“How?”
“Whereas Lady Raisa could be blamed for choosing you, it was Lothaire who decided on the lady—he who determined she was suitable and pure. A lie.” She sighed. “But she is dead and in the past. So the question remains, Lady Laura. Now you are no longer a fickle, indiscriminate girl, can you make Lothaire a good wife?”
It was impossible not to take offense, but since the sister was more tolerant than her mother, Laura answered as levelly and honestly as she could, “It seems where Lexeter’s prosperity is concerned, I am capable of being a good wife, but beyond that, I fear not.”
The lady’s face pinched, then a smile plucked at the corners of her mouth. “Your fear gives me hope.”
“What say you?”
“Does it not mean you would like to be a satisfactory wife beyond what the queen and king promised my brother?”
“I would like that, but he thinks ill of me—does not trust me.”
Barely present eyebrows rose. “You betrayed him in the worst way.”
“Did I?” Laura said and regretted the impulsive response, an unwanted side effect of her awakening. Were she to keep peace in the home where she was to raise her child, her words would have to tread more carefully.
“Are you saying you did not betray my brother?” Lady Sebille glanced at Clarice, whom she believed evidence of that betrayal.
This time Laura suppressed the impulse to speak what was best left unspoken. Though a part of her she had not realized was so lonely strained toward the possibility of friendship with this lady, she must also subdue that. Perhaps she and Lothaire’s sister would eventually enjoy each other’s company, but not until Laura secured her place upon Lexeter. And that was not possible until the removal of Lady Raisa.
Hopefully, when Laura sat down to write the missive postponed to provide Lothaire time to avoid the queen’s wrath, his mother would be gone.
“You do not answer me, my lady.”
Laura recalled the question of her betrayal. “I can but assure you I am not the evil your mother names me. I have made mistakes, but those I shall not repeat.”
“I am glad to hear it. If you at least strive to be a good wife, you will have my support. If you do not…” She turned up her hands. “I will protect my brother as best I can.”
Another threat, and yet it was not quite that. There was too much pleading for Laura to take great offense. “Noted, my lady. Now I must ask, do you intend to tell your brother I slapped your mother?”
“That is not for me to do, and methinks Lady Raisa will not speak of it if you do not reveal she retaliated.”
“I will not, though he is aware I…” Laura’s smile felt bitter. “…took a fall that did injury to my face.” She stood. “I bid you good eve, Lady Sebille.”
The woman also rose, and the prayer beads attached to her girdle fell halfway down her skirt to settle amid the folds. “I am glad we spoke, and I hope to know you better in days to come.”
Laura opened her mouth to agree, closed it at the sound of booted feet.
Lothaire emerged from the kitchen corridor alongside Sir Angus. Head tilted toward the slightly shorter man, he chuckled at something the knight said and lifted a hunk of bread over which he paused when his eyes found Laura’s.
She noted he appeared fresher than when she had drawn him away from mending fences—and not only his hair that was now tightly bound at his nape. Had he washed his garments in a pond? Also bathed there? Imagining that as she should not, she recalled how once she had wanted to swim and bathe with him out of doors—and had believed they would when they wed. Now it seemed so sinful a thought her face warmed.
“Another missed meal,” Lady Sebille said low. “He works too hard. I hope your marriage changes that.”
“Once we are wed,” Laura said, “his income will increase, providing more leisure time.”
“Ah, but will it be soon enough for him to recover his dignity?”
Laura had sensed he had not liked her seeing him reduced to the labor of one born to the land, and yet she had also sensed the responsibility did not ride his back as heavily as those of the privileged class might think—that despite the hard work, he was fairly comfortable beneath its yoke.
“It seems one good thing has come of your presence here,” the woman said. “My brother may appear the lowest of villeins, but he washed away most of the day’s filth ere returning to the hall.”
As verified when Sir Angus and he halted before the ladies.
“Lady Laura.” Lothaire dipped his head, and his cool eyes warmed when they moved to the other woman. “Sister.”
Lady Sebille nodded. “How fares the demesne?”
“Well, though there is much work to be done. How is Mother?”
Her hesitation made him frown. “A difficult day, but she sleeps it away. On the advice of the physician, she is not to be disturbed.”
“I shall visit her on the morrow.”
“I would not. The physician has ordered several days of rest to allow her to regain her strength.” She looked to the bread he held. “That is your supper?”
“More of a dessert. Sir Angus and I filled our bellies in the kitchen.”
She clicked her tongue. “Do you not sit at high table on occasion, Lexeter’s people may forget you are their lord.”
“I shall make a greater effort on the morrow.” He leaned down, touched his lips to her brow. “I am pleased you and my betrothed are becoming acquainted.”
“We have something in common.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She smiled, and though the expression did not turn her pretty, it lessened her severity. “You.”
He looked sidelong at Laura. “I am a topic of conversation?”
“You are,” Lady Sebille answered. “A worthy one.”
“Now I am curious, Lady Laura,” Lothaire murmured.
Blessedly, an outburst saved her from satisfying that curiosity. Not so blessedly, it came from Clarice.
“But the game is not finished, Squire Aland. And I am winning!”
“I am sorry, my lady.” The young man pushed upright. “Now my lord is returned, I must resume my duties.”
“I will see the game to its end, Lady Clarice,” Lothaire called as he closed the distance between them. To his squire, he said, “See the solar is made ready. I shall be up shortly.” He dropped into the chair vacated by the young man, and the dog Clarice had befriended rose from alongside her chair and set its chin atop the Baron of Lexeter’s forearm.
Lothaire patted the beast, said, “Whose move, my lady?”
Clarice looked like Laura felt—a bird wishing to spread its wings and flee, though in Laura’s case she would do so with her fledgling lest the one who told he would correct her daughter made good his threat.
“Your move, Lord Soames,” Clarice said cautiously, then less so, “but be vigilant, for I plan to take your queen. And there is little you can do to prevent it.”
“Perhaps.” He bent his head to study the board.