Rexanne Becnel (29 page)

As if he understood her feelings, Corbett murmured quiet reassurance. “They are no more than you, my lady wife: entitled by rank or birth or marriage to enter this place. And no more likely to have lasting impact than you or I,” he added more dryly.

Then it was time for her to begin her role as wife to an important lord of the realm. As she’d been prepared by her mother, Lilliane met her task with that proper mix of feminine reserve and noble hauteur. She was grateful to stay on her husband’s arm as he made his way through the throng greeting his acquaintances on all sides. She was introduced to one and all, suffering alternately their curious scrutiny or their careful assessment.

The men were most avid in their gazes, but few pursued their interest so far as to draw her into private conversation. Corbett’s dark gaze forbade it. With the few ladies he was more lenient, allowing her to chat briefly with Lady Katherine of Hereford and Lady Elizabeth of Littleton. But even still, she sensed his restlessness. His eyes scanned the assembled group constantly. Lilliane almost thought he searched for someone. Then they were approached by a broad, beaming fellow.

“Ho, young Corbett! What is this I hear? You’ve brought a wife to court? Why, she needs be truly saintly to agree to such a union!”

Lilliane’s wary surprise changed swiftly to relief when she saw the genuine smile of pleasure that lighted Corbett’s face.

“Gavin!” He grinned at Lilliane. “Do not be alarmed at his noise nor taken in by his charm.” Then he belied his words by embracing the older man heartily. “This is my godfather, Lily. Lord Gavin of Durmond. Gavin, I give you my wife, Lady Lilliane of Orrick.”

“Yes, the lady Lilliane. Barton’s child.”

“You knew my father?” Lilliane exclaimed, already liking the man. Despite his muscular build he looked like an aging cherub, all plump cheeks and twinkling blue eyes.

“Indeed, Barton was fostered in my father’s household. I was but a lad, too young yet to participate in the manly arts he learned at Durmond. But we remained fast friends through the years. It brings me much happiness to hear that his fortune has been joined with my own godchild’s.” Then his smile faded. “I only wish he could have lived long enough to see a grandchild of the union.”

“Thank you, Lord Gavin,” Lilliane responded warmly. “It does me good to know he is as much missed by his friends as by his family.”

“He will be sorely missed at the council. Although I hear”—and here he cocked one eyebrow at Corbett—“I hear your husband is likely to be as noisy and belligerent a member as ever your father was.”

Corbett shrugged, his good humor not strained by his godfather’s jibe. “I’ll not hesitate to speak when it is a matter of importance,” he conceded. “But my pretty wife is not interested in matters of state.”

There was a note in his voice, almost as if he were warning Gavin not to speak too freely. The two men’s eyes met and Lilliane’s smile faded at her husband’s subtle lack of faith in her. But that emotion was short-lived as Corbett suddenly went very still. Had she not had her hand on his arm, she would never have recognized his rigid stance. She looked up in alarm to see him staring at a tall, gaunt man just entering the hall. There was a strange look on Corbett’s face. His expression was fierce yet his eyes were dark and troubled, even vulnerable. Without thinking Lilliane blurted out, “Who is that?”

It was Gavin who answered. “Your brother-in-law is here. Have you not met him before?”

“We married without much fanfare,” Corbett answered curtly. “Hughe was not forewarned. It appears now that I must make amends. You will excuse us, of course?”

Lilliane was sorry to leave Gavin’s pleasant company as much for Corbett’s sake as her own. All Corbett’s enjoyment of the company had fled, and she almost dreaded meeting the man who clearly troubled him so.

There was little to note in their approach to Hughe, nor anything meriting remark in the polite greetings that passed between the two men as Lilliane was introduced to Corbett’s older brother. It even appeared to Lilliane that Hughe of Colchester did not note his younger brother’s wariness. But then she realized it was because Hughe was examining her with an interest she found disturbing.

“So, Orrick’s daughter is fallen into Colchester hands.” His narrow eyes flicked rapidly over her with a scrutiny that made her skin crawl. “I’m sure Father will forgive you mingling our blood with that of his murderer, given the wisdom of linking our holdings to Orrick.” He turned his gaze to Corbett, dismissing her presence entirely. “Have you seen Charles of Harwick yet? He and his brother Roger wanted a word with you.”

Lilliane had to choke down her rage. Hughe of Colchester was all she’d been led to expect: a hardhearted, mean-spirited man, cruel to all he did not need to fear. But her anger was directed more at Corbett than at Hughe, for she could not believe he would take this slighting of his wife so easily. Hurt and angry, she tried to catch Corbett’s eye, but his interest was clearly focused on his brother.

In frustration she would have pulled her hand from his arm, but he placed his other palm firmly upon it and would not let her go. Had she been at her own home she would not have let that stop her, but here, in these strange and impressive surroundings, she was hesitant to be so bold. Angry and humiliated, she resigned herself to remaining at her husband’s side. But her growing faith in him was sorely shaken.

As she watched the men converse, Lilliane could not understand Corbett’s almost solicitous attitude toward this man—this brother—whom she was so certain he disliked. Then it struck her that perhaps he distrusted Hughe. Perhaps Hughe was one of the “vultures” Corbett had referred to with such disgust but with whom he still must associate for business purposes.

“Have you just arrived then?” Hughe’s eyes slid over the crowd as he maintained polite but disinterested conversation with his brother.

“This afternoon,” Corbett said tensely. “I have goods arrived at the docks that I am eager to check.”

“Goods? Riches from Turkey, no doubt?”

Hughe’s interest was obviously piqued, but no less than Lilliane’s. This was the first she’d heard of such goods. Could he possess even more than the caravan of riches he’d already brought to Orrick? Her fingers sought the fabulous necklace he’d given her. Or perhaps, she thought, he said that only to distract Hughe from his actual purpose in London, whatever that might be.

Corbett shrugged nonchalantly. “I traveled many places. I sent back many things.”

“Do you hear aught of King Edward?” Hughe asked casually. “Does he ever plan to return to England?”

Lilliane felt the sudden stiffening of Corbett’s arm beneath her hand. But when she looked at him he seemed only marginally interested in the question. “Eventually he must,” he replied offhandedly.

Yet she knew there was nothing offhanded in Corbett’s loyalty to his king. He was not dubbed the king’s Bird of Prey for nothing. If he feigned indifference there must be a reason. And clearly, his brother was not someone he was inclined to trust.

Though it was little real knowledge and left much still open to speculation, Lilliane took some comfort in it and vowed to be more understanding of her husband’s secretiveness about his comings and goings. But someday he would learn that she
was
worthy of his trust.

Just then they were joined by two other men to whom she was introduced. Charles and Roger of Harwick were twin brothers, little older than she was. Slender of build, they both had elfin faces that alternately looked ridiculously young or amazingly mature.

“We’re glad you’re back.” Roger clasped Corbett’s hand eagerly.

“But irate not to have received an invitation to your wedding,” Charles joined in.

“It was hastily done,” Corbett replied, but the quick glance he gave Lilliane was cautionary.

“Nevertheless, you must make reparation,” one of the pair cut in.

“Yes,” the other quipped. “You owe all of your friends a celebration. At your expense, of course.”

“Perhaps Corbett will sponsor the Christ’s Mass and celebrations at Orrick this year,” Hughe suggested smoothly.

It was said quite casually, as if an idea of the moment. Yet Lilliane sensed there was some motive behind the seemingly harmless suggestion. She felt also Corbett’s slight tensing and knew he sensed the same thing.

Charles and Roger immediately warmed to the idea and clamored for Corbett’s consent. When he finally agreed, however, Lilliane was struck with the certain knowledge that for some reason, Corbett was more pleased with the idea than any of the others. She hardly understood his strange reaction, but she was certain it was tied somehow to his distrust of his brother. Corbett planned something, but what she could not fathom. Nonetheless, she much preferred that he—and therefore Orrick—be in command of the situation, and not the other way around.

From there the evening progressed well enough. Corbett’s mood was oddly light as he renewed friendships with more people than she could later remember. He was unfailingly courteous to her, never letting the conversation become too obscure or political. She would have suspected that it was done more from mistrust of her than consideration had his mood not been so high. As it was, she could not fault his behavior at all.

Lilliane was drooping with exhaustion by the time they departed the banqueting hall. She had no concept of the hour for, although the many candles and torches had burned low, an army of servants had been on hand, constantly refreshing the lights so that the gathering might linger until dawn if any were so inclined.

“So, what tales shall you tell of London when we return to Orrick?” Corbett asked as they made their weary way up the stairs of the king’s palace.

Lilliane covered a yawn with one hand, then rested even more heavily on his sturdy arm. “I’ve seen very little, but what I’ve seen is most strange.”

Corbett chuckled. “And what was it you found so strange?”

“Do you not think it strange that at such a festive gathering there was no call to sup? Why, whoever heard of a meal where one eats from trays carried about by servants, meanwhile never pausing in the endless talk? And when one tires of one group, one progresses on to another.”

At that Corbett laughed out loud. “This was no meal we attended, my little country wife.”

Lilliane’s brow creased as she looked into his smiling face. “Then … then why did I dress in my finest—why did all the women dress so well—if not to dine in the banqueting hall of the White Tower?”

“That was actually an informal session, my sweet innocent. And the talk, while often of no consequence, was at other times of paramount importance.”

Lilliane was silenced completely by such an astounding revelation. Certainly her perception of a meeting of the council was far different from the casual conversation and erratic circulation that had gone on this evening. It was not until they entered their chamber that she spoke again.

“If that is so, then great matters of state might have been decided just beyond my shoulder.”

“Or even under your pretty little nose.”

Lilliane turned her wide amber stare on him. “Was your acceptance of Hughe’s suggestion for the Christ’s Mass feast one of those matters?”

Corbett’s abrupt silence confirmed her suspicions despite his tardy response. “It was a good suggestion and will go far in settling the discord in Windermere Fold.”

She smiled softly. “I cannot disagree with you.”

“I would have made the suggestion myself eventually,” he insisted.

“That would have been most wise of you, my lord.”

Corbett sent her a dark look. “Do you mock me, wife? Are you angry that I did not consult you on this decision and so try to infuriate me now?”

“I am not angry. Nor do I mean to infuriate you by going along with your plans so agreeably.” Lilliane turned away from him. She was pleased to have read him so well, even if she did not yet know why he wanted this gathering at Orrick. “Now, where is my maid?”

Without warning she was swept up into Corbett’s arms, then spun around until she felt dizzy and clung to his neck.

“You’ve no need of a maid. I’m quite able to undress my wife without someone else’s help.”

Lilliane had to lean against him for support as he lowered her to her feet. “Oh! But that is not seemly,” she protested, her head still spinning. “You don’t realize how servants talk. Why, what shall be the gossip in the morning—”

Corbett’s lips were warm against her neck and his breath hot in her ear when he answered. “Come morning the maids shall twitter and talk of how enamored Lord Corbett is of his new bride. By noon the ladies shall be sending you sorrowful looks for the burden you bear of your own husband’s lustful attention.”

He moved his mouth to hers and slid his tongue seductively along the tender edge of her lips. “But come the council meeting in the afternoon, I shall have the congratulations—and the envy—of every man here. For I have my beautiful wife to myself with no complaints from her.”

Lilliane opened her mouth to Corbett’s seductive lips, reveling in the sensuous pleasure of his heady kiss. It was true, she thought before she succumbed completely to his rising passion and her own. They would hear no complaints from her.

O
NE AFTERNOON, LILLIANE SAT
in a third-floor solar, surrounded by a bevy of court ladies. The chamber was warm, made so by the close company as much as by the fire that blazed so brightly in the stone hearth. Conversation buzzed, laughter burst forth often, and gossip passed back and forth discreetly between heads bent near. Yet Lilliane felt no satisfaction in the amiable setting.

In the eight days they’d been in London, she’d been accepted well enough into court society. She knew now who was who, who was aligned with whom, and who detested whom despite every appearance of friendship. Corbett had thought to keep her innocent of such knowledge, but even he had been surprised at the information to be had through the other women.

Now as Lilliane thought of Corbett and his stern admonition to her not to stir from the king’s palace for any reason while he was gone, she was frustrated anew. Restless, she put down the fine linen headrail she was applying a pattern of silken knots to and rose from the bench she shared with Lady Elizabeth. Her lips were pursed in displeasure as she picked her way across the jewel-toned Bijar rug, littered now with women reclining on great embroidered cushions. She leaned into a deeply recessed window and cleared a spot on the damp window glass.