer the fashion, I would have you wear your hair loose, Lily.”

Lilliane’s emotions were too tangled for her to respond to his words. He was her enemy. And yet he was to be her husband. He was arrogant and greedy. But he had seen to it that no one should belittle her for her ignoble return. She hated him. Yet they had been lovers.

The weight of his hands on her was warm. But his touch disturbed her, and she quickly escaped into her room. She heard him descend the stairs, no doubt in search of her father, and her heart sank. What would he say to her father? she wondered. And what would she say?

Lilliane leaned against the door, her forehead against the hard, grainy surface. A dull ache pounded in her temples. She had never felt so weary. Every emotion seemed to have been drained from her so that now only numbness remained. Against her will she had been betrothed and bedded. Now she was to prepare for her wedding, and she felt nothing at all. No anger, no despair. Not even fear. She held no control over her own life—she never truly had, she admitted. Her stay at Burgram Abbey had created the illusion that she might not marry until she so chose, but the truth was clear now. Her father had let her stay there because it had suited him to do so. Now it suited him to have her wed Sir Corbett of Colchester.

She was roused by a quiet knock at her door. In short order a large tin bath was filled with scented water, her skin and hair were lathered clean with the finest hard soaps, and her best gown was laid out across her bed. Two maids patiently worked her long damp tresses free of any tangles, then brushed her hair before a hearty fire until her waving locks shone with copper glints and golden highlights. After her long night and miserable drenching, it was the most wonderful luxury she could have wished for. If she’d then been able to crawl into her bed, bury her head beneath the covers, and sink into sleep, she would have been truly content. But this was the day of her wedding. Much as she would like to have ignored that fact, she could not.

She was sitting upon a small upholstered bench clad only in a pure white kirtle. The linen was woven of the finest thread and was soft and light upon her skin. Yet she seemed to feel every single place it touched her. Her nerves were on edge and her heart was racing at a fast, fluttering pace. When one maid picked up the heavily figured silk gown, Lilliane waved her away.

“You may both go now. I can manage the rest on my own.”

But the women did not make a move to obey, and Lilliane looked up crossly. “I said you may go. Now,” she added for emphasis.

“Lord Barton …” The one woman looked at her mistress apologetically. “Lord Barton, he said we must stay with ye until he sends word for ye to come to the chapel.” She smiled timidly at Lilliane, then gestured to the gown in her hands.

Lilliane did not balk at the rest of their offers of assistance. With her lips tightly compressed, she allowed them to slip the sapphire-embroidered gown on her then lace it snugly about her waist. A gold-and-silver tooled girdle was fastened at her hips, its end symbolically free of any keys. It had been her mother’s, and Lilliane felt a stab of intense longing for her.

A pair of rare silken hose were gartered at her knees, and she donned a pair of open-backed slippers that matched her gown. But she was wooden and without emotion as she let the serving women dress her.

It was only when the older woman began to arrange her hair that Lilliane showed a spark of interest in her appearance.

“I’ll do that,” she insisted as she took the combs away from the woman. A bitter smile played at her lips as she brought her hair up to her crown, twisted it into a heavy coil, than tucked it into a silver caul. The thin metal was cunningly designed and was pierced in an intricate pattern that showed only hints of the rich color of her hair.

She pinned an embroidered linen wimple to drape under her chin, then finally added a small square head veil. When she was content that her hair was completely covered and that she looked the picture of feminine respectability, she nodded to the two baffled servants.