She did not think he believed her, but he inclined his head, set her hand on his arm, and led her to the stairs.
Was this the night he would make her his wife in full? she wondered and wished all of Simon was told no matter what Lothaire might think of her—were she completely honest.
She did not have to be, she reasoned. After all, Simon and Maude were the only ones who knew the whole truth of what had happened. As both were dead, they could no longer defend the ravisher.
You would hide the lie amidst the truth? her conscience prompted.
Would it really hurt? she considered. No matter what she had done, she had not wanted Simon to possess her.
The opening of the solar door made her startle. She could not remember ascending the stairs nor walking the corridor.
“Laura,” Lothaire said where he stood on the threshold. “I am worn through. It will not be this night.”
He read her wrong, though not entirely. Still, she was grateful, and more so when she determined that once they were abed she would tell him the rest of Simon so when he claimed his rights over her body he would do so knowing—even if not believing—her tale.
She jerked her chin. “I am weary too.”
He drew her inside, closed the door, then crossed to the table to perform his nightly ablutions. Laura performed hers alongside him, but when he took up soap and submerged his hands in the basin of water, she stepped nearer.
Feeling him stiffen, she slid her own hands into the water and took the soap from him.
“What do you, Laura?”
She lifted one of his hands between hers, looked up. “Let me at least do this for you.”
“I do not require—”
“Pray, Lothaire, let me.”
His nostrils dilated, but he did not wrench free, and she bent her head and began soaping one calloused hand then the other.
He was rigid throughout, and more so when she took up a washcloth to aid in removing the darkness from his fingertips and around his nails. But though she was able to lighten them, she could not remove all evidence of his hard labor.
“I thank you,” he said as she dried his hands.
“’Tis my honor.” She released him and wiped her own hands on the towel as Lothaire extinguished the candles, leaving only those on the bedside tables lit.
Laura had been bared to him the day of her tub bath and he to her, but they had not repeated that intimacy. Though it was Tina’s duty to aid her lady and Lothaire’s squire’s to assist his lord, neither was called upon, and by unspoken agreement they would not be until the marriage was consummated. Thus, husband and wife kept their backs to each other as they shed the day’s garments and donned their night wear.
The silence oppressive for what Laura would tell this night, she asked over her shoulder, “What will busy you after the shearing supper?”
“Much.”
“But the shearing is done.”
“So you think I shall be at my leisure until next summer,” he said with what sounded like teasing.
“Of course not. I know much goes into the administration of lands, but the work of wool is mostly done, is it not? No longer must you rush to break your fast, miss dinner in the hall, and be late for supper.”
“For a while longer, I must. When the last of the wool is sacked and bundled, the workers given their portion, and three quarters of Lexeter’s share sold and sent overseas, I will have to see to the last quarter.”
Hearing him turn back the covers, Laura ceased pretending she worked the hooks of her chemise, turned, and lowered to the bed.
“The last quarter?” she said, snuffing her candle as he snuffed his.
“Though most of those whose income is derived from the production of wool sell it for others to work into cloth, some years ago I decided Lexeter ought to retain a portion and expand its business into the weaving of cloth. That is what shall occupy me next.”
She turned her face to his, wished she could see him better by moonlight. “It is profitable?”
“Were it, the queen would have been unable to compel me to wed.”
That gave her pause. “Then who would I have married?”
That gave him pause. “None of those Eleanor sent from her presence with their tails tucked tight. She would have found a suitable husband for you.”
Laura nearly argued, though she would not have thought to whilst at Windsor. No matter how well Lothaire received her tale, she wanted none but him.
“If the weaving of cloth is not profitable, why hold back a quarter of wool that could generate income?”
“Few ventures are soon profitable, but if not this year, I believe the income will come next year when the additional funds resulting from Henry and Eleanor’s tax break allow me to expand my operations. Too, it is of benefit to Lexeter’s people who earn extra income over the cold months by weaving my wool alongside theirs.”
“Fascinating.”
“You think so?” he said as if he thought she spoke what he wished to hear.
“It is. I would like to learn more. Mayhap there is something I can do to help.”
“Mayhap,” he said with finality that indicated he wished to sleep.
He was handing her the opportunity to further delay the telling, and she longed to take it, but she said, “Lothaire, there is something I would have told you had you not thought me a liar when I said it was not Michael who fathered Clarice but…Simon.”
Of a sudden, the distance between them felt not a reach but the breadth of the great hall.
“Hear me,” she entreated. “Even if you do not believe what I tell, I must—”
“You must not, Laura. I do not want nor need excuses and most certainly have no wish to hear those names pass your lips. I am content with where we are now and where we are going. I am done with the past, and if there is to be hope for us beyond the getting of an heir and a well-ordered household, you will be done with it as well.”
It was said with such control, command, and threat she nearly bowed to it. “You have to know, Lothaire.”
He surged onto his side and leaned over her. “If you will not quiet for the sake of our marriage, you have but to keep your vow to be meek and obedient. Now speak no more of it.”
One last try, she thought. But one more, and if he will not listen, you can do naught.
She laid a hand on his jaw, felt it stiffen as the coarse stubble of several days’ growth of beard pricked her palm, but before she could speak, he rumbled, “Do not.”
She dropped her hand, thought how pathetic it sounded flopping to the mattress between them. “As you say,” she whispered, “but if ever you wish—”
“Laura!”