“Where is Baron Soames?”

Sir Angus unclasped his hands from behind his back, came around. “Lady Laura.”

“I told you, Mother,” Clarice said on a sigh. “I saw him ride out at dawn.”

The knight inclined his head. “As your daughter tells.” He started to turn back to the squires he had been instructing in hand-to-hand combat.

“But that does not inform me as to where he is,” Laura pressed.

“Apologies, my lady, but it is not for my lord to give me an account of his whereabouts. Suffice to say he has begun his day’s work and will not return ’til late in the day, mayhap the eve.”

Laura looked past the training yard to the drawbridge beyond the raised portcullis. “What keeps him away so long?”

“The work of wool, my lady. The heartbeat of Lexeter.”

She knew much of the barony’s income was derived from the numerous flocks of sheep she had seen as they traversed the demesne on the day past, and that Lothaire’s acquisition of a wife had taken him long from his duties. But the possibility he could be gone the entire day and into night seemed much for one who oversaw the operations, especially since he had returned so late on the day past she had not seen him again. Rather, she had taken her supper alongside the vacant lord’s seat. Afterward, she had only the company of her pouting daughter at the hearth, Lady Sebille having yet to appear.

“As Baron Soames has been absent nearly a fortnight,” Sir Angus said, “he has much to occupy him.”

And much to avoid, Laura silently added. He had told he was often away from the castle, but now he had greater cause.

“Is there something with which I may assist, my lady?”

She shook her head, causing the loose braid Tina had worked from the left of her brow down the right side of her face to brush the concealed bruise.

The maid had been shocked by her lady’s face. Though tempted to tell it was the result of a fall, for the sake of Clarice, Laura had revealed the truth. Until Lady Raisa departed High Castle, help would be needed to ensure the girl did not expose herself to Lothaire’s mother.

“I thank you, Sir Knight, but I have a missive to write to the queen over which I must consult my betrothed. I suppose it shall have to await his return.”

“I will tell him you seek an audience.”

She blinked. “You do know where he is.”

“Not now, but I know where he shall be near the nooning hour. I am to meet him.”

“Then I shall accompany you.”

He frowned. “My lady—”

“As will I!” Clarice exclaimed.

Laura started to naysay her, hesitated over the expectation shining from a face downcast since her mother had ended her exploration of the inner bailey.

“I am sorry to discourage such adventurous females,” Sir Angus said, “but I must. The work of wool is not for ladies, as I do not doubt your betrothed would agree. I shall convey your message to Baron Soames that he return to the castle as soon as he is able.”

So firm was he that she wavered, but her daughter’s beseeching hand on her arm—the same that had nearly struck her on the day past—made her stand taller. “I shall convey it myself, Sir Angus, even if amidst the work of wool. What time do you depart?”

“An hour hence, but—”

“You would do me a kindness to ensure my horse is saddled alongside yours. An hour, then,” she said and turned away.

She heard a low growl above the squires’ grunts, knew it sounded from the knight rather than the enormous, bedraggled dog lazing alongside the training yard’s fence, but it was naught compared to Lady Raisa’s bite.

Clarice tugged on her mother’s arm. “You will allow me to accompany you?”

Laura preferred she remain at the castle, but after this morn’s encounter, she was loath for Clarice to be out of her sight for long, even though Tina could be prevailed upon to remain near her.

“Mother?”

“A moment.” When they were distant enough from Lothaire’s man not to be overheard, Laura halted—and was surprised to find the large dog at her daughter’s side. Alarmingly, the girl’s hand was on the beast’s neck. “Clarice, you do not know that dog—”

“But I do. I played with him in the hall this morn. He is Tomas.”

As if aware he was the subject of their conversation, the dog turned his eyes on Laura, considered her with what seemed interest, then yawned, revealing the longest tongue and sharpest teeth she had ever seen.

“He is very big and of many teeth, Clarice.”

“Aye, but he is gentle and sweet.” The girl did not have to bend far to kiss the dog’s head. Returning her gaze to her mother, she said, “So I may accompany Sir Angus and you?”

Hoping the dog was as temperate as he appeared, Laura said, “Aye, but we must change quickly.”

Clarice smiled, then frowned. “’Tis an hour ere Sir Angus departs.”

“It was. Now it may be less.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You think he will leave without us.”

“Very possible. Let us disappoint him, hmm?”

The last time her daughter’s mouth had bowed so wide was when Lady Maude allowed the girl to journey with her to a nearby abbey to present a new altar cloth to show her appreciation for the prayers offered up for her son, Simon. A month later, the lady passed.

Clarice had loved the adventure, unaware it was as personal a journey for her as it was for her grandmother. Laura had remained behind, no invitation wasted on one who would have rejected it as calmly as possible.

“Sir Angus will not like it,” Clarice said with a song in her voice that reminded Laura of when she had been young.

True. The knight would not care to be foiled, nor would Lothaire. But her betrothed was not here to gainsay the one who was done being led where she did not wish to go.

And she was fair certain her cousin, the queen, would approve.

* * *

What was Angus thinking to bring her here? And of equal surprise and disturbance was her daughter’s accompaniment, to which Lothaire was more opposed considering the girl’s attempt to strike her mother. She ought to be confined to her chamber.

He muffled a curse. He may not wish Clarice for a daughter, but if Laura would not control the girl’s impulses, he would quickly learn the role of a father. Clarice would not abuse her mother and destroy the order in his household—whatever little he had.

He dropped the hammer, spat out the nails pinched between his lips, and snatched up the tunic tossed aside when labor and the day’s heat conspired to make it one with his torso and arms. As he dragged on the garment, he heard the giving of a seam forced over perspiring flesh, and when he yanked it down his hips, felt another yield.

Fool, he berated himself. She who surprises you is not unfamiliar with a man’s bared body.

That nearly made him wish he had not covered himself, but still there was Clarice who would be old enough to wed away in as few as four years. Surely he had done as a father would the longer to preserve a young lady’s innocence…

As the half dozen riders neared, among them three men-at-arms who were to repair the aged fence, Lothaire set his gaze upon Angus who would aid him and the shepherd in separating the lambs from this flock’s mothers as should have been done a fortnight past.

The knight awaited the look his lord gave him, with apology shook his head.

What had been so difficult about refusing to allow Laura and her daughter to accompany him? And what was of such import it could not await his return?

Determinedly suppressing the shame of a lord reduced to common labor, Lothaire looked closer upon Laura as she neared.

Like Angus, she awaited his gaze. Unlike the knight, her color was high as if she was exerted by the ride. Did he not know better, he would think her flush a result of embarrassment at glimpsing his bared torso and now his dampened tunic embracing his muscles.

But no maiden was she, he once more reminded himself. And no evidence need be offered beyond the girl perched before her, she who was likely of Michael D’Arci.

Lothaire strode forward, gripped the horse’s halter, and squinted up at his betrothed. “You ought not be here, my lady. I cannot think why Sir Angus allowed you to leave the castle.”

He heard her swallow, sensed her determination to keep her eyes from moving down him.

“As I needed to speak with you, and Sir Angus could offer little hope of your return ere I seek my bed this eve, I insisted.” She glanced at the knight. “Much to his regret, I am sure, I gave him no opportunity to depart without me.”

Lothaire breathed deep, momentarily savored the scent of moist earth and the grass sprung from it. “What is so important it could not wait?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, glanced at her daughter. “I would speak in private.”

If she did not wish Clarice to be privy to their conversation, why had she brought her? Had the girl made it difficult to refuse? Likely.

Patience, he counseled and shifted his regard to Clarice.

To his surprise, she smiled tentatively. “If you would lift me down, Lord Soames, my mother and you can speak whilst I play with the lambs.” She nodded at the flock of one hundred ewes and their babies who were to be babies no longer.

He cleared his throat. “I will lift you down, but you will not approach the lambs.”

“Why?” she said with offense.

“Their mothers will butt you ere thanking you for playing with their babies. And ’tis no mere nudge, I vow.”

She sighed and reached to him.

Lothaire lowered her beside him. “Sir Angus, escort Lady Clarice to look nearer upon the sheep.”

The knight dismounted and passed the reins to his lord.

Lothaire swung into the saddle. “See to the fence’s repair,” he ordered the men-at-arms long accustomed to doing the work of commoners. They had not liked it in the beginning and some had left his service, but the Lord of Lexeter made it worth the sacrifice of dignity. Their reward meant the barony was slower to recover from the abuse of its finances and lack of leadership prior to Ricard Soames’s son taking control of it, but more often they vied for the opportunity to engage in the labor.

“Come, Lady Laura,” he urged his mount ahead of hers.

They rode to the crest of a gently sloping hill and he turned his horse to observe the shepherd moving amongst the sheep, Sir Angus standing alongside Clarice with a wide enough berth to cause the ewes little discomfort, and the men-at-arms wielding blunt weapons against wood as opposed to keen weapons against flesh.

“You have my attention,” he said as Laura drew alongside.

She inclined her head. “You were mending the fence.”

That was not the matter of import which caused her to ride out to meet him. “I was,” he said with defensiveness he regretted almost as much as providing proof of exactly how much he needed to wed her.

“And now your men-at-arms shall do so.”

He considered her, thought how becoming her hair looked with its loose braid curtaining one side of her face. “They are well compensated,” he begrudged, then inwardly sighed. Best she learn the true state of his demesne now rather than later. “I pay them coin when I am able. When I scrape the bottom of my coffers, they are mostly content with an extra day of rest.”

Her lips parted, teeth picked at her lower lip. “I did not realize your circumstances were so dire—your need to wed so great. I hope what I bring to the marriage is enough to set Lexeter aright.”

“Certes, ’twill be of benefit. Now I do not mean to be curt, but if I am to join you at table this eve, I must resume my work.”

“The work of wool.”

“What do you wish to discuss, my lady?”

“As I am sure the queen is eager to learn all progresses as it should, I intend to write her this day. I would have her know the announcement of our marriage has been arranged—”

“It has,” he interrupted. “Upon our arrival, I instructed the reading of the banns commence immediately. So it shall this Sunday. If none oppose our marriage, we shall wed in three weeks.”

She nodded, causing the shadow of hair draping her face to shift—or some of it. That upon her cheek remained dark.

“Anything else?” he prompted.

“As discussed on the day past, I wish to assure Eleanor your mother will soon be situated on her dower property.”

“As told, I will see it done when she is well enough.”

“I…” The tip of her tongue touched her lips. “I do not think that will satisfy my cousin.”

He frowned. “Nor you, hmm?”

She hesitated as if considering denial, but said, “Nor me.”

He shifted in the saddle to look closer upon her. “Lady Laura, I know my mother can be unpleasant…”

More than unpleasant, he silently acceded. But he would not alarm her by revealing the Lady of Lexeter had sent assassins to the woman to whom he was briefly wed. Though Raisa Soames no longer had access to men willing to do her dark bidding, he did not think that would be of much comfort to his betrothed.

Seeing the frown gathering on the half of Laura’s brow that was visible, he realized he had not completed his thought. “I agree it is best my mother dwell on her dower property, but as it is nearly a day’s journey by cart, I must be certain she can make it without great discomfort.”

Laura looked down then up, and in a voice just shy of challenging said, “What makes you think she is not well enough. Surely she is not bedridden?”

“She is, though some days are not as bad as others.” Days that had become worse since last year’s murder attempt, he silently acknowledged. Days that sometimes made him question the soundness of her mind. “The physician believes she is not likely to see another summer. Thus, she will not be a bother to you.”

She turned her face away, drew a strident breath.

He leaned closer. “What is it?”

“Naught,” she said sharply. “As told, I would not risk my daughter being exposed to your mother’s hatred.”

Though he wanted to assure her it was not hatred Raisa felt—only concern for her son—he could not lie. And even if he could, it would be a waste. He was not accomplished enough at falsehood for Laura to believe him.

“You would do better to concern yourself over your daughter’s behavior than my mother’s.”

She snapped her chin around. “I would not!”

He barely heard her protest, his attention once more captured by the immovable shadow on her cheek.

He reached and swept aside the braid covering that side of her face. And was moved by anger when he glimpsed what lay beneath a veil of cream thinned by the brush of her hair. “She struck you hard enough to leave a bruise,” he snarled and moved his gaze to the girl in the distance who looked too small to inflict such an injury.

“Nay!” Laura gripped his arm as if for fear he would put heels to his mount. “Clarice did not do this. I fell!”

He looked back at her. “You lie.”

She shook her head, providing another eyeful of the bruise. “She did not hit me, Lothaire.”

He stared.

“May God bear witness!” It was said with such desperation he believed her even less.

“You and your daughter will return to High Castle. Now.”

“Lothaire—”

“Clarice requires discipline, Laura, and though I do not wish to be the one to correct her, I will if you do not.”

“I tell you, she did not strike me!”

“Do something about her, Laura, ere she becomes the same as—” He did not finish the thought. Though he wished her to understand the seriousness of the matter, he would not have her suffer further injury.

“You fear she will become like me,” she herself dealt the blow. But then she said with such bitterness he tasted it, “I am not sure that is such a bad thing—providing her path to becoming her mother is a firmer path than the one upon which I found myself.”

Found. As if she herself were not responsible.

“But a firmer one I intend to make it,” she continued, “and for that I sought Queen Eleanor’s aid in securing a husband.” She heaved a sigh. “Woe to you that you must suffer me, Lothaire. And woe to you if you think to correct my child for something she did not do.”

She commanded her horse forward, and he watched her descend the hill and argue her daughter up in front of her. When she turned toward High Castle, he spurred forward.

“See them safely back to the castle,” he instructed Angus as he dropped out of the saddle.

The knight’s brow was rumpled, but rather than speak his question, he mounted his horse and set off.

And Lothaire threw mind and body into the work of a commoner.