Lothaire did not keep her waiting long. Upon entering the kitchen, he found it more brightly lit than usual at this time of night, evidencing Laura had stirred the cooking fires.
He crossed to the shelving where less valuable serving ware was stacked scores high and several deep to accommodate the castle folk at meal. With the exception of the rare occasion High Castle hosted noble guests, as done this day with the Marshals, these plates, bowls, and drinking vessels were used to serve Lothaire and his men. What little gold-and brass-trimmed silver and horn ware had not been sold—consisting of pieces passed down through the generations of the Soames family—was locked away when not in use. Thus, Lothaire retrieved two simple goblets and lowered to the stool across the table from Laura.
Her smile almost shy, he was reminded of their first meeting. But then there had been a sparkle in her eyes he had not yet known was of mischief. In the hour of his family’s grieving, now was not the time to wish that sparkle returned. But he did.
He filled the goblets half full, passed one to her, and was jolted by the brush of her fingertips across his just as a rumble sounded through the stone walls. At least the storm’s arrival was not heralded by a crack of lightning, he mused.
“Do you think the villagers and Baron Marshal’s party are safely inside?” Laura asked.
“Aye, ’tis surely an hour or more since all gained shelter.”
She raised her goblet, sipped. “Tell me about the ring, Lothaire.”
He removed it from his purse and this time she opened her hand beneath his. Wondering if she had been as disturbed by the touch of their fingers as he, he set the signet ring in her palm.
“Why twice replaced?” she asked as she examined it.
He took a drink of the wine, lowered his goblet. “The first time following my father’s disappearance when my mother took control of Lexeter. The second time when I took control and she refused to surrender the ring. She hid it, doubtless with other items that went missing as I settled into my title—valuables whose sale would have eased some of Lexeter’s financial problems.”
“You think she still has them?”
“I do, though not all.”
“How know you?”
“On occasion, she wishes some luxury Lexeter’s coffers cannot afford. On other occasions, she wishes certain services, which require payment to those who do her bidding.”
“What bidding?”
“Those things she does not wish me to know of.”
“Such as?”
That he could not tell, at least not while Raisa resided at High Castle. Much coin his mother had surely paid the men who set upon Durand and Beata on their wedding day. “Activities of which I do not approve,” he said.
She searched his face, held out the ring.
He did not open his palm beneath it, once more subjecting his senses to her touch and his imaginings to those fingers moving up his arm, around his neck, and pressing against his scalp to prolong their kiss.
A sennight, he told himself and returned the ring to his purse.
“You will not wear it?” she asked.
“Later.” Once Lexeter’s fortunes were reversed, he would set aside the cheaply fashioned ring that was all he could afford when he came into his lordship—that which had never adorned his hand for its ability to reveal how far his family had fallen.
“After your mourning is done?” she pressed.
“Perhaps.” He took another draught of wine.
“But—”
“Tell me about Donnie.”
She caught her breath, and her head jerked so violently she would have slopped wine onto the table had he filled her goblet fuller. It made him regret his change of topic. He wished to know what had happened between the boy and her daughter, but he had not meant to distress her. However, what could have waited a while longer was before them now.
She moistened her lips. “I have not thanked you for being so kind to Clarice.”
Did she now change the subject, or ease into an answer?
“It has been difficult for her since we lost Lady Maude, and though I try not to fail her, my choices have further tipped her world. Whereas you…” She lowered the goblet, clasped her hands atop the table. “You who have no obligation to do so are setting her world right side up.”
“I am to be her stepfather.”
“Even so, I did not expect you to become easy with her—certainly not this soon.”
Now came a crack of lightning that made her glance at the ceiling.
“I am not easy with her,” Lothaire admitted, “but neither am I as uncomfortable as expected. Mayhap because she has much the young Laura about her.”
She flushed as if pleased, and in her face he glimpsed that younger woman. Once more feeling his body tug toward hers, he said, “Mayhap we ought to leave the matter of Donnie for another day.” He raised his goblet to drain it that he might sooner distance himself from the temptation of her.
But she said, “Another day will not make the telling easier.”
“Then tell me.”
Laura did not want to, the boy’s name on Lothaire’s lips having been as near a blow one might deliver without actually slamming knuckles against skin and bone, but he ought to know.
“What did Clarice tell you about Donnie?” she asked.
“He is several years older than she, the heir of Lady Maude’s eldest stepson, and the argument I happened upon between the two of you was over him.”
She nodded. “Much of it.”
“She seems to believe he is the reason you left Owen to seek a husband.”
“He was not the only reason. Even before I…” Should she reveal what she had seen? Might it cause Lothaire to treat Clarice differently, especially considering what he believed of her mother?
“I can guess what your daughter meant when she said the boy was more than a friend, Laura,” he prompted, “but I prefer not to make assumptions.”
As she drew a breath, she caught the sound of rain tapping at shutters that, thrown wide, would offer a view of the garden. “Even before I found a twelve-year-old boy pressing a nine-year-old girl against a wall and kissing her, I knew I had to make a better life for Clarice. Donnie was the slap that brought me fully awake—confirmation I must wed to provide a home away from those who would take advantage of a fatherless girl.”
She closed her eyes as she once more recalled the snare into which she, desperate to wed any but Lothaire, had nearly led her daughter. And shuddered.
“Laura?”
She returned Lothaire to focus. “Lord Benton,” she gasped. “What if I had…?”
The understanding in his eyes caused tears to flood her own. “Eleanor may be the most manipulative female in the history of womankind, Laura, but never would she have given Clarice and you into the keeping of one such as Benton. She aspired to do what was best for you. And she did.”
“Aye, but what of you?”
His jaw shifted, and he said gruffly, “Was the boy forcing Clarice?”
She should be grateful for another change of topic, but he might as well have said that had marriage to another provided the same benefit for Lexeter, he would not have agreed to take her to wife. Though he wanted her in his bed, another would slake his passion as well—nay, better.