“I want to hate you,” she said, tears in her voice as he snuffed her bedside candle.
He did not answer until the second candle was out and it was he who made the chair his bed. “Certes, that would be easier for us both,” he said across the dim. “Mayhap in time.”
She cried, so quietly he might not have known it were the bed’s frame not in need of tightening, her sobs poured into the pillow causing it to creak. When silence fell, excepting the occasional hiccough that made his chest ache, he vehemently wished he did not feel for her anything near what he had felt ten years past. But he loved her still.
He dropped his head back, looked to the formless ceiling, ached that the promise of this day had been severed. Should he have rejected Father Atticus’s counsel and not shown the sword behind his back?
Nay, better he know Laura’s lies now than later so they might sooner go forward. Now they were told, they could put Michael D’Arci behind them, his name never again spoken. And perhaps eventually Lothaire would not see that man in Clarice.
Chapter 25
It tempted, but she would deny herself until Lothaire departed the castle as surely he must though it was the day after their wedding.
“Not now,” Laura said as Tina combed a snarl out of her lady’s hair. “Mayhap an hour hence.”
“’Tis done already,” the maid said. “The water is set to boiling and we may see the first pails arrive ere I finish fixing your hair atop your head.”
“But—”
“I promised a bath, milady, and so ye shall have one.” Her hands in Laura’s hair stilled, and she turned toward the open window from which no morning-after sheet was hung to prove the bride had come to her groom chaste—an impossibility in light of the girl who leaned in the embrasure taking in all manner of activity, the sounds of which included the clang of steel markedly different from the smithy’s forging. Earlier than usual, the garrison practiced at swords.
“Lady Clarice,” Tina called, “might ye hasten to the kitchen and ask Cook for rose oil to scent the bath water?”
Clarice, whose disappointment in her mother’s failed attempt to appear joyous was obvious, sprang around. “I shall.”
“Nay,” Laura caused her daughter to falter. “Not roses. ’Tis already much upon the air.”
Clarice’s drooping smile picked itself up, proof she had thought she would not be permitted to leave. “Then?”
“Mint, if he has enough to spare.”
The girl ran forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I am happy for you. And me. I quite like the father you have given me.”
Laura’s throat constricted. “That makes me happy.”
“And what of Lord…?” Clarice frowned. “May I call him Father now?”
“I believe he would like that.” Hopefully it was so.
“And what of Father? He makes you happy too, does he not?”
Blessedly, Laura was prepared for the question. “He does. Queen Eleanor chose wisely.”
Clarice gave a little laugh. “I shall thank her one day!”
Once Laura was alone with Tina, the maid said, “What is amiss, milady?”
“Naught.”
“That ye would lie to your devoted servant!” Tina tugged at the crossings of the braid she had begun to work. “Tsk, milady.”
“I am but tired.”
“And another lie. Mind ye, were you tired for the right reason I could forgive, but I saw Baron Soames come belowstairs this morn to break his fast in the kitchen rather than abed with his bride.” She drew the comb through the ends of the tresses, resumed crossing them. “Milord looked as thunderous as ye look miserable, milady. And of course the rose petals are hardly disturbed though they ought to be bruised amid sheets that know not their up from their down.”
Laura needed no mirror to reveal how brightly she flushed over imaginings of what would have had to happen for this conversation not to be had.
“So in my thinking, and it may be wrong since never have I wed, yer nuptial night satisfied neither.”
Laura sighed. “We argued.”
“Ah, milady.” The maid stepped to the side, and when Laura lifted her face said, “’Twill be a memorable night only for how much you do not wish it to be memorable. But…” Her smile was encouraging. “…ye have a great supply of nights with yer husband. Hopefully this eve ye will set all aright.”
“Certes, we shall try,” Laura said. Lothaire might wait a while on gaining an heir, but only a while. The next time, be it this night or a sennight hence, she would be meek and obedient and very quiet.
Hardly had Tina wound the braid around Laura’s hair and secured it than the first pails of water arrived, along with mint delivered by one of the three serving women who passed it to Tina and withdrew with the others to refill their pails.
“’Twould seem Lady Clarice has found a distraction,” Tina said as she shook green leaves into the tub. “But at least she saw the mint delivered.”
“Do you think she has persuaded Baron Soames to allow her to attend another shearing?”
“Mercy, I pray not. Ye and yer husband may have argued last eve, but if only for the sake of appearance, he ought to stay yer side the day after the wedding. ’Twill earn his bride no good regard if he soon abandons her.”
She was right, and for that Laura hoped he remained, though not in her immediate company.
“Now into the tub with ye.”
Laura glanced at the door. What if Lothaire returned? The thought of him finding her unclothed—
“Very well,” the maid said. “Come see what I found.” She moved to the left of the tub the servants had placed before the hearth.
“See what?” Laura said and moments later saw.
Around the chamber walls were arched recesses in which candles were set, but one had an additional function. Tina lifted out the fat candle, tugged a small iron ring, and a small door swung inward.
Laura had heard of such means for a lord to keep watch on what went in his hall during his absence, but she had never seen such.
“Look, milady.”
Laura leaned forward. The kitchen corridor was to the left, the hall entry doors straight ahead, the high table to the right. And occupying that great room were a score of knights and men-at-arms breaking their fast, served by a handful of servants performing the duties Laura had given them. Lothaire was nowhere among them, nor Clarice.
Forget appearance sake, Laura’s husband and daughter had likely departed the castle to devote the day to the work of wool. But she would not be disappointed. She was to have a bath and could linger as long as she liked. And there came the women lugging more pails.
Laura was up to her hips in mint-scented water when the servants arrived. After Tina ensured the water had cooled sufficiently it would not burn her lady, the pails were emptied at Laura’s feet, and the level rose to beneath her breasts whose weight she remained more familiar with than sight.