Blinded by tears, she knew not how she made it to her chamber. But it was the one given her, as evidenced by Tina who leapt to her feet in response to the door’s slam.

“What has happened?” the maid exclaimed as she hastened to where her lady pressed herself back against the door. “Ye have displeased the queen?”

Though Laura knew Eleanor would be unhappy with her departure, she shook her head. Panting so deeply her laces strained, she choked, “He is here,” and the face of the man who had once called her Laura love 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 then had been tempered by hurt.

“Who is here, milady?”

“Lo—” She whimpered. 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 ye do not mean Lothaire Soames.”

The maid did not know the exact circumstances that led to the dissolution of Laura’s betrothal, but all of Owen and many beyond knew that once the two were to have wed. And Clarice was the reason they had not.

“Aye, Tina.” She saw him again, from wheat-colored hair springing back from his brow to tall leather boots encasing muscled calves and large feet. “Him.”

“Mercy, such ill timing! Or do ye think…? Nay, he cannot be amongst those seeking yer 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 misbegotten daughter who would also share hearth and home.

But Lothaire could not be that desperate. At worst, he had been summoned to allow the queen to test Laura’s claim she was lady enough not to succumb to the carnal outside of marriage and that her love for Lothaire had been too complete to make a cuckold of him.

“Milady, ye are twisting yer skirt into a mess, makin’ wrinkles I shall have to smooth again.” Tina closed her hands over Laura’s and gently pried them open. “And yer face!”

A sharp knock sounded, and Laura lurched away from the door. If not for Tina’s sturdy build, the two might have tumbled to the floor.

“Lady Laura, the queen approaches,” a voice called and knocked again.

Having steadied her lady, Tina whipped up her own skirt and wiped at Laura’s face. She dropped back, winced. “Well ’tis not as if Her Majesty is not expecting this, eh?” 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, turned.

The queen’s frown deepening, she made a sound of disgust and peered over her shoulder at Tina. “You. Close the door.”

“I should remain, Yer Majesty?”

“You should.”

As Tina swung the door in the faces of the queen’s ladies who stood in the corridor, Eleanor motioned Laura forward.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Laura halted before her sovereign. “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. “Perhaps still love, hmm?”

“I do not. Can not. It has been ten years, and I would be a fool to love one who feels only loathing and revulsion for me.” A tear fell. “Pray, send him away so I may do what I came for.”

The queen studied her so long a half dozen more tears fell ere she spoke again. “What you told us is true, Lady Laura?”

That which had remained a secret to nearly all while Lady Maude lived. “It is, Your Majesty.” She felt the presence of Tina who may have guessed but did not know with certainty 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. 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 with him present. ’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 a wife to the one we deem best for your daughter and you?”

Laura was ashamed by the spill of more tears. “Aye, Your Majesty, but—”

“Then enough! You will not disappoint us.” Eleanor raised her hands and stepped forward so suddenly Laura startled. But the queen did not slap at her. She took the younger woman’s face between her soft, fragrant palms. “Listen to me,” she eschewed the royal us, her reference to her singular self nearly setting 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, a good marriage you can make.”

Dear Lord, Laura silently bemoaned, 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? Laura wondered.

“Providing,” Eleanor added, “he is the man we believe him to be and is 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…” She waved away whatever else she meant to say.

However, what she had revealed was intriguing enough to distract Laura. She knew Lothaire’s father had gone missing when his son was six years old and that he was never found, but Lothaire had not revealed his father was unfaithful. It accounted for his mother’s severity and portended how deeply Lothaire and Lady Raisa 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 fall on the bed and only be bodily moved from it, but she would appear ungrateful for all Eleanor had done. More, though at times the queen was nearly as severe as Lothaire’s mother, Laura sensed she genuinely cared for her scandalous relation.

“If you will allow me some minutes to put myself in order, Your Majesty, I shall rejoin you belowstairs.”

“And charm your suitors?”

She inclined her head.

“Even Lord Soames?”

She hesitated, asked, “Ere he appeared 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 the others said of you following your departure, he did not like. And we venture it nearly moved him to a display of jealousy.”

That Laura did not believe. He was angered, but only by her presence and the waste of his time. Thus, he would surely be gone by the morrow, leaving her with three suitors.

And were he desperate enough to stay? Then within days he would depart. Painful though it would be, Laura would charm 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 lacking.

“Lady Laura?” Irritation edged the queen’s voice.

Laura forced a smile. “I shall charm all my suitors, Your Majesty.”

Eleanor’s lids narrowed, and though Laura expected her to warn her cousin about the lengths to which she could go to charm, she said, “A quarter hour. No more.” She turned, and Tina opened and closed the door behind her.

“I know what ye are thinking lass.” She drew her lady to the dressing table. “I saw the steel straightening yer back—and I am glad of it—but proceed carefully. Ye do not want to fall out of favor with a woman such as that.”

Laura lowered to the plump stool before the mirror, looked near upon her reddened eyes and cheeks. “Worry not, Tina. Cruelty by cruelty I am finding my way through the world.”

And shall leave a well-marked path for Clarice to follow, if necessary, she did not say. Then she silently prayed, Lord, let it not be necessary. Let me do for her what I should have done long ago. Do not let her life mirror mine.

* * *

When he was not discreetly tracking the woman who had betrayed him, ensuring their paths did not cross, he watched the queen. But though he did so with the hope of receiving permission to approach, whenever she bestowed her gaze, it was dismissive.

But he would not play her game. And that she would have to accept.

Moments later, Lothaire heard her voice and looked around to discover the distance between Laura and himself had narrowed considerably.

She was in the company of Lord Benton, having shed Lord Gadot with whom she had sat at meal, and the two strolled the path upon which Lothaire stood.

He nearly turned opposite, but when she looked up, pride demanded he not scurry away.

Something flashed in her dark eyes—nearer a fire than a sparkle—then she returned her attention to her companion and said, “She is nine years aged.”

Lothaire ground his teeth. He did not wish to hear of the child she had made with another. Hoping Lord Benton and she would alter their course, he remained unmoving.

“As lovely as her mother?” the nobleman asked.

Lothaire would not know her smile was forced were he not acquainted with the true turn of her lips.

“Clarice is still very much a girl, my lord, but I believe she will be far lovelier than I. She has the most beautiful sable hair.”

Likely given by her father, Lothaire succumbed to bitterness. But that emotion was short-lived, for the two were nearer yet, and he would not have her know how much she disturbed him.

“I look forward to meeting her, my lady.”

She inclined her head, moved her gaze to Lothaire. As if surprised, she gasped, “Baron Soames, I meant to seek you out.” She and Lord Benton halted. “I apologize for not acknowledging you earlier. I did not intend to be rude, but I had to change slippers.”

Though Lothaire had no desire to converse with her—and would not outside Lord Benton’s company—it was she who provided him with satisfying small talk. He looked down her skirt, eyed the fine shoe visible beneath the hem. “Do you not wear the same slippers, my lady?”

She gave a little laugh. “’Tis a style and color I quite like.”

How easily she lied between her words. “Indeed.”

“Oh!” She angled toward the man at her side, touched his arm. “In my absence, did you have the chance to introduce yourself to Lord Benton?”

“Well enough,” Lothaire said sharply. And berated himself for not controlling his tongue. And he paid for it when she clapped a hand to her mouth and smiled on either side of it. That expression making him ache, he steeled himself for what was to come.

“Is this jealousy, Baron Soames?”

“Jealousy?” Lord Benton jerked as if his chin were clipped. While behind Lothaire’s face, distaste and anger jerked through him.

“Ah, we must remedy this,” the lady said. “’Tis only fair all my suitors know who they must better to win my hand.”

Almighty! Lothaire sent heavenward. She does not even try to disguise the Daughter of Eve who bore a child out of wedlock.

And there was more. She stepped forward and placed on Lothaire’s arm the slender fingers recently familiar with the other man. “Your rival, Lord Benton, the handsome Baron Soames of Lexeter. The fourth of four—well, I believe ’tis only four—suitors.” She made a face that once more sent Lothaire into the past. “We shall see, hmm?”

She released him, and he breathed again. But only for a moment. As she turned away, the ends of her unbound hair swept his wrist and the back of his hand, and he remembered the feel of strands he should never have drawn his fingers through.

Not for the first time, though it was long since he had pondered it, he questioned if the kisses and caresses shared prior to the wedding that had not taken place were responsible—at least in part—for making a Jezebel of her. He had liked the intimacies. Had she felt as much as he, perhaps she had gone in search of one willing to show her what came next.

“Now I must find Lord Thierry,” she returned him to the present he longed to leave behind. “I promised I would sit with him whilst the troubadours encourage us to fall in love. Lord Soames,” she said, then touched the other man’s arm again. “Lord Benton. Good eve.”

Head high, she left what she wrongly believed to be two rivals.

“Just passing through, hmm?” Benton grumbled.

“The lady has a high opinion of herself and her charms,” Lothaire said. “Aye, just passing through.” He turned, gained the queen’s gaze, and lost it. Not as dismissive as before. There had been interest in the arch of an eyebrow, but not enough to grant him an audience.

“Curse you, Eleanor,” he muttered and strode toward the stairs that would deliver him from the presence of the woman who would make one of her suitors wish he had found another way to return prosperity to his lands. Just as Lothaire had long sought to do. And would continue to do.

Even if every day the rest of my life I must work the land myself, he vowed.

* * *

“Lothaire.”

There. She had spoken his name. It swept her back to when she had called it over her shoulder as he chased her across soft spring grass, dry summer grass, leaf-covered autumn grass, frost-bitten winter grass. But most painful were memories of when she had whispered his name against his lips and he had groaned over hers.

Laura love, he had called her.

Though they had both wanted more than kisses and caresses, neither had tempted the other too far past want. And there had been no need, certain as they were of a nuptial night and every night thereafter.

Laura drew a shuddering breath. Assured Tina slept on her pallet, snores so soft her lady rarely had difficulty sleeping through them, she said again, “Lothaire.” Slowly, so she felt each tap behind her teeth and the warmth of her breath across tongue and palate when she came to the end of his name.

She had been glad she had eaten little at meal, so sickened was she by her behavior which Lothaire would name wanton and her taunting words that confirmed she was not merely thoughtless.

He would be gone on the morrow and, God willing, she would not see him again.

“Please, Lord. Not again. I love him still.”