THE AWAKENING_A Medieval Romance

by Tamara Leigh

  Her eyes returned to his, then she leaned in and said in his ear, “Do not let me regret the baring of my heart. There is only one man I have loved. And I love him still.”

  He closed his eyes, lowered his face to the place between her neck and shoulder, and wished away the world.

  But it was going nowhere, as evidenced by a tug on his sleeve. “May I dance with Mother and you?”

  As the musicians began to play another tune, Laura slipped off the tops of Lothaire’s boots and, in her haste to remedy what nobles would think inappropriate, would have lost her footing had he not kept an arm around her waist.

  “May I?” Clarice asked again.

  Lothaire considered Laura’s daughter—their daughter. “If my lady wife is not too breathless.”

  “Say you are not, Mother.”

  Laura glanced at him. “Methinks I am no more breathless than my husband.”

  Glad they were moving forward rather than struggling through the mire of past sins, he took Clarice’s hand and instructed her to take her mother’s.

  Where Lothaire had felt desirous minutes earlier, he felt what seemed happiness as the three danced and Clarice’s antics made them laugh.

  As ever when he loosed that sound from his deepest place, he drew the regard of others who surely thought him incapable of such. And he saw in Laura’s eyes what he had seen years ago when she dragged that laughter up out of him—adoration. How he wished he could be alone with her now. Unless he knew her not at all, she would give herself to him without restraint. And they might even make a child.

  Since they were far from alone, he attempted to distract his body by shifting his regard to the other celebrants and caught sight of Sebille standing behind a depleted table, beside her the physician who had joined the celebration after setting the worker’s arm. Though they were almost shoulder to shoulder, each time Lothaire looked to them, they were not conversing. And when he followed his sister’s gaze, he was not surprised it rested on Angus. Earlier the knight had danced with several young women, but now he stood back from the revelry, head bent toward Tina who animatedly related something.

  Was it truly too late for Sebille and Angus? If the knight asked her to dance, would she accept and, on the morrow, remain at High Castle rather than depart with their mother? Unlikely, but he must try.

  When the dance ended, he thanked his two ladies, said he needed to speak with Angus, and assured them he would return shortly.

  As Laura watched her husband weave among the dancers, she heard again the three words she had dared speak to him, albeit much of her daring was surely aided by one-too-many cups of wine. Though he had not spoken the words back, they had pleased him.

  “Has Lord Soames made you love him, Mother?” Clarice asked.

  She shot her gaze to her daughter. “What say you?”

  “Has he made you love him as you loved my father?”

  Not wishing to lie, she said, “I do love my husband, and I am glad to be his wife. And you? You are glad to be his daughter?”

  “I like him better every day.”

  “That makes me happy.” Laura kissed Clarice’s brow. “This is our home now.”

  Her daughter drew back. “Do we belong as you wished us to, Mother?”

  Nearly so, she thought. “Assuredly, you are of Lexeter, Clarice Soames.” Lothaire’s surname nearly stuck in her throat for how often she could now speak it—more, her husband’s Christian name.

  Clarice gasped. “A game of ball!”

  “Go,” Laura said, but already her daughter was on her way to being gone.

  As Laura stepped off the heavily trodden grass, Tina appeared. “My heart smiles to see ye and yer husband dancin’ and smiling as if never were an ill word spoken between ye. Methinks this the best day I have spent in yer service.”

  “’Tis a good day, and I pray for many more, Tina. Now what of you? I have not seen you dance.”

  A grin spread the woman’s lips. “Sir Angus did ask me to join hands with him on the dance floor. Had not your lord husband wished to speak with him, we would be there now. But mayhap afterward.”

  Laura considered Lothaire whose expression and that of his man seemed too serious for a day like this, especially now the sun was all but sunk, the last of it sweeping golden-orange light up the trees beyond the shearing shelter. As she pondered the black of the night to come, she wondered how the moon and stars would look across the lake’s surface.

  “Tina?”

  “Milady?”

  Warming at the thought that would have delighted her younger self, Laura said in a rush, “I wish you to do something for me which will also be of benefit to you should Baron Soames’s conversation with Sir Angus not soon end.”

  “Already it sounds agreeable, milady.”

  “In a quarter hour, regardless if my husband has yet to yield your dance partner, tell him to meet me at the lake.”

  The maid frowned. “Surely ye do not mean to venture there alone?”

  “It is not far, and I shall reach it well ere night falls. You saw the great willow near the shore?”

  “I did, but—”

  “Tell my husband he shall find me there.”

  “I do not like this, milady. Though Lexeter seems peaceful, ’tis a great worry for a woman to go unescorted across the land. And dark soon falls and things happen in the night that do not in the light.”

  “You concern yourself where you need not,” Laura gently chided. “A quarter hour, hmm?”

  Tina sighed. “I shall be nibblin’ and pickin’ at my nails, but aye—a quarter hour and not a second more. Tsk, ye and yer love of water!”

  “And keep watch over Clarice until my husband and I return.”

  “I shall, milady, even if I have to share my dance partner with her.” Tina wagged a finger. “Ye keep good watch yerself, hmm? Does anything ill happen to ye, the Lord shall have to stand between me and yer husband’s wrath.”

  “Be assured I shall.”

  A quarter hour, Laura mused as she stole away as inconspicuously as possible lest she catch Lothaire’s eye. Time aplenty to reach the lake ahead of her husband, though if he rode rather than traveled on foot he would reach it soon after her.

  On foot, she hoped, of a sudden nervous now she had committed to swimming and bathing with Lothaire and whatever came after.

  Not as planned.

  The one who watched the Lady of Lexeter slip away winced, then grunted over a pricked conscience. Whatever happened to Laura Middleton—now Soames—she had only herself to blame. And all the more so if this foolery of hers proved a tryst. And that might never be known did she find herself in the path of those soon to ride upon Thistle Cross to which the day’s wool had been transported for storage. Certes, that was the direction the lady headed.

  An instant later, something occurred that should have sooner, making the watcher curse as that one rarely did since the devil liked to slip into one’s cracks and pry those thin places wide.

  Raisa knew that, had learned it from Ricard.

  Sebille knew that, had learned it from Raisa.

  Angus knew that, had learned it from Sebille.

  Accommodating women knew that, had learned it from Angus.

  Father Atticus knew that, had learned it from those repentant women.

  Then there was the physician, but from whom had he learned it? A good question deserving more thought.

  As for Lady Laura, she also knew of the devil’s penchant for cracks, surely having learned it from the man she had allowed to plant a babe in her.

  Accursed Queen Eleanor! A pure bride Lothaire deserved, not this one who seemed intent on cuckolding him a second time.

  The watcher searched out that lady. Finding her gone and wondering how long gone, a third curse opened another crack as what had belatedly occurred only to drift away now returned.

  A sign the mind was slipping? Nay, there was much to occupy it, especially with the pieces of the plan screeching and grinding against one anoth
er. They would fit, providing Lady Laura’s cuckoldry did not ruin it.

  Those hired twice now must not be distracted by a pretty woman crossing their path. Hopefully, the men would take the first road on the far side of the lake though the going was rough compared to that which wound around the side nearest the celebration. Only necessary, of course, if Lady Laura ventured as far as the lake. And she might, but were her husband told she had slipped away—

  Too late. If he departed the celebration, he might happen on men he would likely recognize as those who failed to end the lives of Lady Beata and her husband. And if he fell to them, the one who saw coins pressed into their greasy palms would ever ache over his loss. All that was done would be for naught.

  “Please Lord,” the watcher whispered, as ever seeking His understanding of what had to be done. “Let that faithless woman not cross their path.”

  Chapter 29

  Whatever the tidings, they were of great import.

  Lothaire and Angus strode from the gathering to intercept the rider come over the rise across which the light of waning day shone.

  “I come from Shepsdale, my lord!” the man called.

  Lothaire tensed, certain the celebration’s interruption had all to do with wool, the storehouse on the outskirts of the village of Shepsdale crowded with one quarter of this season’s shearing, the remainder divided between High Castle and the villages of Wee Wainscot and Thistle Cross.

  The rider reined in and swung out of the saddle.

  “Deliver your tidings,” Lothaire demanded, and hearing his sister call to him, glanced at where she and the physician hastened forward.

  “Two—mayhap three—men broke into the wool stores, my lord. Blessedly, the watch put them to flight ere they could make good on whatever ill they intended.” The man replenished his breath. “’Twas in this direction they headed.”

  Lothaire inclined his head. Were they not prepared to cede their loss and quit the barony of Lexeter by way of its southern border, there were only two places they might go—High Castle, which they would not dare for how impregnable it was outside of siege, or Thistle Cross with its own wool stores to which much had been added this day.

  “The wool at Thistle Cross,” Sebille gasped. “Dear Lord, not again.”

  Lothaire looked to where she had drawn alongside. “Not again, Sebille? What say you?”

  “I am not certain, but…” She snatched up her prayer beads, began to trip her fingers over them.

  “Speak, Sebille!”

  “What if Lady Raisa is involved as she was with the attempt on the lives of Lady Beata and Baron Marshal?”

  “How can you think that possible?”

  She drew a quavering breath. “You cannot tell I told, but this morn she was so angry you are sending her away she said ’tis time to stir up more trouble—that if you are to make her life miserable, the one to whom she has given all ought not be spared, nor your harlot wife.”

  Lothaire believed Raisa would say that, but it did not seem possible her threat went beyond words.

  A movement past Sebille drawing Lothaire’s gaze to Tina, who halted and looked expectantly at him as if requesting permission to approach, he held up a hand and returned his regard to his sister. “If Mother is responsible for the attack, tell how she could arrange it.”

  “We think we have isolated her from those who once did her bidding for a coin or pretty bauble, but I fear not.” She looked down. “Your wife never revealed the truth of her bruised face, did she?”

  Lothaire’s heart pounded harder. Though certain Laura had been struck despite her claim the bruise resulted from a fall, Sebille insinuated he had been correct in believing she was attacked, but not by her daughter.

  “What is the truth?” he growled.

  “I am sorry I did not tell it, but I believed Lady Raisa satisfied enough that she would not bother Lady Laura again, especially when she took so ill afterward. Too, I thought if she caused no further trouble you might allow her to remain at High Castle and I would not have to leave with her.”

  That last Lothaire barely heard. “Mother attacked Laura?”

  “She is not as feeble as she feigns. But in her defense, your wife slapped her, though…”

  “What?”

  “In Lady Laura’s defense, I am certain she was provoked after Lady Raisa stole into her chamber.”

  “Mother came belowstairs? How? Even were she well enough to do so, I instructed she be secured in her chamber when there was no one to watch over her.”

  “I have done as directed, Lothaire, as I did that morn. Yet when I returned abovestairs, she was slumped on the landing, fully dressed, face reddened and scratched by Lady Laura. She told I left her door unlocked, but I did not and her chamber accesses no inner passages. Thus, she must possess keys. I know not where, though I have searched.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair. “You should have told me. My wife should have told me!”

  “Doubtless, Lady Laura feared you would be angered she had struck an old woman, and Lady Raisa assured the lady that if she did not speak of it, neither would she.”

  Would he have been angered? Mayhap in the moment, but he knew his mother and did not doubt she had said something cruel to Laura. Too, what was a slap and scratches compared to a bruise that powder and the cover of hair could not entirely hide?

  Lothaire breathed deep. “Regardless of whether she hired men to break into the wool stores and thieve—if that is all they were there to do,” he added when struck by the possibility they had meant to burn the stores, “she will depart High Castle first thing on the morrow. My only regret is you—”

  “Nay!” Sebille’s eyes glistened. “I shall not go with her. I hate she will be without family and may pass alone, but no more will I suffer her intrigues.” She drew the back of a hand across her eyes. “If still you would have me remain at High Castle, I shall.”

  “Of course I would.” He glanced at Angus who had spoken no word, wished there was hope in his eyes. Wish not granted, he said, “All will be pleased you are to remain with us.”

  “You are too kind.”

  Hearing the catch in Sebille’s voice, Lothaire wondered if she had also looked near upon Angus. He turned to his knight. “I would have the celebration continue. Discreetly post men around the perimeter, then gather four knights and instruct them to prepare to ride on Thistle Cross.”

  “I am one of those knights, am I not?” Angus said with disapproval that told he did not believe it.

  “Would that you were, but there is none better to ensure the safety of my wife, daughter, and sister.”

  “Daughter and sister, aye,” the physician reminded his lord of his presence, “but your wife… Alas, nay.”

  Lothaire looked sharply at him. “Of what do you speak?”

  “She is gone. I saw her moving along the tree line. Such a pity she so soon proves she remains a Daughter of Eve.”

  A single stride carried Lothaire so near the physician the man lurched backward, but Tina’s shrill cry kept his white-knuckled fist from breaking a nose—or worse.

  “’Tis what I came to tell, Lord Soames!” Of a sudden, the maid was at his side. “A quarter hour milady instructed me to wait, then I was to send ye to her at the lake. By the big weeping tree near the shore is where ye shall find her. Alone. Awaiting her lord husband.”

  Pain lanced Lothaire’s chest. At this moment, he would rather Laura was in the bordering wood with a lover than near the lake. If those who had attacked Shepsdale’s wool stores made for Thistle Cross, and had they paused along the way to water and rest their horses or conceal themselves from the man sent to alert the Baron of Lexeter, Laura could be exposed to them.

  “Dear Lord,” he rasped, then to Angus, “Get those knights astride.”

  Why, Laura? he inwardly shouted as he ran to his mount. Why this very eve did you have to grant my wish?

  Veil cast off. Girdle unfastened. Gown removed and skirts spread at the base of the tree who
se farthest branches hung over the water. Next slippers and hose. But not chemise.

  She believed Lothaire would like finding her waiting for him, but it was too bold to bare herself entirely. And though determined to become accustomed to looking upon her body as she must accustom herself to looking upon his, this was enough. For now.

  She pushed off the tree and drew the ties of her chemise through her fingers as she approached the water that tempted her toes to test its warmth, then her feet and ankles. She was up to her calves, the hem of her chemise raised to her knees, when movement on the opposite side of the lake drew her regard.

  A doe and fawn. They saw her as well, now so still she would not have noticed them across the dusk had they not thought themselves alone moments earlier.

  She stared, not wishing to do anything to cause them to seek cover. It was too many years since she had found herself thus, her exposure to the gentle animals limited to those brought to table in various states of venison.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered, and as if they heard and feared that on the other side of her voice an arrow strained its bowstring, they bounded away.

  As Laura watched the last of their pert tails go from sight, she felt a vibration beneath her feet and heard hooves. She turned to the left where Lothaire would soon appear, then the right where he ought not appear. But the latter was the direction from which the rider—nay, riders—came.

  Yanking her chemise higher, she ran to the tree. But too late. The white of her chemise having betrayed her, the three riders veered toward her.

  As she slipped around the tree and put her back to it, one of them laughed as if excited by the prospect of a chase, and though Simon had not laughed in the cellar, she knew what it meant and her end would be the same if she did not escape.

  “Not again, dear Lord,” she whispered. “Not ever again. Pray, send Lothaire.”

  When the riders halted beyond the tree’s skirt, all of her was begging to flee. She wanted to, but reason told it would be futile and so deplete her strength she would have little left to fight. Though that would be futile as well, there was one thing that held her together after Simon—that she had fought him all the way.