The Bride Of Spring. Catherine Archer

did not want William to know what she was about. She wished to save him the burden of worrying about her, for she knew he would certainly do so if he knew. His guilt at her having shouldered the responsibility of caring for him had been apparent to her on more than one occasion.

      In spite of his desire to spare her, there was nothing he could do. He was only a boy, albeit a good and loving one.

      Her informing him that he and Aida would sleep in the hall with the servants this night had understandably brought comment. But Raine had told him only that she was required to share the room with another lady who had just arrived at court.

      She hated to lie to her brother, but could not tell him the real reason she needed to be alone. Aside from wishing to protect him from any unpleasantness in this Raine also knew she could not summon the fortitude to convince one more soul of the soundness of her logic.

      Or perhaps she was afraid that if she discussed the matter more, she would not have the courage to follow through with it. Perhaps she was afraid that her own fears would make her think of justification to stop now before it was too late. Hurriedly she left the room.

      The hall was crowded, as it was every night. For a brief moment, as she stood in the entrance, Raine was again beset by fear that Benedict Ainsworth might not be there, that he might have gone home already. She well recalled his remarks to King Edward about his dislike of court life.

      His sentiment, in that area, matched her own very well. She greatly missed the hills and dales of home, her duties about the keep, her own folk.

      With a sensation of both dread and relief, she saw him, seated not far from where he had taken his meal the previous night. Drawing a deep breath, Raine moved among the crowded tables, not hesitating until she reached his side. There, not knowing what else to do, she simply waited for his attention.

      She stood for only a brief moment before he looked up with an expression of surprise. “Good evening, Lady Raine.”

      She nodded. “My lord.” Raine gestured about the room. “I would beg your indulgence. I see that the tables are quite full. Is there any possibility that room might be made for me here?”

      Raine did not allow herself to even stop to consider her own audacity. For in truth there was no more room at this table than any other. She was quite aware that he, too, must know this. She simply had no time for subtlety and would not be sure how to go about displaying it if she did.

      If Benedict Ainsworth was aware of her forwardness he gave no indication of it. He spoke to the man next to him. “I am certain that we can find room for one small woman, can we not, Lord Longly?”

      The elderly nobleman bowed his white head politely. “Of course.” He waved a frail hand toward the space they had made on the bench.

      Raine seated herself quickly as the men went back to their conversation. Neither appeared to take any further interest in her—a fact that did not bode well for her plans.

      She had no real heart for the food that was piled on the platters, but she knew she must go through the motions of appearing to eat, at the very least. She was not happy to see how badly her hands were trembling as she took a small portion of the savory roast fowl and bread.

      Far from being appealing, as it was meant to, the rich scent of the meat nearly made her choke as she took a bite. Raine was far too conscious of what she was attempting to do, too conscious of the sheer temerity of her actions.

      She could feel the heat of Benedict Ainsworth’s body, hear the deep sound of his voice as he spoke to the man on his other side. Ainsworth had been kind to her, had defended her against Denley last eve when no other man present had so much as spoken a word. There was something very comforting about having him near her. All she had learned of him showed him to be a strong and honorable man.

      Raine suddenly wondered if, in the event that she succeeded here, she would be doing this decent man a grave wrong.

      Immediately she told herself that she had no choice. The qualities that caused her to hesitate over going forward were the very reasons she had chosen him. She had run out of time, and Benedict Ainsworth seemed to be exactly what she had been looking for—was in fact the only possibility.

      It was Denley Trent who was to blame in this. He had forced her hand. For her brother’s sake, she could not falter now.

      With that thought uppermost in her mind, Raine waited for a lull in the men’s conversation, then turned toward Benedict as he tore a section from his bread. “My lord?”

      He stopped and looked at her, his expression expectant, and she thought perhaps somewhat leery. “Aye.”

      Although she told herself that she must surely be mistaken, Raine had a sudden urge to run screaming from the hall, but knew she could not. In spite of the reticence she perceived in him, she smiled with what she hoped was appealing flirtation. “My lord, I wish to thank you again for your aid last eve.”

      His face was unreadable as he lifted a dismissive hand. “There is no need to thank me. I would not have such a lout accost any woman.”

      Raine smiled again, dropping her gaze and looking up at him from beneath her lashes as she had seen other ladies about the court do. “Yet I do wish for you to understand how grateful I am, Lord Ainsworth, for your chivalrous behavior. You have done me no small service. My cousin has plagued me greatly for some time and refuses to heed my rebuffs even yet.”

      She was not displeased with the look of concern that passed over Ainsworth’s face at her words. He spoke somewhat roughly. “You mean he has accosted you again?”

      Raine raised her wide gaze to his. “Oh yes, my lord. Why, this very day he came to my chamber when I was alone. If I had not barely managed to escape him I fear he might have…” The truth of what she said lent an air of fear and desperation to her voice, even though she was telling him all of this with deliberate intent.

      Chapter Three

      In spite of the fact that Benedict had spent the whole of this day attempting to put Raine Blanchett from his thoughts, he had not been as successful as he wished. His reluctance to dwell on her was brought on by the great certainty that to allow himself to be entangled with her, no matter how lovely she might be, would open himself to all manner of unpleasantness. Though it might indeed be through no fault of her own, chaos appeared to follow Raine about, beginning with his first glimpse of her in the audience chamber. She had claimed she was hiding there from an unwanted suitor, and now she was beset by another.

      As he listened to her, he felt a great swell of sympathy for this delicate young woman. It was not her fault that he had been thinking of her, of the way he had felt when he looked into her eyes.

      Even now he found himself looking into those unforgettable golden eyes and replying gently, “If there is aught I can do to aid you I will gladly do so. Though I am at court for only another day, perhaps I could bring your situation to the ear of the king?”

      She shook her head quickly, appearing distraught for a moment, before giving him a reassuring smile. “Nay, my lord. There is no need. I would not wish for King Edward to appoint Denley as guardian over us. And being our only living relation, Denley might convince him to do so. He has a quick tongue when need be.”

      Benedict could only look at her in surprise. He would not have described the lout as quick-tongued. He had, in fact, seemed something of a dullard, yet she did know him best. And had not the very man that Tristan had been forced to kill, whose brother now sought revenge, managed to retain favor at court in spite of his multitude of shortcomings? Benedict shrugged. “As you wish.”

      Her expression was tinged with uncertainty. “There is one small thing you might do to aid me. If it would not trouble you overmuch I would be grateful for your accompanying me to my chamber. I am certain my cousin would not dare to press himself upon me in your presence.”

      Benedict found himself noting that those golden eyes were flecked with even deeper bits of gold. Huskily he said,