THE AWAKENING_A Medieval Romance

by Tamara Leigh

  Now Lothaire stood beside the bed cradling his wife, thanking the Lord she was safe, and praying he would never fail to keep her from harm—that he would prove worthy of this precious gift returned to him.

  “My somehow, my strength,” he rasped and gently lowered her to the mattress and turned the coverlet over her. Though he longed to curl around her if, in sleep, she trusted him enough to give him her back, he must leave her.

  A short while later, Angus and he departed the hall.

  “I know what you have to tell must be serious to keep me from my marriage bed,” Lothaire prompted when they stood in torchlight alone but for guards patrolling the walls.

  “Most serious, my lord. Sir Chastaine, who saw your captives delivered to Thistle Cross, recognized two of the three men. He is certain the older ones are the same hired by your mother to murder Lady Beata and Baron Marshal.”

  Recalling the flash of recognition in the wood, Lothaire stiffened. Sir Chastaine was correct, meaning Raisa once more worked her ill.

  “Then my sister was right.” He breathed deep. And knew what must be done. Though his mother was to depart on the morrow, he would give her another day—mayhap two—but not to incriminate herself. He required no further proof. What he needed was to uproot the one who aided her within these walls.

  “You are thinking a trap,” Angus said, “as am I.”

  “Aye. Under heavy guard, have the miscreants moved from Thistle Cross to High Castle’s outer dungeon. Then once again we shall be arrogantly confident our cells can hold them. When my mother’s accomplice tries to free the men, we will have him and ensure Lady Raisa’s machinations do not infect her dower property the same as High Castle.

  The knight inclined his head. “’Twill be done on the morrow.”

  “I thank you and…”

  “My lord?”

  “No one but you and I are to know of the trap.”

  “Not even your sister?”

  Lothaire considered, shook his head. “Not even Sebille.”

  Awakened with kisses.

  Laura lifted her chin to move her husband’s lips from the side of her neck to her mouth. But they went only as far as her cheek.

  She opened her eyes, and before the dawn-lit room came into focus realized she was on her side, the one kissing her at her back.

  Lothaire, she told herself even as she sought to move away. Blessedly, he released her, and she scooted and dropped onto her back. And was grateful for the understanding in his eyes.

  “Thus, I held you through the night,” he said and levered onto an elbow. “Until this moment, you were content.”

  “Forgive me. I…”

  “I know, Laura love. But see, ’tis our nuptial chamber.”

  And you, she thought. Ever you.

  “As methinks it is too soon for you to wear my hair again,” he said, “I would but hold you if you would like to linger abed.”

  She wished it were not too soon but was glad he was content to wait. “You do not need to rise, Husband?”

  “The shearing is done. Though there is yet much to occupy me, for many months you will more likely awaken to me than not—so much you may sooner wish for spring and summer.”

  “Never.” She moved onto her side to face him. “Hold me like this—for now.”

  He drew her nearer, made a pillow of his forearm. “There is something of which I would like to speak that I meant to last eve but could not find the right place to do so,” he said.

  “Something is amiss?”

  “Nay, something is explained that ought to have been sooner, though I understand why you did not—why you felt you needed to lie.”

  Her heart stuttered. Did he not believe Simon had fathered Clarice after all? He must have felt her fear, for he hastened to explain, “I speak of the bruise on your face. Last eve Sebille revealed it was gained by my mother’s attack.”

  She gasped. “Then you also know I slapped her. I should not have, but—”

  “I know she provoked you, Laura, would have known even had my sister not revealed it. Will you tell me how?”

  The beat of his heart beneath her fist alerting her she had gathered up a handful of his tunic, she opened her fingers and pressed her palm to his chest. “I know she worries for you, that you are precious to her, but when she said Clarice would become a harlot like her mother… I am sorry I slapped her, but though I know she is old, she is not as infirm as she would have you believe.” And for which Laura was endlessly grateful the lady would depart High Castle this day, though she would take Sebille with her.

  “That my sister also confirmed,” Lothaire said, “but you are not to be sorry. It is I who regret my belief Clarice struck you. I thank the Lord there was time and distance between that belief and when next I was near enough to confront her. Had I accused her…” He sighed. “I like her, and my word I give I will not seek to wed her away until she is of a very good age and herself wishes it.”

  Laura’s eyes teared. “I thank you. I have so much to make up with her methinks I shall need every day you provide.”

  “Not as many as you think. She cares much for you, oft seeks assurance I take seriously the need to make you fall in love with me so you will be happy again.”

  “I shall assure her ’tis done.”

  “As shall I. Now another thing.” A muscle in his jaw convulsed. “My mother will not depart High Castle this day.”

  She startled. “Why?”

  “You need not ink your quill, Laura. What the queen ordered and to which I am agreeable, shall soon be done. Do you trust me enough to accept my word for it, or would you have me further explain what I prefer not to at this time?”

  She longed for an explanation but said, “Of course I trust you.”

  He touched his mouth to her brow. “One thing more, then I would savor holding you.”

  She smiled. “Tell me quick.”

  “Sebille has decided she will not accompany our mother to her dower property.”

  Laura blinked. “Then she and Sir Angus…?”

  “I think not, but does not the Lord enjoy making belief of our disbelief?”

  “I pray He shall so they may find each other again as we have been blessed to do.”

  Lothaire lowered to the mattress and tucked her head beneath his chin. Holding to the woman with whom he would spend his life, he savored her back to sleep.

  “They are silent to a man, my lord, the same ere their first escape.”

  Lothaire sighed. “Either they have not the proper inducement or they are confident of their escape.”

  Angus shrugged. “The jailer broke the younger one’s nose ere I could stop him, but it only served to close their mouths tighter.”

  That angered Lothaire on two opposing fronts. He had told Nigel there was to be no violence, and if all went to plan there should be no need. But had there been, it was the husband of the lady nearly ravished who ought to have the satisfaction of driving a fist into the miscreant’s face. However, certain it would not end there, Lothaire stayed away. And perhaps Nigel should have as well. A great grudge he bore his prisoners, having been knocked unconscious by whoever had freed the assassins last year.

  “How did they react when told it is the queen’s cousin who was attacked?” Lothaire asked.

  “I could see the prospect of being transported to the king’s prison alarmed, but they refused to name who hired them and reveal the extent of the damage they were to inflict.”

  It hardly mattered, Lothaire supposed, having known the best chance of learning who meant to aid Raisa again was to lull the offender into believing it possible to free his accomplices in the same manner as before.

  Lothaire had been tempted to confide the plan to Nigel, but the man was not known for discretion, especially when he had a tankard of ale too many.

  Lothaire looked around the outer bailey, did not see who should not be seen—four of his most trusted men paired off to ensure they remained worthy of his trust. Of the plan, they kn
ew only they were to keep watch on the dungeon’s entrance, and if they could not identify who entered, must learn who exited by whatever means necessary without revealing their hiding places.

  “Methinks we shall have our answers,” Lothaire said. “Hopefully, this eve.”

  “I will keep watch as well, my lord.”

  Lothaire started toward the inner drawbridge, came back around. “I must ask something, but ere I do, I would have you know naught is required that you do not wish.”

  Wariness flickered in Angus’s eyes, but rather than give his consent to proceed he said, “I am sorry, my lord, especially for your sister, but though I have a care for the memory of her, my feelings are not what they were, and I do not believe there enough rain and sunshine to revive them. If you can accept that, and can she should she need to, I shall remain in your service. Otherwise, I must seek to serve another lord.”

  Lothaire longed to argue he had believed the same—or worse—of his relationship with Laura, that the Lord had provided the warming sunshine and gentle rain to revive it. But he would simply have to pray Sebille and Angus found their way back to each other. “You cannot tell me not to have hope, Angus, but I accept your decision.”

  The knight inclined his head.

  Heart heavy, Lothaire strode toward the donjon where his beloved awaited him.

  This sense. This feeling it best to wait. Or perhaps do naught and let be what was to be. But there was danger in that as well, and there seemed not enough trippings of the fingers to begin to rouse the Lord’s sympathy.

  At this moment no longer the watcher, far more the worrier, the one who needed to make a decision tucked into the chair, drove elbows into sides, and bent forward on a groan so pitiful it sounded like a hurting dog.

  What to do? Stay the course or change course? Though this one was long tried and true, something told it had become littered with obstacles.

  Pressing deeper into the chair. Driving elbows harder into sides. Bending farther forward. So slight a groan it was as if the dog had died. Then slamming back, splaying arms, and sighing as reason prevailed. As this was the culmination of all, thus of greatest import, this feeling was worry only.

  Stay the course, run faster now the end was near, and win the prize for which all had been done.

  It could not be too late to be happy. Could it?

  Chapter 34

  Lothaire would not have guessed who sought to once more render the jailer unconscious, but there could be no doubt who did Lady Raisa’s bidding.

  The man was seen entering the dungeon an hour ahead of the prisoners’ escape. Not that there was anything unusual about that since he and Nigel sometimes visited each other during the daylight hours and often met at night at a tavern in Thistle Cross where they tipped tankards of ale and patted and pinched serving girls.

  Unfortunately for Nigel, his drinking companion was not above endangering the jailer’s position. A half hour after he received this man bearing gifts, the perpetrator departed the dungeon. Shortly thereafter, amid the dusk of approaching night, the three prisoners stealthily exited. And Lothaire’s men were rewarded for their vigilance.

  The prisoners were returned to their cells, and all attempts to rouse the jailer were for naught, his head on the table alongside a decimated platter of viands and an overturned cup.

  “The last time you were such a good friend to Nigel,” Lothaire said, “it was by the same means, hmm?”

  Having not moved from the chickens spitted over a cooking fire since his lord entered the kitchen and ordered the other servants to leave, Cook stared out of twitching eyes.

  Advancing on him, Lothaire said, “I am guessing the first time Nigel himself dealt the blows to hide the fact he imbibed too much and slept through the escape.”

  The tip of the poker with which the man had been shifting the logs rose.

  “But he did not sleep through the escape, did he? Something in his food or drink rendered him as unconscious then as he is now. This time is different only in that the prisoners were recaptured.”

  The poker rose higher, and Angus and the other men at their lord’s back drew nearer.

  Cook was no easy prey. He was of middling years and nearly as tall and muscular as his lord. Still, Lothaire did not doubt he could better the man who likely had little if any training at arms. As for his brawling over women that sometimes broke bones as easily as chairs and tables, Lothaire believed himself superior as well, though lacking Wulfen training that might have been questionable.

  The cook shifted his regard from Lothaire to his warriors, then lowered the poker’s tip. “I but followed my lady’s orders.”

  Lothaire halted before him. Though his eyes were fastened on the other man’s, he remained aware of the poker’s position. “You speak of Lady Raisa.”

  “Aye, your lady mother. As ever, I do her bidding, whether it is a special food she requires or…other things.”

  “As ever?”

  “Since you took Lexeter from her when I was but a kitchen servant.”

  “You were paid well, hmm?”

  “Well enough.”

  Confirmation it was more than loyalty that bound him to Raisa. “Always you receive your orders directly from her?” Lothaire tensed as he waited on the answer that would confirm Sebille and Laura’s belief his mother was not as infirm as she appeared.

  “Aye, until…” The man shrugged. “It has been over a year since Lady Sebille began delivering your mother’s private messages.”

  “My sister?” Lothaire could not contain his disbelief.

  “Aye, the same as she did entreating me to once more engage the men sent to avenge the dishonor dealt you by Lady Beata and Baron Marshal. And again this day to aid in their escape.”

  “Your sister could not have known the contents of the missives, my lord,” Angus said. “She must have thought—”

  “You are right,” Cook said. “I am sure Lady Sebille believed she but delivered a request for special food or drink.”

  “Show me my mother’s messages.”

  “I would, but ever I am to burn them after reading. And so I have.”

  Inwardly cursing that he could not verify Raisa’s handwriting, Lothaire said, “This is serious what you have done. Your position is lost, mayhap your life.”

  “I am but a messenger doing the bidding of my lord’s mother. Where is the death sentence in that, my lord?”

  There was threat in his words. Were he to receive punishment for his role in attempting to harm Lady Beata and Baron Marshal, Raisa’s involvement would be exposed. Though she was too old and seemingly infirm to suffer severe punishment, shame would fall upon the family.

  Moving slowly as if very aware of the sword Lothaire could easily bring to hand, Cook reached the poker to the side and set it in its stand. “Too, no great ill was ever intended, my lord. Just as those men were but to appear assassins, they had but to appear to threaten the fleece stores.”

  “What say you?”

  “Your mother likes to cause trouble, my lord. I do not ask why. I but take her coin and make the arrangements.”

  Did he speak true? Or was he thinking fast in hopes of lessening his punishment?

  Likely the former, Lothaire thought, remembering Sebille had said their mother muttered it was time to stir up more trouble.

  The man grunted. “And when there are complications as twice there have been with your prisoners, I rectify the situation ere any can be made to talk.”

  “This time you failed.”

  “This time was one time too many, just as feared. But coin is a great tempter.”

  Lothaire motioned his men forward. “I am sure we shall speak more on this. Until then, you shall become acquainted with the inside of a cell.”

  Cook tensed as if to resist.

  “Do not,” Lothaire said. “If what you tell is true, the loss of your position should suffice and you will be freed.”

  Resentment flashed in the man’s eyes, but his shoulders ease
d on an exhalation of acceptance. “’Tis true, my lord. Do not forget me in that cell.”

  As the men took hold of the cook, Lothaire instructed them to remove him by way of the garden. He did not wish to alarm those in the hall settling in for supper, especially Laura. Though she was not as fragile as she ought to be considering her past had nearly repeated itself last eve, he would not have her worry over what was set in motion. When it ground to a halt would be soon enough for her to learn of the breadth of plotting he would never have thought to find himself in the middle of.

  “Angus,” he called as his man followed the others.

  “My lord?”

  “Ensure Cook’s cell is within speaking distance of the others and discreetly set yourself near to listen. Providing they are not overly cautious, the truth may be known all the sooner.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “It could prove a long night.”

  “Whatever is required,” the knight said.

  After summoning the kitchen servants from the corridor and informing them urgent business had taken Cook from High Castle, Lothaire set the most experienced over the others and returned to his wife at the high table.

  “Something is wrong?” she asked.

  Angus had been heedful in requesting his lord accompany him to the kitchen, but the event was too unusual to escape notice, especially since the knight had not returned to the hall. Also absent from the table was Sebille, though that was not unusual. Likely, she was with their mother and would yet be there when Lothaire ascended to the third floor. Hopefully, she had not revealed the plot against the stores of fleece nor her suspicion Raisa had arranged it. Lothaire had told her to hold it close so he could himself gauge their mother’s reaction that would be more difficult to mask the longer she was denied word of what she wrought.

  “What was wrong is being made right,” he said and caught up his wife’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Naught to worry over.”

  Her smile was uncertain.

  “Later I will tell you,” he said and was relieved when Clarice drew her mother’s attention.