Redefining Rayne Read online

  Redefining Rayne

  By Amy Mullen

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  REDEFINING RAYNE

  Copyright © 2013 AMY MULLEN

  ISBN 978-1-62135-233-4

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIO

  To my parents, Connie and Brad – all my love.

  Chapter One

  March, 1088, England

  With a tremulous lift of her chin, Lady Rayne made eye contact with the king. William Rufus sat before her, looking bored, as he finished uttering the words that would change her life forever.

  "I wish to be left alone," she said as she jerked her head aside to avoid his eyes, her voice barely audible. "I have done my part for the betterment of our lands. I married once and lost everything."

  William eyed her thoughtfully as he waved away those standing near him with a flick of his wrist. "I see we have a problem then, cousin. Your husband is gone. Because you have no other family, you become my ward. You have no say in what you do, and I do not ask much of you."

  Rayne's eyes widened as she lowered her head. Upsetting the king was not in her best interests. She gazed momentarily at the shimmering fabric of her skirt, a reflection created by the sun coming through the window. Fear and loneliness welled up inside her.

  "And furthermore," William said before she could speak again, "I am hereby taking control of your estate. Once you marry, the manor will go to de Grelle to do with as he pleases. I will retain the hunting grounds."

  Rayne's head shot up. "But sire, there are better choices for marriage, I am sure. I am twenty. This de Grelle would rather have a young wife, do you not agree?" She was terrified, and she risked much by arguing with him, but she was fighting for her life.

  "You'll have a three-month betrothal. That is plenty of time to get used to the change. You will travel to Cuxton at once," he said, sounding bored again.

  "I—" she began but was cut off.

  "There is nothing more you can say, milady. You'll honor your betrothal. I have more important things on my mind than listening to your complaints. They are plotting against me, and I must know how to handle the situation. I will not tolerate this nonsense. These ungrateful heathens do not want to show me the same respect they showed my father, wishing instead Robert, Duke of Normandy, was king of England. Andre de Grelle has proven himself loyal to me in the past. Unless his loyalties have changed, you will be safe with him."

  Rayne's stomach rolled as the king ranted. There had never been a choice. Just a week earlier she had requested he send her to a convent so she might live her life out in peace. He had loftier ideas, apparently. She would never be free. The king's face was reddening as his anger grew, and she knew she had pushed him too far.

  "I will show them all!" his voice boomed throughout the hall as his eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists in his lap. "Those who plot to destroy me shall pay dearly! You will go to him, and your marriage shall ensure his continuing loyalties. He has asked for a wife, and to make sure he remains loyal to me, you will become that wife. Am I clear, Lady Rayne?"

  "Yes, sire," Rayne said, her shoulders drooping in resignation. "I shall be ready to go as soon as you wish."

  "Ah, very good," William spoke in a lower voice. "I see there is sense in you after all. Be ready on the morrow. You shall be accompanied by Tillie. She will act as your chaperone until you are wed. Lord Andre de Grelle has already been informed of your betrothal and is expecting you. Remember, you have three months. Make the most of your time and accept your place. This marriage is a perfect match in ways you could not understand, Rayne."

  Rayne let out a long breath, low enough so the king could not hear her, and moved slowly to leave the near-empty hall. Only a few of the king's men witnessed their meeting, though they barely took notice of her presence. Anger flared, but it was quickly subdued by her hopelessness.

  "Lady Rayne," the king said.

  Stopping, she faced him again.

  "Your eyes betray you. I understand you think your last husband was unmerciful, but you could do worse than Andre de Grelle. Do not dishonor yourself. You are the humble wife-to-be of a Norman lord. Act as such. Do not doubt I have eyes in Cuxton Castle, cousin. You will find, with time, how wise and merciful I really am. You will thank me, Lady Rayne. Am I clear?"

  Without hesitation, Rayne fled the hall, ignoring the curious eyes that watched her flight as she returned to her modest manor for the last time.

  ****

  Hours later, Rayne sat in a stiff, high-backed chair in her bedchamber. Her tired eyes drooped, but her mind was too busy to allow her to sleep. She had once shared this room with her husband, Claude, a man who was none too kind. His death had been a relief. He had taken off during a violent storm, when a tree, caught up in the high winds, fell taking him to the ground and to his death. Rayne did not miss his cruelty, nor did she mourn the loss of her married life.

  Her babes, however, still caused her great misery. Six years ago, the first was born and lived only minutes. The second, born a year later, suffered the same fate, and then a third a year after. Following a long, painful labor, her first had died in her arms, but the second and third were whisked away to spare her pain. She had been violently ill after giving birth with the last two, and could not hold them, help them, or save them. They both died quickly, each buried before she could rise from her sick bed.

  Her greatest fear was another birth would end the same way. Never again could she feel pain so intense. Unimaginable. Indescribable. Soul-crushing. She would surely die with the next. Another pregnancy was out of the question.

  Thinking about it was painful. She only spoke of it with Tillie. Otherwise, she avoided speaking of it as doing so brought back the memories she had locked away. It was far easier avoid it. With a sigh, she stood, wishing she had put her hair up, as she normally did. It was tangled now, and she would have to take more time to ready in the morning. Her attire was wilted, but that did not matter. She had worn her nicest kirtle to see the king and had no further use for it.

  How she appeared to Andre de Grelle mattered not to her. She had endured one boorish husband and did not wish to impress another. Maybe he would send her away. If he was important enough to the king, maybe he would have a say in his bride. He asked for one, but what if he was not pleased? What would such a man want with an aging widow of twenty years?

  Rayne did not fear another beating. Those moments had been the easy part of her existence. The pain dissolved, the bruises faded, and she would wake up to a new day. Claude had told her it was simply what happened when a woman disobeyed her husband. There was no joy in her marriage, but losing her children was what had killed her soul. If she had to choose, she would opt for ten new bruises a day rather than suffering through the loss of another baby.

  A plan formed in her mind, building upon itself at a pace so quick she struggled to follow her thoughts. The king would not relent. William Rufus was not a kind man and he cared only for his wealth and securing more power. England, the country his father had fought so hard to secure, was now at odds with its king, who ruled so unlike his father. She dared not defy him openly, but what if de Grelle refused her? What if she should appear ragged and homely? Many had calle
d her beautiful. If she could appear otherwise, maybe he would refuse her, and her part would be done.

  She crossed the room to look through her clothing, feeling a bit excited with her plan. Inside her grew a hope that all was not lost. Her chest was packed full, as the servants she still had must have been ordered to pack for her journey. Picking up one item after another, she threw the nicer items onto the floor, leaving her with the oldest and more worn pieces she possessed. Then, almost as an afterthought, she packed away some items she did not want to leave behind. Forgotten relics from her childhood and the only happiness she had ever known.

  Within moments, her plan formed completely. She would leave her hair down, wild and tangled, and smear her face with ash. He would send her back, and she could be free. She could not openly defy the king, but if Andre rejected her, mayhap she would be free. Aye, she would go, but could not be faulted for being sent back. The king could not be that cruel, could he?

  Chapter Two

  As the morning matured, Tillie bustled around the room making noise. Ignoring the clatter, Rayne squeezed her eyes shut, wishing to stay abed. Tillie had been her chambermaid since Rayne had married Claude. A stark, no-nonsense woman, Tillie was the only person to treat Rayne with respect and a touch of dignity. Tillie was all she had left in the world.

  Rayne's long hair was twisted around her shoulders, and one slender leg curled around the edge of a fur coverlet. Tillie cleared her throat. Rayne peeped through her fingers for a moment but remained still. The chambermaid stopped what she was doing and came to the edge of the bed. She towered over Rayne by a head and was old enough to have been her mother. Though not unwise in the ways of the heart, she had never married. Tillie would try to stop her from disobeying the king, but right now, Rayne simply wished to sleep a bit longer.

  Sensing a presence standing much too close, she finally gave in and peered up at Tillie. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "You will," Tillie said, "or endure the wrath of your cousin. I assure you, milady, that is not what you want to do."

  "Ha," Rayne said, finally deciding to meet the day and fully opened her eyes, "I care not what Rufus wants. My cousin is ruthless, and I already married one brute. I will not do it again."

  "You will care when he finds the most hideous, vile man he can to marry you off to next," Tillie said with a sniff. "You will wish for your former husband to come back to life the next would be so bad, I tell you."

  Squinting, Rayne sat up. Her blonde tresses were still wild, and her eyes were as vibrant as the morning sun. "I know you mean well, but you do understand what marriage to any man would entail? You know why I cannot do that."

  Tillie's sympathetic eyes rested on her, but her lips were tight and firm.

  "I cannot allow that type of pain again." Rayne's bright eyes rimmed with tears. "I have lost three children, and I will not bear the attentions of a man again. I am cursed, and I was not meant to be a mother. Those around me need to leave me be."

  "You know you have no choice, milady," Tillie said. "Long ago, before William the First, women in England could inherit, but that is no more. You cannot defy the king. I wish, for your sake, there was another way. I don't want to watch you make things worse for yourself."

  Standing, Rayne stretched. She threw her arms into the air and let out a most unladylike yawn. Tillie was a strong spirit, and her presence on this trip was the only way Rayne could go through with it. The older woman's straightforward manner often left Rayne feeling as if she were in the presence of a mother, not a chambermaid. They were friends too. Tillie had been the only person to show any compassion to her when her babies died. She stayed by her side throughout her post-birth illnesses and did not move until Rayne was well again.

  Rayne had always tried to remain strong in the face of her husband, but she trembled when he came near. She had grown to fear him, but she had hoped children would have taken away some of the loneliness and dread. Her husband had moved to different sleeping quarters and never touched her again after the third baby died. Now, it seemed fate was trying to push her into the arms of another. She was cursed, and surely another stillborn baby would be too much for her to bear. No, she could not risk it. The plan she had formed the day before became real again. She would get de Grelle to reject her no matter what she had to do.

  Stretching again, she threw aside the white smock she had worn to bed, and then glanced at the dirty kirtle from the day before. She had instructed Tillie not to touch it. With a quick motion, she plucked it from the floor and tossed it onto the bed.

  "Would you like a bath, milady?" Tillie said.

  "Nay," Rayne pulled the kirtle over her head, "I do not plan to bathe for a while."

  "It will take all day to get to our destination and some of the night, possibly two days. You should bathe now while you can."

  "No, you misunderstand me," Rayne said. "Andre de Grelle will not want to marry a wild woman with tangled hair who refuses to bathe, now will he?"

  Tillie's eyebrows arched. "What do you plan to do, milady?"

  "Never you mind, Tillie. Just know we will not be gone long. This de Grelle will send me away before a fortnight can pass, of that I assure you."

  "Whatever you plan, milady, you play a risky game. Instead, why not tell the poor soul you cannot have children? He might send you back immediately. I still caution you. That may not be the true answer you seek. William Rufus will send you somewhere else, somewhere worse."

  "I doubt de Grelle, or any man, would believe me, even if I could get myself to say the words aloud. He would wed me and force me. Nay, I cannot tell him. It won't do me any good. I have to do this my way."

  Chapter Three

  Rayne's first glimpse of Andre de Grelle and Cuxton Castle was not what she had expected. The trip had been long, and she was weary. Tillie had been with her as they traveled with an odd assortment of the king's men, and it was near midnight when they arrived. She was as disheveled as she had hoped, and her eyes were reddened and small as she struggled to stay awake.

  The night was moonless and stale. As they traveled, she learned Cuxton Castle was not yet finished. Cuxton was being expanded from a smaller home, and the outer curtain wall was yet incomplete. Rayne could see none of this. All she could see was the drawbridge falling to greet her tired party, and bold beams of flickering red and orange bouncing off the waters of the moat. Andre stood on the planks, hands on hips, as if daring them to enter. In the firelight he appeared fearless. He cast a withering glance about, as if he would send them away before she could set a foot on the ground.

  The party came to a halt, and behind Andre appeared a cluster of men. She could not make them out but assumed they were his men-at-arms. Bursts of white fog appeared as they spoke, their breath hot against the chilly March air. Dots of light bobbed in place along an eerie arc going off into the distance. She soon realized the dancing orbs were torches along the curtain wall where his men were on watch. She cringed involuntarily, terrified of being so far from her home. Twigs snapped in small campfires, and the soft sound of an off-key whistle wafted into the thick night air somewhere in the darkness beyond them.

  Andre was not the monster she had been prepared to meet. If anything, this man was what a young maiden would hope for when she was still young enough to think she might be happy in her marriage. He was more dangerous to her than any ogre. His confidence was obvious in his towering frame, and his stance was firm and commanding. Though she could not see the true color of his eyes, they were dark and certainly missed nothing. His black hair was in stark contrast to her blonde mane.

  Stiffening, Rayne reminded herself what was at stake. She must get out of here before he could touch her. Instead of accepting her fate, she must either get him to release her or send her back to her arrogant cousin, the king.

  With trembling feet and Tillie right behind her, Rayne presented herself to Andre. Her hair was tousled, her face flecked with mud from the last stream they had crossed, and she had managed to smear ho
rse droppings on her skirt. The smell was driving her mad, but she knew it would help to turn his eye from her. She nodded and boldly met his gaze, not bothering to hide the fear marring her lovely face.

  "I see you have gone out of your way to appear fit before me," Andre said. His deep, even voice startled Rayne. She expected him to bellow in disapproval, but he did not. Her legs began to shake. He was not reacting as she had hoped. "You have delivered the lady," he said to the king's men. "If you do not wish to bed down tonight, you may go."

  His eyes stayed fixed on the king's men behind her. Her trunk was placed to the ground with a thud along with the smaller trunk Tillie had packed for herself. Rayne stared forlornly at those trunks, which were all she and Tillie had left. She stood as tall as she could, but she barely came to Andre's shoulders. As the king's men went to depart, she heard the soldiers comment on what Andre could do with her next.

  "See Lady Rayne to her new quarters," Andre said loudly to one of his men, again startling her. "And find a chambermaid to see to her bath. The stench is unbearable."

  For the first time that day, Rayne allowed herself a glimmer of hope. Tomorrow, her plan could begin in earnest.

  ****

  Blinding sunshine woke Rayne the next day. She was accustomed to rising at dawn and felt sinfully lazy. As soon as her bath had arrived the night before, she had declined, and then refused to let servants take her foul kirtle from her. Her plan was to wear it again that day. The thought was daunting though, as the foul smell was still in the air, and the thought of wearing it again made her weary.

  Tillie was pacing back and forth and jumped when Rayne sat up. "Whatever is the matter?" Rayne said, stifling a yawn.

  "Milady, I wish you would think twice before trying to treat this man this way. He is nothing like Claude," Tillie said. She wrung her hands and continued. "He is not the monster you feared, at least not physically. I may not have married, but I am not blind. Andre is a handsome man. You could do far worse, if you are sent back to William Rufus."