He stilled.
“Certes, now you know it better than I. After…” She shook her head, and Simon fled. “I could not bear to look upon it, especially as it grew round with child. Even after Clarice was born—when once more it was mine alone—it was hard to gaze upon. Will you be patient with me?”
He splayed his hand above her breasts as if to feel the beat of her heart. “You need not ask that of me, love. As I am most willing and you are most willing, and providing God is as willing, we have so many years ahead of us there is no need to rush anything. You have but to tell me what you want and need and ’tis yours.”
He made it sound easy, but it could not be, especially if she wounded his pride.
“Tell me, Laura.”
She laid a hand over his above her heart. “I now know desire can be wondrous, that where there is love it is not to be feared, but I am not yet enough at ease to…”
“Feel as much as I felt,” he finished, and there was no anger in his voice as of one offended.
She nodded. “I felt things I never knew I might, and I would like to feel them again, but there seems something more, meaning I am not fully awake as thought—and I want to be for you. For us. Do you think I will awaken all the way?”
“Methinks this night you nearly did, so aye. And I will be patient, Laura. I will go slowly and gently until you are fully awake.”
“You are not disappointed?”
“In ten years, I have not been happier. So now, if you are comfortable, may I continue to tell you how beautiful you are?”
“You do not think we ought to return to the celebration?”
“All are full of food and drink, song and dance, and the satisfaction of the end of shearing season. I do not believe they will miss us. And certes, one of my knights will inform Sir Angus of the events that transpired here, and he will see Clarice and Sebille safely home.”
She trailed a hand up his arm, loved that her fingers could hardly begin to span his muscular shoulder. “Then pray, tell me so I might find the words to tell you how beautiful you are.”
He laughed, and she so loved that sound from the deepest of him that she would have happily traded his words for more of that rumble. “Methinks I would rather be told how handsome and virile I am.”
“Beautiful and virile, Husband. If you wish to be merely handsome you will have to cut your hair.”
After a thoughtful moment, he said, “You wish me to?”
She smiled at how accommodating he sounded. “You would do it for me?”
“Only you, Laura love.”
She slid her hand up his neck, drew her fingers through his damp hair out to the ends. “But then I could no longer wear your hair,” she said.
“Wear my hair?”
She felt her body blush. “Wh-when you are like this with me.”
“So I ought not cut it?”
She fixed a thoughtful expression on her face. “Since you are far more Samson whose hair was his strength than King David’s usurping son whose hair proved his downfall, methinks it best you not cut it. Certes, I shall not.”
He kissed her long, raised his head. “You are my strength.”
Though she thought he exaggerated, she felt stronger despite being bared and as vulnerable as a woman could be. However, this was her Lothaire—lost to her and now found by the grace of God who had surely made Queen Eleanor His instrument.
“Your strength,” she mused. “Not merely your somehow?”
“That is important too, but not for how Lexeter is saved. For how I am saved. I love you, Laura. Now allow me to continue so you will know how beautiful you are and wish to see what I see. Then one day I shall wear your hair.”
Chapter 33
She slept the sleep of a small child, having barely stirred after he lifted her onto his destrier and she gained his promise they would soon return to the lake.
Now Lothaire stood beside the bed cradling his wife, thanking the Lord she was safe, and praying he would never fail to keep her from harm—that he would prove worthy of this precious gift returned to him.
“My somehow, my strength,” he rasped and gently lowered her to the mattress and turned the coverlet over her. Though he longed to curl around her if, in sleep, she trusted him enough to give him her back, he must leave her.
A short while later, Angus and he departed the hall.
“I know what you have to tell must be serious to keep me from my marriage bed,” Lothaire prompted when they stood in torchlight alone but for guards patrolling the walls.
“Most serious, my lord. Sir Chastaine, who saw your captives delivered to Thistle Cross, recognized two of the three men. He is certain the older ones are the same hired by your mother to murder Lady Beata and Baron Marshal.”
Recalling the flash of recognition in the wood, Lothaire stiffened. Sir Chastaine was correct, meaning Raisa once more worked her ill.
“Then my sister was right.” He breathed deep. And knew what must be done. Though his mother was to depart on the morrow, he would give her another day—mayhap two—but not to incriminate herself. He required no further proof. What he needed was to uproot the one who aided her within these walls.
“You are thinking a trap,” Angus said, “as am I.”
“Aye. Under heavy guard, have the miscreants moved from Thistle Cross to High Castle’s outer dungeon. Then once again we shall be arrogantly confident our cells can hold them. When my mother’s accomplice tries to free the men, we will have him and ensure Lady Raisa’s machinations do not infect her dower property the same as High Castle.
The knight inclined his head. “’Twill be done on the morrow.”
“I thank you and…”
“My lord?”
“No one but you and I are to know of the trap.”
“Not even your sister?”
Lothaire considered, shook his head. “Not even Sebille.”
Awakened with kisses.
Laura lifted her chin to move her husband’s lips from the side of her neck to her mouth. But they went only as far as her cheek.
She opened her eyes, and before the dawn-lit room came into focus realized she was on her side, the one kissing her at her back.
Lothaire, she told herself even as she sought to move away. Blessedly, he released her, and she scooted and dropped onto her back. And was grateful for the understanding in his eyes.
“Thus, I held you through the night,” he said and levered onto an elbow. “Until this moment, you were content.”
“Forgive me. I…”
“I know, Laura love. But see, ’tis our nuptial chamber.”
And you, she thought. Ever you.
“As methinks it is too soon for you to wear my hair again,” he said, “I would but hold you if you would like to linger abed.”
She wished it were not too soon but was glad he was content to wait. “You do not need to rise, Husband?”
“The shearing is done. Though there is yet much to occupy me, for many months you will more likely awaken to me than not—so much you may sooner wish for spring and summer.”