Father Atticus looked to Lothaire, inclined his head.
A jangle drawing Laura’s regard to that which her groom unfastened from his belt, she extended her left hand. He set the pouch in her palm, the coins of which would be distributed to the poor, the symbolism of which was the new Lady of Lexeter might act on behalf of her husband in matters of finance.
Once Laura fastened it on her girdle, the priest said, “And now to plight your troth.”
Lothaire took Laura’s right hand and turned to fully face her.
She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, and receiving a smile, tilted her face up.
“I, Lothaire Soames, Baron of Lexeter,” he said loud for all to hear, “take thee, Laura Middleton, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for fairer for fouler, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death us depart, if Holy Church will it ordain. And thereto I plight thee my troth.” Then in a voice for her alone, he added, “At long last.”
Tears disturbing her vision, she realized her hand was trembling when he gently squeezed it.
Her vows were identical to his but for the insertion of one that made all the difference. “…to be meek and obedient in bed and at table,” she pushed past her lips, “’til death us depart, if Holy Church it will ordain. And thereto I plight thee my troth.” Then for him alone, she also added, “At long last.”
Did his eyes brighten, or was it only the sun in them?
Next, Father Atticus blessed the ring and passed it to Lothaire. As the groom briefly slid it on each finger of her left hand ahead of the finger it would adorn to her end days, he said, “In the name of the Father…in the name of the Son…in the name of the Holy Ghost…with this ring I thee wed.”
The warmed band settled at the base of her finger, then that portion of the ceremony concluded, Lothaire turned Laura toward those gathered to witness the marriage and she removed the pouch from her girdle.
Those in greatest need came forward—the aged, the orphaned, those afflicted with defects of birth, illness, and injuries—and into each palm she pressed a coin. When the pouch was empty, the church doors were opened and Lothaire led his bride inside.
Side by side they knelt at the altar, and when Sir Angus and Sebille stretched the pall over them, they bent their heads and the longest portion of the ceremony commenced. At the end of the mass, Father Atticus gave the groom the kiss of peace, which Lothaire passed to Laura—a chaste kiss, but the salty taste of him was still on her lips when she sat before him on his destrier and the wedding party started back toward High Castle for the feast.
And the nuptial night Laura was determined Lothaire would not find wanting.
The scent of roses. Far different from that of ale, wine, and the oaken casks in which those drinks were stored in a cellar.
The sight of red, cupped petals. Far different from that of earthen floor, barrels, sacks, and burdened shelves.
The sound of silence. Far different from that of creaking wood steps and scampering rats.
“Far different,” Laura said.
“Different, my lady?”
Having forgotten she was not alone, she swung around to face the priest where he stood before the window awaiting Lothaire’s arrival, after which he would see the married couple situated beneath the covers and pray the joining proved fertile, evidencing any promiscuity on the bride’s part was forgiven.
That last made Laura glad she knew what to expect and it was not exclusive to her. Even had she wed ten years past whilst pure, such a blessing would have been spoken over the couple once they were abed. Still, the priest would have excluded the groom from forgiveness of sexual sin.
She smoothed her white chemise whose bodice was pleated around the neck, forced a smile, and was as surprised by her words as he seemed when she said, “Aye, ten years different.”
He considered her long, nodded. “How different, may I ask?”
“From what I expected and wanted. But I would like to believe I am here now because God knows me better than my husband and makes a way for us to mend the past so there are yet blessings to be had from our marriage.” She tapped her teeth against her lower lip. “Might I believe that? Or do you think…?”
“Tell me, my child.”
“Is it too late?”
“For what?”
Her hands hurt, and when she looked down she saw how tightly she gripped them. “For Lothaire to love me even half as much as once he did?”
“You profess to love him, my lady?”
Though she might regret her honesty, she said, “I did. I do. Never did I cease. But if he cannot love me again, I shall pray my heart releases him as his has released mine.”
He crossed to her side. “Nay, my lady, do not pray such. Far better to love without profit than love not and reap bitterness.”
She stared.
“Better than any, Lady Raisa and her daughter taught me that.” He patted her arm. “Love no matter the hurt, else any chance you have at being loved—regardless how small or seemingly hopeless—will be lost.”
“I thank you, Father.” She was grateful for his kindness though he could offer no assurance of substance Lothaire might love her again. Thus, she was to love in the absence of love returned on the chance it would encourage her husband to feel something more enduring than desire.
She winced at allowing that last word to enter her thoughts, hoped Lothaire would not speak it this night lest she be overwhelmed by memories of her pleading with Simon. When she had declared she did not love or want him, he had childishly retorted he would not love her. He would simply desire her, thus requiring naught of her but that she lie still. But she had fought him, and he had subdued her with violence whose only benefit was bruises, scratches, and torn garments that allowed Lady Maude to see her son as the miscreant he had become during his knighthood training.
“Where is your groom?” Father Atticus returned her to the present. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned toward the door.
Laura glanced at the bed whose rose petals upon white linen was so lovely it was almost a pity only Tina who had scattered them, the priest, and the newlywed couple would look upon them.
Almost a pity. Such relief Laura had breathed when Lothaire announced his wife and he did not require an escort abovestairs. Much to the disappointment of many a reveler, they were denied the tradition of crowding the chamber with as many as could fit so they might witness the bride and groom being put to bed.