The Bride Of Spring. Catherine Archer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ ’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 СКАЧАТЬ