Rexanne Becnel (9 page)

“If I hadn’t come into my room when I did you would have had time to finish searching my belongings.”

“It’s … it’s … it’s not your room!” Lilliane sputtered.

“Oh, but it is,” he contradicted her. “And as much as I did enjoy the bath, I still wonder what you thought to gain by disguising yourself so.”

“It was no disguise—”

She stopped abruptly as a servant brought a platter of meats to them. She watched in simmering anger as Sir Corbett calmly selected cuts of roast capon, slivered eel, and grilled pork for them to share from a communal plate. From another servant’s tray he added herring, raisins, and several cheeses. Then he poured a generous amount of an amber-hued wine into his goblet and offered it to her.

But Lilliane would have none of his mocking gallantry. Nor would she honor him by sharing a plate with him as was expected of a betrothed couple. She anticipated an outburst from him; if the truth be known, she would have welcomed it, for she was utterly frustrated by the farce they played out before the company. But the objection to her obstinate behavior came not from Sir Corbett but from her father.

“Eat, daughter. Eat and do not shame your father or your bridegroom with such a temper! Would you have the gossips carry tales of your behavior?”

Beyond her father, Tullia and Santon looked on, their meal forgotten. But it was Odelia’s satisfied expression that finally goaded Lilliane into acquiescence. She did not know why Odelia felt she must be so spiteful toward her, but it was quite apparent that both Aldis and she took delight in Lilliane’s dissatisfaction with her marriage.

With the utmost care not to let her fingers touch Sir Corbett’s, Lilliane selected the capon. But she took no pleasure in it, nor was she even aware of the cook’s considerable efforts. Her enjoyment of the meal was spoiled completely by the overwhelming presence of the man at her elbow. Her stomach was knotted with anger and her mind raced with churning emotions. With every morsel of food he took from the well-filled plate, with his every expression of satisfaction with the elaborate repast, Lilliane’s rage only intensified. It was all she could do to choke down the capon and maintain a reasonable expression.

Corbett did not speak to her during the meal, preferring, it seemed, to converse with her father. They spoke of the fields and the serfs, the hunting to be had in the surrounding forests, and the conditions of the castle’s defenses. There was still a strain between the two men, a discomfort based on too many years of suspicions. But in spite of that the conversations flowed smoothly and the tension between them seemed to lessen.

As the two men relaxed under the spell of good food and ample wine, so did the rest of the company slowly revive their gay mood until the hall resounded with all the festivity expected with an approaching wedding.

But Lilliane’s mood did not lift. How could she be lighthearted when her life was being ruined? she fumed. And then as if to insult her further, the big lummox was ignoring her as if she and her feelings were of no account at all. Indeed, it was quite clear that the two men had reached this agreement with absolutely no concern for her opinion.

It was only when the platters of fresh fruit and golden-baked pastries were brought out that Sir Corbett finally turned his attention back to her. She was fingering the empty goblet in agitation when he suddenly placed his large hand over hers. Lilliane was completely taken aback by this unexpected move. With a gasp she tried to pull free of his unwelcome touch, but his fingers only tightened more securely about hers.

Disturbed as much by the penetrating warmth of his grasp as by the presumption of his action, Lilliane turned a glittering glare upon him. “Release me at once, you wretch!” she hissed. “You dare much when—”

“It is expected that I should be drawn to you.” He gave her a wicked grin and his scarred brow lifted devilishly. “I daresay your father will be ecstatic that I should be so overwhelmed by his ‘Lily.’”

“Don’t you call me that!”

“It is your name, isn’t it? I’ll concede that Lilliane better befits the heiress of Orrick. Lily bears more the ring of a sweet and simple young girl, one who might be servant to a noble lord.” His eyes sparkled with amusement at her benefit. “I prefer Lily.”

Lilliane was outraged. “Perhaps then you should select from among our many servants for a wife if that is what you seek. ’Tis certain it would not break my heart!”

“Ah, but it happens that I’ve an eye for a certain maid already. Perhaps you know of her?” Before she was aware of it he had slipped her fingers from the stem of the goblet and had deftly entwined them with his own. “She is sweet-faced, with a form soft and alluring. Yet she has a saucy way about her and a sharp tongue.” He chuckled at her impotent anger. “She would not give me her name, and yet I feel sure I will eventually find her.”

“Not if she can avoid you,” Lilliane muttered as she struggled to free her hand.

Sir Corbett did not respond at once. When he did speak his voice held a warning note. “Both maid and lady as well as the demesne shall be mine. Never doubt that.” He released her hand. “Whether you be willing or not matters nothing to me. You will do your duty as a daughter and a wife, as I shall do mine as a husband.”

It was said with such conviction and finality that Lilliane’s heart filled with dread. At that moment he was her enemy, pure and simple. And he was announcing his victory before the battle had even begun.

Lilliane could not reply. Worse, she felt the sting of foolish tears behind her eyes. Knowing only that she must get away from him, she abruptly rose from the table, nearly toppling her chair in her haste. She did not pause to excuse herself. Indeed, she feared that should she speak, shameful tears would overwhelm her.

As at her entrance, the great hall quieted at her leaving. She knew that speculation abounded and that the gossips would find her abrupt departure generous fodder for their mills. But she could not stay. She could not!

She should never have returned, she told herself as she mounted the stone stairs. She should have remained at Burgram Abbey and never returned to help with Tullia’s wedding.

But what was done was done, she had to admit as she wiped her tear-dampened cheeks with the back of one hand. She had come and her father had decided to honor the betrothal. A heavy sigh caught in her throat and she slowed her frantic pace to catch her breath. The wall was cool and smooth against her flushed cheek as she leaned against it. It helped to clear her racing thoughts. She needed to think and to be away from the wedding furor that seemed to have taken hold of the entire castle. How she wished she could just leave and find a peaceful clearing in the forests to be alone in.

But she knew it would be useless for her to try to leave the castle. The guards would never grant her passage alone at night. But neither did she wish to sit idle in her chamber, fretting and worrying.

Then she remembered the look-over. Above her parents’ old chamber, the look-over was a small roof court, surrounded by battlements. At one time it had been the highest point of the castle. But a new section added to Orrick by her grandfather more than fifty years before had made the old Lord’s Look-Over, as it had been called, unnecessary to castle security. As a child she had used it as a place to daydream or else to lick her wounds. Just as then, she knew it was precisely what she needed now.

Up the solid stone steps she went. Up, winding past her chamber, then past the tower room. She averted her eyes as she rushed past that particular door. Beyond it lay the chamber claimed by Sir Corbett, the room she was expected to share with him. With a grimace on her lips she hurried past that offending portal and up the last steep flight of stairs.

Lilliane was out of breath when she finally stepped into the cool night air. Autumn was upon the land and the crisp September weather raised goose bumps on her arms and shoulders. But she did not care about that at all. Beyond her lay the lands of Orrick bathed only in the meager light of the waning moon. She could see the dark shapeless mass of the forests far to her right. Before her stretched the fields and meadows, silent and still. The village at the base of the long hill that led up to the castle was only a dark jumble of shadows, and yet Lilliane was comforted by what she saw.

It looked the same as it had ever been, and she hugged her arms tightly around her waist. Orrick Castle had survived over three hundred years. From Saxon stronghold to Norman castle it had grown and prospered, and the people of Windermere Fold had prospered as well. Even the last five years of unease could not stifle that prosperity, and she took heart at that. Most certainly Sir Corbett of Colchester would not.

The decision was suddenly easy: she would run to Burgram Abbey. She could delay the wedding in no other way. She knew that if her father came for her, the abbess would not shelter her overlong. But Sir Corbett was a proud man—arrogant if the truth be told. It would humiliate him before all the gathered nobility if his bride did not appear for the wedding. And perhaps, just perhaps, he might abandon this plan in disgust.

Lilliane wiped away the last of her tears. It was not much of a plan, she knew. But it was all she had. And somehow, just having decided on a course of action restored her spirits considerably.

As she had when she was young, Lilliane took a deep breath of the cool night air then rested her palms on the corbeled wall and leaned far out over the edge. Below her was the green water of the moat, and if she craned her neck a little farther she would be able to see the great block of stone that was said to have been the earliest part of Orrick Castle. But she was prevented that view when a hard-muscled arm grabbed her without warning and yanked her roughly from the parapet.

“What do you contemplate, woman!” a harsh voice demanded. “Would you burn in hell forever rather than be wed to me?” Then she was spun around and subjected to Sir Corbett’s furious glare.

In a rage she tried to shake off the heavy hold he maintained on her two shoulders. But she might as well have tried to tumble the castle walls down for all the effect she had on his grasp.

“Unhand me now, you vile blackguard! Am I to be allowed no privacy at all?”

“Not until after we’re wed and you’ve produced an heir,” he retorted through clenched teeth. “I’ll not have you spoil my plans with some foolish idea of throwing yourself from this tower!”

“Throwing myself?” Lilliane sputtered with indignation. “You flatter yourself overmuch if you think I’d end my life on your account. I plan to be quite alive and quite well for many, many years after you’re gone from Orrick!”

Perhaps it was that he expected weeping and hysterics from her. Perhaps it was that he was amused by her angry reply. For whatever reason, Sir Corbett slackened his grip on her, and she immediately pulled away from him. The look-over was not large, and his presence there made it seem even less so. In the darkness Lilliane could make out very little of him, but she could tell by his rigid posture and clenched hands that he fought to contain some mighty emotion. Every muscle in his powerful body seemed tensed as if for battle, and she cringed inwardly. But the very fear he inspired in her fanned her anger anew. She would not allow him this power over her. She would not!

“Now that you’ve ‘saved’ me from myself,” she began in a sharp, sarcastic tone, “you may leave. You have no reason to be here anyway.”

“Oh, but I do,” he answered in an equally biting tone. “It’s my responsibility to know every crook and cranny of Orrick. I felt the rush of air up the stairhall and so I came to investigate. Since we are both here, however, I suggest we make the most of it.”

“I cannot determine a single benefit in spending time with you!” Lilliane spat in anger. “You’re greedy and arrogant. You’re suspicious and you jump to conclusions when you’ve no cause!” Incensed, she turned to leave. But Sir Corbett was quicker and with a swift movement he caught her by the arm.

“You have much to answer for, Lady Lilliane,” he said with a menacing growl. “You’ve searched my belongings in the guise of a serving wench. Then you maintained that farce throughout my bath for some unnamed reason. Now I find you perched over the moat seemingly bent on leaping to your sure death.” He arched his scarred brow and peered at her as if she were some strange, never-before-seen creature. “Are you mad? Is it for that reason your father has been unable to see you wed?” He shook her until her teeth chattered in her head. “Is it a mad wife I must suffer to have Orrick?”

Tears had started in Lilliane’s eyes when he finally released her. She would dearly have loved to throw any number of insults and accusations at him, but she feared her voice would reveal how distraught she was. He wanted Orrick. Only Orrick.

Her knees trembled as she backed away from his huge shadowed form. “I am not mad,” she vowed in a small voice. She reached for the iron ring to pull the door open. “But ’tis certain you must be, for to marry one who hates you and make your home among your bitterest enemies marks you completely without any wits.”

She feared he would follow her as she flew down the steep stairs, for she knew she’d angered him terribly. It was only when the door to her own chamber was slammed closed behind her that she felt at all comforted. But not two minutes later she heard his tread at her door and then that of another man as well. Her heart leapt in panic but it turned in an instant to icy fury when he spoke.

“I’ve posted my most trusted man at your door, Lady Lilliane. He will keep you safe—and allow me to sleep without fear of you picking through my belongings. Or trying to fly!”

The evening had been bad enough, but his final poor attempt at jest was simply too much. With a cry born of both frustration and fury, she grabbed the nearest item at hand and flung it wildly at the door. But after the resounding thump on the oaken panel had quieted, there was only the sound of muffled laughter. Then she heard Sir Corbett’s steps departing and the other man settling himself against her door.

It was then that the futility of her situation finally hit home. In absolute despair, feeling more weary than she could ever recall, Lilliane sank to her knees on the cold stone floor. Unaware, she picked up the small copper bowl she’d thrown so violently at the door. Over and over she turned it in her hands, and it came as no real surprise that it had suffered very little for her anger. In truth, it seemed somehow ludicrously appropriate that only a tiny dent indicated there had been any trouble at all.