“’Tis the wool in her blood.”
“True, but in this instance, it was the wool in her bed.” She nodded. “Poor Tina went to rouse Clarice and found the chamber a mess, the rushes sparse. When she drew back the covers, our daughter was curled around the lamb you entrusted to her.”
The one whose mother had rejected it, and whose care was to have been provided in the stables. He gave Laura the laughter she wished, then scooped her up and carried her to the water’s edge.
They were not long in divesting their garments, pausing only long enough for Laura to exclaim over the Wulfrith dagger and proclaim Abel Wulfrith had been derelict in not sooner seeing her husband fit with one. Then they stepped into the lake and lingered in water that was too cool—though only for a short time.
Later, as Lothaire cradled his fully awakened wife, she said, “I like the new physician. When he is not attending the complaints of the castle folk, he is all about the demesne caring for the villagers.”
“I am glad he is worth the coin paid him.”
“Ever so.”
“And Cook?” he asked since the one he had chosen to replace Raisa’s man had proven incapable of that responsibility. Thus, Laura had herself named a new cook.
“She is wonderful, Lothaire. And not overly reliant on expensive spices to render her dishes appealing.
“I am glad,” he said, and as he began to drift, reflected on the three prisoners he had not released with the cook. The two older ones had served six months of hard labor upon Lexeter in order to gain their freedom. The younger one was sent to the queen to dispense justice for the assault upon Eleanor’s kin. Lothaire did not know what form that had taken, but the queen had written that justice was served and never again would the man harm a woman.
“I received a missive from your sister,” Laura said.
“Sebille?” he murmured.
She turned to face him. “Aye, she who is now a bride and professes to be more loved than ever she thought possible.”
Pulling himself up out of sleep, he opened his eyes and saw sparkles. “I must visit her soon.”
“Did you not stop en route to Wulfen Castle?”
“Aye, a fortnight ere she was to speak her vows. But this next visit will be less personal. I have a favor to do Baron Marshal’s friend, Sir Elias de Morville.”
“At Bairnwood Abbey?”
That place which had well enough healed his sister that she now wore a nun’s habit. “Strangely enough, aye.”
When he did not elaborate, she said, “’Tis not for my ears?”
“Though I am to be discreet, I see no reason I cannot share what I know. But later, hmm? Now I just wish to hold you.” He tucked her nearer, and she fit so perfectly he praised the Lord so much could, indeed, happen in a year.
Laura captured his hand and drew it over her hip onto the bulge of their child. “I thank you, Husband.”
“For?”
“A life blessed with far more laughter than tears.”
He nuzzled her neck. “’Tis a beautiful day to be in love. A beautiful life.”
Dear Reader,
There being only so many hours in a day and far more books in one's to-be-read pile, I'm honored you chose to spend time with Lady Laura and Sir Lothaire. If you enjoyed their love story, I would truly, sincerely, most fervently appreciate a review of The Awakening at your online retailer—just a sentence or two, more if you feel chatty: Review The Awakening.
For a peek at the eighth book in the Age of Faith series—that of Sir Elias de Morville of The Longing and The Vexing, an excerpt of The Raveling is included here and will soon be available on my website: www.TamaraLeigh.com. Now to finish that tale for its spring/summer 2018 release.
Pen. Paper. Inspiration. Imagination. ~ Tamara
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The Raveling: Book Eight
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
Forkney, England
Fall, 1164
He had lost a son he had not known he had—providing the child was his. After all, there was a reason he had not married the mother. More, a reason she had not wished to wed him. And it appeared that reason had not changed.
“Dead,” she repeated, then lowered her voice. “’Twas the devil took him.”
Elias had reached for his purse to put coins in her palm, money he prayed would not be spent on drink, but he stilled over those last words sent past teeth no longer pretty.
He considered her thin, pale face lit by a torch outside the alehouse from which she had stumbled minutes earlier, drew a deep breath. “The devil, you say?”
Fear leapt from her jittering eyes.
“Why the devil, Lettice?”
She moistened colorless lips, glanced around as if to ensure no others listened. “Marked by evil, he was. I had no choice. Ye must know I did not.”
One question answered only to breed more. “How marked, and for what had you no choice?”
She opened her mouth, left it ajar as if reconsidering. Then she raised trembling fingers to the corner of an eye and swept them down her cheek to her jaw. “All red and purple was he, as if kissed by…ye know. Him.”
Elias dug his short nails into calloused palms. A mark of birth, possessed by many—though rarely so large or visible—did not a devil’s child make. But as ever, superstition ran rampant.
“That would alarm, indeed,” he said with control lest he frighten her away. “What did you do?”
“I couldna keep him, Elias.” She shuddered. “Though lovely one side of him, that other side…that mark…”
Lord, he prayed, no matter were it my son or another’s, let her not have set the babe out in the wood. Let her not be so cruel.
“What would have been said of me?” she bemoaned.
Would it have been much worse than what was said of her when she took coin for the use of her body? he wondered with resentment he should no longer feel for a woman he had ceased loving years ago—or mostly.
He unclenched his jaw. “How did the babe die?”
Lettice flinched, drew a shoulder up to her ear. “I did not wish to know. It…was taken care of.”
It.
Pain. Anger. Disgust. All set their brand upon Elias. It seemed naught remained of the woman he had loved. In looks, speech, spirit, and heart, she was unrecognizable. And just as he had been unable to save her then, he could not save her now. Worse, he could not save the babe who might have been his.
Though he longed to walk away, remembrance of what he had once felt for this woman bade him open his purse. “Promise me,” he said as her gaze shot to the leather pouch, “you will take what I give to better your circumstances, not—”
“How much?” she gasped.
He hesitated, then cinched the strings, and as she whimpered like a child shown a sweet and denied it, removed the purse from his belt. “Much,” he said. “If you spend wisely, ‘twill last through this season into the next.”
He reached it to her, and she snatched it to her chest, pivoted, and ran.