Beware the Delilah, my son. Beware the Jezebel.
Lothaire loathed finding his mother here with him—not to offer comfort but force him to see what he did not wish to see. And regret what he ached to regret.
He stared down upon the man and woman until their ascent of the steps delivered them to the donjon’s door. Then the cool night air he had sought feeling chill, he stepped back from the window he had unshuttered minutes before Laura and Michael D’Arci crossed from the outer bailey into the inner—her hand on his arm.
He had struggled for a reasonable explanation for the two walking alone in the dark. And likely would have failed to find one even had D’Arci not stepped in front of her, even had she not gone into his arms.
What little doubt might have lingered was swept away by the memory of a younger Laura running to greet Lady Maude’s second stepson with enthusiasm that seemed to surpass that shown Lothaire upon his arrival. Later, when he told her such behavior was not befitting a lady, she had once more assured him Michael D’Arci was as a brother. For love of her, Lothaire had accepted her word.
Fool! Was the man Clarice’s father? Certes, it was a visiting knight who got Laura with child. Were D’Arci the one, more sense it made that Lady Maude had not merely been kind in allowing her scandalous ward to remain in her household. And her stepson was a better fit than her own son whom Lothaire had briefly considered as the offender. Though Laura had shared fond memories of their childhood, the one time he had met Simon, she had been distant with the disagreeable youth who was not much older than she, yet seemed younger.
Were it a D’Arci who made Lothaire a cuckold, it was surely this one entrusted with Laura’s daughter while she was at court, he who had hair as dark as the girl’s and eyes as pale.
Restrainedly, Lothaire closed the shutters he longed to slam, then strode to the bed and dropped onto it.
Woe to Lady Beatrix who believed herself happily married—more, for her defense of the woman who had birthed her husband’s child.
Woe to Michael D’Arci if ever the Wulfrith brothers learned the truth of him—more, if he thought to cuckold Lothaire a second time.
Chapter 10
What had changed since he had pressed his mouth to her palm, making her dare to hope the Lothaire of their youth was not entirely lost to her and ask how she was his somehow? It had hurt when he said she was but a means of saving Lexeter, but the next morn prior to their departure from Soaring, he had seemed more distant. And what had caused him to cool toward Michael though their talk of wool the night before had seemed almost friendly?
Though thrice over the past day and a half of travel Laura had asked Lothaire what troubled him, each time whatever lightness could be found about him darkened and he refused to answer. Thus, she feared the nearer they drew to the home he would share with Clarice and her, the more he regretted remaining a suitor.
Clarice also made the journey uncomfortable, but Lothaire was passably civil when the girl made it impossible for him to pretend she did not exist. In his hearing, she grumbled she would not like Lexeter and wished she could live with Michael D’Arci and his wife.
It was obvious she offended, but with flushed face and set jaw, ever Lothaire turned his attention elsewhere.
Laura entreated her daughter to keep her tongue, but though Clarice grudgingly agreed, that grudging was often her undoing after hours in a shared saddle.
“Look, Mother!” she returned Laura to the present. “Is that our home?”
Startled by what seemed excitement, Laura swept her gaze to the distant fortress. It had to be High Castle. Lothaire had said they would reach it some hours after noon, and it was as her young betrothed had described.
Perched on a hillock that resembled a bow with its string drawn all the way to the ear, narrow towers resembling arrows aimed at the heavens, the castle would appear to sit among clouds on days thick with fog. And to the far left grazed sheep who seemed lesser clouds that had lost their way.
Clarice made a sound of disgust, called, “Lord Soames, is that our home?”
Laura shifted her gaze to where he rode ahead and saw his back stiffen, but he slowed, allowing them to draw alongside.
“That is High Castle. There you will live.”
Yet he did not name it their home, Laura noted.
“It is pretty,” her daughter said, though from her tone it was other things as well, pretty being the highest compliment she would offer.
He glanced at Laura. “Pretty, though mostly at a distance. It is in need of repair.”
Clarice sighed. “Lord D’Arci repaired his castle years ago. Why have you not done the same?”
A muscle in his jaw spasmed. “That requires funds that have been lacking.”
“Have you them now? I do not like ugly things.”
Laura grimaced. As Clarice had been encouraged by Lady Maude, and as evidenced by the girl’s clothes and gifts that became more extravagant the older she grew, she had a great taste for beauty.
More color rose in Lothaire’s face, and when he spoke there was strain in his voice. “Funds are being raised, but as it will be years ere Lexeter is whole, best you become accustomed to less than pretty.” He urged his horse forward, and Laura thought he would have spurred away if not for Tina and all the packs.
High Castle proved more distant than it appeared, taking a quarter hour to reach walls that were, indeed, in need of repair. And that was not all. But though many of the buildings in the outer bailey were in poor condition, there was evidence of restoration, primarily to the stables and smithy.
It seemed a good sign the men on the walls and castle folk greeted their lord’s return with enthusiasm, and her foreboding eased when some of the lines in her betrothed’s face disappeared and he returned smiles and raised a hand.
Laura did not expect his mother to greet them before the donjon, since her inquiry into Lady Raisa’s health had yielded she had never fully recovered from the illness that allowed her son to visit his betrothed at Owen absent her escort. But Laura had thought his sister, whom he had told remained unwed, would be among those gathered before the donjon. She had never met the lady, but there were no noblewomen among the servants.
Lothaire lifted Clarice down, then Laura. “Well come to your new home,” he said without hint of welcome and crossed to Tina to aid in her dismount.
Laura raised her gaze up the donjon and glimpsed movement at a window on the uppermost floor. Two figures, one wearing dark green, the other pale blue. Lady Raisa and Lady Sebille?
A hand cupped her elbow, and she peered across her shoulder at Lothaire whose gaze had followed hers. Had he also noted the movement? If so, he said naught, but something told her it was that which returned him to her side.