LITMIR.BIZ

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more misery in twenty-four years than most would bring in several lifetimes. Raynor would not allow him to have custody of little Willow. After what the man had done to his own step-sister, he was not to be trusted with the care of any female.

      But Raynor had no more time to think on that now. He came to a halt only a few feet from the seated monarch, squaring his shoulders, deliberately keeping his mind focused on what he had to do. Drawing the hatred down into the deepest part of himself.

      King Edward shifted his long legs as he leaned back, studying the men before him, seeming to miss little. The baron of Warwicke forced himself to bear this scrutiny without flinching.

      The forty-eight-year-old Edward’s golden hair and beard were liberally streaked with gray, but he was still a vital and vibrant ruler. Over his chair was a shield that bore the arms he had taken for his own. Raynor knew it irritated the French greatly that Edward had chosen to place his own leopards on the first quarter of his shield, rather than the fleur-de-lis. Though of Norman descent, Edward had always been one to think of himself as an Englishman first and foremost.

      The king caught and held Raynor’s gaze for a long, tense moment. But Raynor kept himself erect, not giving away any hint of his inner anger.

      Edward spoke, saying the words Raynor had feared he would. “And you are ready to swear on a relic of the one true cross, Lord Warwicke, that the child is yours?”

      His back became arrow-straight. Even though he’d known all along that the situation would come to this, Raynor was surprised at the quick shaft of guilt that pierced him at the idea of forswearing himself. But the feeling was short-lived. He must carry through, for the sake of the little one. Raynor nodded, sharply, then raised his square chin. “I am.”

      He heard a quickly indrawn breath from his right, and looked toward Nigel Harrington with a quirked brow. If nothing else, Raynor was pleased at having shocked his adversary. Nigel had made the mistake of believing Raynor too honorable to play by his own tactics.

      King Edward nodded to his cleric, then motioned toward Raynor. “Kneel down.”

      Raynor fell to his knees, his gaze locked on the front of the monk’s black robe.

      The cleric brought forth a small wooden box, which Raynor knew would contain a sliver of the Lord’s cross. He held it toward Raynor. “Do you, on your honor as a knight, swear by this piece of the one true cross, and in the name of Edward III, king of England, that the child called Willow is of your own seed, without doubt?”

      Forcing himself to take the box without hesitation, Raynor brought it to his lips. “I do swear this on my honor as a knight.”

      Nigel Harrington let out a growl of outrage. “He lies.”

      King Edward turned toward Nigel with an expression of forbearance. “My lord Harrington, in the days you have been at court you have shown no evidence that what you say is fact. Do you have some proof to offer us at this time?”

      There was a silence as Nigel fumed, his blue eyes locked on Raynor’s with fury. “No, my liege, I do not, but—”

      Edward interrupted him. “Then there is nothing more to be said.” He shrugged wide shoulders encased in purple velvet. “Unless you were present at the child’s conception, you have nothing to add.”

      As the king spoke, Nigel cringed, but quickly recovered. Raynor felt a burning urge to run him through right there before them all, and his fingers passed fondly over the hilt of his sword. He and Raynor were the only two people on earth who knew the true circumstances of Willow’s conception. The coward would not, could not, tell them that he had raped his own sister-by-marriage. Raynor had counted on this, but seeing the fear on the other man’s face only made him all the more disgusted.

      Nigel sputtered out, “But, King Ed—”

      Edward looked toward him with a dark scowl. “Lord Harrington. We have listened to you, and done our utmost to bring this matter to a speedy conclusion. We have ordered Warwicke here in haste and put him to the test. In all things we have tried to do our duty by you.” His lips thinned. “Warwicke has given his word, and as you have no proof that the child is not his, you may consider it done. We bear you no malice in this, Lord Harrington, feeling that your sister’s death has clouded your thinking, and in your grief you simply try to retain some piece of her by wanting guardianship of her child. But ’tis most clear that the child is the natural offspring of Warwicke, and he has already assured us of his intent to see the little girl well done by. You may leave Windsor with those comforting thoughts to see you safe home.”

      When Nigel opened his mouth as if to protest, the king raised an imperious hand. “The matter is done.”

      With that, Edward turned to Raynor. “It is our hope that such a dispute will not again occur concerning you, my lord Warwicke. In future, should you dally, make most certain that the gentlewoman is your wife.”

      Raynor lowered his eyes and nodded. “King Edward, you have my assurance that I will do so.” He did not add that he planned to stay as far away from that type of female as possible.

      Edward motioned with a beringed hand. “Arise, my lord Warwicke, and consider this dispute settled. I would have no more strife because of it.” He stared at Nigel Harrington for a long moment.

      Knowing that he had been chastened by the king, however politely, Nigel Harrington turned and hurried from the chamber.

      Raynor felt a sweet relief ease the tight band of tension around his chest. Now Willow would be safe from that bastard who called himself her uncle.

      King Edward waved a dismissive hand. “We have many other matters to attend, Lord Warwicke, and thus I must bid you good-day.”

      “My thanks to you, my liege.” Raynor bowed himself from the room. He was more than glad to have this interview at an end. He forced himself to walk the length of the room with carefully measured steps.

      Bronic and Stephen followed him as the great oaken door was opened, and they passed into the antechamber.

      Bronic looked at Raynor, letting out his breath, as if he had been holding it for a very long time. He raked his hand through his shaggy blond hair. “Praise God.”

      Stephen was looking from one to the other with curiosity.

      Raynor gave a mental shrug. He might as well tell Stephen the story he had decided upon. The day’s events would be all over court in a matter of hours, anyway. And it might as well be Raynor’s version of the tale as anyone else’s.

      He smiled at the auburn-haired man. They had fostered together as boys, with the earl of Norwich, but Raynor had left after only one year, when his father died. Though many things had passed in the thirteen years since, Raynor had always remembered Stephen with friendship and a sense of trust. He knew that Stephen would not embellish the story he was about to be told, but would relate it to others just as he had heard it.

      Raynor said, “Harrington can go to the very devil, for aught I care. He has tried to make trouble for the last time. Edward has upheld my claim to guardianship of the little one. She will remain at Warwicke.”

      Stephen asked, “What is he about? Some weeks ago he came to court, whining to whoever would listen that his sister’s child was stolen from him. Obviously the tale gained him today’s audience, but nothing more, for Edward has upheld your claim. I had no idea you were the man who was supposed to have done the evil deed until just now. Why would Harrington accuse you of such a ridiculous crime? Who does he name as the father?”

      Unable to stifle a rush of anger, Raynor looked at the floor. He didn’t want Stephen to guess at his overwhelming hatred for Nigel Harrington. He must guard Willow’s secret at all costs. He had promised her mother, Louisa. “He names none, because there is none besides myself. Harrington plays a game of greed. Willow is an heiress through her mother. The lands must pass through the female of the line if there are no direct male descendants, and there are none. Nigel is the son of Lord Harrington’s first wife, and has no claim. Without the little one, he has no access to her wealth.

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