by Tamara Leigh
He closed himself in the solar and, when his breathing calmed, read the queen’s missive again. He did not like the wording. It begged an unsettling 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 brings to her marriage the relief many a lord seeks to save his lands. Do not disappoint us.
CHAPTER THREE
Windsor Castle, England
Late May, 1163
She knew she was awake, but it seemed more 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 when it was at its stillest, but she had never presented as clear as this.
She did not think herself beautiful, but she was quite fair, especially after a month beneath the watchful eye of the queen who oft sighed over all that must be done to transform her guest from sickly to desirable.
Desirable…
Laura hated that 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 stepped near, patted her lady’s cheek. “More ready than ever I have seen you. And it has been six years since Lady Maude gave ye into my care, hmm?”
Six years—following the visit to Simon’s half-brother whose wife had nearly suffered the same as Laura.
How she adored Michael D'Arci 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 she knew that were she to accept, she would not fully awaken as she must. And she was determined she would not 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. And that was good, for a poor marriage it would be—and of detriment to Clarice—if the man whose ring she wore learned how she felt about what he did to her.
Still no bile.
“Six years, Tina. I pray we have many more.”
And she would, Maude’s stepson having agreed the maid could leave Owen, and Queen Eleanor concurring that Laura’s husband would accept Tina’s services to his wife.
“’Tis time,” the maid said.
Laura slid her palms down the skirt of one of dozens of 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 in finery needed to capture a husband.
Though some of the 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 it, collect her daughter from Michael and Lady Beatrix, and journey to wherever she would spend the remainder of her life with the man to whom she would give herself to provide her daughter a good future.
Now to see who 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 heavily freckled one twisting a tress of red hair? The beautiful blond one 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 doubt she was lovely, albeit thinner than he liked.
He grunted. Though given a choice he would pick a wife passing pretty and pure of body, what truly mattered was that she possess lands or dowry enough to return Lexeter to the prosperity it had enjoyed before his father’s murder over twenty years past.
He stiffened, pushed that reminder aside. Though determined to learn where Ricard Soames was buried so he 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 was still displeased with him for wedding Lady Beata Fauvel without her permission, forcing her to arrange an annulment of the unconsummated marriage before she could wed her favorite—Sir Durand Marshal—to the lady.
As he 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.
The lady with the burnished bronze hair, then. And she had added another nobleman to her audience.
He was not displeased with 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 was not the sort who found half-starved women desirable, she would eat more.
He looked back at Eleanor, and she frowned and gestured for him to approach the lady.
Wishing he had a name by which to call her, he strode forward. As he neared, he studied her face in profile and revised his opinion. Given a choice, he would not seek to make this lady’s acquaintance. Too much she resembled his first betrothed, albeit more mature. Unfortunately, he dare not further displease the queen, and he must wed a lady who brought a goodly amount of coin to the marriage.
He was several strides distant when she tapped the air between her and a nobleman of middle 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. She had no dowry, her father having disavowed her.
At what did the queen play? This was no coincidence. Eleanor had to know that once he had been betrothed to this lady. Was this punishment for his defiance?
Feeling his chest and shoulders rise and fall, hearing the thrum of blood in his veins, he looked to Eleanor.
She raised her eyebrows, impatiently motioned him to resume his approach.
Dear Lord, he silently beseeched, make me stone. 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 her lovely face before shuttering his own.
Lids fluttering, breath catching, she stumbled back and dropped her chin.
“Lady Laura?” Lord Benton gripped her arm to steady her.
“Forgive me!” she gasped. “The heel of my slipper has failed.” Though she put forward its toe, it provided no evidence of that which remained beneath her skirts.
She sighed, looked up, and as if Lothaire were not a flicker of the eyes away, smiled at Lord Benton. “Pray, excuse me.” She moved her smile to the others. “I shall remedy the situation as soon as possible.”
“Do not forget your promise to sit with me at meal,” said a short but handsome man to Lothaire’s right.
“I shall not, Lord Gadot.” She swung away and, lacking 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, eh? I was certain she must be the freckled one, else the lady nearing the end of h
er 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 she was—a Jezebel from the top to the bottom of her—kept his hand from his dagger and the fist he made of it at his side.
“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. He sighed. “I have no wish to be made a cuckold.”
As the others murmured agreement, it occurred to Lothaire the comment was meant to discourage the other rivals. Still, he ached that her sin was so well known. Blessedly, none looked upon him in any way to indicate they knew he was a victim of that lady’s 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 for his own. But no more. Not ever again. As soon as he could gain an audience with the queen, he would make it known Lady Laura was unacceptable. If she insisted on finding a wife for him, 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.
The queen remained seated. Though she conversed with one of her ladies, her eyes shifted to him.
She liked this game of hers—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 far more worthy. Near deadly.
CHAPTER FOUR
She did not know how she made it to her chamber without mishap, so blinded was she by tears. But it was the one given her, as evidenced by Tina who leapt to her feet in response to the slam of the door and her lady pressing herself against it and panting so deeply her laces strained.
“Milady!” Tina gripped Laura’s arms as if for fear she would collapse. “What has happened? You have displeased the queen?”
Though she knew Eleanor would be unhappy with her departure, she shook her head. “He is here,” she choked, and his face 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 had been tempered by hurt.
“Who is here, milady?”
“Lo…” She swallowed. 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 you do not mean Lothaire Soames.”
The maid did not know the exact circumstances that led to the undoing of Laura’s betrothal, but all of Owen, and many beyond, knew that once Laura had been betrothed to Lothaire. And Clarice was the reason they had not wed.
“Aye, Tina. Him.”
“Mercy, such ill timing! Or do ye think…? Nay, he cannot be among those seekin’ your 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 daughter who would also share hearth and home.
But Lothaire could not be that desperate. At worst, he had been summoned so the queen could test Laura’s word she was lady enough not to succumb to the carnal outside of marriage and her love for Lothaire had been too complete to make a cuckold of him.
“Milady, ye are twistin’ your skirt into a mess, making wrinkles I shall have to smooth again.” Tina closed her hands over Laura’s and gently pried them open.
Laura eased her fingers, releasing the material gathered into them.
“And yer face!”
A sharp knock sounded, and Laura jumped away from the door. If not for Tina’s sturdy build, they might have tumbled to the floor.
“Lady Laura, the queen approaches,” a voice called and knocked again.
Having steadied Laura, Tina whipped up her own skirt and wiped at her lady’s face. She dropped back, winced. “Well ’tis not as if Her Majesty does not expect this, aye?” 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, breathed deep, and turned.
The queen’s frown deepened, and she made a sound of disgust and looked over her shoulder. “You,” she addressed Tina, “close the door.”
“I should remain, Your Majesty?” the maid asked.
“You should.”
Tina closed the door on the queen’s ladies who had halted before the threshold.
Eleanor motioned to Laura.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Laura said as she came to stand before her. “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. “Or perhaps still love, hmm?”
“Nay, I do not. Cannot. It has been ten years, and I would be a fool to love one who returns only loathing and revulsion.” A tear fell. “Pray, send him away so I may do what I came to do.”
The queen studied her so long a half dozen more tears fell. “What you told us is true, Lady Laura?”
That which had remained a secret to nearly all while Lady Maude lived. “It is true, Your Majesty,” she said, feeling the presence of Tina who may have guessed but did not know for certain 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, then. 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 in his presence. ’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 wife to the one we deem the best fit?”
Laura was ashamed by the spill of more tears. “Aye, Your Majesty, but—”
“Then enough, Lady Laura. You will not disappoint us.” Raising her hands, she stepped forward so suddenly Laura caught her breath. But those hands did not slap at her. They took her face between soft, fragrant palms. “Listen to me,” Eleanor eschewed the royal us to refer to her singular self—and nearly set 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 and you, a good marriage you can make.”
Dear Lord, 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 of his wrongs? Laura wondered.
“Providing he is the man we believe him to be and willing to take our advice on removing his mother from his home.” She shook her head. “That woman will be the ruin 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…” S
he waved away whatever else she meant to say.
But what she had said was intriguing enough to distract Laura. She knew Lothaire’s father had gone missing when his son was six years old and had not been found. Never had he told his father was unfaithful to his mother. It accounted for the severity of that lady. And it portended how deeply Lothaire and his mother 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 refuse, to fall upon the bed and only be bodily moved from it, but she would seem ungrateful for all Eleanor had done and meant to do. More, though at times the queen was nearly as severe as Lothaire’s mother, Laura sensed she genuinely cared for her scandalous relation.
“Aye, Your Majesty. If you will allow me some minutes to order myself, I shall rejoin you belowstairs.”
“And charm your suitors?”
She inclined her head.
“Even Lord Soames?”
She hesitated, asked, “Ere he came 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 was spoken of you following your departure, he did not like. And we venture it not only offended but nearly moved him to an outward display of jealousy.”
That Laura did not believe. He was angered, but only by her presence and the waste of his time. Thus, she wagered he would be gone by the morrow, leaving her with three suitors.
And if he was desperate enough to stay? Then within days he would be gone. Painful though it would be, Laura would set her mind to charming 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 wanting.
“Lady Laura?” Irritation nipped at the queen’s voice.
Laura forced a smile. “I shall charm all my suitors, Your Majesty.”
