Or mayhap it is merely me, she thought and slowly drew a breath so she might feel all of it. Then she turned and peered into the solar’s moonlit expanse.
This room that served not only as the lord’s chamber but a place to conduct business in private was larger than expected and well furnished, though not excessively. The postered bed where Clarice slept was impressive. The rug upon which Tina’s pallet was laid—and from which a soft snore sounded—was in good repair. The large table and matching chairs at which Lothaire might meet other nobles or work his journals were of oak. The chairs before the fireplace were worn but sturdy. Two iron-banded trunks that must contain Lothaire’s personal effects were stacked against the wall alongside the garderobe. But best of all—because she loved water and had not expected such at High Castle—was a large tub.
As when first she entered the solar, she was drawn to it, and once more she ran her fingers over its bulbous wooden rim and smooth, dry inner wall that evidenced Lothaire had not made use of it for some time.
She longed for a bath—the wonderful weightlessness and liquid heat, rivulets of perspiration coursing her face, sinking beneath the surface and peering up at the ceiling through water and gently waving hair.
Had she not postponed entering the solar until it was time to sleep, she would have had Tina arrange for water to be heated and carried abovestairs. Perhaps then she would have been able to sleep—or at least rest.
Laura pulled her shawl more closely around her, looked to the mattress she had lain upon until certain her daughter and Tina slept. It was where she ought to be found in the morn, but though exceedingly tired, she would not be able to find her rest there. Best she try the chair whose discomfort would ensure any sleep gained was not so deep she was unable to slip back into bed ere Clarice and Tina awakened.
The chair proving fairly comfortable, Laura’s wakefulness was short-lived. Throughout the night, she awoke often, and returned to bed only when darkness receded in advance of the dawn. None would ever know her first full night in Lothaire’s bed was yet to come.
Chapter 24
“Praise the Lord ye finally ceased your haunting and gained some sleep last eve, even be it in a chair.”
Laura swept her gaze to the upper portion of the mirror in which Tina’s reflection hovered above her own. “Did I much disturb your sleep?”
“Indeed. I kept driftin’ off, but for what—an hour? two?—ye stood at the window, wandered the chamber, petted the tub.”
Laura sighed. “Forgive me. Had I known, I would have tried the chair sooner.”
“I wish ye had, though not for me. For ye.” She leaned around, looked close upon her lady’s face. “We shall have to pinch yer cheeks to put color in them ere ye meet Lord Soames at the church door, else he might think ye afeared of him.”
On this day she was…
“And a bit of powder ought to cover the dark ‘neath your eyes.”
Tina was right. If one looked beyond beautifully curled and braided hair, they might think Lothaire’s bride ill. Laura nodded. “Aye, powder and pinches.”
“As for the tub”—the woman jerked her head toward it—“on the morn after yer wedding night we shall put it to good use, even if I must needs lug every blessed pail meself.”
Laura turned on the stool and threw her arms around Tina. “How I love thee!”
Surprise stiffened the maid, then she went all soft and tucked her lady nearer. “Oh milady, how I love thee.” They held each other until Tina sighed and ended the embrace. “Now then…” She reached for the powder. “…Baron Soames will be wantin’ his bride.”
An hour later, the garlanded wagon carrying Laura, her daughter, and maid halted before the church at Thistle Cross, outside which were gathered far more of Lexeter’s people than expected. It would have been an impressive number were Laura of a mind to be impressed, but she was too anxious and became more so when she saw Lothaire before the steps alongside Father Atticus.
“Mayhap my new father is as handsome as Baron Marshal,” Clarice whispered. “Does he not look fine, Mother?”
As nearly she had once imagined he would look on their wedding day. The blond of his hair was darker, and though he was only slightly taller, he was considerably more muscular than the young man who had courted her. As for the garments his squire had collected from the solar this morn, they were the fine ones he had worn at court and tall boots once more gripped his calves.
It seemed silly to think him the most handsome of men, but weathered though she knew he was up close, he was that to her. “He looks most fine,” she said and, when Sir Angus came alongside the wagon, accepted his offer to lift her down.
While he next assisted Clarice and Tina, Laura smoothed the skirt of her dark red gown and adjusted the gold cape pinned to her shoulders with small brooches. Then Sir Angus took her arm and led her toward the church that was flanked by Lexeter’s people.
To her surprise, Sebille was present. To her relief, Lady Raisa and the physician were not.
Laura withheld her gaze from Lothaire until she halted before him. She did not care—not overly much—that his smile was more for the benefit of their audience. It seemed genuine and comforted.
“Your lady,” Sir Angus said and removed his hand from Laura and stepped back.
Taking hold of her arm, Lothaire leaned down. “Are you well?”
Wondering if she ought to have allowed Tina to apply another layer of powder, wishing she had not forgotten to pinch her cheeks, Laura whispered, “I am. I but had difficulty finding my rest last eve.”
His smile curved a bit more. “This night you shall sleep in my arms.”
In the next instant, the troubling of Lothaire’s brow evidenced she had gone paler. But he said naught and turned her toward Father Atticus.
The man nodded at the bride and groom, and she glimpsed concern in his eyes before he began to question them in a loud clear voice.
He asked them to confirm they were not too closely related to prevent them from wedding. They said they were not. Did their parents consent to their union? Though Laura could not know and Lothaire certainly did, they said they were unaware of any objection. Had the banns been read the proscribed three Sundays? Well the priest knew it was so, but they confirmed it for all present. Lastly, they were asked if they entered into marriage of their own will. Lothaire said he did, and though he did so without hesitation, he surely felt the queen’s breath on his neck. As Laura agreed she freely gave herself, she wished for the joy and anticipation of the nuptial night to come as imagined ten years past.
That done, silence followed where the bride’s dowry ought to be cited. Though the people would be curious, they would have to remain so, even if they wrongly concluded Laura brought to the marriage only the promise of an heir. As directed, the king and queen’s tax break was to be held close.