Sebille pulled a hand down her face. “She watched me closely, as if I might reveal my knowledge he had gone to the woman who birthed me. I said he would surely return soon, and she revealed he had passed a night at the castle of Lady Beata’s family and not been seen since. She was certain ill had befallen him there.” She sighed. “So it did, though until a year past when we learned of his murder, ever I suspected her hand in his disappearance. I wronged her.”
Not as much as Raisa had wronged Sebille, Lothaire reflected. “She neglected you, reducing you to little more than a servant.”
His sister peered down her body that had been pleasingly plump as a girl and prettily curvaceous as she grew into gowns never again as fine as those worn whilst Raisa believed her a miracle. She had been lovely, but following her refusal to wed Angus she had become gaunt, face and figure trading softly rounded edges for sharp ones that made her appear sunken, golden-red hair dark and lax from too little grooming.
“And she lied,” she said low. “As did he about the night he exchanged his dead daughter for me.”
“What lie did Father tell, Sebille?”
“He…” Her eyes widened, and she gave a quick shake of her head. “Not Father—Mother. She lied.”
Hardly convincing, but Lothaire could see it was useless to press her. More, perhaps, it was too painful for her.
“But still I had you,” she said in a rush.
“Better, Sebille, you could have had Angus.”
She raised and dropped a shoulder. “Lady Raisa said he would be as faithless to me as my father was to her.”
“Tell me you did not believe her.”
“For how much he likes women, I thought it possible. And lo, has he not time and again betrayed me?”
Determined not to argue that since the knight and she had not exchanged vows it was not she whom Angus betrayed, Lothaire allowed, “He does like women, though that was never as apparent than when you refused his offer of marriage.”
She considered this. “Regardless, that is not why I would not wed him. Would you know the reason?”
“You said Mother required too much attention for you to be a good wife.”
“Aye, but more true was she would have made Angus and me miserable had we taken her to live with us at her dower property that you meant to give into his keeping. No marriage would that have been. True, you said she could remain at High Castle and you would hire a companion, but no life would that have been for you. Without me here to mop up her bitterness, I feared you would sink in it. And she would ruin you as she nearly ruined all of Lexeter.”
He retrieved her hand, squeezed it. “For love of me you refused Angus.”
“Love of you.”
“And thereafter, you ceased trying to regain Mother’s affection.”
“Finally, I accepted it was futile, and I was so angered by the years wasted on trying to love her back to me that I embraced her vengeance, mostly by way of little things that frustrated her. It was not to have lasted long, the physician having said her years were few. But they were not, Lothaire. I felt every one of them, though with each that passed I assured myself I was that much nearer a life with Angus.” She swallowed. “I know ’tis wrong, but I longed for her sickness to be as serious as she made it appear, for it to free the living of her. But only now that I have lost my youth and Angus no longer wants me are we freed.”
Lothaire wished he could assure her his knight would yet have her, but it could easily prove a lie. “Sebille, you know it was not only Lady Raisa’s illnesses that time and again turned me from sending her away.”
“It was concern for me—that you did not wish me to follow her—but I also know how great your sense of responsibility and faithfulness. Had she not family at her side, soon you would have brought her home, else taken the burden of her upon yourself, visiting often though you were needed at High Castle. Therefore, I committed to serving as a barrier between her and you here, and still I would be that if not for Lady Beata.”
He frowned. “Lady Beata?”
“Surely you remember how your mother railed over your refusal to contest the annulment?”
“I do.”
“It made me realize she was nowhere near the end of her miserable life. And when you said you must find a wife else the queen would force one on you, I knew that marriage would be as doomed as your first with Lady Edeva. It was no longer enough for me to serve as a barrier. I knew I must leave High Castle with Lady Raisa.”
Momentarily, she closed her eyes. “When she cursed Lady Beata in front of Martin and me and bemoaned no one would rid her of the foul woman, I conceived the idea of assassins to which I would alert you so you could prevent the attack. Though the men hired to play the part were not to have been captured, it unfolded beautifully, convincing you of your mother’s duplicity. Thus, you were determined to send her away though I would accompany her. But she foiled me. Was it truly a stroke as Martin told? I but know it looked very different from what finally took her life. By the time she deigned to regain her strength, her offense and endangerment of Lexeter had faded sufficiently that once again you allowed her to remain. And my plans…”
“More plans, Sebille?”
“I would not have harmed her, but I believed her removal from High Castle would speed her passing.” She dropped her prayer beads, touched her fingers to her lips. “It sounds evil, and ever I pray for forgiveness, but I knew life would be better without one who made me want to sleep away every minute of every day.”
Lothaire turned her hand up and slid his fingers between hers. “Dear Sebille, I am sorry.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “If only Father had not exchanged his deformed daughter for me. If only Lady Raisa had not brought me out of the convent. A better, more useful life I would have led serving the Lord.”
That he could not dispute. “The men sent to attack the fleece stores were also pretense to move me to banish our—my—mother?” He hated having to correct himself, but it was surely best he cease associating Sebille with her tormentor.
“Aye, first Shepsdale, and when the hue and cry was raised, on to Thistle Cross. I thought the attempts to attack the wool, met with revelation of the assault on Lady Laura in her chamber would prove so dire you would accept your mother must be moved to her dower property. Indeed, I was so certain that I agreed to remain at High Castle. Though I knew it might be too late for Angus and me, I believed I would find happiness enough just being your sister and…” She glanced at Laura. “I thought if I became your friend, I could turn you back to Lothaire should you think to stray again.”
Though Laura had good reason to be offended, she leaned near and said, “Good, godly counsel I would welcome, my lady—to be reminded of how much I love your brother and he loves me—but I assure you never shall I want any other than Lothaire. As never have I wanted any other.”
Confusion grooved Sebille’s brow. “But the flesh is weak, Lady Laura. Is not your daughter testament to that?”
Laura’s hesitation made Lothaire tense, but she said, “I am ten years older, ten years wiser. I love and am loved, for which I thank the Lord and shall ever seek His guidance to ensure my vows remain as true as the day I spoke them.”
Sebille looked to Lothaire. “Already it is a good marriage?”