Rexanne Becnel (36 page)

Oh, how she wanted those words to be true. More than anything she wanted to be his, in every way possible, and to have him be hers forever. But she feared it was only his pride speaking: what was his was his, and he would share it with no man. But that didn’t make her really his. As much as she wanted them to belong to one another, he was the one preventing it with his suspicions and his accusations. Yet despite the terrible emotional distance between them, Lilliane took him gladly in her arms each night.

The first night he had come she’d been half asleep, hardly aware when he entered the room. It was only when he tossed his tunic over the trunk and removed his boots that she realized she was not alone. By the time he had slipped beneath the cover, Lilliane had been fully awake and her heart had begun to race.

He had paused slightly and Lilliane had been in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Everything logical had said to send him away—to deny him or at least respond with complete indifference.

But her heart had said otherwise.

When he’d finally drawn the heavy woven coverlet down from her shoulder then let his hand slide slowly back up her arm, a sharp quiver had shaken her.

“Turn to me, Lily,” he’d whispered hoarsely.

She’d been unable to resist.

That first night their lovemaking had been fierce and explosive, in a wild, almost desperate fashion. Since then it had become no less passionate, but somehow more serious, as if each time might be the last chance they’d have.

Each morning Lilliane had awakened alone to a myriad of conflicting emotions: she loved him and wanted him; she hated him for using her this way; she was sure she would die of mortification when she saw him at dinner.

And each morning she made a feeble vow to herself that they could not go on this way. But as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over Orrick, the slow-building tension would begin. Anticipation for her night with him would tighten like a feverish knot deep in her belly, and time would drag interminably. Any thought of sending him away would vanish in the heat of her all-encompassing desire for him. But she never abandoned the wish for settling matters between them.

She knew the minutes after their lovemaking were when he was most relaxed and perhaps the most open to her overtures. She was loath to ruin that sweet aftermath by bringing up the difficult subject that divided them. But she was wise enough to know that she too was less likely to anger when they were lying naked and entwined together.

Promising herself that tonight they would sort things out between them, Lilliane gave little Elyse a gentle hug. “Sweet baby, I hope to give you a little companion sometime during this next year. It would be a shame for a nursery not to be filled with contented babies and laughing children.” Renewed by such happy thoughts, Lilliane stood up and donned her mantle. Then she wrapped a warm knitted blanket about the child.

“I’m taking her out for a bit of fresh air,” she called to Ferga who was busy stitching a dress for the fast-growing little girl.

“In this cold?”

“In the sunshine, protected from the wind, it’s actually quite nice,” Lilliane countered. “Besides, it will do her good and pinken her cheeks.”

The air was cold, but crisp and clear; sunlight bathed the bailey with gold, and Lilliane appreciated it all the more given the dreariness of the previous few days. She cradled Elyse protectively, whispering sweet songs as she strolled leisurely toward the now-leafless chestnut tree.

“Perhaps I’ll have a seat hung from the tree for you,” she crooned as she smoothed a wispy lock from the baby’s brow. Then she laughed as the baby’s serious gaze crinkled into a funny, toothless grin.

From the parapet near the gatehouse Corbett had a clear view of Lilliane. He was unaware that he had stopped in midsentence to stare at her, but Dunn did not miss his friend’s preoccupation.

“She is the picture of motherhood,” Dunn commented wryly, watching the play of emotions on Corbett’s face. “Or is it something other than her motherly qualities that occupies your thoughts?”

Corbett reluctantly dragged his gaze from Lilliane’s willowy form and gave Dunn a dark scowl. “You forget yourself. She is my wife, not some wench that you may jest about.”

At his bristly response Dunn crowed with laughter. “You are clearly in a worse way than I ever imagined. I speak of serious matters like treason, and you growl like a jealous dog! Does this mean you’ve now given up your foolish suspicions about her?”

Corbett’s jaw tensed and he frowned in aggravation. “You make no sense at all. You’ve reason enough to mistrust her. You know as much as I do about her connections to William and her dangerous knowledge of the king’s affairs.”

“I know more than you do.” Dunn snorted. “But only because I have my wits about me while you’ve clearly lost yours.” Then his tone changed. “She’s innocent, Corbett. I’ve not a doubt in my mind.”

There was a long pause as both men stared at the woman and child in the bailey below. “She’s a passionate woman,” Corbett began. Then he halted and slowly shook his head. “She fought me hard because she believed I was her enemy. She imprisoned you when she thought you’d killed her father. She fortified the entire castle against me because she was sure I’d planned Lord Barton’s demise.”

His face started to relax at that memory but then he stiffened. “If she is with William, then I have to believe she will do everything in her power to help him. And that puts her squarely against my king. And against me.”

“What if she
is
innocent?”

“Then that will be good,” Corbett replied slowly.

“Yes, perhaps. But I see you around her. She will not easily forget the strain of these past weeks.”

“I make her forget every night!” Corbett snapped, clearly annoyed at this turn in the conversation.

But Dunn was like a stubborn hound worrying a bone, and he would not let it drop. “She was raised a lady and for her that will never be enough. Treat her like some favorite whore and you’ll lose this chance to win her love.”

Corbett turned his head sharply to view Dunn. “What has love to do with this? I married her for her inheritance. She knows that. Love has never been a consideration!”

Dunn did not reply to Corbett’s vehement words. Instead, he turned his attention back to the task of checking the cranking mechanism for the drawbridge. But there was wry amusement on his face as he watched Corbett still staring down at his pretty wife.

That night Corbett did not come.

Lilliane lay awake in their shadowy chamber debating what she should say to him and how she should begin her overtures of peace. Perhaps she should broach the subject before they became too carried away by passion. Perhaps he would be too exhausted afterward to take careful note of her words.

But then if she approached the subject too early, he might be too distracted by desire to really hear her.

It was a dilemma she debated long and hard with no firm conclusion. But when the fire settled to glowing embers, and the solitary candle sputtered and died, she knew he would not appear this night.

Had he grown tired of her? she fretted. Had the passionate hours that had meant so much to her been only a momentary easing of his lust for him?

That thought caused Lilliane’s heart to tighten painfully. If he did not come … She closed her eyes against that dreadful thought. But still she could not avoid it. If he did not come tonight … If he never came again.

She sat up and thrust the heavy coverlet from her. The chill of the room seemed sadly appropriate, and for a moment she was tempted to crawl back into the warm cocoon of her bed. There she could bury her head and hide from the terrible reality of her life.

But Lilliane fought that cowardly idea and swung her feet down from the high bed to the cold stone floor. She would seek him out, she decided. He had not come to her so she would go to him. She would find him and convince him to come back to their chamber and then … and then …

How did you convince a suspicious man to trust you? Or an indifferent one to love you?

She did not know but she was too frightened of a future without Corbett’s love to dwell on it. She would just find him and then she would decide what to do.

The castle was still and the silence oppressive. Save for the several servants who slept curled in the rushes before the hearth in the great hall there was no sign of life. It might have been the castle of the legendary sleeping princess that a long-ago minstrel had entertained them with. But in this version it was not a princess who slept, but the prince. And it was up to her to find and awaken his heart with the strength of her true love.

Lilliane was not certain where to begin. Corbett might have decided to sleep anywhere: in the stables on a pile of sweet-smelling hay, on a bunk amid the guards. Perhaps even in a vacant chamber in the keep. She bit her soft inner lip in frustration and wondered if perhaps she was pursuing a hopeless quest. What if she didn’t find him? What if he became angry and sent her away from him? How would she ever face him—or anyone—again if he came right out with his rejection of her?

She shivered and a cold lump lodged high in her throat. She could not think like that, she told herself. She must simply find him and then deal with the consequences afterward. For she knew she could not go on in this suspended state any longer.

Outside the night sky was clear, brilliantly lighted by a silver crescent moon. Stars littered the night sky like sparkling gems strewn upon velvet of the darkest blue. The bailey was all silver light and ebony shadows with not a soul about. For a moment she feared that she would be seen, for then she would have to explain her nocturnal mission. But then she remembered that the guards’ gazes faced outward. They sought no enemy from within.

Despite her silent search, Lilliane was unable to find her missing husband. Not anywhere in the stables, or in the kitchens or outside storage rooms. The visitors’ chambers were as they should be, clean and readied for the coming guests, but vacant.

She was trembling with disappointment. Fighting back tears, she stood in the shadows before the soldiers’ quarters. Did she dare to enter there? She took a step forward, then turned away in indecision. It went against everything her mother had taught her. But then she seemed unable to do anything right on that score. She had flagrantly disobeyed her father. She had barred her own husband from his castle. And now she crept through the night like some wanton, searching for a man who did not feel anything for her but occasional lust.

Lilliane wiped away two hot tears then turned her gaze up to the sky. Dear God, she prayed as the brilliant stars swam before her eyes, please help me. Then her vision cleared and she stared at the crenellated silhouette of the look-over. Something had moved there. She squinted, trying to make it out. Had it only been a trick of the shadows, or perhaps her imagination? But then she saw clearly: a man lifted something to his lips.

Lilliane’s heart lurched within her chest at the sight. Corbett had been so near, just another flight of steps above her while she lay worrying in her bed. It occurred to her that he must prefer his solitude to her company. But she refused to listen to such depressing thoughts.

The climb up the curving steps to the look-over seemed endless. Yet when she stood before the iron-hinged door, she hesitated. For a moment she considered retreating to the safety of her bedchamber. But other emotions far more powerful than fear drove her on, and after only a brief hesitation she forced the heavy door open.

Corbett was sitting between two high, pointed crenels. One leg dangled from his precarious stone perch. The other was cocked as a rest for his arm. He held a round pewter jug in one hand, but he was not drinking now. He only sat there in silence, staring out over the moonlit countryside.

In that moment Lilliane recognized too clearly her husband’s unhappiness. Had he been thus when he’d first come to Orrick? She could not say, for she’d not been able to see beyond his powerful image as a knight—and as an enemy. He had been the king’s Bird of Prey, and she’d been the prize he’d set out to snare. Well, he had her now, but he’d obviously not found contentment in his victory.

That knowledge almost sent her running away in defeat. Would she ever be able to make him care for her? As she stared at his hard, unmoving profile, it seemed somehow impossible.

She turned away. At the door her fingers were clumsy as she fumbled with the lock. When Corbett spoke to her she shook her head hard, willing him to forget she was there and let her leave quietly with her shattered heart.

But Corbett was as uncooperative as ever, and with a simple command he made her go still.

“Come here.”

Lilliane’s very heartbeat seemed to stop at his words. More than ever she wished to flee and avoid this further humiliation. But she could not break the hold he had on her that easily. Instead she bowed her head against the weather-beaten door as if it might lend her support.

“I said come here,” he demanded more harshly. This time she heard the slight slur brought on by the wine.

Still she did not obey but only stayed where she was, a pale, slender shape trembling against the dark stonework. When it was apparent she would not respond, Corbett left his place between the crenels and crossed the small enclosure to her. Then he turned her sharply and backed her against the rough door.

“Why are you here?” he barked. “But that’s a foolish question, isn’t it?” His hands tightened on her arms before he released her. Then he braced one hand against the door and leaned nearer. She could smell the wine on his breath, and she knew he’d had much more than on the previous nights.

“You know, you disprove all my theories about women,” he began in an unexpectedly amiable tone. Lilliane watched him with wide, wary eyes. She was confused by his odd mood, which seemed to jump from pensive to angry to almost teasing.

“Wives are not supposed to be passionate, you know. They only endure their husband’s attention out of a sense of duty. ’Tis mistresses who are sweet and responsive.” He ran his finger along her cheek then began to toy with her hair. “Too bad you could not have been simply my mistress. How much happier we might have been.”