Determined that if her betrothed would not do as bid, she would send word to Eleanor as she had gently threatened Lothaire, she began preparing for the day.
Blessedly, the mirror on the dressing table revealed her face felt more tender than it appeared. Providing a bruise did not rise, none need know an elderly woman had retaliated for the offense dealt her.
“After the offense dealt my daughter,” Laura murmured as she smoothed creamed powder over her flushed, lightly abraded cheek. Still, despite Lady Raisa’s cruelty, she felt evil as the woman had named her.
“A necessary evil,” she whispered. And nearly cried.
One step. It was all she could manage of the stairs that reached from the second floor to the third.
Lungs aching with each draw of air, joints protesting how tightly she gripped the railing, Raisa let her shoulder fall against the wall and clutched her side. So hot had her blood coursed when she stood before the one unworthy of her son that she had thought it a great lie she was frail and soon to have dirt flung upon her corpse. But it was no lie, all of her day's strength wasted on the Delilah-Jezebel.
“Not wasted,” she croaked and released her side to finger the mark on her cheek. The flesh had cooled, likely presenting little evidence of the attack, but it had served its purpose. Despite Lady Laura’s own threats, the younger woman was afeared enough she would not soon take a lover. But when Raisa was gone…
Catching the sound of humming on the stairs below, she straightened her spine. Certain the noise belonged to Lady Laura's maid whose earlier descent was marked by tune which assured the reunion with Lady Laura would be uninterrupted, Raisa forced herself to mount the steps. With strength scraped from her depths, she made it out of sight and sank to the floor on the uppermost landing.
She disliked the prospect of being found by Sebille who would guess the Lady of Lexeter possessed a key to her chamber, but unless she recovered sufficiently, there was nothing for it. Of course, Sebille might be persuaded she had forgotten to secure the door, especially if Raisa provided a good distraction.
Chuckling at the realization her inability to reach her chamber could prove of benefit, she gave her cheek a more vicious pinch than that dealt the harlot’s ear and improved on the injury by raking her nails down her jaw.
Poor old woman. She did what she must to ensure the future of the Soames family as her husband had not—he whose body had yet to be returned by the family who murdered him, he whom she did not mourn as a loving wife should. Had his treachery not led him to seek out his mistress, during his return to Lexeter he would have had no cause to request a night’s lodging upon the barony of Wiltford. He would yet live. If never her unfaithful husband was exhumed and replanted in consecrated ground she would be all the happier.
It was a long quarter hour before the one who had once seemed a miracle nearly stumbled over the old woman.
“What—?” Sebille caught her breath when a bruised and scratched face was raised to her, dropped to her haunches.
“The Delilah,” Raisa choked. “I sought reassurance she repented of her sins against your brother, but she is less godly than ten years past.” With a shaking hand, she touched her face. “I defended myself as best I could—pushed her away. Certes, she would have done me greater harm had she not stumbled and struck her head on the table.” She let slip a smile, knowing to suppress it would cause the disbelief rising on the younger woman’s face to blossom, then she gripped Sebille’s arm. “The whore will further ruin Lothaire.”
Raisa did not believe Sebille had a great care for her as she had when she was a girl—when she had good cause to love the Lady of Lexeter and be loved in return—but Lothaire’s sister had been devoted to her brother since she first held Ricard’s infant son. Thus, the younger woman who was growing old ahead of her years might finally serve a purpose other than that to which she had rightfully given her life.
Clenching her teeth so hard her bony face that had once been softly rounded looked harsher, Sebille struggled to help Raisa to her feet. “Let us get you to bed, my lady.”
It was no easy thing, Raisa so weak she could offer little assistance and Sebille so spare of muscle she was huffing by the time she nearly dropped the older woman onto the mattress.
“We must tell Lothaire what that woman did to you,” Sebille said.
“Nay.” Raisa groaned back into the pillows. “I wish we could, but Lexeter does need what that harlot brings to the marriage, and I would not give him cause to break the betrothal. We will simply have to be vigilant, protecting him as best we can, eh?”
She was pleased by the emotions struggling across Sebille’s face that made the younger woman close a hand over the prayer beads hung from her girdle. And further pleased when Sebille said, “I shall watch the lady closely.” She drew the covers up over Raisa’s shoulders, glanced at the door. “How did you gain a key to your chamber?”
No feat that. As Lady of Lexeter, she had possessed keys to all doors of import—two sets, the one Lothaire took from her when he determined he could manage the demesne better than she and the set hidden in a dozen pockets sewn into the inner lining of her clothes trunk to allow them to lie flat and keep them from rattling against one another.
“Would that I possessed one,” she said and let a smile onto her lips as would be expected. Though this one trembled, it was not entirely for show, so fatigued was she. “When you departed earlier, I noted you did not lock the door.”
“But I did!”
“Nay. I heard no turning of the key, and it was unlocked when I tried it.”
Sebille studied the older woman’s face, slowly nodded.
“Worry not,” Raisa said. “I will not tell Lothaire you were remiss lest he no longer entrust you with my care.”
Something flashed in and out of Sebille’s eyes.
Dismay, Raisa named it and drew an arm from beneath the covers and patted the younger woman’s hand. “I vow I will not tell him—and most selfishly, for you know I would have naught to live for were you taken from me, do you not?”
Another nod, then Sebille said, “I will have to be more mindful of securing the door,” and hastily added, “to protect you should you be tempted to expose yourself to Lady Laura’s venom again.”
Venom. Raisa liked the word applied to that woman, Lothaire having accused his mother of the same when he brought to ground men sent to punish Lady Beata whose unconsummated marriage to her son had been annulled by Queen Eleanor. “You are right to do so, but more to keep that whore from my chamber lest she seek to permanently remove me from my son’s life.”
Sebille stood. “I shall summon the physician.”
He who had served the Lady of Lexeter since shortly after her husband’s disappearance. The man was her dearest friend, though perhaps because he was her only one. Regardless, none could know it from the formality with which each regarded their relationship.