Velvet Bond
Lord Raynor Was No Match for the Lovely WomanHe'd Been Forced to Take to WifeThough Lady Elizabeth Clayburn was no stranger to the flattery of men, the enigmatic Baron of Warwicke wielded a power over her more potent than anything she had ever felt, and she'd tumbled quickly into a marriage bed, unwarmed by trust or love.The grim defenses around Lord Raynor Warwicke's heart had been erected long ago. But now his defiant wife had dared to breach his stronghold, challenging him to lay aside the armor of his suspicions, and surrender to the greater strength of love.
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This book is dedicated to my children, Catherine, Stephen and Rosanna, for all their love and support, with
special thanks to my Kate for all her editorial assistance.
And to my sister, Elizabeth, who cleans when she’s angry and gave me the inspiration for this character.
I must also add a note of thanks to Don D’Auria. Thanks.
Contents
Chapter One
Elizabeth Clayburn sat on the stone window seat, her slender back supported by her brother’s broad one. Despite the velvet cushion beneath her, she was less than comfortable. Sighing, she wished herself in her own comfortable house for the third time in as many minutes. But she had promised to stay at Stephen’s side until Lady Helen turned her attentions elsewhere, and that she would do. No matter how much she disliked coming up to Windsor Castle.
It wasn’t Elizabeth’s usual custom to involve herself in Stephen’s affairs, but Lady Helen was proving especially difficult to discourage, and Stephen had come near to begging for Elizabeth’s help. He hoped that if he was never alone with his former mistress, she would soon give up and move on to greener pastures. Not even Helen was brazen enough to confront him about his obviously cooled interest before his very sister.
Restlessly Elizabeth’s gaze roamed the crowded ante-chamber as she toyed with one of the braided gold tassels that held back the heavy red brocade drapes. The three tall windows let in sufficient light to illuminate the high, wide room, but she saw little that pleased her.
Despite the perpetual chill given off by stone walls, the air was overwarm, due to the presence of so many people. The high-ceilinged chamber bore no furniture or adornments save the rich curtains, and needed none. Men and women alike displayed their best finery in the forms of colorful cotehardies, tunics and hose. Many of the older men wore a long-skirted cote over the body-hugging tunic called a pourpoint, but the younger or more daring favored the shorter version that was much frowned on by the church. The women wore their cotes slashed at the sides to show off tight-fitting tunics of samite, sendal, and damask. Linen wimples fluttered about cheeks that had been delicately tinted with cosmetics. Jewelry and fur trim were seen in abundance as their wearers moved about, seeing and being seen. And they waited, some patiently, some not so patiently, for a moment to present their case to their sovereign.
Elizabeth looked down with a start as the would-be troubadour at her feet struck a chord on the lute that rested across his knee. She had nearly forgotten Percy.
Eyes of the palest blue gazed up at her with abject adoration as he sang,
“Oh lips of deepest scarlet hue
And eyes that sparkle like the dew”
“Sweet Jesu, Beth,” her brother Stephen turned to mutter in her ear. “This one is more dreadful than the last.”
“Shh, brother mine,” she whispered, attempting to prevent him hurting poor Percy’s delicate pride.
This was to no avail, for Sir Percy Hustace had indeed heard Stephen’s comment. He dropped the lute, which broke a string as it struck the floor. Percy groaned, casting a wounded look toward the other knight.
Rot Stephen, Elizabeth thought. She was of no mind to listen to them quarrel.
When Stephen only stared at Percy with amused contempt, the blue-eyed knight turned from him in disdain. Percy moved forward on his knees to take Elizabeth’s slender hand in his. “My lady, do you find my song displeasing?”
As Elizabeth gazed down upon the young man, truth and pity warred inside her. Pity won. “Not at all, Sir Percy. 'Tis most clear you have worked long upon the words and melody. I am flattered by your efforts.”
This time triumph lit Percy’s pale eyes when he looked to Stephen.
Elizabeth heard her brother click his tongue in disgust. She frowned at him, her sapphire eyes flashing. “If you do not behave yourself, I shall go home and leave you to face Lady Helen alone.”
Stephen sat bolt upright. “Now, Beth. I was but jesting with Percy. He should not be so sensitive.” Stephen turned toward the other knight so that Elizabeth could no longer see his face, but she knew her brother well, and the expression he was directing at Percy would be unpleasant, to be sure. But she said nothing. Percy could be quite tiresome, with his whining ways. And he did cut a foolish figure in his mode of dress. Every fashion of the day was ridiculously exaggerated. His pourpoint was short to the point of indecency, the gold cotehardie he wore over it sporting tippets that trailed well past his knees, and the points of his shoes extended at least twice the length of his foot. If it weren’t for the fact that much of his foolishness was by way of trying to impress her, Elizabeth would have been less inclined to be patient with him herself.
She smiled decisively. “We will forget the matter.”
