“I have not seen him play a game in years,” Lothaire’s sister said, returning Laura’s gaze to her.
“As I have not seen you play one, Lady Sebille.” This from Sir Angus, causing both women to startle, evidence his silence had rendered him invisible.
Lady Sebille’s laughter was false and abrupt. “You know me, Sir Angus, never one for games.”
“True. For such you have no time.”
“As preferred.” She dipped her chin. “Good eve, Sir Knight, Lady Laura.” She crossed to her brother, who introduced her to Clarice. Then the lady continued to the stairs the physician ascended ahead of her—he whom Laura had not realized had returned to the hall following his departure at meal’s end.
“I should have kept my mouth closed,” Sir Angus said and gave Laura a sheepish smile. “I should still, but as you are to be her sister-in-law, there can be no harm in you knowing now what you will otherwise learn in time.”
Laura felt pulled between this suddenly sorrowful knight and the chess game, but she held his gaze.
“I was very fond of the lady once. She was fond of me.” He sighed. “But not enough. So I did the unforgivable. I loved others—or as near to love as I am capable. And with that, I shall leave you, my lady.”
She watched him cross to the sideboard where he poured a tankard of ale.
“Oh!” Clarice exclaimed. “I did not see that.”
Laura swung her gaze to the two with the board between them, saw it was Lothaire who removed his opponent’s piece. It seemed there was much he could do to prevent Clarice from taking his queen.
“The next time you will see it,” he said.
Grateful her daughter rarely cried over such losses, Laura returned to the chair to await the game’s end when Clarice and she could depart together. Though she had instructed the girl not to venture to the third floor lest she disturb Lothaire’s ill mother and Clarice had agreed, as Laura now knew, Lady Raisa did not confine herself to that floor.
It took longer than expected to name the winner of the chess game. And it was not Clarice.
Laura stood, started forward.
“Another game, Lord Soames?” her daughter entreated.
Before Laura could warn against further imposing on him, certain it was rest he required not another game that could last an hour, he looked around and said, “That is for your mother to decide.”
She halted, wondered if his words were calculated to give her control over her daughter that he believed—with good cause—she lacked.
How was she to respond as a parent should? Though disinclined to agree, eager as she was to retreat abovestairs, she was moved to consent to please her daughter who asked so simple a thing, especially considering how well Clarice had earlier contained her disappointment over being given little time amongst the sheep. She had protested when Laura ordered her back into the saddle, but that had been the end of it. Or mostly.
“Lady Laura?” Lothaire prompted.
She looked from him to her daughter whose teeth were pressed into her lower lip. If not that Lothaire must long for bed, the answer would be easy since it was early enough Clarice would likely while away an hour ere gaining her own night’s rest.
What would Maude—rather, what had Maude done with Laura in such circumstances?
She set her shoulders back. “I am well with it, Clarice, but only if Lord Soames truly does not mind. We must be considerate of one who has labored harder than we and will likely rise early again come the morrow.”
Her daughter’s lip popped from between her teeth. “We shall make it a quick game, Lord Soames. No more than a thirty count per move, hmm?”
Feeling his gaze, Laura looked to him. Had she failed? Did he think worse of her?
He gave a barely perceptible nod she hoped was of approval and turned back to Clarice. “A quick game, though you will owe me a favor.”
“What favor?”
“To be named when I need one. Agreed?”
Her nose twitched, but she said, “Agreed.”
As she set about returning captured pieces to the board, Laura moved to regain her seat.
“Lady Laura?”
She looked to Lothaire.
“If you are of a mind to seek your bed, I will escort your daughter to your chamber.”
“I shall wait.”
This displeased him, as told by his frown, but she was not ready to grant him the role of sire. That would take time and assurance his means of correcting Clarice was acceptable. Now if only she were certain of what acceptable was…
Within a quarter hour, Laura was easy enough with the bits of conversation overheard between the two and the occasional laughter and chuckle that she eased into the chair’s depths. Shortly, she dropped her head back and watched them through narrowed lids.
And from time to time lowered her lids to rest her eyes.
“So much she likes her sleep, she can be difficult to rouse.”
Lothaire shifted his gaze from Laura to her daughter who straightened from her attempt to coax her mother awake. “She likes her sleep?” he said.
“Indeed.”
Not the Laura he had known. She had seemed never to rest, during his visits to Owen ever at table ahead of him to break her fast, rarely dozing as he had done when they lay on their backs in the grass, always begging for another half hour—then another—at day’s end.
Clarice sighed. “I do not think she has ever risen ahead of me—or Lady Maude who was always saying, Let her sleep, let her sleep. Her nights are so very long.”
“Long?”
“Aye, restless. For that I mostly slept in Lady Maude’s chamber.” Her eyes moistened. “I miss her.”
“Then you spent much time with the lady.”
“I did, more than with…” She lowered her voice further. “…my mother. Lady Maude loved me very much.”
Because the girl was the child of her stepson, Michael D’Arci? He let his mind replay the embrace witnessed at Castle Soaring. But only once. Jealousy’s bite was sharp.
“I am sure your mother also loves you deeply.”
Clarice shrugged, rubbed the shoulder of the big dog who sidled near. “She says.”
He looked back at Laura whose cheek rested on her shoulder, lashes threw shadows toward her nose, lips parted enough to permit a glimpse of pretty teeth he hoped his heir would have. His were not unsightly, but neither were they as straight or bright as hers.
In that moment, he acknowledged how much he had missed her smile these ten years—recalled how often it was followed by beautiful laughter and how that smile had felt against his own. Would he see it again? Or was it lost to him forever?
“Methinks you will have to carry her,” Clarice said, making him jerk with surprise—more, the longing to fill his arms with Laura as done too briefly when she collapsed before the queen.
“Certes, you look strong enough, Lord Soames.”
More than strong enough. And Laura weighed very little.
“Is it not permissible?” Clarice pressed. “You are to wed. And what fun when she awakens and knows not how she came to be abed.”
“I do not believe your mother will think it fun.”