“I know not why you concern yourself over my regard for other women.”

“You know not?”

The shrill rejoinder stayed Lothaire’s hand on the garden gate. Though he had no wish to listen in on Angus and Sebille, his destination the kitchen’s rear entrance, he was held there by Father Atticus’s belief Lothaire’s sister should enter a convent.

“’Tis worry for your soul, Angus!”

Curt laughter. “Methinks it is more that you, who did not want me, would have no other want me.”

“I did want you.”

“Only enough to play—and continue to play—the jealous girl.”

“I am not a girl.”

“Then behave a woman. Cease snatching up the jagged ties you yourself severed and wrapping them around the necks of servants upon whom I smile.”

“You do more than smile upon them! And now I wonder how long ere you do more than smile upon your lord’s betrothed.”

Lothaire nearly flung open the gate, but the ensuing silence kept him from revealing his presence.

“Oh, Sebille,” Angus said with such sorrow Lothaire felt his ache. “You do ill by me, more by Lady Laura. Even were I not unsparingly loyal to my lord and did I not love him well enough not to desire what belongs to him, the lady would not want me. I have seen how she gazes upon your brother, how she goes so still ’tis as if breath is but an afterthought. Regardless of her mistake, I do not believe she ever stopped loving him.”

Lothaire closed his eyes, wished it were so.

And it seemed neither did Sebille believe it. She laughed, said, “She lay down for another, Angus. That is not love.”

The knight sighed. “Neither is this, Sebille. What was between us is gone, and though I have said it before, I have never been more certain. My only regret over your departure from High Castle is how much more it will make of you a martyr.”

More silence, then footsteps across the stone-laid path, the slam of the kitchen door, the groan of the wooden bench that told the knight had dropped onto it.

Lothaire started to turn away, but Angus called, “How much did you hear, my lord?”

The knight’s senses were honed, perhaps still better than Lothaire’s after Everard Wulfrith’s training in a darkened cellar.

He opened the gate and moments later stood before Angus. “More than I ought to have, and I am sorry for it. But I am grateful for the insight.” And it was true, not only for an eyeful of his sister that gave credence to Father Atticus’s belief the convent could be a better fit, but the possibility some of what Angus believed of Laura’s feelings for Lothaire was true.

Are you being a fool again? demanded the dissenter.

“You have heard of the morn’s great event?” Angus asked, and Lothaire knew the man did not wish to further discuss Sebille.

“Great event?” He shook his head. “As I wished to return to High Castle ere sunset, I did not bathe away my filth and came by way of the garden to gain heated water from Cook so I might be as presentable as possible ere entering the hall.”

“There was a fire, my lord.”

Lothaire jerked. “Kitchen fire?”

“Nay.”

“Then of what do you speak? Is Lady—?”

“Your lady is well. Her wedding gown is not.”

The tale was quickly told, there being little to it, but as for the cause…

There could be much to that, though Lothaire prayed not—hoped the toppled chair was of the dog’s doing. Hoped his mother was too infirm to destroy the wedding gown of her unwanted daughter-in-law. Regardless, the possibility Lady Raisa’s hand was in this further confirmed Queen Eleanor was right to require her removal from High Castle.

* * *

“Laura?”

She sprang off the chair, turned to find Lothaire approaching from the direction of the kitchen. “You are back early.”

“It is the eve of our wedding.” He halted before her. His face and hands were clean. Or mostly. As usual, stubborn darkness edged his nails. As for his clothes, they were fouled with dirt, what appeared to be oil, and a multitude of white hairs that evidenced shorn sheep.

“You look lovely,” he said.

Laura felt a pang of guilt over being far more presentable than the Baron of Lexeter. “I thank you, my lord.”

“Sir Angus informed me of what happened this morn. I am sorry for the loss of your gown, and that I shall not see you in finery fit for a queen.”

“Ah, but you prefer me in simpler garments.”

“I do, but it is a loss, and the queen shall be displeased.”

“Were she told of it. I see no reason to inform her.”

His smile was slight. “I am grateful. When she receives your missive, she will be ill enough with me over the delay in moving my mother to her dower property.”

Once more gripped with fear Lady Raisa was responsible for the fire, Laura said, “I have not yet sent that missive, it being my hope once you and I speak vows you will see her safely removed.”

Something like understanding flashed in Lothaire’s eyes, and she wondered if it also occurred to him the toppled chair was no accident.

“I assure you, Lady Raisa shall depart High Castle as soon as possible.”

“How soon?” she asked with more urgency than intended.

“If the physician feels she is strong enough to make the journey, within a sennight of our wedding."

“And if he deems she is not strong enough?”

She felt his struggle and hated that she sounded as if she had no care for his mother’s well-being, but the fear that had subsided these past weeks following the woman’s attack had returned. And was more pressing. A bruise was one thing, a potentially fatal fire quite another.

“I will see it done, Laura,” he said as if that was assurance enough, then cupped her elbow. “Sir Angus tells the chamber has been thoroughly cleaned. Show me.”

Eschewing argument, she allowed him to guide her up the stairs.

“Nay,” Lothaire said the moment they stepped into the chamber. “It may be clean, but it yet smells of smoke.”

The scent did irritate, making her sniff. “There is more of a breeze than earlier.” She nodded at the open windows. “When I seek my bed this eve, the smell should be much resolved.”

“Not enough. You, Clarice, and Tina shall sleep in the solar.”

She blinked. “What of you?”

“Sir Angus will make room for me in his chamber.”

Her heart swelled. “That is thoughtful.”

Lips curving wryly, he said, “I can be on occasion.”

Laura knew she should not do it, and she could have suppressed the impulse the young Laura would not have, but she stepped in front of him, reached her body up his, and offered her mouth.

Though his pupils spread wide as he considered her lips and his head started to lower, he took a step back.

“Lothaire?”

“If you are truly uncomfortable being desired, my lady, you ought not do that—and certainly not in a chamber defined by the presence of a bed.”

She loathed herself for not suppressing the impulse. Now he either believed she had lied or had so little control she was more the harlot than thought. “You are right. It will not happen again.”

“But I hope it shall, my lady, when the wedding ring on your hand grants me permission to lie down with you and kiss you on your mouth and neck. And other places.”

Even if that was all she wanted from him, that would not be all he did to her, she thought. Lest she begin to tremble, she stepped past and said over her shoulder. “I thank you for the use of the solar.”

* * *

She could not sleep. Not here. Not in his bed. Not knowing what would happen there on the morrow. She wanted Lothaire’s kisses, but what came after…

How was she to bear it? For bear it she must to conceive an heir. And if it pained and repulsed her as much as she feared, how was she to conceal her feelings? She had only the one experience, and it had turned more violent when her response was as far from passion as pain was from enjoyment.

She gripped the windowsill, leaned into the embrasure, dropped her chin. Lothaire would not do that to her, but that did not mean he would not be as offended by her response.

If only she had found the words to prepare him for the woman soon come to him. Now it was too near consummation of their vows to lessen the possibility of making ruin of their nuptial night. She had thought he would ask her to elaborate on Simon’s death, and then she would chance revelation, but he seemed to have forgotten it.

Aye, too late now. As told Michael, perhaps once she proved a good wife…

Lifting her face, she wished a cool wind upon it. But unlike the night past, these hours of dark were still and nearly warm, almost suffocating.

Or mayhap it is merely me, she thought and slowly drew a breath so she might feel all of it. Then she turned and peered into the solar’s moonlit expanse.

This room that served not only as the lord’s chamber but a place to conduct business in private was larger than expected and well furnished, though not excessively. The postered bed where Clarice slept was impressive. The rug upon which Tina’s pallet was laid—and from which a soft snore sounded—was in good repair. The large table and matching chairs at which Lothaire might meet other nobles or work his journals were of oak. The chairs before the fireplace were worn but sturdy. Two iron-banded trunks that must contain Lothaire’s personal effects were stacked against the wall alongside the garderobe. But best of all—because she loved water and had not expected such at High Castle—was a large tub.

As when first she entered the solar, she was drawn to it, and once more she ran her fingers over its bulbous wooden rim and smooth, dry inner wall that evidenced Lothaire had not made use of it for some time.

She longed for a bath—the wonderful weightlessness and liquid heat, rivulets of perspiration coursing her face, sinking beneath the surface and peering up at the ceiling through water and gently waving hair.

Had she not postponed entering the solar until it was time to sleep, she would have had Tina arrange for water to be heated and carried abovestairs. Perhaps then she would have been able to sleep—or at least rest.

Laura pulled her shawl more closely around her, looked to the mattress she had lain upon until certain her daughter and Tina slept. It was where she ought to be found in the morn, but though exceedingly tired, she would not be able to find her rest there. Best she try the chair whose discomfort would ensure any sleep gained was not so deep she was unable to slip back into bed ere Clarice and Tina awakened.

The chair proving fairly comfortable, Laura’s wakefulness was short-lived. Throughout the night, she awoke often, and returned to bed only when darkness receded in advance of the dawn. None would ever know her first full night in Lothaire’s bed was yet to come.