“Come.” He guided her forward. “Meet those who shall serve my wife.”
Introductions of Baron Soames’s betrothed and her daughter were made quickly, and though the household knights and servants were mostly reserved, none were impolite.
“They are not very friendly,” Clarice bemoaned as she ascended the steps alongside her mother.
“They are respectful as is required of them,” Lothaire said.
The girl clicked her tongue. “As are Lord D’Arci’s retainers, but his are more agreeable.”
Feeling Lothaire’s tension rise, Laura said, “Clarice, it is not for you to—”
“Nay,” Lothaire said as they neared the landing, “she may speak as she finds—providing she does so discreetly.”
Laura looked sidelong at him, saw his eyes were upon her daughter on the other side of her.
“They must not only earn your respect, Lady Clarice,” he said, “you must earn theirs.”
“Why? ’Twas not required upon Owen, nor at Castle Soaring.”
As Lothaire said something beneath his breath, Laura rasped, “Clarice!”
Her daughter heaved a sigh, and as the donjon’s doors were opened by a pock-marked soldier of middling years, surged forward and entered ahead of the man who lorded these lands.
“’Tis obvious you must better learn a parent’s role ere being entrusted with mothering my heir,” Lothaire rasped as they entered the hall.
Outwardly, Laura did not stumble. Inwardly, she tripped so hard scathing words nearly flew off her tongue. None need tell her she was deficient in raising her child, least of all this man whose losses did not come near to numbering hers—he who had well enough forgotten her that he wed another.
And lost her, she reminded herself. Breathing deep to slow her heart and cool the heat flaying her cheeks, she wondered what he had felt for his wife, something she had tried not to ponder for years. Had he loved her as once he had loved Laura? More? How had the lady died? In childbirth? If so, perhaps his losses did number hers. Might even exceed them.
“The hall,” he said and halted at its center.
Laura lifted her gaze she had fixed to the floor so he would not see the effect of his words and caught her breath. The great room was in better repair than what lay outside its walls. Though it evidenced neglect and age that would require much cleaning, polishing, and repair to set it aright, it was extravagant.
A massive hearth faced with beautifully carved stone discolored by soot stretched half the length of one wall, a half dozen sumptuous tapestries marked by stains and dulled by dust hung ceiling to floor, three alcoves boasted disarrayed benches and small tables, many-branched candlesticks wrought of iron as tall as a man stood crookedly in the hall’s four corners, the dais constructed of the same stone as the hearth was stained by cast-off food, and upon it sat a table whose front was curtained with gathered material that sagged—at one of those gaps the shining eyes of what was surely a dog.
A shiver of anticipation went through Laura. The household given to another woman would soon be hers, as ever it should have been. No longer would she merely be led through life. She would lead others, ensuring the donjon was comfortable and hospitable—a credit to her husband and his station. For Clarice she had awakened, and though her daughter’s happiness and security was of greatest concern, here was something for her. If never she was loved by her daughter or husband, she would have this.
“You are smiling.”
Had been, the corners of her mouth lowering as she swept her regard to the man who would give his household into her keeping. “I thought never to be here.”
He raised his eyebrows. “As did I, but what Eleanor wants, Eleanor takes.”
The freedom to choose the one who ordered his servants and birthed his heir.
Little chance I will know his love again, she thought. I shall have to be content with being the one who loves, though not by way of words. Too much I would bleed to speak what may never again pass his lips.
Unless you tell him, she recalled Michael’s encouragement.
I shall, she silently vowed. Though he may not believe me and think more ill of me, when the time is as right as I can make it, I will reveal what would not have happened had I been less foolish.
She tried for a smile of apology, but it shook her mouth. “I am sorry you felt you had no choice.”
“At least ’tis not without some gain,” he said of the tax relief that would allow Lexeter to rise above its financial woes. The queen had explained it to Laura and been pleased her cousin had enough wits to understand how great a boon it was for the man who would not otherwise wed a used woman.
Laura inclined her head. “I would like to be shown to my chamber. My daughter and I are travel worn.”
He dropped his hand from her. “As I have matters to attend to, Sir Angus will escort you.” He summoned a knight to whom she had been introduced minutes earlier.
He was handsome, perhaps a dozen years older than Lothaire, and the smile he once more bestowed upon her seemed genuine.
After receiving his lord’s instructions, the knight said in a voice touched with a Scottish accent, “This way, my lady.”
Laura motioned to her daughter and maid, and as they fell in behind, heard Clarice grumble over the state of the hall and knew it a futile hope Lothaire did not hear.
As they climbed the stairs, a man garbed in a long green tunic appeared on the landing above and halted his descent. Broad of shoulders and silver of hair yet stranded with the dark of his youth, he stepped to the side so as not to impede their progress.
“Lady Laura,” Sir Angus said when they reached the landing, “this is High Castle’s physician, Martin.” He nodded at the short man who, despite a deeply-lined face that told he was over three score aged, was yet attractive and straight of back.
Guessing by the color he wore he was one of those who had watched their lord’s return from the upper window, Laura said, “I am pleased to meet you, Martin.”
“And I you, Lady Laura.” It was said with little sincerity. Then his eyes sharpened and brow grew more furrowed. “Surely not Laura Middleton?”
Her surname almost spat, evidencing he had served this family many years, she stiffened her spine. “Lady Laura Middleton, soon to be Lady Laura Soames.”
His upper lip hitched and nostrils flared, but his reaction to the joining of her name with his lord’s seemed a small thing compared to the shock that went through her. It was the first time in a decade she had spoken her name alongside Lothaire's.
“This is Clarice, Lady Laura’s daughter,” Sir Angus said. Though he likely sought to lessen the tension, it thickened when the physician’s gaze landed on the girl, causing Clarice's mouth to tighten.
Fearing whatever words formed behind her lips, Laura said, “And here is my maid, Tina.” She nodded at the woman.