The efforts of the day past were more obvious with the afternoon sun casting itself through the upper windows like a beautiful sacrifice. So, too, were its shortcomings that revealed how tired the room was.
Clarice at her side, Laura started toward the high table. And halted when a hand touched her arm.
“A moment,” Lady Beata said. “First let us see the casket pass.”
Laura’s face warmed. Of course it was inappropriate to seat one’s self ahead of the procession. She may not have been the best pupil, but Lady Maude had made certain her ward was versed in proprieties.
Grateful for Lady Beata’s encouraging smile, she allowed the woman to hook arms with her and draw her toward Baron Marshal’s knights and the castle folk who stood on either side of the path cleared between doors and stairs.
Laura glanced at her daughter who had also corrected her course, then whispered to Lady Beata, “I am not accustomed to acting the lady of the castle. I thank you.”
Lightly, the lady bumped Laura’s shoulder. “It becomes easier,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “Ere long, it will seem almost like breathing.”
It was some minutes before Lothaire, Sir Angus, and four other Lexeter knights entered bearing the casket on their shoulders. When her betrothed’s eyes flicked to her and mouth tucked up slightly, her ache over his loss increased—as did her gratitude toward Lady Beata.
The procession wended past and up the stairway.
As the sound of their boots faded, Clarice tugged her mother’s sleeve. “May I go to the kitchen?”
Laura frowned. “Are you not hungry?”
“I could not help myself. I ate an hour past.”
“Then go, but do not get in Cook’s way.”
Clarice hastened opposite.
Laura looked to Baron Marshal. “Let us see you refreshed.”
Once they were seated at the high table, their men at lower tables positioned perpendicular to the dais, the viands kept warmed these two hours were served—and not only to those in the hall but Lexeter’s people in the bailey as Laura had directed. Hopefully, Cook would be able to accommodate greater numbers than expected.
There was nothing boisterous about High Castle’s guests as was usual with visitors, and it became more solemn when those who had borne the casket abovestairs returned to the hall—all but Lothaire and Sir Angus. Talk was in hushed tones, and Laura was so worried over her betrothed that the few bites she took were mostly tasteless.
“I thank you and Baron Soames for receiving us kindly,” Lady Beata said. “There has been so much ill between our families that fear for my safety roused an argument between my husband and me over my accompaniment.” She made a face. “Even when he found himself bound and at my mercy aboard ship, I do not think he was as angry.”
Laura could not imagine the formidable warrior reduced to helplessness. “Truly, you tied up Baron Marshal?”
“’Twas not I who bound him, but he was under my control—until we found ourselves shipwrecked. Then I was at his mercy, and much he showed me. I should have gone down with the ship, but he saved my life.”
Laura was captivated, and her interest must have shown, for Lady Beata gave a laugh that likely would not be so restrained were it not for the day’s sorrow. “A tale to be shared in full in future, which methinks possible now my family has made amends as best we can.”
“I look forward to it. I am especially curious about…” Laura trailed off.
“My marriage to your betrothed?” the lady prompted.
“Aye.”
“Know this, my lady, Lothaire Soames gave me reason not to like him, but I mostly understand why he did what he did and am grateful he rectified his trespass without prompting.” She glanced at her husband on her other side where he conversed with one of his knights. “Thus, all the sooner I was able to wed the man I love.”
Laura’s throat tightened. “You are blessed.”
The lady’s brow puckered. “You do not believe you are?”
Though Laura told herself she had no reason to confide in a stranger, she said, “Once I was, then I lost all and thought myself cursed. Now I would like to believe the Lord is providing another chance at happiness. But even were He, I fear I do not know how to take it."
"With both hands and much gratitude to our Creator, of course,” Lady Beata said. “’Tis not easily done, but to be truly blessed, do you not think one must be bold? That such is the part the Lord would have us play in our own lives?”
“But if it did not suffice in the past—”
“Ah, the past,” the lady spoke over Laura. “As Everard Wulfrith’s wife, Lady Susanna, assured me when I thought all lost, the past is not our future. There are better days ahead. And to that I add, be bold.”
“I like you,” Laura said, unable to keep the childish declaration from passing her lips.
Lady Beata’s eyes brightened. “Much appreciated, for many have not a care for me. As oft told, albeit more to my back than my face, I am unseemly.”
“Surely your husband does not think the same?”
She shook her head. “Love tolerates—and forgives—much. Though on occasion I unsettle him, he prefers me less behaved than behaved. And for love and respect of him, I am learning to think my thoughts through to their good and bad end ere speaking them into beliefs and opinions.” Her eyes widened. “Most difficult.”
Laura understood better than the lady knew. Once she had been too free with her own thoughts. Had Simon not changed all, she might be still. And had she wed Lothaire years ago, she imagined his love would have tolerated and forgiven much.
“I thank you for your encouragement, Lady Beata. It gives me greater hope I shall be blessed by the queen’s hand in my marriage just as you were.”
“Eleanor.” She clicked her tongue. “Ever I shall be grateful to our queen though I would not have believed it a year past when she ordered me to return to her court in France. Now…” She set a hand on her belly. “…from love, babes that I pray you will also have.” Of a sudden, her smile fell. “Did Lady Raisa receive you well?”
Laura’s own smile dropped. “She did not.”
“How did your betrothed respond?”
“I…did not tell him of our encounter.” Laura hoped she would not be asked to elaborate.
The lady sighed. “I am not surprised, for the queen told that if I remained wed to Baron Soames his mother would make my life miserable.”
Laura nodded. “For that, Eleanor insists my betrothed move her to her dower property.”
“Wise. Let us hope ’tis done soon.”
“Baron Soames assures me it shall be.”
“Hold him to it, Lady Laura. Too much I like you to worry over your happiness.”
As Laura looked to the bulge beneath the lady’s hand, Baron Marshal’s fingers covered his wife’s.
“Are they restless?” he said low.
“Not at the moment. Methinks them lulled to sleep by good food and drink.”