More than unpleasant, he silently acceded. But he would not alarm her by revealing the Lady of Lexeter had sent assassins to the woman to whom he was briefly wed. Though Raisa Soames no longer had access to men willing to do her dark bidding, he did not think that would be of much comfort to his betrothed.
Seeing the frown gathering on the half of Laura’s brow that was visible, he realized he had not completed his thought. “I agree it is best my mother dwell on her dower property, but as it is nearly a day’s journey by cart, I must be certain she can make it without great discomfort.”
Laura looked down then up, and in a voice just shy of challenging said, “What makes you think she is not well enough. Surely she is not bedridden?”
“She is, though some days are not as bad as others.” Days that had become worse since last year’s murder attempt, he silently acknowledged. Days that sometimes made him question the soundness of her mind. “The physician believes she is not likely to see another summer. Thus, she will not be a bother to you.”
She turned her face away, drew a strident breath.
He leaned closer. “What is it?”
“Naught,” she said sharply. “As told, I would not risk my daughter being exposed to your mother’s hatred.”
Though he wanted to assure her it was not hatred Raisa felt—only concern for her son—he could not lie. And even if he could, it would be a waste. He was not accomplished enough at falsehood for Laura to believe him.
“You would do better to concern yourself over your daughter’s behavior than my mother’s.”
She snapped her chin around. “I would not!”
He barely heard her protest, his attention once more captured by the immovable shadow on her cheek.
He reached and swept aside the braid covering that side of her face. And was moved by anger when he glimpsed what lay beneath a veil of cream thinned by the brush of her hair. “She struck you hard enough to leave a bruise,” he snarled and moved his gaze to the girl in the distance who looked too small to inflict such an injury.
“Nay!” Laura gripped his arm as if for fear he would put heels to his mount. “Clarice did not do this. I fell!”
He looked back at her. “You lie.”
She shook her head, providing another eyeful of the bruise. “She did not hit me, Lothaire.”
He stared.
“May God bear witness!” It was said with such desperation he believed her even less.
“You and your daughter will return to High Castle. Now.”
“Lothaire—”
“Clarice requires discipline, Laura, and though I do not wish to be the one to correct her, I will if you do not.”
“I tell you, she did not strike me!”
“Do something about her, Laura, ere she becomes the same as—” He did not finish the thought. Though he wished her to understand the seriousness of the matter, he would not have her suffer further injury.
“You fear she will become like me,” she herself dealt the blow. But then she said with such bitterness he tasted it, “I am not sure that is such a bad thing—providing her path to becoming her mother is a firmer path than the one upon which I found myself.”
Found. As if she herself were not responsible.
“But a firmer one I intend to make it,” she continued, “and for that I sought Queen Eleanor’s aid in securing a husband.” She heaved a sigh. “Woe to you that you must suffer me, Lothaire. And woe to you if you think to correct my child for something she did not do.”
She commanded her horse forward, and he watched her descend the hill and argue her daughter up in front of her. When she turned toward High Castle, he spurred forward.
“See them safely back to the castle,” he instructed Angus as he dropped out of the saddle.
The knight’s brow was rumpled, but rather than speak his question, he mounted his horse and set off.
And Lothaire threw mind and body into the work of a commoner.
Chapter 14
The lady was so thin that even at Laura’s slightest she might have appeared heavy alongside Lothaire’s sister.
Laura rose from the hearth where she had sat following supper the past two nights. And just as Lothaire and his sister had been absent from the meal last eve, so they had been this eve. Now the latter appeared, and she looked almost starved. Too, though she was only a few years older than her brother, she appeared ten or more.
“You must be Lady Sebille.” Laura curtsied as the woman halted before her. “I am—”
“I know who you are.” Lady Sebille glanced across her shoulder at the girl who sat at a small table with the young squire persuaded to join her in a game of chess. “And that is your child.”
“Aye, Clarice.”
“The daughter who should have been my brother’s,” the lady said low. “Now alas, by default she is his responsibility.”
I ought not be surprised I am no better liked by her than I am by her mother, Laura mulled, then said, “Most unfortunate, our sovereign gave us little choice.”
The lady stepped past her, lowered into a chair, and motioned to the one from which Laura had risen. “We must needs speak.”
When the two faced each other, Lady Sebille leaned forward. “Are you as marked by Lady Raisa’s violence against you as she is by yours?”
Laura nearly choked. “She told you?”
“Her rendering, which I know to be pocked with exaggeration—likely even lies.”
What had Lady Raisa said? And would she reveal it to Lothaire though she said she would not if Laura did not speak of it?
The lady moved her eyes to the braid that was mostly for Clarice’s benefit. “Pray, show me, Lady Laura.”
She wanted to refuse, but she confirmed Clarice’s back remained turned to her and swept aside the braid.
“The cream lightens the bruise but does little to conceal the swelling,” Lady Sebille said.
Laura dropped the braid. “’Tis improved over this morn. Your mother is stronger than she appears.”
“She is not, my lady. I nearly had to carry her to her chamber. I am sure she but caught you unawares.”
An act, Laura silently countered.
“Though I am quite certain she must have provoked you,” the lady added with something just short of apology.
Laura frowned. “What makes you think that?”
“I know her, mayhap better than she knows herself—though that may be as she would have me believe.”
Just as she wished her daughter to believe her terribly infirm, Laura thought.
“Regardless, I allow she is difficult, not surprising for one who sees her life as mostly wasted, Lothaire her only worthy contribution. Thus, she is fiercely protective of my brother. As am I.” She sat back, fingered a string of dark beads on her girdle, the shine of which indicated they were handled often. “What matters to me is that you succeed where Lothaire’s first wife failed.”
“I know little about her. How did she fail?”
Lady Sebille raised her chin higher, peered down her nose. “I am not surprised he has not told you, and though ’tis not my place, I will tell it. Lady Edeva failed him the same as you.”
Did she mean the woman had cuckolded Lothaire? If so, not the same.
“A terrible blow,” the lady continued, “especially since he believes he failed himself.”