Not empty, he corrected when he deciphered the light reflected across the water that had risen so far above the rim it streamed down the outside. He dropped the clean garments, ran, thrust his arms into the tub, and snatched Laura from its depths. There was no need to attempt to revive her, she was all flailing arms and spluttering as he swung her out over the rim.
When he dragged her against him, she cried out, “Lothaire!” and stared at him out of eyes so wide their upper lids were known only by the wet, spiky lashes nearly touching her eyebrows.
“Why?” he barked.
She ceased struggling, the only movement about her the rapid rise and fall of her chest that wet his tunic, the only sound that of panting against his neck and jaw.
“Why, Laura? Is the prospect of life with me so terrible?”
As though her mouth had gone dry, her tongue clicked when she parted her lips. “Nay, ’tis what I want.”
Bitterness spoiled his laughter. “So much that not even wed a full day you seek to end your life more quickly than did my first wife.”
Eyes widening further, she shook her head, loosening her soaked hair caught between their chests. “Surely you do not think I meant to drown myself?”
“Of course not,” he snarled. “You were but rinsing the soap from your hair and forgot to surface. Or mayhap you were taking a swim?”
“I was enjoying my bath, that is all. My word I give.”
“You took water into your lungs, Laura!”
“Because of the surprise of seeing you above me.”
He could find no lie about her, but that did not mean there was none. However, there seemed no benefit in pursuing the truth—indeed, it would be of detriment to a body that was becoming too aware of the bared one pressed to his.
“I did not know you would return,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Certes, that was your intent, and that is why I am here. I will not have you speak to me—”
“I know, Lothaire. It was ill of me and all the worse in front of Tina. I am sorry. I just felt…”
“What?”
“Vulnerable. Like prey.”
So sincere was her admission that something at the edge of his consciousness shifted—not enough to step into the light, but enough to throw a long shadow.
“I know I granted you rights to my body, but…”
“Tell me.”
Her gaze wavered. “I am afeared.”
He believed her. Though he hated she was frightened of his possession, no greater evidence could she offer than she had. Realizing his anger had yielded to compassion he would not have thought possible when he slammed the door minutes earlier, he said, “No matter the past, I will not hurt you, Laura. I will be gentle. I will go slow. Even if it feels I die. My word I give.”
Finally, she asked what she should not, especially at this moment when he could not be gentle, could not go slow, would surely die. “Now, Lothaire?”
“Nay, when I can keep my word and we are certain not to be disturbed. But we could make a good beginning of it.”
Relief tangible, she said, “How?”
“I would see you. And you would see me.”
Her blush was violent, but she gave a slight nod, granting him permission to see beyond the cleft of her breasts framed by wet tresses.
He released her arms, stepped back, slowly moved his gaze down her flushed body. Upon reaching her feet, he closed his eyes. “Heavens, Laura, you are beautiful.” Though he wanted to more slowly raise his gaze up her, he opened his eyes upon hers. Seeing gratitude there, he lifted the towel from a chair and set it around her shoulders.
“Now I shall change my garments,” he said as she gripped the towel closed at her throat. “If you wish, you may look upon me as I have looked upon you, though at a distance safer for me.”
He strode across the solar, swept up the tunic and chausses abandoned to the petal-strewn rushes, disrobed alongside the bed, and drew on fresh garments without looking at her. It was not necessary, for he felt her gaze. And suffered for it. Only after re-girding his sword and starting for the door did he look to her.
She had not moved, nor tried to cover more of herself though her calves and inner thighs were visible between the towel’s edges.
“As I shall be at High Castle all day, my lady, I will see you at dinner and supper—and in between if you wish.”
She inclined her head.
He opened the door, paused. “I have no illegitimate children, Laura,” he said what should have been told sooner. “Nor shall I. I am not the same as my father.”
Something like a sob parted her lips. “Nor am I the same as Lady Edeva. Not in any way. I do wish to be joined with you for more than a day. Far more, Lothaire.”
Here further assurance she had not tried to take her life. And because he believed her as he had feared doing, he said, “You are my somehow, Laura, and not only for saving Lexeter.”
An uncertain smile lifted her mouth, and he did not worry over the tub of water to which he left her.
Chapter 26
Four days since he had said they must remedy their unconsummated marriage. Four days in which they had not, though each night he lay down beside her and on the night past had turned his hand around hers as if to pull her to him. Though Laura could understand the past three nights since he had resumed the work of wool and each day returned after a dozen hours, neither had he moved to make love to her the first night after their wedding.
For what did he wait? Not that she was ready—indeed, doubted she would be until she chanced the whole truth about Clarice’s conception. But he could not know that burden she yet carried, so why did he hold himself from her?
Never had they spoken more at supper nor lingered over conversation afterward. Indeed, these past two nights, following what was becoming regular games of chess with Clarice, they had remained at the hearth longer than they should have considering how little sleep Lothaire had. And it was more his—and her daughter’s—doing than hers. Laura had but to question him about Lexeter’s wool production and he of few words became one of many, and more so with his stepdaughter’s prideful comments that revealed the depth of her interest in what was a strange fit for one who liked pretty things—above all, being one of those pretty things.
On days Clarice did not depart the castle, she clothed and adorned herself as she had upon the barony of Owen, but when Lothaire permitted her to accompany him to the shearings, she resembled a very pretty boy, having acquired chausses from Lothaire’s squire to wear beneath gowns no longer of a length suitable for a young lady but whose laces could be loosened to accommodate her growing torso.
It made Laura happy to see her daughter settling in well, and she knew it was mostly because of Lothaire. And had yet another reason to love him.
“May I join you?”
She swept her gaze from Lothaire and Clarice’s chess game to Sebille as the lady lowered to the chair on one side of the bench Laura perched on with her back to a warming fire. “Of course, my lady.”
An uncomfortable silence fell, more so since the two women had rarely encountered each other since the wedding—and the reason the lady was often absent the hall. According to Lothaire, his sister readied their mother for her move to her dower property three days hence, following the celebratory shearing supper that marked the end of the wool gathering.
“You are well, Lady Sebille?”