Rexanne Becnel (28 page)

Slowly she placed her hands in his, but her face had lost its wondering look and grew more serious. As if her weight were no more than a kitten’s, he lowered her to the ground, but he did not remove his hands from her waist. His eyes were half amused, half curious as he looked down on her from his excessive height. It crossed Lilliane’s mind that she knew not one thing about why they’d come to London for he’d deftly parried all her queries. In so many ways he remained a complete mystery to her.

Then her serious thoughts were ended by his quick kiss to her lips. “I can understand your gaping at London in all its beauty and filth. But why do you now gape so openly at me? Have I suddenly sprouted horns?”

Without thinking Lilliane’s hand went up to his wind-ruffled hair and smoothed back the raven-black locks. “No.” She smiled wryly. “No horns at all. It’s just …” Her cheeks grew warm with color. “It’s just that you seem so … so different here.”

His eyes, which had been so lively and teasing, turned dark and opaque at her words, and his jaw tightened. He looked up at the solid three-story tower beyond them for a moment, then his gaze returned to her. “I
am
a different man here, Lily. Remember that well. I caution you again to do nothing—indeed, say nothing above the most minor of exchanges without my permission.”

From charming and teasing he’d become somber and secretive, much to Lilliane’s dismay. She was bewildered and more than a little annoyed. “But I don’t understand—”

“You don’t need to understand. It’s better this way.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” Lilliane burst out in frustration. “I may not go anywhere nor speak to anyone! Am I free to think my own thoughts?” she added caustically.

To her surprise he paused and his tone became more gentle.

“It is not as bad as you make out.” He slid his hands placatingly up her arms. “As to why I brought you here, can you not believe that it is simply because I want you near me?”

It was difficult to argue with such a flattering sentiment. Still, Lilliane was troubled as Corbett guided her to the chamber set aside for their use. As much as she truly wished to believe him, she feared that, above all, it was his distrust of William that caused her to be in London now. No doubt he hoped that William would have left Orrick when they returned. Indeed, for the sake of everyone she wished the same thing. But no matter where William chose to spend the winter months, Lilliane resolved not to let anything ruin the tentative bonds that were forming between her and her enigmatic husband. It was bad enough that Corbett sometimes still kept her at arm’s length. She did not need William exacerbating the situation.

Their chamber within the king’s palace was impressive indeed. As the serving men brought in their trunks, she wandered the thick-walled room marveling at the furnishings and comforts alike. Above a wide hearth, etched forever in stone, old King Alfred and his hound cornered a stag of immense proportion. In the warmer hues of a colorful silk tapestry William the Conqueror received fealty from Harold, King John accepted the barons’ oaths, and Richard routed the infidels at Acre.

Lilliane might be merely the daughter of a minor baron from the northernmost regions of the English kingdom, but she’d paid close attention to the exhilarating stories told in the evenings at Orrick. Amazing deeds of honor and courage, bloody victories on the field of battle, and even, on occasion, a tale of enduring love and loyalty. But nothing she’d seen at Orrick or even Burgram Abbey could compare to these wonderful carvings and needlework, which brought to life the stories that had always captivated her. Even the high wood bed showed a fanciful scene of a marvelous feast being served. From honored guests at a head table down to young serving pages and the hungry hounds beneath the tables, it faithfully detailed every aspect of a vast dinner.

“’Twas King Henry’s coronation.”

Lilliane let her fingers run across the smooth wood, stopping just short of the monarch’s likeness. Then she looked at Corbett curiously. “I confess that I never suspected you would warrant such princely consideration.”

At Corbett’s snort of amusement she continued on even more boldly. “The servants all know you. This chamber is no mean accommodation. Shall I then be considered a great lady because you are my husband?”

Her last words abruptly banished Corbett’s negligent attitude. “You will be well courted and fawned over. But do not make too much of it, Lily.”

“I know. I know.” She grimaced. “Speak to no one. Go nowhere.” She sighed and sat petulantly upon the high bed.

For a moment she thought he might relent, for the expression that passed over his face was compounded of both amusement and fondness. But as if only with great effort, he marshalled his features and grew more stern.

“Keep those instructions well in mind,” he told her. “Now, however, you may relax. I’ve ordered a bath for you, and I’ll have a maid sent in to attend you.”

“You are leaving?” Lilliane started to get off the high comfortable bed but his slight frown kept her in her place.

“I would like nothing better than to stay here with you. To join you on that bed. To bury myself in your sweet softness,” he added in a voice grown husky. Then he took a harsh breath. “But I had a purpose in coming to London. I must attend it.”

Without further explanation he removed a slender packet of papers from his leather pouch, shoved it safely within his tunic, and left.

Although physically freshened from her bath, Lilliane’s humor was not in the least improved by the luxurious soaking. She was determined to make her inflexible husband understand how frustrated she was by this confinement he pressed upon her. But with few resources of her own, she was left with showing her displeasure by dawdling at her bath, lingering at her toilet, and stretching out all the other necessary preparations for her first appearance at court. But even in that she was thwarted, for despite the exceedingly long time she spent brushing her hair dry and the time-consuming process of trying on every one of her gowns, then rejecting each of them until even the poor, subservient maid was close to voicing her complaint, he still had not come. In the end, she sat waiting upon a narrow upholstered bench. She was well dressed in an intricately figured gown of celadon silk; the cream-colored linen of her kirtle showed prettily at the neckline and at the three gold and green embroidered slashes in the upper sleeves. She’d woven her hair into a thick knot at the back of her head with a gold netted caul containing the gleaming wealth of her tresses. Now she sat with the barbette, a wimple, and a filet upon her lap, toying with them as her irritation increased.

She should wear them all, she fumed. Let him object if he would, but she would not appear at court with her hair streaming down her back like some half-grown child. But before she could decide whether to afix those chaste garments to her hair, she was interrupted by Corbett’s tardy entrance.

With a look he dismissed the maid. Then he crossed silently to the deep-set window alcove and stared out into the early night sky.

For all her anger with him, Lilliane was at once disturbed by her husband’s brooding silence. Her thoughts of complaint fled as she contemplated his tense posture and scowling profile. But it was the lines of weariness marking his face that broke her resolve. She moved to his side, then placed one of her palms against his cheek. “Corbett, is something wrong?”

“Something is always wrong in London,” he muttered. Then he dragged his gaze away from the window. “This is town peopled with vultures. You think my words of warning unnecessary, but believe me when I say they are quite able to slaughter you and pick your very bones clean before you are even aware of it.”

“I don’t understand. Who is it that troubles you so?”

Her concerned tone seemed to bring him up short, and his eyes focused on her upturned face. As if by pure will he banished all trace of weariness, anger, or worry from his expression. “’Tis nothing you need worry about. London always affects me so.”

When it was clear he would say no more, Lilliane sighed. “You’re tired. Shall I at least send for a bath to refresh you?”

“No, there is not the time now. They must accept me as I am.” He chuckled grimly. “At least it is honest sweat and dirt. Besides, you are quite enough to draw all eyes. No one will be aware of my presence at all.”

Lilliane blushed at his pretty compliment. But her concern for him was too strong for her to be that easily diverted. “We may delay our entrance until tomorrow if that is your will. You appear so tired.”

He seemed almost to consider her suggestion but then he grinned ruefully. “What? You would have me miss tonight’s performance? All the players are assembled. Save the king, of course. It remains only to see who it is that plays the leading role.”

“I don’t …” Lilliane shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. Wouldn’t the king always be the most important person?”

At this his hard-edged amusement banished. “The king—and his welfare—must always be of paramount importance to his loyal subjects. Don’t fret about my words, Lily. This does not affect you.”

“But it affects you. And I’m your wife.”

“Yes.” He studied her face seriously. “You are my wife. And as such, I bid you stay near me and do nothing without my express consent.”

Obviously back in his previous inflexible mood, he deftly escorted her to the door. Lilliane accompanied him willingly enough, but she was disturbed by his strange behavior. As they made their way across the green to the tower itself and then up to the state banqueting hall, she contemplated the abrupt change in him. From weary and resigned he had become almost predatory. Like a wolf stalking, a dangerous light gleamed in his eyes now. He moved like a hunter, cautiously but without fear, all his cunning and power carefully restrained. But she knew he was ready for whatever was to come.

Much to Lilliane’s relief, Corbett paused on a narrow landing. She badly needed to compose herself before entering such a grand and noble company. For a moment her concerns for Corbett were forgotten as she contemplated her own meager importance. Surely they would all know at once that she was only an unknown daughter of a relatively unknown baron of the far northern demesnes. But Corbett interrupted her terrifying thoughts.

“Come now, Lilliane. I would see a smile on your lips.” He turned to look at her and tilted her face up to his.

“You’re not smiling,” she retorted nervously. “And you never call me Lilliane unless you’re quite serious.”

If he was taken aback by her observation, it did not show. But neither did he comment on it. Instead he drew a small velvet bag from inside his tunic.

“I meant to give you this earlier but I let myself become distracted.” Then he pulled the cords free and spilled a glittering necklace into his palm. Like golden fire it caught the torchlight, seeming almost to wink and sparkle at her.

Lilliane was speechless with surprise as she stared at the fortune he dangled between his fingers. From a delicately worked gold chain a series of loops fashioned in the same intricate style were suspended. But at the corner of each fanciful loop an opulent sapphire flanked by two smaller rubies was set. Corbett smiled at her reaction, then took advantage of her silence to fasten the unusual piece around her slender neck.

“Oh, Corbett! Thank you, thank you! It’s so beautiful!”

“The more fitting that it should be yours. I knew it would suit you.” He ran one finger along her collar bone, tracing the necklace’s outline. “The meridian ring marked you as mine. This gold-and-sapphire necklace will mark you a great lady of the realm and make you a part of this court.”

There was something in his tone, some shadow in his eyes when he said those last words that caught Lilliane’s attention. Troubled anew, she studied his face more closely. “Is that all that is necessary at court, a display of wealth?”

For a moment he seemed not to have heard her. “Wealth is helpful,” he finally answered. “A keen, observing mind is better. But to have knowledge—” He smiled grimly. “To have knowledge is to have true power at court.”

He would elaborate no further but drew her without warning into a hard embrace, kissing her mouth fiercely until her senses were reeling. Then he abruptly placed her hand upon his arm and led her into the state banqueting hall.

Lilliane hardly remembered their entrance, for his unexpected kiss had left her quite faint. Added to that was his strange behavior and troubling moods. In the course of one afternoon she had gone from exhilarated to annoyed to frustrated and angry, all due to him. Now she was no longer angry but she was more bewildered than ever. Still, she consoled herself with the thought that he did seem to care something for her. After all, he’d brought her here with him, and now he’d given her this fabulous necklace.

She fingered the golden prize around her neck, then lifted her chin a notch and looked around the well-attended chamber. London was going to be difficult, she realized. Unconsciously she clasped Corbett’s arm tighter. She would just try to behave as Corbett had instructed, and perhaps by the time they left he would be more trusting of her.

With that thought warming her she forced a smile and began to examine the place more closely.

The White Tower was well known throughout England, for it had been the first mark William I had made on the land he had so newly wrested from Saxon domain. Alternately called the Conqueror’s Tower and the Palantine, it was now generally referred to as the White Tower although little remained of its whitewashing. But by any name it was still the heart of English law, and Lilliane respected that fact. Despite Corbett’s clear dislike—and ill-disguised disdain—of the place, she knew that even he did not underestimate the cumulative powers vested in the Tower.

In truth, she was surprised at the smallness of the banqueting hall. Orrick’s great hall came near to matching it in length and breadth, for they were both of the old Norman manner of construction. Certainly the newer cathedrals she’d seen from afar almost dwarfed this chamber.

But nonetheless, she was properly impressed. The intricately knotted tapestries depicting England’s grand history, countless candles scented and flickering, and enormous rugs stretched over the floors lent true majesty to the otherwise simple space. The myriad of finely clothed lords and ladies moving easily from one cluster of people to another made her hesitate once more.