Lothaire set a hand on her arm. “The messages she had you deliver Cook were not always food requests.”
Finding her voice, Lady Raisa said, “Though that man was useful in making arrangements after you snatched Lexeter from me, ’tis more than a year since I enlisted his aid. As you put a watch on me, and I cannot trust Sebille not to run to you with my private messages, the only ones I send now are meal requests.”
“That is not what Cook tells.”
“He lies!”
“He said the message Sebille delivered several days past instructed him to once more hire the men who were to kill Lady Beata and her husband so they might work ill on the fleece. And this day he received another message to aid in their escape.”
“Lies! Tell him, Sebille. Tell him I have sent no messages for over a sennight, not even for food.”
A sob escaped Lothaire’s sister, and she dropped her prayer beads and pressed a quaking hand over her mouth.
“I know you are distressed,” Lothaire said. “I am sorry for it, but if you can verify what Mother tells, else deny it, all the sooner we shall be done with this.”
She lowered her hand to her side, and her tongue clicked as if her mouth was dry, then she said, “It pains me, but what Cook tells is true.”
Raisa made a choking sound.
“Three—or was it four days past?—I delivered what I believed was a meal request, and again this day.” She looked to her mother. “How could you use me like that? To do evil?”
Raisa’s eyes were all on Sebille. Nostrils flaring, upper lip curling, she cried, “I thought you but disliked me, but ’tis worse. You loathe me.”
“I do not, but I cannot lie for you. And I am done being a party to your hatred.”
Raisa struggled onto her elbows. “I know you, Sebille.”
“Mother!” Lothaire urged her to lie back.
She shoved his hand off and pointed at her daughter. “This is all you, you foul useless thing.”
“Cease!” Lothaire erupted.
“You are the one who paid men to murder Baron Marshal and his wife—the one who sent them to work ill on the fleece.”
Face crumpling further, shoulders bowing, Sebille caught up her prayer beads. “Of course you would see me bear your sins as I have long borne your care—because I speak in truth, because I will not allow you to lay further waste to my life by accompanying you to your dower property.”
Face flushed, brow beaded with perspiration, Raisa said, “You are not my daughter. You know that, aye?”
Sebille burst into tears.
Lothaire was tempted to curse the old woman, but she looked so ill he resisted. “Martin, settle my mother as best you can,” he ordered the physician who had nearly made himself one with the opposite wall, then put an arm around his sister. “Come away, Sebille.”
“Pretender!” Raisa screeched as brother and sister crossed to the door. “Not my daughter. Never my daughter!”
Hardly did they make it into the corridor than Sebille collapsed. Lothaire swung her into his arms and was jolted by how light was this sister who had carried more weight as a young woman despite the demands their mother placed on her. In the years since she had refused Angus, she had nearly gone to bone.
“Do not listen to her,” he said as she buried her face in his tunic.
Though he knew she had slept in the small chamber across from his mother’s since Raisa was moved to the third floor, he carried her down to the second floor.
It proved ill timing, Laura exiting her daughter’s room as Lothaire strode the corridor.
His wife’s gasp drew Clarice to the threshold before Laura could close the door. “Clarice, go back inside,” she entreated. “I—”
“What is wrong with Lady Sebille?” The girl started forward, but Laura pulled her back.
“Naught to worry over,” Lothaire said. “She but feels unwell.” He shouldered open the door of his sister’s chamber, entered, and pushed it closed.
“I am sorry,” Sebille cried as he lowered her to the bed. “’Tis just I am so weary.” She patted a hand across her waist, found the prayer beads, began tripping her fingers over them.
“I shall see you restored, Sebille.” Lothaire swept tear-dampened hair off her cheek. “The decision is made. Even do you think to change your mind and accompany Mother to her dower property—”
The door opened and Laura stepped inside.
He returned his gaze to Sebille. “I will not allow it. This is your home.”
“I wish to remain, but…”
“It is done, Sebille. Here you shall stay and grow strong again.” True, Father Atticus had suggested it would be best for her to enter a convent, but if ever Lothaire could have seen that, he could not now.
He looked to Laura where she came alongside. “My sister has given enough of herself to our mother’s care, do you not agree?”
“Of course.” The smile Laura gave Sebille was genuine. “I am glad you shall remain with us, Lady Sebille. I shall appreciate your companionship.”
A sob escaping Sebille, she turned onto her side and pressed her face into the pillow.
Lothaire drew the covers over her and laid a hand on her head. “Sleep, Sister. All will be better come morn.”
She nodded, and he drew Laura into the corridor. Neither spoke until he closed the solar’s door.
“What has happened, Lothaire?”
To save her from worrying over his mother’s presence, he would not have chosen to tell all that transpired this day. But since she had been exposed to Sebille’s misery, it would be cruel to make her wait on an answer.
He took her hands and drew her close. “You are not to worry. On the morrow, my mother departs, aye?”
“Tell me.”
“Lady Raisa’s lies are unraveling, and she looks for someone to blame.”
“Sebille.”
“Aye, my sister whom I will have suffer no further abuse.”
“What has Lady Raisa done? Did she strike Sebille?”
“Nay, though I believe she would have given the opportunity.”
“Then what?”
“Most recently, she hired men to attack the wool stores, the same you encountered at the lake.”
Laura startled.
“Aye, though it is certain what nearly befell you was not by her orders. You were simply in the wrong place.”
“Dear Lord, why would she do that? The wool is all to Lexeter—to you.”
“No longer all to me, but it means much to the barony and people of Lexeter. Who can know the workings of a mind that is not right, but she has ever been vengeful and all the more for being forced out of High Castle.”
Laura considered this, said, “That is what she has done most recently. What did she before?”
He sighed. “You want all of it, hmm?”
“Surely the Lady of Lexeter ought not be ignorant.”
“Then I shall tell you that which Baron Marshal and his wife know not, how my mother sought vengeance against them for the annulment of my marriage.” He drew her to the hearth. “Sit with me.”
Was that the mark seen on her mother’s face that she had tried to conceal? The mark Clarice had accepted as the result of a fall?
So it seemed. And the witch had done it to her.