by Tamara Leigh
“My lord,” the physician acknowledged him.
Lothaire inclined his head and continued past. As he ascended the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder. Martin had hold of his mother’s arm and guided her toward the kitchen.
Moments later, Lothaire closed himself in the solar. When his breathing calmed, he read the queen’s missive again. He did not like the wording. It begged a question. Did she or did she not have a wife for him? She said she did, and yet in closing she wavered.
We shall expect you within a fortnight, Lord Soames. Do you present well, we believe you will gain the hand of the lady who shall bring to her marriage the relief many a lord seeks to save his lands. Do not disappoint us.
Chapter 3
Windsor Castle, England
Late May, 1163
She knew she was awake, but it seemed a dream she inhabited as she stared at the lady before her.
It was the finest mirror, with so little distortion she wondered if she had truly seen herself before. The pond she had not visited since before Clarice’s birth had offered the truest reflection, but she had never presented as clearly as this.
She did not think herself beautiful, but she was quite fair, especially after a month beneath the queen’s eye and that woman’s sighing over all that must be done to transform her cousin from disagreeably delicate to agreeably desirable.
Desirable. Laura detested the word. It told of things that happened in the dark whether a woman wished it or not.
“Milady?”
She blinked, looked to the maid beside her. “Am I ready, Tina?”
“Oh, lass.” She patted her lady’s cheek. “More ready than ever I have seen ye. And it has been six years since Lady Maude gave ye into me care, eh?”
Six years—following the visit to Simon’s half-brother whose wife had nearly suffered the same as Laura.
How she adored Michael and Lady Beatrix. How she wished she could accept their offer for Clarice and her to live at Castle Soaring. The temptation was great, but were she to agree, she would not fully awaken. And she was determined not to be a burden to anyone again—excepting whomever she wed, but he would have payment enough in the bedroom.
She almost smiled at the realization her throat did not burn with bile. She was growing accustomed to the idea of violation. That was good, for a poor marriage it would be—and of detriment to Clarice—if the man whose ring Laura wore discovered how she felt about what he did to her.
Still no bile.
“Six years, Tina. I pray we have many more.”
Blessedly they would, Maude’s stepson having agreed the maid could leave Owen, and Queen Eleanor concurring that Laura’s husband would accept Tina’s services.
“’Tis time,” the maid said.
Laura slid her palms down the skirt of one of a dozen gowns gifted her by Maude over the years.
The queen had been pleased with the quality and colors of Laura’s wardrobe, surely having expected the royal coffers to bear the cost of clothing her cousin in finery needed to capture a husband. Though a few gowns were no longer fashionable, a seamstress had been engaged to alter their fit and design.
Were I happy, Laura thought, I would feel like a princess.
“I am ready,” she said and followed Tina to the door of the luxurious apartment that had been hers these past weeks. Soon she would leave here, collect her daughter from Michael D’Arci and Lady Beatrix, and journey to wherever she would spend the remainder of her life with the man to whom she must give herself to provide her daughter a good future.
Now to see which lord so badly needed funds he would pay the price of a used lady newly awakened.
Which one was she?
The tall lady whose eyes rushed about the hall as if in search of someone? The freckled lady twisting a tress of glorious red hair? The elegant blond lady of an age several years beyond his own? What of the lady with hair the color of burnished bronze?
Lothaire looked nearer upon the latter. She stood in profile, but there was no denying she was lovely, albeit thinner than he liked.
He grunted. Though given a choice, he would pick a wife pure of body and passing pretty, he grudgingly accepted that what mattered was she possess dowry enough to return Lexeter to the prosperity it had enjoyed before his father’s murder over twenty years past.
He pushed that remembrance aside. Though determined to learn where Ricard Soames was buried so the old baron could be moved to consecrated ground, Lothaire was here to secure a wife.
He looked to the queen who had yet to grant him an audience though he had arrived at Windsor last eve. Likely, she remained displeased with him for wedding Lady Beata Fauvel without her permission, forcing her to arrange an annulment of the unconsummated marriage before she could see her favorite—Sir Durand Marshal—wed to the lady.
As Lothaire started to move his gaze from Eleanor, she settled hers on him. And smiled.
That he did not expect. Though he did not like her, he returned the smile.
She inclined her head and pointedly looked toward a gathering to her left.
Then it was to be the lady with the burnished bronze hair, she who had added another nobleman to her audience.
Lothaire was not averse to the queen’s offering. Of all those whose unveiled hair proclaimed them unwed, she was among the few with whom he would have sought an acquaintance. Young enough to bear children, but not so young he would suffer the foolishness of a girl who believed her maturing body made her a woman. Though more pleasing to the eye than he liked, he would simply have to be vigilant. As for her weight, once she knew he did not find half-starved women desirable, she would eat more.
He looked back at Eleanor who gestured for him to approach the lady.
Wishing he had a name by which to call his future wife, he strode forward. As he neared, he studied her face in profile and revised his opinion. Given a choice, he would not make this lady’s acquaintance. Too much she resembled the first woman to whom he had been betrothed, albeit more mature. But he dare not further displease the queen, and he must wed a lady who brought a good dowry to the marriage.
He was several strides distant when she tapped the air between her and a nobleman of middling years and said, “Fie on you, Lord Benton.”
Now he had a name, one that stopped him and blew warm breath into his cold places. But it could not be her. She had no dowry, her father having disavowed her.
At what did the queen play? Eleanor had to know that once he had been betrothed to this lady. Might this be punishment for his defiance?
Feeling his chest and shoulders rise and fall, hearing blood thrum through his veins, he looked to the queen.
She raised her eyebrows, motioned for him to resume his approach.
Dear Lord, make me stone, he silently beseeched. Open wide a path to sooner see me away from here.
Continuing forward, he altered his course and inserted himself between Lord Benton and another nobleman. He had only a moment to take in the lady’s lovely face before shuttering his own against her gaze.
Lids fluttering, breath catching, she stumbled back and dropped her chin.
“Lady Laura?” Lord Benton gripped her arm.
“Forgive me! The heel of my slipper has failed.” She put its toe forward, providing no evidence of what remained hidden beneath the elaborately embroidered skirt of a gown that bore little resemblance to the simple gowns she had worn ten years past.
She sighed, looked up. As if Lothaire were not a flicker of the eyes away, she smiled at Lord Benton. “Pray, excuse me. I shall remedy the situation as soon as possible.”
“Do not forget your promise to sit with me at meal,” said a short, attractive man to Lothaire’s right.
“I shall not, Lord Gadot.” She swung away and, absent a hitch in her step, moved toward the stairs.
Lord Benton looked to Lothaire. “You are?”
“Baron Soames.”
The man’s brow lowered. “Another rival? Or just passing through?”
/>
“Rival?”
“For the lady’s hand,” Lord Gadot said and winked. “Quite the surprise she is so lovely, hmm? I was certain she must be the freckled one, else the lady nearing the end of her child-bearing years, but the Lord is kind. I would very much like Lady Laura in my bed.”
For a moment, Lothaire did not know himself. But a reminder of who the lady was—a Jezebel from the top to the bottom of her—kept his hand from his dagger.
“Ah, but whoever wins her must needs watch her closely,” said the third nobleman who, were he capable of wielding a sword, would find his swing hindered by excessive weight. “I have no wish to be made a cuckold.”
As the others murmured agreement over the comment surely meant to discourage the other suitors, Lothaire ached that Laura’s sin should be so well known. And resented her for it. Blessedly, none looked upon him in any way to indicate they knew he was a victim of her cuckolding.
“Are you a rival, Baron Soames?” Lord Benton asked again.
“Just passing through.” Lothaire pivoted away from the three who sought to wed the woman he had once wanted. But no more. Not ever again. As soon as he gained an audience with the queen, he would make it known Laura Middleton was unacceptable. If Eleanor insisted on finding him a wife, it would have to be another.
Upon reaching a sideboard, he accepted a goblet of wine from a servant. Once his face was composed as much as possible, he turned.
Though the queen remained seated and conversed with one of her ladies, her eyes were on him.
She liked this game—wanted to watch the players dance on their twisted and knotted strings. But he would not, and eventually she would weary of her sport and summon him.
Unless she had another lady able to raise Lexeter out of its financial difficulties, he would depart on the morrow, ride for Wulfen, and make good out of bad by sharpening his sword skill with the anger coursing his veins.
Abel Wulfrith’s opponent would prove worthier yet. Mayhap near deadly.
Chapter 4
Blinded by tears, she knew not how she made it to her chamber. But it was the one given her, as evidenced by Tina who leapt to her feet in response to the door’s slam.
“What has happened?” the maid exclaimed as she hastened to where her lady pressed herself back against the door. “Ye have displeased the queen?”
Though Laura knew Eleanor would be unhappy with her departure, she shook her head. Panting so deeply her laces strained, she choked, “He is here,” and the face of the man who had once called her Laura love rose before her—more weathered than she would have expected, and more fit with condemnation than the last time she had looked upon it. Though a goodly distance had separated them ten years past, his judgment then had been tempered by hurt.
“Who is here, milady?”
“Lo—” She whimpered. She had thought his name a thousand times, but it had not passed her lips for longer than she could recall.
Tina gasped. “Tell me ye do not mean Lothaire Soames.”
The maid did not know the exact circumstances that led to the dissolution of Laura’s betrothal, but all of Owen and many beyond knew that once the two were to have wed. And Clarice was the reason they had not.
“Aye, Tina.” She saw him again, from wheat-colored hair springing back from his brow to tall leather boots encasing muscled calves and large feet. “Him.”
“Mercy, such ill timing! Or do ye think…? Nay, he cannot be amongst those seeking yer hand.”
Laura startled so hard her head knocked against the door. That had not occurred. Though Eleanor said she had four noblemen prepared to vie for her, what had not needed to be told was they were in such desperate need of funds they would accept as wife and mother of their children one whose taint was all the more visible in the misbegotten daughter who would also share hearth and home.
But Lothaire could not be that desperate. At worst, he had been summoned to allow the queen to test Laura’s claim she was lady enough not to succumb to the carnal outside of marriage and that her love for Lothaire had been too complete to make a cuckold of him.
“Milady, ye are twisting yer skirt into a mess, makin’ wrinkles I shall have to smooth again.” Tina closed her hands over Laura’s and gently pried them open. “And yer face!”
A sharp knock sounded, and Laura lurched away from the door. If not for Tina’s sturdy build, the two might have tumbled to the floor.
“Lady Laura, the queen approaches,” a voice called and knocked again.
Having steadied her lady, Tina whipped up her own skirt and wiped at Laura’s face. She dropped back, winced. “Well ’tis not as if Her Majesty is not expecting this, eh?” She squared her shoulders and opened the door—with no time to spare.
“Lady Laura!” Eleanor’s voice was like a whip against its recipient’s back. “Do we waste our time finding you a husband and your daughter a protector?”
Laura splayed her hands amid her skirts, turned.
The queen’s frown deepening, she made a sound of disgust and peered over her shoulder at Tina. “You. Close the door.”
“I should remain, Yer Majesty?”
“You should.”
As Tina swung the door in the faces of the queen’s ladies who stood in the corridor, Eleanor motioned Laura forward.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Laura halted before her sovereign. “I know I should not have left the hall, but would that you had told me Baron Soames was in attendance. As you must know, it was a shock to see him again. ’Tis difficult enough accepting I am to wed a man I do not want without so painful a reminder of the man I…”
“Loved,” the queen said. “Perhaps still love, hmm?”
“I do not. Can not. It has been ten years, and I would be a fool to love one who feels only loathing and revulsion for me.” A tear fell. “Pray, send him away so I may do what I came for.”
The queen studied her so long a half dozen more tears fell ere she spoke again. “What you told us is true, Lady Laura?”
That which had remained a secret to nearly all while Lady Maude lived. “It is, Your Majesty.” She felt the presence of Tina who may have guessed but did not know with certainty the circumstances of Clarice’s conception. “’Twas not I who made a cuckold of Lord Soames.”
Eleanor’s smile was slight. “Then you have four prospects. By week’s end, you shall be betrothed.”
“Four! Surely you do not mean Baron Soames—”
“We do, and him most of all.”
Not ill timing. The queen’s timing. Laura’s knees softened, but she snapped them back lest she drop at her sovereign’s feet and make Eleanor further regret the aid given her cousin. “Pray, reconsider, Your Majesty. I do not know I can do this with him present. ’Twill be torture.”
The queen put her head to the side. “Have we not given counsel every day since your arrival? Have we not been heartened to see your body and resolve strengthen? Have we not summoned these men to court given your assurance you are ready to be a wife to the one we deem best for your daughter and you?”
Laura was ashamed by the spill of more tears. “Aye, Your Majesty, but—”
“Then enough! You will not disappoint us.” Eleanor raised her hands and stepped forward so suddenly Laura startled. But the queen did not slap at her. She took the younger woman’s face between her soft, fragrant palms. “Listen to me,” she eschewed the royal us, her reference to her singular self nearly setting Laura to sobbing. “If Baron Soames loved you as you say you loved him, he is the one. And when he learns the truth of your daughter, a good marriage you can make.”
Dear Lord, Laura silently bemoaned, she as good as tells she will choose him!
The queen lowered her hands and stepped back. “And he shall right another of his wrongs.”
Another? Laura wondered.
“Providing,” Eleanor added, “he is the man we believe him to be and is willing to take our advice on removing his mother from his home.” She shook her head. “That woman will be the r
uin of him does he not sever her influence—as she would be the ruin of you and your daughter. Such bitterness over her husband’s faithlessness, his disappearance, and now…” She waved away whatever else she meant to say.
However, what she had revealed was intriguing enough to distract Laura. She knew Lothaire’s father had gone missing when his son was six years old and that he was never found, but Lothaire had not revealed his father was unfaithful. It accounted for his mother’s severity and portended how deeply Lothaire and Lady Raisa must have felt what they perceived as Laura’s faithlessness.
“You will return to the hall, Lady Laura.” It was not a question. “And you will spend time with your suitors in our sight so we may observe.”
Laura longed to fall on the bed and only be bodily moved from it, but she would appear ungrateful for all Eleanor had done. More, though at times the queen was nearly as severe as Lothaire’s mother, Laura sensed she genuinely cared for her scandalous relation.
“If you will allow me some minutes to put myself in order, Your Majesty, I shall rejoin you belowstairs.”
“And charm your suitors?”
She inclined her head.
“Even Lord Soames?”
She hesitated, asked, “Ere he appeared before me, did he know my purpose—that I am the one he must take to wife to ease his financial difficulties?”
“He did not, but whatever the others said of you following your departure, he did not like. And we venture it nearly moved him to a display of jealousy.”
That Laura did not believe. He was angered, but only by her presence and the waste of his time. Thus, he would surely be gone by the morrow, leaving her with three suitors.
And were he desperate enough to stay? Then within days he would depart. Painful though it would be, Laura would charm him as much as the others—nay, more. If purity and modesty were as important to him as once they had been, he would find her seriously lacking.