“Catch me!” Laura called and peered over her shoulder at Lothaire, certain once his much longer legs overtook her they would kiss. If she unbalanced him as she had on the day past, they would find themselves in the grass again. And when their kiss progressed as far as he permitted, they would entwine their fingers and watch the clouds glide in and out.
But this was only a dream, she realized as she rose up through it. A dream made of remembrance. Unlike the other times it had visited, Lothaire would be with her when she opened her eyes. Or nearly so. Were he outside the donjon, he would not be far—even if he rode out to survey his demesne as he had done on the day past. Therefore, he was no longer entirely out of reach.
And what fool you are to think that, she reminded herself of her purpose upon Lexeter and their confrontation over Clarice. You are a tax break and a womb for the making of an heir, his—
What did he call you? His somehow. Merely a somehow.
She lifted her lids, found the ceiling above. Though once she had preferred sleeping on her side, after what had been done to her in the cellar, it made her feel vulnerable to give her back even to the walls. From the moment she closed her eyes upon night to the moment she opened them upon day, she wanted the assurance no one was near enough to catch her from behind.
She shifted her gaze to the right side of the bed. She was alone, Clarice surely having set off to explore the castle as had been denied her on the day past. And Tina? There was no humming or movement about the chamber, meaning the maid had gone for viands to break her lady’s fast.
Laura stretched, then wondering how late she had slept, pushed onto her elbows. And could not contain her cry of surprise and dismay at finding she was not alone.
She tried to speak the name of the woman who stood before the door garbed in a beautiful, albeit outdated gown, but her voice failed. And the Lady of Lexeter did not look of a mind to make it easy for them to renew their acquaintance.
Laura sat up, turned the covers back from her modest chemise, and rose from the bed. Clasping her hands at her waist, she said, “I am pleased to see you again, Lady Raisa.”
They both knew it a lie, so it was not really that, Laura supposed, but it was proper.
With a rustle of skirts that evidenced the gown was not worn often enough to soften its weave, Lothaire’s mother slowly advanced.
Wishing Tina were here, grateful Clarice was not, Laura remained unmoving. When the lady and she stood eye to eye with barely a reach between them, Laura wondered as she had all those years ago how such an aged and dour woman had birthed so attractive a son. The lady’s young husband must have been pleasing to the eye. And illness and the addition of these past ten years had been even less kind to his widow.
She startled when Lady Raisa lifted a hand and took hold of her chin, held her breath as sharp eyes scrutinized her.
“I did not think you would be so lovely when you grew into your face and body,” Lothaire’s mother said. “I should have heeded the Lord when He burdened me with uncertainty, but your father was generous with your dowry—at least until you proved the foulest Daughter of Eve.”
Laura took a step back and came up against the bedside table.
The lady lowered her hand but followed. “Alas, you are a necessary evil, as is the one you and your lover spawned who will surely prove as much a Delilah and Jezebel—mayhap more a whore than you.”
The hand Clarice had raised against her mother on the day past became Laura’s hand. But unlike Clarice’s, this one landed its slap and turned the woman’s head to the side.
Hardly had Laura time to feel the horror of what she had done before Lady Raisa retaliated with such force it was not believable her thin body possessed half the strength required to overpower one thirty-five years younger. Her hand gripped Laura’s face, wrenched it to the side, and when her victim’s body followed, slammed her head onto the bedside table.
Pain spearing Laura’s skull, she dropped to her knees. Not realizing the lady’s hand remained splayed over her face—pressing it to the tabletop—until that one’s breath was in her ear, Laura floundered for a response. And half senseless, wondered if the assault was her due. Albeit provoked by what the woman said of Clarice, she had struck first. So was this deserved? And was it only the beginning, as when she had refused Simon?
“My son does not want you, Laura Middleton,” Lothaire’s mother said. “I do not want you. The people of Lexeter do not want you. Though we shall suffer you and the foul fruit of your fornication as long as we must, I warn you—do you even think to cuckold my son again, the pain you feel this day will be naught compared to what I will do to you.” She pinched Laura’s earlobe. “As now you know, I am not as frail as I appear. And this wasting sickness… Aye, I am afflicted, but not so much you will soon see me in the ground.”
She released Laura and stepped back.
Gripping the edge of the table with one hand, Laura slapped her other hand to the bed and pressed to her feet. With a breath that quaked her body, she turned.
A placid smile showing gray-cast teeth, Lady Raisa said, “Heed me well, and do not forget your great weakness. Well, great insomuch as you have a care for your brat.” She turned, paused at the door, and touched the mark on her cheek. “I will not tell my son you struck a sickly old woman if you do not tell I have yet enough life in me to defend my person.”
Her threat confirmed she had sought to be aggressed upon. And foolish, still impulsive Laura had done her bidding.
Refraining from touching her own cheek that would be more marked than the other woman’s, Laura said, “Do not come to my chamber again. More, stay away from my daughter.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “Do you give me no cause to visit you or trouble your little girl, you need only tolerate me in passing.” She opened the door.
“If not in passing, the next time I shall be prepared,” Laura called.
The lady chuckled and closed the door behind her.
All of her trembling, Laura looked to the bed to which she longed to return and hold herself close. But she had been vulnerable enough for one day, and were she not more cautious now she was reacquainted with Lady Raisa, she would leave Clarice open to that woman’s threats.
She dropped her chin to her chest. She had been grateful to escape Lord Benton’s perverse clutches, but now there was this which could prove as dangerous to her daughter. Perhaps more…
“Father,” she whispered, “aid me in keeping Clarice safe—in persuading Lothaire not to delay in sending his mother from High Castle.” She lifted her head, probed her aching face, muttered, “Certes, she is well enough to travel.”