“As well as can be.”
Laura guessed it would be hard for her to leave behind Sir Angus though there seemed no hope for them.
“And your mother?”
Sebille snorted. “Could she convincingly affect an attack of the heart, she would so she might remain at High Castle. She insists only she can keep her beloved son safe from…”
Laura glanced at Lothaire and Clarice, was glad their discussion of a chess move held their attention. “Safe from me,” she said low.
The lady sighed. “Her son is all to her.”
“She is blessed to have you.”
Sebille leaned forward. “That I would not argue, but she would. Though once she called me her miracle and loved me well, now I am her daughter only insofar as the duty owed her.”
Miracle? Laura mused, but fearing she would trespass in asking the meaning, let it go. Keeping her own voice low, she said, “Lothaire believes you ought to give her into the care of a servant and remain at High Castle.”
The lady’s eyebrows rose. “So now my brother confides in you.”
“I am his wife.”
“And you are keeping him content, are you?”
Laura gasped. Though the lady guessed wrong, it offended.
Sebille flicked a hand. “Forgive me. A more difficult week I have not had.”
“I understand.” Rather, she tried.
“What of you, Lady Laura? Do you agree I ought to remain here?”
“If ’twould suit you. I know it is too soon for us to be friends, but did we spend more time together, I believe it possible.”
The lady lowered her chin. To hide tears? Laura wondered.
“Do you truly think so?” Sebille said softly.
“I do. Will you not consider staying? Your brother is most concerned for your well-being.”
She looked up and, eyes moist, said, “This I know, and that he believes once Lady Raisa is removed from High Castle Sir Angus and I might find the happiness denied us when I chose a path opposite his.”
“It seems you yet feel for him.”
“I wish I did not. However, even could I abandon my duty to Lady Raisa, I fear ’tis too late for Angus and me.”
“Perhaps in the matter of children, but—”
“I do not speak of babes, Lady Laura.” Her voice rose, causing Lothaire to look around.
His gaze moved between the two women, and Laura wondered if Sebille’s smile was as forced as her own. Though certain he had known his wife and sister conversed, had he been unaware of what was spoken between them, he would not likely be henceforth.
And it seemed his sister knew it as well. When Lothaire returned to the game, she stood and leaned down. “Not of babes, Lady Laura. I speak of betrayal so sinful it cannot be undone, and for which there is little hope it will not happen again. Thus, my course is set.” She straightened and turned toward the kitchen.
Laura was tempted to follow and tell her she believed Sir Angus was honorable enough to forego further dalliances were Sebille to remain at High Castle and wed him. However, before she could yield to the yearning, the physician exited the kitchen corridor and the two spoke low, then they moved back toward the kitchen and went from sight.
“All is well?” Lothaire asked and she found him nearly upon her, Clarice at his side as well as that beast of a dog, Tomas.
“I wish your sister would remain here with us,” she said.
“As do I, but one day she shall return.”
Laura knew it was wrong to wish for another’s death, and she did not, but for Sebille’s sake and Lady Raisa’s suffering were it as serious as the physician reported, she hoped one day would come ere the passing of too many that could seal Sebille’s loss of Sir Angus.
“Mother?” Clarice dropped onto the bench beside her. “I know I was to spend the morrow with you, but might I accompany Father to the shearing of the upper eastern flock?”
There seemed an endless number of flocks, each identified by its location upon Lexeter. And still Laura had not accompanied Lothaire to learn firsthand the work of wool. Could she, she would join her daughter on the morrow, but she was to oversee preparation of the great quantity of food that High Castle’s kitchen would supply the shearing supper.
Laura wanted to agree to Clarice’s request, but though her duties would be more difficult with her daughter at her side, compelled as she was to explain and supervise the girl’s contributions, she shook her head. “Had I not great need of you to ensure the supper adequately reflects the Baron of Lexeter’s gratitude for those who have labored hard, I would permit it. Too, methinks you will enjoy the celebration more having finished what you and I began.”
Clarice’s hopeful smile forsaken, her jaw quivered and eyes moistened. And Laura had to resist the impulse to reverse her decision. Blessedly, it was easier done when she glanced at Lothaire and saw approval in his eyes.
“But Mother—”
“Your mother has spoken and wisely,” Lothaire said. “Now I am sure Tina is eager to see you abed so she may gain her own rest.”
Resentment flashing in the girl’s eyes, she stood. “Good eve,” she said to Laura, then to Lothaire, “Good eve, Lord Soames.”
When she was gone, he said, “But minutes earlier she called me Father.”
“Do not think ill of her. She is but disappointed.”
“I do not think ill of her, Laura. I dislike that she retaliates for my support of you by rejecting me as a parent, but she did better than expected. And it seems you made the right decision.”
Neck beginning to ache at looking so far up him, she stood. “Seems?”
“I am less experienced at parenting, but I believe I am accomplished at putting men to work whether to defend Lexeter or work the land, and in such a way most are pleased with the results. I do not believe what is required for raising a child well can be that different, though I am thinking it is more difficult.” He smiled wryly. “Regardless of the depth of a parent’s feelings, they surely go deeper than that felt for one who is an acquaintance or even a friend.”
As Laura took in his words, she was flooded with regret. “I wish…” She closed her mouth.
“What?”
Though she feared she would regret answering, she said, “I wish I had been here to see you grow into the man you have become. When you appeared at court, I thought you the same I had known—only older and angry. You are so much more, and I am ashamed I cannot claim the same.”
“I think you are wrong.” He lifted her hand, and she thought how small and slender it appeared compared to his. Then she noticed the state of his nails that evidenced the work of the commoner and hurt that it was more often the tools of hard labor with which he occupied himself when it ought to be the weapons of a warrior and the quill of a lord administering his lands.
“What is it?” he asked.
She looked up. “I am thinking how large your hand is compared to mine.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
Hating she might have shamed him, she said, “And how well I like the way your fingers fit mine.”