The Bride Of Spring. Catherine Archer
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Benedict’s expression took on a new and deadly seriousness that caused Raine to shiver in spite of the fact that it was not directed toward her. “I have afforded you all the patience I possess. I now suggest that you leave this chamber and do not, unless she give permission, ever speak to this woman again.”
Raine watched with horror as Denley swung one large fist. A heartbeat later she realized that she need not have worried. Though he was nearly of a size with Benedict Ainsworth, he was not nearly as agile nor as strong.
The black-haired man caught her cousin’s hand in his own. Denley’s gaze widened in shock for a brief moment before he jerked away. He lifted his fist again.
Benedict did not raise his voice, but there was cold hard steel in it. “Do not.”
Denley hesitated and in that instant lost any hope of following through. He turned and stumbled from the room, obviously not having the courage to face the other man. Raine’s lips thinned. Her cousin was the kind who only had the nerve to browbeat women and children. Or perhaps he would have withstood a lesser man than Benedict Ainsworth.
Her gaze swung to Benedict who stood staring at the open portal with a frown. Indeed, she had chosen well in him. Never had she imagined that there would be an actual confrontation with Denley this night, but it had proved to her that Ainsworth did have both the mental and the physical strength to protect William.
Quickly Raine went and closed the door. She could not allow him to leave.
Her gaze flew to the pitcher on the table, the two glasses, which, thankfully, had remained untouched by her cousin. Aida had known when she set them out that only one of the glasses would ever be used.
Did Raine have the courage to follow through? She did, because she must. Denley’s presence in her chamber this night had convinced her of that.
Raine went forward and poured some of the wine into one of the cups, then moved to Benedict’s side. He looked down at her, his gaze taking in the offered wine. “Nay, I should be on my way now.”
Raine spoke too hurriedly. “Please, do not go yet, my lord.” She glanced toward the closed door. “I…my cousin might return and I would not be here alone.”
Her fear seemed to affect him, for he said, “I will remain for a moment longer, just until you feel safer. But I do not think he will return this night, and you must remember to bolt the door when I am gone.”
She nodded vigorously, anything to get him to drink the wine before she lost her nerve. “I will do so.”
Raine watched with horrified fascination as he took the cup from her hand, raised it to his mouth and drank. A silent but heavy sigh escaped her heart.
It was done.
She was set on this course now, could do nothing to stop it. Once Benedict had fallen under the influence of the sleeping potion she would have no way of getting him from her chamber without bringing attention to them and thus the consequences of their being alone and unattended.
She felt both relief and regret when he said, “The wine is very sweet. Are you not having any?”
Raine shook her head. “Nay, not this night.”
He seemed little interested in her reply as he looked toward the door, clearly eager to be away. But Raine was no longer anxious on that score. She need delay him for only a few more moments now. He would soon be unconscious. Aida knew how much to give, being quite skilled in the art of herbal medicine. “Would you care to sit for a moment?”
He shook his head as if it were feeling very heavy. “Nay, I must…” His gaze seemed to focus on her briefly and he whispered, “You are so very…lovely….”
The words sent a strange tingling through her. She closed her eyes, telling herself that she must keep her mind centered on the work at hand. The drug had made him fanciful. She could not allow herself to think of this man as anything but a means to an end.
She took a deep, calming breath and with it a sort of fog seemed to descend upon her, a fog of unreality and numbness. It was through this fog that she saw Benedict’s gaze widen in confusion, saw him put his hand to his head, saw him stumble and drop the cup to the floor.
He tried to focus on her again. “What…?”
She moved toward him and took his arm. “Let me help you.” In spite of her resolve she could hear the regret in her voice as she led him to the bed. Raine knew that she must put aside her own feelings, keep her mind centered on what she must do. She needed him on the bed and would not be able to move him once he was asleep.
Benedict was so far beneath the influence of the potion that he made no effort to resist her. He barely made it to the edge of the bed before he groaned and fell backward upon the coverlet, unconscious.
Raine breathed deeply as she looked down at the man, who seemed more large and imposing than ever. His shoulders alone would surely take two strong men to lift. Or one very determined woman, she told herself firmly.
Yet as she bent over him, Raine recalled that she must disrobe him first before getting him beneath the cover. And she was not at all sure about how she was going to accomplish such a feat.
Yet this, as the other difficulties, must be overcome.
Raine climbed up onto the bed. She would begin with his houppelande and tunic.
’Twas not nearly so bad as she had imagined. Until she actually got his golden chest bare, that was.
Though she told herself she would not touch him more than she absolutely must, she soon found her palms flat against the molded wall of his chest. Her busy fingers slowed as if of their own accord and she realized how very smooth that golden skin was, how very male and different from her own in the most…
A soft groan escaped him and she started, a deep flush heating her neck and cheeks. Whatever was the matter with her? She had no interest in this man. He was nothing more than a means to an end.
She closed her eyes firmly before finishing disrobing him. Even when she moved to tug off his hose, she first draped the sheet across his body. Raine told herself that she did so out of sympathy for his vulnerable state, not because she had any interest in looking at that, and certainly not because she was afraid to do so.
Then she was able to put all her concentration into rolling and tugging until she got him into the bed. The last thing she did was empty the small vial that Aida had hidden beneath the top corner of the bed.
The maid had said there must be blood in order to make the scene complete, yet Raine again felt the heat rise to her face as she sprinkled the chicken blood over the sheet.
“It is all for William. It is all for William,” she chanted silently as she did the deed, then threw the empty vial into the fire.
She turned and looked at Benedict then, his handsome face seeming troubled as he lay against the pillow. Quickly she told herself that she was simply being foolish. He knew nothing of what was going on. She must not allow guilt to make her fanciful.
She had only done what she had to do.
With grim resolve she began to remove her gown.
Raine was still lying there awake, her burning eyes staring up at the ceiling, when she heard the chamber door open the next morning. She did not move.
Just as they had planned, Aida approached the bed and pulled open the heavy draperies. First she glanced at the sleeping man next to her, then met Raine’s gaze with silent entreaty.
Raine shook her head. There was no going back now.
Aida nodded and opened her mouth wide, emitting a screech that would have wakened the very dead. The sound was so loud that it startled Raine, who had fully expected to hear it.
The unfortunate Benedict Ainsworth had not expected it. Even with traces of the sleeping potion still befuddling his mind, he reared straight up in the bed. It was a moment before his startled gaze could