Rexanne Becnel (8 page)

“That will never be!” she spat venomously. “Now let me pass.”

When he finally did step aside, she moved cautiously toward the door. Her gown was wet from where he’d pressed against her and her head linen was loosened and falling askew. As she passed him, holding her arms self-consciously across her wet bodice, he plucked the trailing end of her headrail.

Her hair needed no more than that to come completely unbound. In a thick curtain of chestnut and bronze it fell free about her shoulders and tumbled down to her waist. The sight drew him up short. But while he stared at the glorious cascade framing her pale face, Lilliane did not hesitate. In an instant she whipped around, pulled the door open, and fled into the hall.

He came to the door to stare after her, but she had disappeared down the stone staircase. Echoing in the still air, however, he heard her swift footsteps.

And a heartfelt oath wishing him cast to the devil.

S
HE HAD PUT OFF
going down to the evening meal long enough. Ever since she had fled to the safety of her chamber, Lilliane’s anger had been festering. He was as bad—no, worse—than she’d imagined! He was arrogant, self-centered, and he had no heart whatsoever. He wanted Orrick, not her.

No, she amended. He wanted her, just as he probably wanted any pretty little serving girl who crossed his path. But it was not Lilliane of Orrick he wanted.

How she despised him, she fumed as she jabbed a slender wooden hairpin into the woven crespin that held the thick chestnut coils of her hair. She’d not enjoyed the bath set out for her at all, barely cognizant of the warm, rose-scented water. Only one thought had consumed her, and that was the very real need she had to put this heathen in his place. He expected his betrothed to be a skinny spinster, plain and unattractive—except for the very attractive demesne that went with her hand in marriage. Well, she was looking forward to setting him straight.

She had decided to wear her most flattering gown and her most elaborate girdle to this, their first real meeting. After all, she reasoned spitefully, it was only natural that a bride should want to impress her future husband. Still, now that it was time to go down to the great hall she was hesitant.

She ran her hands nervously down the skirt, smoothing away an imaginary wrinkle, then patted her coiffure. She felt elegant and important in the exquisite samite fabric. The aqua silk was shot through with gold threads, and an intricate gold braid trimmed the neckline and the tightly laced sleeves. A finely embroidered girdle of gold metal worked into a russet silk cord emphasized her small waist and dangled in two long tassels nearly to the floor. Satisfied with her appearance, she reviewed once more the several sins she would lay at his door.

Her only hope for freeing herself from such an unacceptable marriage arrangement lay in convincing her father that Sir Corbett of Colchester would not make a suitable lord for Orrick. She would have to show him that the man was common and crude. That he was greedy and would very likely pauper Orrick.

She took a deep breath then lifted her head a notch. She was sure her father would agree with her once he had a chance to think about it. He would have to.

Lilliane sensed the difference even before she had reached the great hall. The gaiety of the previous evenings since the guests had started to arrive was gone, replaced now by a more subdued drone. People spoke in quieter tones with frequent glances toward the head table. When she reached the bottom step of the stone stairs, she quickly discerned the reason: her father and Sir Corbett sat there, side by side, surveying the vast gathering below them.

But if she thought the crowd subdued before her entrance, the quiet that fell as she made her way through the maze of tables was truly astounding. Like a wave it preceded her so that before she reached the raised area where the family ate, the hall was completely silent. Even the dogs that wandered in search of an occasional bone or bit of fat seemed to sense the tension in the room and shrink away.

A part of Lilliane was pleased with the impact her entrance made, for wasn’t it just such a showing she had hoped for tonight? But another part of her cringed at the spectacle they made of her. Everyone waited with bated breath for the introduction of the betrothed couple. Everyone wanted to see how Lord Barton’s willful daughter responded to the enemy knight her father would have her wed.

Did they expect to see her deny him before the entire company? she wondered in rising agitation. Or did they relish seeing her cowed and obedient to her father’s will? And her betrothed’s?

Although she trembled from the emotional turmoil it brought her, she resolved to give the anxious crowd neither pleasure. She would not. With her head held high, she assumed her most regal posture as she continued through the hall.

Before her a sea of faces stretched, yet Lilliane would not look at them and could not have said who they were. Her gaze was drawn to the man who sat beside her father, and she was unable to break the hold of his dark eyes. She was gratified by his surprised expression and by the clear appreciation she saw on his face. Her lips even lifted slightly in a smug smile. But his faint answering grin brought a feeling of distinct unease to her. She paused before the table aware of a quiver deep within her, but she could not tear her eyes away from him.

He looked incredibly powerful at the lord’s table, as if he had every right to such an honored seat at Orrick Castle. The steel-gray tunic gave him an air of invincibility and made his smoky gray eyes even more intense. Cleaned and combed, dressed in his finery, he did indeed appear the grand lord. And yet Lilliane refused to be deceived by his courtly attire. She knew that the warrior in him lurked beneath the façade he had donned. He might appear the gentlemanly knight this evening, but just a short while ago he had revealed his true self. He was selfish and arrogant, a hard, unfeeling man who did not care for anything—or anyone—but himself.

It wasn’t until Lord Barton stood up and raised his heavy goblet that she was able to break the compelling hold of his eyes. But the pleased expression on her father’s aging face cut her to the quick. He was truly happy with this union, she realized hopelessly. In his esteem it was the best thing for Orrick.

But it wasn’t best for Orrick, Lilliane vowed. It wasn’t! And it certainly wasn’t best for her.

“Lilliane,” her father began, his smile fond as he looked down upon his eldest daughter. “I know you must have met him earlier, Lily, but now I would like to properly present you to Sir Corbett of Colchester.” He turned to the tall, scarred knight who now rose to his feet as well. “Sir Corbett, I present to you Lady Lilliane of Orrick.”

The hall was in complete silence as the betrothed couple faced one another. Every eye watched as Sir Corbett lifted his goblet to her. Every ear strained to hear his words. But only Lilliane recognized the sardonic gleam in his eyes and the faint ring of sarcasm in his voice as he toasted his bride.

“To Lady Lilliane, the most beautiful … maid in Windermere Fold—nay, in all of northern England. I would have all of you drink to our happy union.”

Every arm raised a drink to them, and yet Lilliane was not warmed by the gesture. She had succeeded in surprising him, both with her appearance and by her identity as the uncooperative maid he’d met earlier in the day. But that success tasted bitter now as she recognized the light in his eyes for what it was. He was still the victor in this battle of wills, for now he would have the saucy maiden who had caught his fancy right where he wanted her: in his bed.

It was with a grim expression that she mounted the three steps and made her way to the high-backed chair reserved for her. Sir Corbett was nothing but gallant as he saw her seated, but she knew he mocked her with every gesture. When he resettled himself beside her, she was quite aware of the dangerous glitter in his eyes.

“So we meet again,” he whispered for her ears only. “And so soon. I’d thought you would be more difficult to find.”

When she did not answer but only stared at the salt bowl on the table before her, he leaned a little closer. “I cannot tell you how much I anticipate our wedding.”

“You did not anticipate it so readily before!” she snapped as she turned to face his baiting.

“Ah, but I had no inkling how delightful Lord Barton’s eldest daughter was.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking grin.

“I promise you will not find marriage to me to be delightful,” Lilliane hissed. She was mindful of the curious gazes upon them, and she was hard-pressed to keep her expression civil and her tone low. But oh, how she wished to put him in his place!

“You will soon be brought to heel,” he murmured. Then before she could prevent it, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. The kiss he pressed upon it was fleeting, light, and not entirely unpleasant. But when she tried to pull her hand free, he tightened his grasp and turned her hand over. The next kiss was not as fleeting nor as light. This time he pressed his warm lips against the tender flesh of her wrist. Her pulse jumped in shock, but that only seemed to encourage him. In a bold move he let his tongue flick over her suddenly heated skin. As he sought to move the kiss to her sensitive palm, she gasped in true alarm. His touch seemed to burn her flesh and her nerves tingled in reaction. Instinctively she curled her hand into a ball, and this time she succeeded in freeing it from his warm hold.

But she was not reassured by her meager success. Sir Corbett seemed, if anything, encouraged by her resistance. His face was relaxed in an irreverent grin and his eyes were alight with some heated emotion that she was sure boded ill for her.

She was growing less and less assured of her ability to send this barbarian on his way, but she knew more than ever that she must. Whatever it took, she vowed she would do, and yet, beyond tossing insults at him, she had no realistic plan. Still, she was preparing to do just that when her father leaned around Sir Corbett, a huge smile on his face.

“I knew the two of you would suit,” he said with great satisfaction. “Why, ’tis clear as could be that your union will settle the trouble in this valley once and for all. With such a peace only prosperity can result.”

Sir Corbett did not respond to Lord Barton. Indeed, it seemed that the reference to the ill-feeling between Orrick and Colchester had sobered him, for his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. With a motion that she suspected came of long habit, he rubbed the scar that split his brow. Unable to help herself, Lilliane followed the movement of his hand with fascination.

She had been prepared to denounce him to her father, but all at once she stopped. No words quite came to mind. Besides, she reasoned, it would not do to argue with her father in the company of so many guests. As much as it galled her, she knew she must save her angry accusations for a more private moment. Then she would not hesitate to tell her father of this heathen’s lack of manners and his crude approach to her in his chamber.

But as if he read her very thoughts, Sir Corbett leaned back in his chair and turned a carefully bland face to his future father-in-law. “I don’t think I thanked you properly for the splendid chamber you settled me in, Lord Barton. I found it more than comfortable. And the bath you had sent up was most refreshing.”

“You may thank Lilliane for that. She has a way with the running of this castle. There’s not a servant who does not jump at her bidding.” The older man signaled a servant to fill Corbett’s goblet and his own. “She is a jewel is my Lily.”

Corbett’s eyes moved easily over Lilliane and she squirmed under his casual perusal. Had he no shame? she wondered angrily. But Lord Barton could not see the disturbing gleam in Corbett’s eyes, and he continued speaking. “Why, under her firm hand everything at Orrick Castle runs smoothly.”

Corbett’s gaze dropped to those very hands of hers and, to her chagrin, caught her in the act of rubbing the spot on her wrist where his lips had caressed. Then his eyes raised slowly to her face. “I have no doubt of what you say. The young maid she had attend to me was nothing but courteous and efficient. She saw to my needs so well that I felt quite at home. If I but knew her name I would commend her to you. But, alas, when her work was complete she quietly withdrew.” He smiled at her then, showing a devastating charm.

“That is good, that is good.” Lord Barton beamed as he settled back in his chair. “Now, Lilliane, let us begin the meal.”

Lilliane was too incensed with Corbett’s clever remarks to respond to her father. It was all she could do to signal the chamberlain to start the long procession of servants with their trays of food. In stony silence she watched the results of her efficient management as the meal was served to the huge company. But her mind was not on the elaborate dinner or the many guests who set to the fine meal with hungry vengeance. It was the man beside her who occupied her every thought.

She was excruciatingly aware of his nearness. As if the heat of his body reached out to surround her own, she felt a slow warmth envelop her. Unwillingly she sent a sidelong glance toward him only to be unsettled by the frank manner in which he stared at her.

“Do not look at me so,” she snapped in a low tone.

“And how is it I am looking at you?” he asked as he leaned towards her.

“You know how! As if … as if …” Lilliane floundered and she felt color stain her face.

“As if what? As if I could hardly believe my good fortune at finding my spinster bride to be the very maid who attended me today? As if I were heartily relieved to find my bride to be so fair of face?” He reached out a hand to touch her cheek but Lilliane jerked back to avoid him.

She sent him a quelling stare. “And if you had not …” She struggled for words. “If you had not found me so fair of face, how quickly would you have begun dallying with the maidservants?”

“Jealous already?” He arched his scarred brow in a taunt. “If it’s our earlier meeting you refer to, I don’t see why you should fret. It was you, after all, who misled me.”

“I misled you!” she hissed. “Why, if you hadn’t—”