“Mother came belowstairs? How? Even were she well enough to do so, I instructed she be secured in her chamber when there was no one to watch over her.”
“I have done as directed, Lothaire, as I did that morn. Yet when I returned abovestairs, she was slumped on the landing, fully dressed, face reddened and scratched by Lady Laura. She told I left her door unlocked, but I did not and her chamber accesses no inner passages. Thus, she must possess keys. I know not where, though I have searched.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. “You should have told me. My wife should have told me!”
“Doubtless, Lady Laura feared you would be angered she had struck an old woman, and Lady Raisa assured the lady that if she did not speak of it, neither would she.”
Would he have been angered? Mayhap in the moment, but he knew his mother and did not doubt she had said something cruel to Laura. Too, what was a slap and scratches compared to a bruise that powder and the cover of hair could not entirely hide?
Lothaire breathed deep. “Regardless of whether she hired men to break into the wool stores and thieve—if that is all they were there to do,” he added when struck by the possibility they had meant to burn the stores, “she will depart High Castle first thing on the morrow. My only regret is you—”
“Nay!” Sebille’s eyes glistened. “I shall not go with her. I hate she will be without family and may pass alone, but no more will I suffer her intrigues.” She drew the back of a hand across her eyes. “If still you would have me remain at High Castle, I shall.”
“Of course I would.” He glanced at Angus who had spoken no word, wished there was hope in his eyes. Wish not granted, he said, “All will be pleased you are to remain with us.”
“You are too kind.”
Hearing the catch in Sebille’s voice, Lothaire wondered if she had also looked near upon Angus. He turned to his knight. “I would have the celebration continue. Discreetly post men around the perimeter, then gather four knights and instruct them to prepare to ride on Thistle Cross.”
“I am one of those knights, am I not?” Angus said with disapproval that told he did not believe it.
“Would that you were, but there is none better to ensure the safety of my wife, daughter, and sister.”
“Daughter and sister, aye,” the physician reminded his lord of his presence, “but your wife… Alas, nay.”
Lothaire looked sharply at him. “Of what do you speak?”
“She is gone. I saw her moving along the tree line. Such a pity she so soon proves she remains a Daughter of Eve.”
A single stride carried Lothaire so near the physician the man lurched backward, but Tina’s shrill cry kept his white-knuckled fist from breaking a nose—or worse.
“’Tis what I came to tell, Lord Soames!” Of a sudden, the maid was at his side. “A quarter hour milady instructed me to wait, then I was to send ye to her at the lake. By the big weeping tree near the shore is where ye shall find her. Alone. Awaiting her lord husband.”
Pain lanced Lothaire’s chest. At this moment, he would rather Laura was in the bordering wood with a lover than near the lake. If those who had attacked Shepsdale’s wool stores made for Thistle Cross, and had they paused along the way to water and rest their horses or conceal themselves from the man sent to alert the Baron of Lexeter, Laura could be exposed to them.
“Dear Lord,” he rasped, then to Angus, “Get those knights astride.”
Why, Laura? he inwardly shouted as he ran to his mount. Why this very eve did you have to grant my wish?
Veil cast off. Girdle unfastened. Gown removed and skirts spread at the base of the tree whose farthest branches hung over the water. Next slippers and hose. But not chemise.
She believed Lothaire would like finding her waiting for him, but it was too bold to bare herself entirely. And though determined to become accustomed to looking upon her body as she must accustom herself to looking upon his, this was enough. For now.
She pushed off the tree and drew the ties of her chemise through her fingers as she approached the water that tempted her toes to test its warmth, then her feet and ankles. She was up to her calves, the hem of her chemise raised to her knees, when movement on the opposite side of the lake drew her regard.
A doe and fawn. They saw her as well, now so still she would not have noticed them across the dusk had they not thought themselves alone moments earlier.
She stared, not wishing to do anything to cause them to seek cover. It was too many years since she had found herself thus, her exposure to the gentle animals limited to those brought to table in various states of venison.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, and as if they heard and feared that on the other side of her voice an arrow strained its bowstring, they bounded away.
As Laura watched the last of their pert tails go from sight, she felt a vibration beneath her feet and heard hooves. She turned to the left where Lothaire would soon appear, then the right where he ought not appear. But the latter was the direction from which the rider—nay, riders—came.
Yanking her chemise higher, she ran to the tree. But too late. The white of her chemise having betrayed her, the three riders veered toward her.
As she slipped around the tree and put her back to it, one of them laughed as if excited by the prospect of a chase, and though Simon had not laughed in the cellar, she knew what it meant and her end would be the same if she did not escape.
“Not again, dear Lord,” she whispered. “Not ever again. Pray, send Lothaire.”
When the riders halted beyond the tree’s skirt, all of her was begging to flee. She wanted to, but reason told it would be futile and so deplete her strength she would have little left to fight. Though that would be futile as well, there was one thing that held her together after Simon—that she had fought him all the way.
Sucking air through a throat threatening to close the space between mouth and lungs, she ventured a look around the tree.
“’Twill have to wait,” said one who appeared to be of middling years. “If we are to see the rest of our coin, there is a task that needs doing.”
“It will not take long.” This from a younger man. “Come out, girl! Ye have but to be nice and we be nice to you. That is how it works, don’ it?”
“My husband comes!” she called in a voice that barely carried.
“Did ye hear what she said?” the third man asked.
Another laugh. “Aye, that she is happy to oblige us.”
Gripping her chemise closed at the neck, Laura forced more breath down her throat and called, “My husband comes. Leave ere he puts you through.”
“If ’tis true,” the younger said, “there are three of us to one of him.”
“One of us,” the dissenter once more spoke. “We got business to tend. Ye want somethin’ for free when ye could fill your purse full enough to have a woman every night for a week, stay. We are goin’ on.”
Listen to him, Laura silently entreated. Pray, go!
Another laugh. “When the lass and I be done, I shall catch up with ye.”