The knight’s senses were honed, perhaps still better than Lothaire’s after Everard Wulfrith’s training in a darkened cellar.
He opened the gate and moments later stood before Angus. “More than I ought to have, and I am sorry for it. But I am grateful for the insight.” And it was true, not only for an eyeful of his sister that gave credence to Father Atticus’s belief the convent could be a better fit, but the possibility some of what Angus believed of Laura’s feelings for Lothaire was true.
Are you being a fool again? demanded the dissenter.
“You have heard of the morn’s great event?” Angus asked, and Lothaire knew the man did not wish to further discuss Sebille.
“Great event?” He shook his head. “As I wished to return to High Castle ere sunset, I did not bathe away my filth and came by way of the garden to gain heated water from Cook so I might be as presentable as possible ere entering the hall.”
“There was a fire, my lord.”
Lothaire jerked. “Kitchen fire?”
“Nay.”
“Then of what do you speak? Is Lady—?”
“Your lady is well. Her wedding gown is not.”
The tale was quickly told, there being little to it, but as for the cause…
There could be much to that, though Lothaire prayed not—hoped the toppled chair was of the dog’s doing. Hoped his mother was too infirm to destroy the wedding gown of her unwanted daughter-in-law. Regardless, the possibility Lady Raisa’s hand was in this further confirmed Queen Eleanor was right to require her removal from High Castle.
“Laura?”
She sprang off the chair, turned to find Lothaire approaching from the direction of the kitchen. “You are back early.”
“It is the eve of our wedding.” He halted before her. His face and hands were clean. Or mostly. As usual, stubborn darkness edged his nails. As for his clothes, they were fouled with dirt, what appeared to be oil, and a multitude of white hairs that evidenced shorn sheep.
“You look lovely,” he said.
Laura felt a pang of guilt over being far more presentable than the Baron of Lexeter. “I thank you, my lord.”
“Sir Angus informed me of what happened this morn. I am sorry for the loss of your gown, and that I shall not see you in finery fit for a queen.”
“Ah, but you prefer me in simpler garments.”
“I do, but it is a loss, and the queen shall be displeased.”
“Were she told of it. I see no reason to inform her.”
His smile was slight. “I am grateful. When she receives your missive, she will be ill enough with me over the delay in moving my mother to her dower property.”
Once more gripped with fear Lady Raisa was responsible for the fire, Laura said, “I have not yet sent that missive, it being my hope once you and I speak vows you will see her safely removed.”
Something like understanding flashed in Lothaire’s eyes, and she wondered if it also occurred to him the toppled chair was no accident.
“I assure you, Lady Raisa shall depart High Castle as soon as possible.”
“How soon?” she asked with more urgency than intended.
“If the physician feels she is strong enough to make the journey, within a sennight of our wedding."
“And if he deems she is not strong enough?”
She felt his struggle and hated that she sounded as if she had no care for his mother’s well-being, but the fear that had subsided these past weeks following the woman’s attack had returned. And was more pressing. A bruise was one thing, a potentially fatal fire quite another.
“I will see it done, Laura,” he said as if that was assurance enough, then cupped her elbow. “Sir Angus tells the chamber has been thoroughly cleaned. Show me.”
Eschewing argument, she allowed him to guide her up the stairs.
“Nay,” Lothaire said the moment they stepped into the chamber. “It may be clean, but it yet smells of smoke.”
The scent did irritate, making her sniff. “There is more of a breeze than earlier.” She nodded at the open windows. “When I seek my bed this eve, the smell should be much resolved.”
“Not enough. You, Clarice, and Tina shall sleep in the solar.”
She blinked. “What of you?”
“Sir Angus will make room for me in his chamber.”
Her heart swelled. “That is thoughtful.”
Lips curving wryly, he said, “I can be on occasion.”
Laura knew she should not do it, and she could have suppressed the impulse the young Laura would not have, but she stepped in front of him, reached her body up his, and offered her mouth.
Though his pupils spread wide as he considered her lips and his head started to lower, he took a step back.
“Lothaire?”
“If you are truly uncomfortable being desired, my lady, you ought not do that—and certainly not in a chamber defined by the presence of a bed.”
She loathed herself for not suppressing the impulse. Now he either believed she had lied or had so little control she was more the harlot than thought. “You are right. It will not happen again.”
“But I hope it shall, my lady, when the wedding ring on your hand grants me permission to lie down with you and kiss you on your mouth and neck. And other places.”
Even if that was all she wanted from him, that would not be all he did to her, she thought. Lest she begin to tremble, she stepped past and said over her shoulder. “I thank you for the use of the solar.”
She could not sleep. Not here. Not in his bed. Not knowing what would happen there on the morrow. She wanted Lothaire’s kisses, but what came after…
How was she to bear it? For bear it she must to conceive an heir. And if it pained and repulsed her as much as she feared, how was she to conceal her feelings? She had only the one experience, and it had turned more violent when her response was as far from passion as pain was from enjoyment.
She gripped the windowsill, leaned into the embrasure, dropped her chin. Lothaire would not do that to her, but that did not mean he would not be as offended by her response.
If only she had found the words to prepare him for the woman soon come to him. Now it was too near consummation of their vows to lessen the possibility of making ruin of their nuptial night. She had thought he would ask her to elaborate on Simon’s death, and then she would chance revelation, but he seemed to have forgotten it.
Aye, too late now. As told Michael, perhaps once she proved a good wife…
Lifting her face, she wished a cool wind upon it. But unlike the night past, these hours of dark were still and nearly warm, almost suffocating.