“Wulfen worthy,” Abel Wulfrith said. “That you are, Baron Soames.”
The air turned so thick it was hard to breath. No mockery, and the man had titled him. It was disconcerting how much it made Lothaire feel like a boy receiving praise from one he revered.
Then Abel Wulfrith clapped him on the shoulder. “Have I shocked you, Baron?”
The air thinned, and Lothaire said, “You have. You do me great honor.”
“And you make much of it—as you should.” Abel Wulfrith strode past. “Come!”
Thoughts flying ahead to Laura with whom he would soon be reunited after nearly a month of training more intense than any before, Lothaire followed. Moments later, he passed from the training yard in which he had proven himself into the one in which his old adversaries, Durand Marshal and Elias de Morville, were hard at quarterstaffs.
Legs braced apart, arms crossed over his chest, Abel Wulfrith watched his friends who had arrived at Wulfen Castle last eve. Time and again, the men shifted from offensive to defensive amid lengthening shadows that marked the setting of the sun.
Just when it seemed neither would best the other, the Lord of Wulfen said, “One more thing to prove yourself worthy, Soames. Tell me who shall win this contest.”
Lothaire nearly laughed, but it was no joke. Abel saw what his pupil did not. And now again Lothaire must prove he possessed that which was among a warrior’s greatest weapons—observation.
“You do not see it?”Abel pressed.
He did not, and he hated he might shame himself. True, he was greatly distanced compared to when he was the one engaged in combat, but that was the point—know thy opponent even whilst he is not yet that.
“Keep watching, Soames. Watch as if you were Baron Marshal, then as if Sir Elias. It is there.”
So it was, Lothaire observed moments later. “Baron Marshal shall prevail.”
“Why?”
“They are well matched, but Sir Elias’s swings and thrusts are not as smooth nor as timely, though not for lack of skill, methinks. It is as if…”
Abel looked sidelong at him. “As if?”
“He is distracted. If Baron Marshal is as bereft of mercy as is required of him, he will soon land the deciding blow.”
And so it came to pass. Still, Lothaire suspected the victor had shown the defeated mercy. It would have required little effort to drop Elias de Morville to his knees, but the baron was content with knocking aside the opposition’s quarterstaff and thrusting his own against the man’s chest.
“Well met, Durand!” Abel called. “As for you, Elias, we shall have to get a good quantity of drink in you to learn what so distracts.”
Sweating profusely, tunics and chausses darkened with the foul moisture also dampening their hair and beading their faces, the men advanced on Lothaire and their friend.
“You read me near as well as your brother, Everard,” Elias said, halting before Abel. “But drink is not required to loosen my tongue.” His gaze shifted to Lothaire, and he considered him some moments. “What distracts is the reason I asked Durand to accompany me to Wulfen.”
“Ah, I thought something afoot. But if it can wait a while longer, first I would have the two of you bear witness to the award of a Wulfrith dagger.” He nodded at Lothaire.
“It can wait,” Elias said.
“You agree to bear witness?”
“I would be honored.” This from Durand, and without hesitation.
“Elias?” Abel prompted.
The knight inclined his head. “I trust your judgment.”
“As well you should.” Abel swung away, said over his shoulder, “Once we are shed of this filth and stink, we shall meet in the solar.”
An hour later, all four men were as groomed and well-clothed as Sir Rowan who also bore witness. Then the priest prayed over the Wulfen-worthy knight, beseeching the Lord to ever hold Lothaire accountable for all he had gained at Wulfen—that it never be questioned he was worthy of his faith, country, people, and family. Then the Wulfrith dagger was fastened on Lothaire’s belt.
As they ate their supper in the solar whilst the young men who had yet to earn a Wulfrith dagger filled their bellies in the hall, Lothaire was awarded something else…something more valuable than the jeweled weapon…something he had not known he coveted, especially now he had Laura.
Friendship. Not in the truest, deepest sense, he suspected—especially where Elias was concerned—but it seemed a good beginning.
Eyes so dark they might haunt did they not sparkle like stars on a moonless night …
“Lothaire!”
He had known Laura was aware of his approach, though not because she had set High Castle knights on the road to ensure their lord passed by the lake. Because knowing she was here—that much nearer to being in his arms—he had pushed his destrier harder and its thunder had surely been heard ere he saw she stood near the shore with her back to him.
Not until his breath moved her hair had she turned and thrown her arms around him.
“You, Wife, are eager to welcome your husband home,” he said and was certain the sparkles in her eyes were reflected in his own.
“It has been a month, Husband!”
He touched his brow to hers. “Much too long. But as I know what years feel like in the absence of you, I dare not complain.”
She rose to her toes. “You are right. But still ’tis too long to wait on your kiss.” She angled her head and opened her mouth upon his.
He gathered her closer, and feeling like a man nearing starvation, kissed her back.
They could have gone much further than kisses and hands desperate to reacquaint themselves with every curve and hollow despite the heat of the sun reminding it was daylight, but one particular curve made Lothaire draw back.
He looked down, back up.
Laura’s thoroughly kissed mouth parted with a smile. “I am showing. And this morn methinks I felt our wee one move.”
There was not much to her belly, but as she was barely halfway through her pregnancy, little was expected. But in the months to come…
“Do you know if it is a boy or a girl?”
She grinned. “Too soon to tell—if ever one can. Though the midwife is certain she will know by the lay of the babe when I am further along, methinks we shall have to wait until our child is in our arms.”
Imagining that day, Lothaire’s eyes burned, and he did not mind that his wife saw he was moved. Indeed, he would have her know. Though a warrior ought to hold close his vulnerabilities, not where his wife was concerned.
“Make love to me?” she said.
He blinked. “Here? Now?”
“Once we have washed away the dust and scent of your ride.” She touched the purse on her girdle. “I brought soap.”
He laughed, and as the joy trailed off, she said, “Laugh again, Lothaire.”
He hiked an eyebrow. “I must needs have something over which to laugh.”
She smiled. “We had quite a disturbance a week past.”
“Oh?”
“You know Clarice loves her lambs.”