Читать книгу: «The Bride Of Spring»

Chapter One

England, 1461

Raine Blanchett waited among the courtiers gathered outside King Edward’s audience chamber. She, unlike the other finely garbed nobles, was not here to see the king.

Raine was in search of a husband. The knowledge that she must find one soon was beginning to press more firmly upon her with each passing day. Yet the long month she had been at court had seen no development as far as her hope of finding a husband was concerned.

Coming to court had seemed such a grand notion when she had told her brother, William, and their childhood nurse, Aida, of the decision. Arriving here had shown her that even the best propositions are not always simple to carry out in practicality.

Raine was honest enough to admit that it was her own fault that things were not going well. She did not want just any man. A handsome face and a witty tongue would not suffice. She wanted a man who would look after her eleven-year-old brother and his estates until he came of age. She wished for this man to do so without succumbing to an unacceptable urge to “dip into the pot.”

What he looked like, his age—naught mattered but that he would be fair and honest and strong. Strong enough to keep Cousin Denley from thinking he could continue to harass them. In the last weeks before her decision to come to court, his persistent offers of marriage had changed to clumsily veiled threats to force her, should she not come around.

Raine knew that William would not fare well under such as he. It was no secret that the dull-witted Denley wanted to marry her so that he could gain control of the vast holdings her brother had inherited six months ago, when their father died.

The thought of her father’s death brought a now familiar ache to her chest, but Raine refused to give in to her sorrow. She knew her father had wanted her to go forward, to look after her brother and his heritage. Though neither of them had ever spoken of his utter despair after her mother’s death, her father’s dependence and trust in Raine had begun that day. She had the sense that he would want her to do whatever she must in order to see that William and the lands were taken care of. Raine meant to do just that.

When she had first arrived at court, Raine had gone about the usual method of meeting prospective grooms. She had made herself presentable in the beautiful new gowns she and her ladies had fashioned. She had smiled and danced, and tried to seem appealing. The problem was not a shortage of male interest. It was the sort of males she had attracted.

Each of the three that she had taken a particular interest in had ended in disappointment, including Lord Henry Wickstead, whom she had thought far beyond a greed for lands and money at his great age. He, like the others, had proved to be far from her ideal. When she had made an effort to find out about them and their situations, she had learned that each was in financial difficulty and in search of a wealthy bride. It did not seem to trouble them that Raine, though not unprovided for, was no great heiress. It was clear that they looked to all that young William possessed, and rubbed their hands in glee.

Yet precious weeks had been wasted in discovering these would-be suitors’ true intentions. She had realized that she must find some method of learning something of a man without expending great amounts of time. It had been one week ago that Raine had hit upon the notion of going directly into the king’s audience chamber and finding out exactly what each courtier there hoped to gain from him. Surely that would reveal much about a man’s financial situation, at the very least. No one seemed to question Raine’s presence each day, appearing too occupied with his own concerns. Her method had certainly proved efficient, but it also gave her to understand that the task she had set herself was a difficult one.

No one had, as yet, passed this preliminary test.

Only desperation kept her from tucking her tail between her legs and going home. She could not count on Denley to continue to heed her refusals of his suit. Raine feared that he would not hesitate in forcing her to marry him, or worse yet, doing some harm to William in order to inherit the estates. As their second cousin and only living relative, Denley stood to gain all if something were to happen to her brother.

Quickly Raine pushed that thought away. Nothing could happen to William. With their father gone, he was all she had left.

She cast another hopeful, and admittedly desperate, glance over the courtiers who were gathered in the waiting area, then sighed.

It was only a moment later that the king’s steward opened the door of the audience chamber and pushed it wide. He bowed to those gathered. “You may go in now. His majesty King Edward will see you, each in turn.”

As Raine entered with the others she looked toward the dais, where the lavishly dressed Edward was seated, his direct gaze assessing those gathered. Not for the first time she wondered about the young king. There were those who said that though he was endowed with intelligence and sense of purpose, he lacked his father’s strength of character. Raine knew that only time would tell. He was barely twenty. Did he miss his own father, who had died not so very long ago as a result of his efforts to gain this very crown? Or had the responsibilities of his position robbed the dark-haired young man of his freedom to grieve, much as her own change in circumstances had done to her? Looking into the young monarch’s already wary eyes, Raine felt they must.

Yet Edward and his grief, all else, must fade in the wake of her own need to care for and protect William.

The hours of the morning dragged on, and as each man present submitted his case to the king, he removed himself from possible consideration as a husband. Some were married; others, well…they were simply not suitable.

Raine was beginning to believe that she must abandon hope of finding a likely candidate for another day when there was a slight commotion at the door behind them. Though she was very close to the back of the chamber, she could not see the cause of the disturbance over the heads of the men, who craned their necks in order to discover what was going on.

It was only when King Edward stood and smiled with a pleasure and enthusiasm he had not shown in the past that she realized anything of real import was occurring. The young king waved a beringed hand. “Come forward, Benedict.”

Many gazes, including Raine’s, swiveled to follow a head topped with coal-black hair and a pair of very wide shoulders encased in burgundy velvet. The unknown man seemed to fairly glide through the crowd as he went forward with easy grace. Raine raised up on tiptoe, yet could still see no more of this man than his shoulders and the back of his head, even when he gained the dais and Edward reached out to offer him his hand. At the king’s welcoming gesture, those in front of her craned their necks even more in order to see.

For a moment King Edward and the man he had addressed as Benedict spoke quietly to one another. Suddenly the king frowned with concern and stood, drawing him to the side of the dais. There the two men continued to converse quietly.

A subdued murmur of what Raine could only describe as envy rippled through the crowd.

A thoughtful frown creased her brow as she wondered who the newcomer might be. What manner of man could consider himself friend to the king of England? For that was what their relationship appeared to be.

Raine tried to press forward, but could get no closer to the front. The crowd was too dense.

She heard a tall, blond, haughty-faced young man to her right snicker aloud to his equally haughty companion. “Arrogant bastard.” Both were garbed in scandalously short houpellands.

Raine, concealing her own opinion on who seemed arrogant, asked, “Who is he?”

The blond man looked down his long, aristocratic nose, and there was no mistaking the disdain in his voice. “Benedict Ainsworth, Baron of Brackenmoore. He was a great friend to Edward’s father and quite instrumental in aiding him in his bid for the throne.”

Raine nodded, her voice unconsciously weary as she said, “And very well rewarded for his troubles, no doubt.” She had seen much of greed in this chamber over the past days, though ’twas often couched in clever terms and a humble countenance.

The young man shrugged. “Not to my knowledge, though who can say? It is rumored that he and Richard of York were great friends as boys and that Ainsworth supported him out of friendship. But, as you say, it is likely that he did seek some personal gain even if the reward is not widely known.” His face showed how little impressed he was by this Ainsworth.

But Raine herself was intrigued by his disclosure that the man had gained nothing from the crown. Perversely, she found herself arguing the point she herself had introduced. “But as you said, no one speaks of any gain he has made from his support of Richard. Perhaps he simply did do so out of friendship.”

It was only then that the young noble seemed to truly look at her, his curious gaze running over her fine, ermine-trimmed velvet gown and jewels with appreciation. “And what care would you have for such things, my young beauty?”

Raine turned her head so he would not see her roll her eyes at his all too obvious avarice. “I was but curious to know of one who would be so heartily welcomed by the king. Is he wed?”

The young man smiled with deliberate charm. “I think not, but have no care for that. I am Sir Robert Fullerton and I am not wed. I would be most interested in conversing with you on matters more interesting than Ainsworth….”

“Yes, perhaps later at table.” Raine nodded absently, putting him from her mind. She was already thinking about how to find out more about this Benedict Ainsworth, though she hardly dared think—

“Your attention!” King Edward spoke then, drawing her gaze back to the dais. She raised her head to hear what he had to say. He smiled out over those gathered. “I offer my regret to you all, but I really must attend a very important matter at this time. I must ask you all to leave now. I will hold open court again on the morrow.”

Raine felt disappointment wash through her. She had so wished to hear why the man had come to King Edward. Now she would never know, for they meant to send everyone from the room, including her. There was nothing she could do.

She turned with the others to make her way from the chamber. She heard the mutterings of displeasure that came from either side of her and sighed. Clearly she was not alone in her disappointment at being sent away, though she doubted the motives of the others were the same as her own.

Frustration and a desire to try to get one clear glimpse of the man slowed her steps. Raine allowed herself to fall to the back of the crowd. But before she had an opportunity to turn and actually get a look at Benedict Ainsworth the steward was calling for everyone to make haste.

Raine scowled. If only she could make herself small, so small that she could do as she wished and not be noticed. Her shoulder brushed the heavy, red-velvet drapes that hung along the stone walls to keep out the chill. And as it did so, an idea came to her.

Perhaps she could not make herself so small that she was invisible, but she might be able to disguise her presence. Quickly, not giving herself time to consider, Raine ducked behind the drape. She held her breath, waiting for a damning voice to signal that her action had been noted, even as the heavy velvet settled in thick folds about her.

Benedict Ainsworth, Baron of Brackenmoore, faced King Edward with resolve as he waited for the other nobles to leave the chamber. He knew that the decision he had made before coming to Edward would cost him in goods. Maxim Harcourt was indeed dead, and at his brother Tristan’s own hand. There was no denying it, or the fact that Maxim’s own brother, whom no one Benedict knew had ever so much as seen, felt that he was owed some retribution.

Benedict also knew that there had been very good cause for Tristan having killed Harcourt. Yet Benedict was prepared to make the reason for the man’s death known to none save the king himself. That was why he had taken the audacious step of requesting this private audience with Edward, would never beg such favor for any lesser reason. He was not unaware of the weighty glances that were cast his way as the room emptied.

When the last of the courtiers had filed from the chamber, Edward turned to his steward. “You may leave us as well.”

The man looked at Benedict with an assessing frown. Ainsworth said nothing. The steward’s opinion of him mattered not in the least. He had more important things on his mind.

When the steward had gone, Edward swung around to face him with a smile. “Shall we sit?”

Benedict sat in one of the chairs Edward indicated, to the left of the dais. The young king took the other. “You have expressed your desire to speak with me in seclusion. What is it you would like to say to me?”

Benedict leaned back in his chair, looking closely at this young king. He was somewhat like his father in appearance. Whether or not he would ever attain Richard’s wisdom and devotion to England could not yet be known.

Benedict gave himself a mental shake. Assessing the king was not why he was here. “Your majesty—”

The king interrupted him. “Please, you were my father’s friend and seemed like an uncle to me when I was a lad. Do not stand on ceremony now because of that,” he said, gesturing toward the velvet-draped throne beside them. “You may address me as Edward, as you always have.”

Benedict nodded. “I think I must not be too presumptive, your majesty. Your father and I were friends, but that does not mean you owe me any more familiarity than other men. You are king of England now.”

Edward smiled at him. “I am king, but I hope that you will remain friend to me in spite of that, as you would have to my father had he lived to take the throne.”

How could Benedict do other than bow his head in acquiescence? “I would feel privileged to count myself that, sire. But I must keep this meeting upon a more formal footing because of its nature. As I said when I arrived, I would ask a boon of you, my lord.”

Edward nodded, obviously seeing the seriousness of his intent. The grave expression of ruler settled on his intelligent young face.

Benedict went on. “Some months ago, my brother Tristan slew Maxim Harcourt.”

Edward propped his fingers together thoughtfully. “I have had some correspondence with his brother, Alister Harcourt, on this matter.”

“As have I, sire, though I did not know that the fact of his having a brother was more than rumor until the man’s first letter arrived. He is, understandably, angry at what Tristan has done, as you must know from your own contact with him.”

Again Edward nodded as Benedict continued. “Clearly he feels himself justified in his anger, and due to the circumstances, I would not fault him on that. Yet I must tell you, your majesty, that he does not know the full events that led up to his brother’s death, which, I feel, exonerate Tristan.”

“Why do you not then apprise him of the facts?”

Benedict hesitated. “The situation is…well, delicate. You see, it involves my brother’s wife, Lillian Ainsworth, formerly Lillian Gray.”

Edward shrugged, though the name did not seem new to him. Benedict was beginning to realize that the king was not quite as oblivious concerning this subject as he had first appeared. He probably did indeed know a great deal of the facts. Yet when he spoke it was still in that same unconcerned vein. “Harcourt’s letters have contained some mention of this woman and that she was his brother’s intended bride. He seems to be of the opinion that your brother Tristan spirited her away, thus bringing about the conflict in which his brother died.”

Benedict was very glad that he was not attempting to get anything past this young king. Young he might be, but dim he was not. “That is, in part, true. Yet there are mitigating circumstances that, as I said, exonerate Tristan of any real wrongdoing in this.”

Edward sat back with raised brows. “Again I say, why do you or your brother not simply make his reasons known?”

Benedict frowned. “That would mean telling Alister Harcourt a very involved and extremely private tale. He could then relay the story to any who would heed him. Knowing nothing of his character, I hesitate to give him the power over my brother and his wife that knowing their secrets might afford. You see, sire, Lily and Tristan had been lovers three years before her engagement to Maxim, and there is a product of that union. My niece, Sabina.”

Edward leaned forward. “I begin to see. You would not have this bandied about by those he might tell.”

“Aye, sire. Lily and Tristan have been through enough. They had never intended for the child to be born out of wedlock. Due to an accident, Lily and Tristan were separated. When she awoke, she recalled nothing of Tristan or the babe. Her family felt it best to keep her past from her. It was not until Lily was on her way to marry Maxim Harcourt that Tristan saw her and kidnapped her, completely unaware that she recalled nothing of her past with him. Although I would not follow my brother’s method, I do understand his actions. He and Lily did have the prior commitment. Maxim Harcourt was killed in fair combat against Tristan.”

Again Edward nodded. “So what is it you ask of me, Benedict? Do you wish for me to make an explanation to Alister Harcourt that would disabuse him of his perceived grievance with you and your family?”

Benedict shook his head. “As I have told you, knowing nothing of the man’s character, I have no wish to tell him anything of my family’s misfortunes. Neither would I ask the crown to place itself in the position of contriving some excuse for me. What I would propose is that I pay a penalty to him by way of lands and monies. In that way he would feel that his perceived wrong had been avenged in some small way.”

Light dawned in Edward’s eyes. “And you wish for me, as the king, to oversee this transaction?”

“If you will be so kind as to do so. It might then seem as though you had set the penalty yourself. I would also have your approval of the transfer of the land and keep. You would not appear to be showing me any undo favor, as your father’s friend, and I would have no need to explain to Tristan what I am about. He is a proud man and would certainly rather take care of this matter himself, if he knew of it. And would do so quite well, I am certain. I simply wish to see that he and his new bride have some peace in their lives now. As I said, they have faced much to find a new life with one another.” Benedict was not unaware of the slightly wistful quality in his own voice when speaking of their love, and was surprised at it. Though he was very happy for the couple, he had no real desire to experience such an all-consuming love.

Brackenmoore and his family were his passions. And that was the way he wanted it. Perhaps it was the recent wedding and all the joyous emotions around it that had left him with an uncharacteristically romantic bent.

He focused his attention on Edward, who looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. The king smiled. “Have you considered coming to live at court, Benedict? We can make use of such a diplomatic mind as yours.”

Benedict shook his head. “I am much too occupied with running my estates, your majesty. I will leave the life of diplomacy to those who seek it.”

Edward smiled again, this time ruefully, and pulled on the tasseled cord beside the dais. Immediately the steward entered, through a door partially hidden behind the throne. “Your majesty?”

Edward addressed him. “Fetch me a clerk.”

The man bowed and left as Edward rose and moved toward the table near the window. He poured wine from a gold pitcher into two ruby-colored glasses, then turned to hand one to Benedict. “Just out of curiosity, am I prepared to be generous toward Alister Harcourt?”

Benedict smiled for the first time. “Oh, reasonably so, my lord, reasonably so.” He raised his glass to drink.

Raine had heard every word as the clerk came and then went again, though she could see nothing from behind the heavy drapery. The more she heard, the more she wished to learn about Benedict Ainsworth, wished to see him. Yet she dared not risk looking out from her hiding place, for as the men talked she had begun to realize that she had indeed risked much in secluding herself in order to overhear the private conversation of a king.

Few would believe that she had done this in order to discover all she could about a man she did not even know, even if she could explain her reasons to them. Yet Raine did not wish to worry about the possibility of being found out. All she had heard of Benedict Ainsworth had made her even more intrigued by him. He seemed a good, decent man, willing to give up his own property and money to protect the reputation of his brother’s wife and her child.

As Raine listened to Benedict give the specifics of what he was willing to offer, she was again moved by his care for his family. If only she had a man to look after her in that way, someone like Ainsworth! Things might have been different for her if only there had been someone who felt a family affiliation to herself and William.

But there was only Denley, and he cared nothing for them. Of that she was sure. He pretended a great interest in herself, but Raine knew of his longtime mistress, of their children.

He kept them openly at his own home. Raine was somewhat surprised that he would not expect her to have had word of them. Perhaps he simply gave it no thought whatsoever. Many men kept both a mistress and a wife, though not nearly so openly.

If Raine were ever to marry a man with the intention of actually living with him, she would never allow herself to be so blatantly dishonored. If she were not required to wed for the sake of protecting William and his lands she would…Her thoughts trailed down a list of qualities she would desire in a man.

He would favor her with a modicum of respect.

He would be kind.

He would have his own wealth and thus would not wish to take what was William’s.

He would behave with honor.

He would understand the meaning of family.

Again she found herself becoming aware of the two men’s voices. She could not help noting that Benedict Ainsworth’s seemed somehow deeper and richer than the king’s. At the same moment she realized that they sounded closer than before.

Obviously the men were coming toward her. She strained to see through the dense velvet. If only she could give face to the voice she heard! Surely they were too intent on their conversation to pay her any heed. Moving ever so carefully, she peeked out from behind the curtain.

And realized that the two men had moved even nearer than she had imagined and were standing mere feet from her. The heaviness of the drape had muffled the sound of their voices and made them seem farther away. She quickly drew back, but not before she had glimpsed the face of Benedict Ainsworth. It was an arresting face, with kindness, warmth and firmness of character displayed in the smooth wide brow and the slight lines around his eyes. It was also a handsome face, with its pleasantly modeled and strong features, including a regal, straight nose and a pair of intense eyes of a startlingly deep cobalt-blue. Those direct and compelling eyes were surrounded by thick black lashes the same color as his raven hair.

Raine’s heart felt like a throbbing drum in her chest, even though she was sure they had not seen her, for neither had been looking in her direction.

Under no circumstances did she wish to be caught. Again she asked herself who would believe that she had hidden herself here for the reasons she had. Even if they would, she would not wish to admit her motives to either Edward or Ainsworth himself.

At the thought of Benedict Ainsworth, another image of that pleasing face flashed though her mind. In spite of the risk, she felt a compelling desire to look at him again, to see if she had only imagined such an attractive visage.

Benedict and Edward looked up at the same moment as the steward appeared in the door once more. “Your grace, an envoy has arrived with a reply to your message to France. I have taken him to a private chamber as you requested me to do upon his arrival.”

Edward was very suddenly a king again as he replied, “I come.”

He nodded to Benedict, who bowed deeply even as Edward left the chamber. The steward, taking care to pretend that he was not watching Benedict, moved to tidy the glasses they had used.

Benedict turned to go. He was finished here, for the moment at any rate. Edward had voiced surprise at Benedict’s generosity in the keep and monies he would provide to Harcourt’s brother, but he had given his approval to the transfer of goods.

It was as Benedict swung around to go out the far door that he noted the presence of two small, dark green slippers just visible beneath the edge of the scarlet drapery. The fact that the intruder was female seemed apparent and kept him from being overconcerned. Yet he grew very still, and a pensive frown creased his brow even as he saw a pale face surrounded by a cloud of auburn hair appear at the edge of the drape. A pair of golden eyes widened in horror as they met his own.

The face was definitely that of a woman. And an extremely pretty one. Surprised, Benedict started toward her without thinking.

The steward chose that moment to turn back to Benedict. He spoke with just the proper degree of deference, though it seemed obvious that he would prefer for Benedict to be on his way. “Is there something wrong, my lord?”

Benedict halted, his gaze searching the female’s eyes, now filled with panic.

“My lord?” The steward spoke again, more insistently.

Her gaze darkened with pleading even as her hands came up to cover her pink lips. For a moment as he looked into those eyes Benedict felt as if he had fallen into a vat of liquid gold that swirled around him as he floated effortlessly in its warmth.

Something, an urge he could not name, made him close his lips on the words that would expose her position. Instead he cast the mysterious female a warning glance. Her face disappeared behind the curtain again as he turned to the steward. “Nay, I was just leaving. I was wondering if you might tell me where my horse will have been stabled?” Benedict knew it was a poor excuse. Never would he allow the stallion to be stabled without knowing the exact conditions, but the steward was not aware of this.