THE AWAKENING_A Medieval Romance

by Tamara Leigh

  “You will have to defend me if she takes offense,” he said.

  He saw Laura in her smile. “I will tell her I insisted.”

  “But I would not do it if you insisted, Clarice. As your mother is not yours to command, neither am I.”

  She had the grace to look chagrined. “At my request, then.”

  He slid an arm around her mother’s back, one beneath her knees, and lifted her.

  Laura did sleep as if she might never awaken, and in that moment he was grateful, for he held her nearer than necessary, gazed less guardedly upon her, knew if she looked as near upon him she would see what he did not wish her to see—that he so vividly remembered what he had felt for her he could almost believe it was not all memory.

  “You are glad you shall wed her, are you not?”

  Berating himself for thinking it safe to leave his face open, Lothaire shuttered his expression. “Methinks it will be a satisfactory marriage.”

  Clarice wrinkled her brow and nose, then her face smoothed. “Do you make her fall in love with you as she loved my father, ’twill be better than satisfactory.”

  Jealousy knelling through him, he said low, “Did your father love her in return?”

  “Surely I would not be here if he did not.” She leaned forward and continued in a conspiratorial whisper, “For love and loss of him, I have only known her to be sorrowful—a shadow of herself, I heard Lady Maude tell her stepson.”

  She swung around to lead the way across the hall. Had she not, he might have failed to contain the emotions flaying him as he once more recalled the embrace between Laura and Michael D’Arci. Unobserved, he let jealousy run rampant, then shoved it to his depths, ordered Tomas to remain in the hall, and followed Clarice to the chamber shared with her shadow of a mother.

  I care not what she felt for her lover, he assured himself as he strode into the room.

  I care not that she so soon forgot me, he told himself as Clarice entered the garderobe and closed herself in.

  All I require of her is King Henry’s tax break and an heir. He lowered her to the mattress. And fidelity. Above all, fidelity.

  As he slid his arms from beneath her, she narrowly opened her eyes. “Lothaire?”

  Though she no longer filled his arms, he did not straighten from where he bent over her. “’Tis I.”

  She lowered her lids, raised them a bit higher. “Did I do well?”

  “Well?”

  “In allowing her another game?”

  Grudgingly moved by her concern over what he thought of her mothering, he said, “I am hardly acquainted with parenting. Still, it seemed an appropriate response.”

  She closed her eyes, breathed, “I am awake now.”

  Hardly, he mused.

  “I will make it right, Lothaire.”

  “It?”

  She did not answer, but he was fairly certain she referred to becoming the mother she had not been to Clarice.

  He started to straighten, but seeing her braid had fallen back from the bruise she claimed her daughter had not dealt, he drew it over that side of her face. Then he pulled the covers atop her and crossed to the door. As he stepped into the corridor, Clarice exited the garderobe.

  “I thank you for the games, Lord Soames,” she called low.

  He inclined his head. “We will play again.”

  “What of the favor I owe?”

  “I shall think on it. Good eve, Clarice.”

  Chapter 15

  A fortnight gone. A sennight to come. Then she would be Lothaire’s wife, would each night fall asleep in his bed, each morn awaken in it. And before the sleeping and after the awakening…

  Staring at the gown Tina and she fashioned out of Eleanor’s material, Laura’s heart sped so fast she nearly pressed a hand to it. For this—fear of intimacy that had once been beautiful expectation, time and again she distracted herself from vows that would grant her husband the right to do with her body as he pleased. Were it the Lothaire of her youth and had she not learned by violent means what it meant to be possessed by a man, all would be different.

  Laura replenished her breath, fingered the gown’s heavily embroidered bodice. “’Tis beautiful, Tina. You must have arisen ahead of dawn to complete it.”

  “Aye, with yer daughter.”

  While on and on Laura slept. But no more. As she was to be the lady of the castle, a position of responsibility that reflected on its lord, no longer could she while away the morn that had made her days easier to face.

  “Henceforth, I would have you awaken me at first light, Tina.”

  There was so much approval in the maid’s smile Laura was ashamed she had not asked it sooner. “Even if I must drag ye out by yer heels, milady?”

  “Even if.”

  “I am glad, milady.”

  Laura inclined her head. “After breaking my fast, I will return and help set the gown’s sleeves.”

  Tina smiled and lowered to the chair drawn before the windows to allow summer’s light to guide her needle.

  Shortly, Laura stepped off the stairs into the hall she would make great again once she was Lothaire’s wife.

  When a sweep of the room did not bring her daughter to light, she tensed. As reward for good behavior three days past, she had agreed Clarice could leave their chamber ahead of her mother providing she went directly to the hall for her morning meal. So she had, and here Laura had found her. Might she have yielded to curiosity over Lothaire’s absent mother and ventured to the uppermost floor?

  She pivoted.

  “Lady Laura!”

  Peering across her shoulder, she saw it was Lothaire’s man who called to her. “Have you seen my daughter, Sir Angus?”

  He halted before her. “She is with the baron. He instructed me to tell you he has collected on the favor owed by Lady Clarice.”

  “Favor?” she said, then remembered her daughter’s bargain for another game of chess. That same night, Laura had awakened to find herself abed and Lothaire leaning over her. Not until morn had she been discomfited by the realization he had carried her from the hall—and more by words spoken between them she could not recall but must have been adversarial since he had grown cooler since.

  “Your daughter aids my lord in moving the eastern flock to the stream where they will be washed ere shearing,” Sir Angus said.

  Laura frowned. “What aid can a nine-year-old girl give?”

  “No aid.” This from Lady Sebille whose appearance made Laura startle and the knight stiffen. “Indeed, she will cause my brother more work.” She raised her eyebrows. “But unlike her mother, she expressed an interest in the barony’s greatest source of revenue, and since Lexeter is to be her home until she weds, my brother did not discourage her.”

  Concern for Clarice diluted by shame over her avoidance of Lothaire that closed her mouth against questioning the work that rarely saw him returned ere sunset, Laura said to the one whose presence was almost as rare as her brother’s, “I appreciate Baron Soames’s consideration and sacrifice, and I agree it is a burden he ought not carry.” She looked to the knight. “Once more I require your escort, Sir Angus. I shall collect my daughter.”

  He inclined his head. “My lord said that if you insisted, I should do as bid.”

  “I insist.”

  “As would I if not for tidings from Wiltford,” Lothaire’s sister said and raised a parchment whose upper edge bore the remnant of a wax seal.

  Laura frowned over the name of Wiltford, recalled a remark made by one of Lothaire’s men en route to Lexeter—that the journey would be hours shortened were his lord permitted to pass over that barony without Wiltford’s lord taking offense. And now that offended baron sent word to a man he distrusted.

  Sir Angus thrust a hand toward Lothaire’s sister. “My lady,” he said with censure as if she overstepped in reading the baron’s correspondence.

  Lady Sebille slapped the parchment in his palm. “As you are too scrupulous to read it ahead of my brother, I shall tell its tid
ings so you may make all haste to deliver it. Baron Marshal writes that—”

  “Worry not,” Lothaire’s man spoke over her, “I will be of good speed.” He slid the missive in a pouch on his belt, looked to Laura. “You will accompany me?”

  “She will not.” Lady Sebille again. “Lady Laura’s place is here, readying the donjon to receive Baron Marshal and his wife whilst I prepare Lady Raisa.”

  The knight caught his breath. “He is found?”

  As Laura bit her tongue to keep from asking who was found, Lady Sebille said in a choked voice, “At last, they return him to us.”

  Sir Angus reached as if to touch her arm but drew back. He looked to Laura. “As my lord will likely ride to High Castle immediately, yours would be a wasted journey, my lady.”

  At Laura’s hesitation, Lady Sebille said, “Better you direct the servants in making the hall presentable should your betrothed’s enemy enter here.”

  “Baron Marshal is your brother’s enemy?” Laura said. “For what? And who does he return to you?”

  “My lady,” the knight began, “methinks it best—”

  “Go, Sir Angus!” Lady Sebille said. “The Baron of Lexeter will not thank you for dawdling.”

  Nostrils flaring, he turned on his heel. As he strode across the hall, Laura caught sight of the physician whose presence often surprised, and not for the first time she wondered if his stealth was purposeful. Had Lady Raisa tasked him with being her eyes and ears to report on Lothaire’s betrothed?

  “Lady Laura?”

  She returned Lady Sebille to focus. “You will explain about Baron Marshal?”

  “’Tis not for me to do.”

  “Nor was it for you to tell me of your brother’s first wife,” Laura said. “Just as it is not for me to direct the servants until I am their mistress through marriage to their lord.”

  Lothaire’s sister looked ready to refuse, but her eye was caught by the approaching physician, and she called, “I believe the Lady of Lexeter is in need of her medicinals, Martin,” then she motioned Laura to follow. Once ensconced in an alcove distant from the eyes and ears of others, she said, “’Tis a private and cruel matter. You know our father disappeared over twenty years past?”

  “I know. Lothaire told he was but six.”

  “I was nine.” The lady drew a shaky breath. “With the passage of time, we came to accept his life was forfeited. Now we know it as fact—that he was slain by the Baron of Wiltford.”

  Laura gasped. “He who comes to High Castle?”

  “Nay, that baron is long dead, his title recently passed to Durand Marshal through marriage to the murderer's cousin, Lady Beata.” Lady Sebille swept up her prayer beads, began to pick her fingers over them. “On the morrow, Baron Marshal and his wife shall return our father’s remains so he may be buried in consecrated ground.”

  “For this they are Lothaire’s enemy?”

  “That is some of it. The rest, methinks, is that ere my brother tried to return Lexeter to prosperity through marriage to you, he sought to do so by wedding Lady Beata against the queen’s—and the lady’s—wishes. Hence, you who were to be his first wife will not be his second but his third.”

  Laura was grateful for the shadows upon her face. Not only had she been unaware of Lothaire’s second marriage, but his sister made it sound as if he had forced Lady Beata to speak vows. It did not seem possible, and yet…

  She recalled her audience with Eleanor who insisted Lothaire remain among Laura’s suitors. She had said it would allow him to right another of his wrongs. This the other wrong?

  “You are saying Lothaire forced Lady Beata to wed?”

  Lady Sebille snorted. “She had incentive enough.”

  “But—”

  “He was angered and had cause to be.” She harrumphed. “Of course, since the marriage was quickly annulled so our queen could wed Lady Beata to her favorite, Durand Marshal, ’tis worth mentioning so you understand how uncomfortable the morrow will be. Not only are our father’s bones to be returned, but Lothaire will face Lady Beata and her husband. Thus, I would not have shame over the state of the hall make it more difficult for him.”

  Laura glanced across her shoulder at the room.

  “You are thinking ’twas not made ready for you, his betrothed,” Lady Sebille submitted.

  “I am not.”

  “I would have you know that as much as possible it was prepared in accordance with my brother’s instructions sent ahead of your arrival. Unfortunately, I was occupied with Lady Raisa. Though Sir Angus knows well how to direct men in defense of his lord, he is fairly useless in ordering servants—believes a room is presentable if no bones are visible among the rushes.” She raised her eyebrows. “Lady Maude taught you the duties of the lady of a castle?”

  Laura hesitated. She had been trained in keeping a household, but little practice had she before her life toppled and none since. Just as Maude had undertaken the task of mothering Clarice, she and her stepson’s wife had ensured the donjon was comfortable and the business of feeding the castle folk economical, efficient, and palatable.

  Lady Sebille gave a grunt of disapproval when the big dog, Tomas, drew alongside and pushed him away. “Your silence bodes ill, Lady Laura.”

  “As you must know, I have had little experience, but Lady Maude did instruct me.”

  “Then see to it.” The lady released her prayer beads and stepped from the alcove.

  “Lady Sebille!”

  The woman turned.

  “Will Baron Marshal and his wife require a chamber? If so, I will have to do some shifting to accommodate them.”

  “Nay, they will not pass the night at High Castle. Our hospitality does not extend that far to the family responsible for the murder of a beloved father.”

  Laura inclined her head. “I understand.” And she did mostly. Though the baron and his wife had not murdered Ricard Soames, their presence would likely pick at the scab of a twenty-year-old wound. Were the Marshals to pass the night here, that scab might be torn off—if not by Lothaire, then his mother who was not as infirm as her daughter believed and could attempt to do worse to those of the barony of Wiltford than what she had done to Laura.

  “If possible,” Lady Sebille said, “I shall return belowstairs to aid you. Much depends on how the Lady of Lexeter receives the tidings.” Her brow furrowed. “Lest she requires calming, I must alert the physician.”

  He who was no more receptive to Laura and her daughter than when they were first introduced, continuing to exude such disapproval that Laura's prayers for Clarice’s continued good health had become lengthier.

  Laura watched Lothaire’s sister go from sight, then considered enlisting Tina’s aid, but the woman’s time was better spent on the wedding gown—that which would be removed on the nuptial night that too rapidly approached.

  She pulled her thoughts back, looked upon the hall with an eye to setting it aright for Lothaire whom she would not have shamed amid the grieving to come.

  “This one we call Grandmother.”

  Clarice frowned. “Grandmother?”

  “She is the matriarch. First we deal with her, then the others follow.” Lothaire smiled. “Fortunately, she and I are of an understanding.” It was an overstatement, for the old ewe had tried his patience and bruised him many times, but he appreciated the challenge, poor substitute though it was for the heft and swing of a sword.

  The girl took a step back that placed her to the left and behind Lothaire. “She glares at me.”

  “Heed her well, Lady Clarice. Just watch, hmm?”

  She snorted. “I have no intention of going nearer. She is so filthy I can smell her stink from this distance.”

  “Hence, our purpose in moving the sheep here.” He jutted his chin at the clear-water stream temporarily dammed to form a pool, this portion chosen for its considerable width and graveled bottom that aided in cleaning the sheep without introducing more dirt stirred by the muck found farther downstream.

&nb
sp; “It seems a lot of trouble when you could wash the fleece after ’tis sheared,” Clarice observed as did many who did not understand the business of wool.

  “It would save some time and effort,” Lothaire allowed, “but this way there is less waste—meaning higher yield and greater revenue.”

  The girl wrinkled her nose. “If I watch, my debt is paid?”

  “Watch and learn. What we do here keeps food in your belly and shoes on your feet.”

  “What of gowns?”

  He glanced at the one she wore. It was too fine for the work of wool—even if only in the capacity of observation—but when he had suggested she change into something simpler, she told this was her least favorite since she had nearly outgrown it. It was tight and showed more of her ankles than would be permissible were she older. Hence, all the more reason not to waste good coin on expensive fabric for the garments of a rapidly growing child.

  “Aye, gowns as well, Lady Clarice, though I warn you the cloth will not be as fine as you are accustomed to.”

  Her brow lined. “I like pretty things.”

  As did Lady Raisa whose indulgences following the disappearance of her husband were largely responsible for Lexeter’s decline. “I imagine that is a taste acquired from your mother. Her gowns are exceedingly fine.”

  Clarice shook her head. “She hardly cares, though ever she pretended she was pleased with Lady Maude’s gifts so she did not hurt her feelings.”

  Eager as Lothaire was to lead the workers in cleaning the sheep, his impatience slowed to a crawl. “Your mother does not like her finery?”

  “I believe she likes it, but I do not think she would be terribly bothered were she reduced to homespun cloth.”

  Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I am sorry there is strife between the two of you. I am guessing the loss of Lady Maude has been difficult for both.”