How she missed the power she had once wielded, though it had almost been the ruin of Lexeter. Not that she acknowledged what she had wrought, ever blaming Ricard and now those responsible for her husband’s death—even Lothaire whose efforts too slowly revived the barony.
“Your betrothed did ask that I deliver her to you that she might retrieve her daughter,” Angus said.
Lothaire frowned. “As instructed, you were to comply.”
“I agreed, but your sister insisted the lady take charge of the household to prepare for the Baron of Wiltford’s arrival.”
Whilst Sebille prepared Raisa to receive her husband’s bones, Lothaire knew.
“I shall take your place so you may return to High Castle,” Angus said.
Lothaire considered the offer but saw little benefit in returning early. “I am sure Lady Laura has all in hand. Thus, my time is better spent here.”
“As you will, my lord. Should I deliver Lady Clarice to her mother?”
“You may ask her, but I believe she will decline.”
“Might she have wool in her blood?”
That possibility made Lothaire ache. He would wish it of a child he had fathered, but one whose veins carried the blood of the man who had lain with Laura? He had brought Clarice here to acquaint her with the workings of Lexeter and further assert his authority soon to be granted as her stepfather. It was not his intention to foster an avid interest in wool best passed to his heir. He wished her to respect it and be conversant enough that when she was of an age to acquire a husband, she would draw more suitors willing to overlook her unfortunate birth in exchange for one learned in what was increasingly regarded as England’s greatest source of wealth.
“In her blood?” he said. “Methinks she is merely bored and will soon tire of the novelty and bemoan her soiled gown.”
Once more Angus cast his regard her way, then strode down the rise. He soon returned. “She prefers to wash sheep.”
“To which I myself must return,” Lothaire said.
Angus set a hand on his shoulder. “Regardless of the ill timing, I am glad your father shall soon be laid to rest.”
Lothaire inclined his head. Then he instructed his man to pause at Thistle Cross to make arrangements with Father Atticus to conduct the funeral mass at High Castle followed by burial in the churchyard, send word across Lexeter that work be suspended in honor of the old baron, and inform his betrothed of the morrow's plans that he himself would reveal to his mother and sister.
Chapter 16
She had feared she would cry. It proved difficult to direct servants, not only due to lack of experience in prioritizing tasks, but the inability to exude confidence which caused resistance toward one who was not yet Lady of Lexeter.
But then Sir Angus returned with the assurance Clarice was not a burden to his lord and tidings the old baron's burial would take place as soon as he was delivered to Lexeter. From that point onward, the task given her was less daunting owing to the knight's assistance with the servants. Though Lady Sebille had said Sir Angus was inept at household management, under his discreet guidance Laura fared well. A nod from him here, a shake of his head there, and the servants to whom she passed on his urgings began to move faster and with greater purpose.
Cook was another matter. He was not exactly disrespectful and acknowledged that in a sennight it was Laura with whom he would consult over the menu, but he did not temper his frustration that the nooning meal Lady Sebille had approved for the morrow would not be served.
“I am sorry to give so little notice,” Laura said and glanced past the middle-aged man whose stained apron so well fit him it emphasized muscles more suited to a soldier than one who wielded blades over meat and vegetables. Sir Angus’s shake of the head indicating she should not have apologized, she inwardly groaned. She ought to have been kind but firm in informing the man a meal incapable of being stretched to feed the Baron of Wiltford’s party—should they accept Lexeter’s hospitality—must be altered.
Laura cleared her throat. “Most unfortunate, only this day were we informed of the possibility of guests.”
The cook grunted. “I’ve only enough venison for stew—hardly a meal fit for noble guests, my lady, but there is naught for it.”
Laura inclined her head. “I have faith you will ensure ’tis agreeable.” That was as Lady Maude would have said, gently issuing a challenge for the man to prove worthy of his station.
He scowled and started toward the kitchen.
“Well executed,” Sir Angus said low.
She did not agree, but she had done her best. Smoothing the skirt of the old, plain gown into which she had changed, she said, “I thank you for your aid, Sir Knight.”
“My pleasure, my lady.”
Laura looked around the hall. “I wish there were time to clean the tapestries. They are much dulled by dust and smoke.”
“Surely a good beating will suffice.”
She sighed. “And see much of the work in the hall undone—dust everywhere.”
“Not if the tapestries are removed and cleaned outside on the donjon’s steps.”
Laura looked to him. “You are right.”
“Then we shall require ladders.”
Two hours later, several tapestries had been beaten fairly clean and were being returned to their hooks, while another was unrolled on the steps. As women and men took brooms to it, Laura returned to the hall and, catching Sir Angus’s eye, crossed to his side. “I thank you. The room is much brightened. I dare hope Baron Soames will be pleased.”
“I am heartened you wish to please him, my lady.”
“Of course I do. I…” She set a hand on his arm. “No matter the past, Sir Angus, I hope in time I will prove a good wife to your lord.”
He looked to her hand on him. “I am more inclined to believe you than not, Lady Laura. But you must know my first loyalty shall ever be to my lord.”
Too late, his consideration of her hand on his sleeve and now his words alerted her to the inappropriateness of such familiarity—especially in light of what he believed of her.
She lowered her hand and retreated a step. “Baron Soames is blessed to have a friend in you.”
His smile was slight. “I do not know I am that to him—he has little use for friends—but I watch more than just his back, my lady. Closely.”
“Sir Angus…Lady Laura,” Lady Sebille’s voice sounded, and they turned to where she advanced on them. “Where is my brother?”
Curtly, the knight dipped his chin. “Baron Soames is confident his betrothed can put the household in order and determined his time is better spent preparing for the shearing.”
She halted before him. “He ought to be here.”
“I but relay his message, my lady. I am sure he will return as soon as he is able.”
She shifted her gaze to Laura. “With so much to be done to receive Baron Marshal, I am all surprise you waste precious time chatting.”
The lady’s disapproval thick as cold soup, Laura felt as if caught in a compromising position.