THE AWAKENING_A Medieval Romance

by Tamara Leigh

  During Lothaire and Michael’s hour-long discussion of Lexeter’s wool operation, Laura and Lady Beatrix had spoken of small things while Clarice occupied the D’Arci children and, later, carried them abovestairs to bed.

  After Lothaire excused himself to find his own rest, Laura had told Soaring’s lady she wished a walk before withdrawing to her chamber. Lady Beatrix had offered to join her, but Laura had declined. Doubtless, the lady eschewed her own bed to ensure her guest returned safely.

  “She is kind to worry over me.” Laura stepped from the dovecote and closed the door.

  “She is my prize in heaven come to Earth,” Michael said, a smile in his voice.

  Inwardly sighing over the love shared by him and his wife, she hesitated when he offered his arm. Then assuring herself she would not feel the stomach-churning discomfort experienced with her three rejected suitors each time she forced herself to accept their touch or extend hers, she laid her hand on his forearm and walked beside him.

  Neither spoke until they passed beneath the raised portcullis into the inner bailey and the donjon was before them.

  “Why have you not told him?” Michael asked.

  She faltered, and he turned to face her. “You revealed the truth of Clarice to the queen. Why not Lord Soames?”

  She dropped her hand from him and averted her gaze.

  A finger beneath her chin returned her eyes to his. “Do you fear him, Laura?”

  His question reminded her of the talk they had before she went to court. She had told him what she had witnessed between Clarice and the son of his older brother, Joseph, which awakened her to the necessity of removing her daughter from Owen. When she apologized for overreacting lest Michael believe that of her, he became angry, though not with her, and said the gift of fear was given by the Lord and one should open it as soon as it appeared. And how she wished she had when it was given her the day she descended to the cellar where Simon cornered her.

  “Do you fear Soames, Laura?”

  She shook her head. “Not that he will do me physical harm, but I do fear for my heart.”

  “You love him still.”

  “Aye, and the mere thought I may never again have any part of his heart hurts mine.”

  “Then why not reveal to him that revealed to the queen?”

  “I needed Eleanor. Though certain she would not give aid to a harlot, I hoped she would help a wronged woman with whom she shares blood.”

  “I believe you must tell him, Laura. Though he is bitter, methinks I like him better than the first time we met. And were he without honor, I do not believe anything would persuade Abel Wulfrith to instruct him in arms.”

  Laura had wondered how far his conversation with Lothaire had strayed from talk of sheep. “He received training at Wulfen?”

  “Indeed. A rarity for one who has earned his spurs, but it speaks well of him that a Wulfrith, especially Abel, expended so much effort reserved for boys and young men. And well that your betrothed is not so prideful he refused the opportunity to better his skill at arms. Doubtless, he has suffered humiliation to be a grown man training amongst squires.”

  It did speak well of Lothaire, but not so well she was ready to reveal the true circumstances of Clarice’s conception, especially the part she had played—that which might not condemn her in Michael’s eyes but would likely condemn her in Lothaire’s.

  Laura gathered breath. “I have prayed over revealing to him what happened at Owen, but ever I come back to the lack of proof and that for ten years I offered none. Now to tell the tale of a man who cannot defend himself for how long he has been in the grave? Most convenient, my betrothed will say.”

  “You but kept your word to my stepmother, which you should not have given.”

  “I could not injure her more than already she was by the truth of her son. She was ever kind to me, like the mother I did not have. When my father disavowed me and would not provide funds for me to enter a convent and hide my shame, she remained steadfast. And what of you? Have you not suffered knowing the truth?”

  “Not as much as I would now suffer were it never told. Do not forget that Simon’s depravity nearly lost me the woman I love.”

  He spoke true, but still he had been deeply pained to learn his beloved brother had become a stranger—the same as Simon had become to Laura during his knighthood training.

  “I would not wish my brother’s sin cast wide like seed upon fertile soil,” he said, “but if any ought to be told, it is the man from whom my brother stole what was most precious.”

  “I agree, but I do not know Lothaire will believe me, and if ever he should, certainly not now. Mayhap once I have proven a good and faithful wife.”

  “Laura, though I could not clearly see Baron Soames kiss your hand, methinks that is a man who still loves even if he does not know it or wish it. He may not believe you now, but I think it the place to start, and ere you wed. If he requires proof, I will stand witness, as will my lady wife.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “I know not when, but I shall tell him.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. It was so reminiscent of when her world had been bright and he was the big brother denied her when she was sent to live distant from those of her blood, that Laura lurched forward and put her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his shoulder.

  He went very still, and she knew he questioned the appropriateness of her embrace, but he set a hand between her shoulder blades and patted her back.

  She did not mean to cry, but she could feel the rise of that emotion that made being awake so difficult. As if sensing it, he said with teasing, “You should know my sweet wife has threatened Lord Soames with bodily harm if he causes Clarice or you unhappiness.”

  She lifted her head, blinked away tears. “Lady Beatrix said she would hurt him?”

  “Aye.” He chuckled. “Though forsooth, I would be her instrument of revenge. And her brothers.”

  Her laughter was weak, but it was sincere, and it calmed the emotions seeking to tip her into misery.

  “You are a good man, Michael D’Arci. I am glad you have been blessed to be so loved.”

  “I pray the same for you.”

  Her smile wavered, but she took his arm again and, with a lighter step, crossed the bailey.

  Beware the Delilah, my son. Beware the Jezebel.

  Lothaire loathed finding his mother here with him—not to offer comfort but force him to see what he did not wish to see. And regret what he ached to regret.

  He stared down upon the man and woman until their ascent of the steps delivered them to the donjon’s door. Then the cool night air he had sought feeling chill, he stepped back from the window he had unshuttered minutes before Laura and Michael D’Arci crossed from the outer bailey into the inner—her hand on his arm.

  He had struggled for a reasonable explanation for the two walking alone in the dark. And likely would have failed to find one even had D’Arci not stepped in front of her, even had she not gone into his arms.

  What little doubt might have lingered was swept away by the memory of a younger Laura running to greet Lady Maude’s second stepson with enthusiasm that seemed to surpass that shown Lothaire upon his arrival. Later, when he told her such behavior was not befitting a lady, she had once more assured him Michael D’Arci was as a brother. For love of her, Lothaire had accepted her word.

  Fool! Was the man Clarice’s father? Certes, it was a visiting knight who got Laura with child. Were D’Arci the one, more sense it made that Lady Maude had not merely been kind in allowing her scandalous ward to remain in her household. And her stepson was a better fit than her own son whom Lothaire had briefly considered as the offender. Though Laura had shared fond memories of their childhood, the one time he had met Simon, she had been distant with the disagreeable youth who was not much older than she, yet seemed younger.

  Were it a D’Arci who made Lothaire a cuckold, it was surely this one entrusted with Laura’s daughter while she was at court, he who had
hair as dark as the girl’s and eyes as pale.

  Restrainedly, Lothaire closed the shutters he longed to slam, then strode to the bed and dropped onto it.

  Woe to Lady Beatrix who believed herself happily married—more, for her defense of the woman who had birthed her husband’s child.

  Woe to Michael D’Arci if ever the Wulfrith brothers learned the truth of him—more, if he thought to cuckold Lothaire a second time.

  Chapter 10

  What had changed since he had pressed his mouth to her palm, making her dare to hope the Lothaire of their youth was not entirely lost to her and ask how she was his somehow? It had hurt when he said she was but a means of saving Lexeter, but the next morn prior to their departure from Soaring, he had seemed more distant. And what had caused him to cool toward Michael though their talk of wool the night before had seemed almost friendly?

  Though thrice over the past day and a half of travel Laura had asked Lothaire what troubled him, each time whatever lightness could be found about him darkened and he refused to answer. Thus, she feared the nearer they drew to the home he would share with Clarice and her, the more he regretted remaining a suitor.

  Clarice also made the journey uncomfortable, but Lothaire was passably civil when the girl made it impossible for him to pretend she did not exist. In his hearing, she grumbled she would not like Lexeter and wished she could live with Michael D’Arci and his wife.

  It was obvious she offended, but with flushed face and set jaw, ever Lothaire turned his attention elsewhere.

  Laura entreated her daughter to keep her tongue, but though Clarice grudgingly agreed, that grudging was often her undoing after hours in a shared saddle.

  “Look, Mother!” she returned Laura to the present. “Is that our home?”

  Startled by what seemed excitement, Laura swept her gaze to the distant fortress. It had to be High Castle. Lothaire had said they would reach it some hours after noon, and it was as her young betrothed had described.

  Perched on a hillock that resembled a bow with its string drawn all the way to the ear, narrow towers resembling arrows aimed at the heavens, the castle would appear to sit among clouds on days thick with fog. And to the far left grazed sheep who seemed lesser clouds that had lost their way.

  Clarice made a sound of disgust, called, “Lord Soames, is that our home?”

  Laura shifted her gaze to where he rode ahead and saw his back stiffen, but he slowed, allowing them to draw alongside.

  “That is High Castle. There you will live.”

  Yet he did not name it their home, Laura noted.

  “It is pretty,” her daughter said, though from her tone it was other things as well, pretty being the highest compliment she would offer.

  He glanced at Laura. “Pretty, though mostly at a distance. It is in need of repair.”

  Clarice sighed. “Lord D’Arci repaired his castle years ago. Why have you not done the same?”

  A muscle in his jaw spasmed. “That requires funds that have been lacking.”

  “Have you them now? I do not like ugly things.”

  Laura grimaced. As Clarice had been encouraged by Lady Maude, and as evidenced by the girl’s clothes and gifts that became more extravagant the older she grew, she had a great taste for beauty.

  More color rose in Lothaire’s face, and when he spoke there was strain in his voice. “Funds are being raised, but as it will be years ere Lexeter is whole, best you become accustomed to less than pretty.” He urged his horse forward, and Laura thought he would have spurred away if not for Tina and all the packs.

  High Castle proved more distant than it appeared, taking a quarter hour to reach walls that were, indeed, in need of repair. And that was not all. But though many of the buildings in the outer bailey were in poor condition, there was evidence of restoration, primarily to the stables and smithy.

  It seemed a good sign the men on the walls and castle folk greeted their lord’s return with enthusiasm, and her foreboding eased when some of the lines in her betrothed’s face disappeared and he returned smiles and raised a hand.

  Laura did not expect his mother to greet them before the donjon, since her inquiry into Lady Raisa’s health had yielded she had never fully recovered from the illness that allowed her son to visit his betrothed at Owen absent her escort. But Laura had thought his sister, whom he had told remained unwed, would be among those gathered before the donjon. She had never met the lady, but there were no noblewomen among the servants.

  Lothaire lifted Clarice down, then Laura. “Well come to your new home,” he said without hint of welcome and crossed to Tina to aid in her dismount.

  Laura raised her gaze up the donjon and glimpsed movement at a window on the uppermost floor. Two figures, one wearing dark green, the other pale blue. Lady Raisa and Lady Sebille?

  A hand cupped her elbow, and she peered across her shoulder at Lothaire whose gaze had followed hers. Had he also noted the movement? If so, he said naught, but something told her it was that which returned him to her side.

  “Come.” He guided her forward. “Meet those who shall serve my wife.”

  Introductions of Baron Soames’s betrothed and her daughter were made quickly, and though the household knights and servants were mostly reserved, none were impolite.

  “They are not very friendly,” Clarice bemoaned as she ascended the steps alongside her mother.

  “They are respectful as is required of them,” Lothaire said.

  The girl clicked her tongue. “As are Lord D’Arci’s retainers, but his are more agreeable.”

  Feeling Lothaire’s tension rise, Laura said, “Clarice, it is not for you to—”

  “Nay,” Lothaire said as they neared the landing, “she may speak as she finds—providing she does so discreetly.”

  Laura looked sidelong at him, saw his eyes were upon her daughter on the other side of her.

  “They must not only earn your respect, Lady Clarice,” he said, “you must earn theirs.”

  “Why? ’Twas not required upon Owen, nor at Castle Soaring.”

  As Lothaire said something beneath his breath, Laura rasped, “Clarice!”

  Her daughter heaved a sigh, and as the donjon’s doors were opened by a pock-marked soldier of middling years, surged forward and entered ahead of the man who lorded these lands.

  “’Tis obvious you must better learn a parent’s role ere being entrusted with mothering my heir,” Lothaire rasped as they entered the hall.

  Outwardly, Laura did not stumble. Inwardly, she tripped so hard scathing words nearly flew off her tongue. None need tell her she was deficient in raising her child, least of all this man whose losses did not come near to numbering hers—he who had well enough forgotten her that he wed another.

  And lost her, she reminded herself. Breathing deep to slow her heart and cool the heat flaying her cheeks, she wondered what he had felt for his wife, something she had tried not to ponder for years. Had he loved her as once he had loved Laura? More? How had the lady died? In childbirth? If so, perhaps his losses did number hers. Might even exceed them.

  “The hall,” he said and halted at its center.

  Laura lifted her gaze she had fixed to the floor so he would not see the effect of his words and caught her breath. The great room was in better repair than what lay outside its walls. Though it evidenced neglect and age that would require much cleaning, polishing, and repair to set it aright, it was extravagant.

  A massive hearth faced with beautifully carved stone discolored by soot stretched half the length of one wall, a half dozen sumptuous tapestries marked by stains and dulled by dust hung ceiling to floor, three alcoves boasted disarrayed benches and small tables, many-branched candlesticks wrought of iron as tall as a man stood crookedly in the hall’s four corners, the dais constructed of the same stone as the hearth was stained by cast-off food, and upon it sat a table whose front was curtained with gathered material that sagged—at one of those gaps the shining eyes of what was surely a dog.

&
nbsp; A shiver of anticipation went through Laura. The household given to another woman would soon be hers, as ever it should have been. No longer would she merely be led through life. She would lead others, ensuring the donjon was comfortable and hospitable—a credit to her husband and his station. For Clarice she had awakened, and though her daughter’s happiness and security was of greatest concern, here was something for her. If never she was loved by her daughter or husband, she would have this.

  “You are smiling.”

  Had been, the corners of her mouth lowering as she swept her regard to the man who would give his household into her keeping. “I thought never to be here.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “As did I, but what Eleanor wants, Eleanor takes.”

  The freedom to choose the one who ordered his servants and birthed his heir.

  Little chance I will know his love again, she thought. I shall have to be content with being the one who loves, though not by way of words. Too much I would bleed to speak what may never again pass his lips.

  Unless you tell him, she recalled Michael’s encouragement.

  I shall, she silently vowed. Though he may not believe me and think more ill of me, when the time is as right as I can make it, I will reveal what would not have happened had I been less foolish.

  She tried for a smile of apology, but it shook her mouth. “I am sorry you felt you had no choice.”

  “At least ’tis not without some gain,” he said of the tax relief that would allow Lexeter to rise above its financial woes. The queen had explained it to Laura and been pleased her cousin had enough wits to understand how great a boon it was for the man who would not otherwise wed a used woman.

  Laura inclined her head. “I would like to be shown to my chamber. My daughter and I are travel worn.”

  He dropped his hand from her. “As I have matters to attend to, Sir Angus will escort you.” He summoned a knight to whom she had been introduced minutes earlier.

  He was handsome, perhaps a dozen years older than Lothaire, and the smile he once more bestowed upon her seemed genuine.