“Can you pay your taxes, Lord Soames?”

Lothaire turned to the queen where she halted just over the threshold of the private apartment to which he had been summoned a half hour past, bowed. “Your Majesty.”

She motioned for him to straighten. “Can you, Lord Soames?”

“I can.” Though it would strain his coffer’s every joint, his purse’s every seam.

She looked almost disappointed. “But not easily, hmm?”

Feeling the shame of it, though every year he gained ground lost by his mother ere he had wrested control of Lexeter from her, he said, “Not easily, Your Majesty.”

“Then for your family and people it is imperative you prove the best choice of husband for our cousin, Lady Laura.”

He opened his mouth to decline, hesitated over her kinship with his former betrothed. He had not known of it, but it explained why the queen took an interest in a woman disowned by her father. Or did it? Lady Laura’s scandalous behavior also reflected on the Queen of England.

“Distant cousins,” she guessed at what cramped his expression.

“She requested your aid, Your Majesty?”

“She did. Her protector, Lady Maude, passed last year. Hence, Lady Laura and her daughter are in need of a home.”

Not his home. It would be barely tolerable seeing her every day, but to also suffer the girl who surely bore some resemblance to the man gifted with Laura’s innocence? And even if he could accept both, never would his mother. Lady Raisa would make their lives torture.

A thought struck him. Had he misinterpreted Laura’s reaction to his appearance alongside Lord Benton? “Your Majesty, may I ask if Lady Laura requested I be among her suitors?”

“You may. The answer is nay. We determined the man she once loved, who is much in need of a wife and funds, to be a good prospect. And this we tell you in confidence—she was distressed to discover you are among our choices.”

“One would not know it from her behavior last eve.”

“Indeed. She performed better than expected.”

“Performed?”

“We insisted she charm all her suitors. And so she did, though we think it likely she intentionally offended you in hopes you would stand before us this day resolved to working yourself to death rather than take her to wife.”

Eleanor was not uninformed. Somehow she had learned of the extent to which he went to return Lexeter to prosperity. He nearly looked to hands he had soaked for hours to remove grime from pores and beneath nails. But the long hours and days out of doors laboring alongside commoners was etched in his face. No amount of soaking would wash away those lines. And unlike King Henry, whose face had given its youth to the sun, wind, and rain, Lothaire had no reason to spend so much time in the saddle.

“Have you any other question, Lord Soames?”

“Forgive me, but considering the lady’s past, I am surprised you claim kinship. More, that you are willing to gift her a dowry sizable enough to tempt a nobleman to wed her.”

“A dowry,” Eleanor mused. “We suppose it is that.”

Suppose? Lothaire did not have to think long to unriddle her words. The answer was in the question put to him upon her entrance. “Tax relief. That is what you offer the one who takes her to wife.”

“We have discussed Lady Laura’s situation with our lord husband, and he agrees a reduction in taxes to half for a period of three years is generous compensation.”

It was generous, but though it would allow him to make great strides in restoring Lexeter, he would make those strides without the lady and her daughter ever a barb beneath his skin.

“Though tempted, Your Majesty, I must decline and request permission to leave court.”

She pursed her lips and considered him through narrowed lids. “Reconsider, Lord Soames. And in doing so, know you stand the greatest chance of winning the lady’s hand.”

He had to ask. “Why me? From what you have told, she does not wish me for a husband.”

“She has no say. If she wants a home for her daughter and her, we shall determine whose home that is. As time and again we must make clear to our subjects, we know best what they require.”

He wanted to argue, but it would be futile. “Your Majesty, respectfully I decline marriage to Lady Laura and request my leave-taking.”

Her nostrils flared, detracting from her carefully constructed elegance, then she sighed. “You may leave Windsor.”

He bowed, and she stepped aside to allow him to pass.

“Lord Soames.”

One foot over the threshold, he turned. “Your Majesty?”

“You may not believe this, but we like you. Hence, we are compelled to share that to which few are privy. A great honor, we assure you.”

He tensed, certain here was how she meant to slip a noose over his head.

“As you know, now the king and queen are returned to England, those things made wrong in our absence are being made right.”

He knew it. For this, her husband was absent from Windsor, traveling the length and breadth of England to assess his long-neglected kingdom and make his presence felt.

“Unfortunately, that requires much revenue.”

The noose dropped past his ears.

“There will be more taxes, Lord Soames, and we worry you will not be able to pay them.”

He would. Somehow. He would not lose his family’s lands.

“You are certain you do not wish to reconsider?”

She was conniving. Had he agreed to be a suitor, much of the tax relief gained in wedding Lady Laura would be lost to these new taxes she would not have mentioned. However, if he continued to put in long hours on the land, the tax relief would offset the taxes to come.

Nay, somehow he would save Lexeter without shackling himself to the one who had betrayed him. Somehow.

For all his certainty, the noose that had descended to his shoulders tightened. Imagining the rough knot abrading his throat, he breathed deep against the constriction. Finding too little air to sustain him, let alone Lexeter, he grudgingly accepted the queen had him—that Lady Laura was his somehow. But if Eleanor wanted him badly enough for her relation that she made him privy to what would cause great unrest among the landholders, he had her.

“As proposed, a three-year reduction in taxes,” he said. “And during that time, Lexeter is exempt from all new taxes.”

She was slow to respond, but when she did, it was with little censure. “Lord Soames, do you seek to cause a rift between our lord husband and us?”

“I do not. That is but the price of the sacrifice of my happiness.”

“Ah, but you are not happy. Thus, if we determine you are, indeed, best for Lady Laura and her daughter, your loss is not as substantial as you would have us believe.”

“Call it what you will, Your Majesty, I count it a great price. We are in agreement?”

She inclined her head. “Your task, Lord Soames, is to show us you can be kind to Lady Laura so we are assured she and her daughter are welcome upon Lexeter.”

Kind? Lothaire mused. Tolerant would have to suffice. And even that would be difficult.

“Do you win Lady Laura’s hand, we think it best you remove your mother to one of your lesser castles. Are we in agreement?”

Raisa Soames would rage, but Lothaire needed none to tell him that, as unpleasant as it would be to live out his days with a Jezebel, far worse it would be with his mother between them. “Agreed, Your Majesty.”

She smiled, further proof that, despite advancing age, she remained a beautiful woman. “Now to convince Lady Laura you are the best fit. Not that it is her decision, but we would give her hope for her future and her daughter’s. Go to her Lord Soames.”

He stiffened. “Now?”

“We told her we would send one of her suitors to her in the garden. That suitor is you.”

He who should be spurring away from Windsor. He who might do so at the end of the week in the company of the woman who should have remained cast off.

“I shall seek her there, Your Majesty.”

“And you shall be kind, Lord Soames. Most kind.”

* * *

Lord Benton? Lord Gadot? Or Lord Thierry?

Not that it mattered. Laura wanted none of them. All she required was a home and protection, and she would not feel guilty for it. Certes, none of them truly wanted her, and they would not feel guilty over the funds she brought to the arrangement—nor her body that they could do with as they pleased.

She shuddered. Outside of Clarice, that last was everything. How was she to bear it?

The dark would make it more tolerable, would hide the revulsion of being intimate with one other than—

She shook her head. He did not belong near such imaginings. And after what had been done her, even his touch would repulse.

Where was he now? Riding for home, thanking the Lord no man—or woman—could force him to speak vows? Setting his mind to another with whom he would swim and bathe in the lake upon Lexeter as he had promised Laura they would do?

She dropped her head back, sighed over the blue sky, and in the midst of twittering birds, buzzing insects, and murmurings of those strolling the immense garden, closed her eyes.

As I must do should my husband come to me in daylight to lie me down, she counseled. I shall close them tight and think on good things. My blessed childhood. The love of Lady Maude. The friendship with Si—

Nay, not that. She would think nowhere near him, not even the good of him. Because of him, she had lost—

She fought off the memory, tried to turn it inside out and gaze instead upon its seams. Though those inward-turned strips of fabric held the memory together, on this side it was possible to look out between the stitches and see only the pond and sky. And if she turned as she had done that day, she could direct her gaze above the man she loved and lose it amid the treetops.

For years, that was as she had done, but this day after the day past…

Lothaire was there, guiding his horse toward her, confusion sprawled across his face. She had longed to call to him…run to him…assure him she had not betrayed his love. But she was ruined, not only by her father’s rejection and her loss of dowry, but the secret she had promised to hold close in exchange for a home in which to raise her misbegotten child.

Thus, she had settled her hand on her belly that was familiar with the bulge only from recent awakenings before she snatched her hand away. A deep breath raised her shoulders, then she slowly turned to allow him to see her body in profile.

It had taken some moments for him to understand, then he had jerked the reins, causing his mount to toss its head.

Hurt replaced the confusion on Lothaire’s beloved countenance before anger and condemnation transformed it.

How long had he shone them upon her? How long had she withstood it? All she knew was that when he reined around and set his horse to flight, she had dropped to her knees and wept until Lady Maude’s eldest stepson found her on the bank and carried her to the donjon.

She had wept since, but never like that. And never again would she. Such loss she would not know again.

What of Clarice? she reminded herself of her resolve to become the mother she had not been.

“I shall,” she whispered. “I will love you more than ever I have loved. And perhaps one day you will grant me a measure of the affection gifted your grandmother.”

She breathed deep through her nose, parted her lips, and on the exhale let the scent of grass, flowers, and bread baking in the palace’s kitchen slide their taste across her tongue. So intense was it, she smiled.

I am awake, she told herself. I shall not sleep again.

She opened her eyes, wondered if the clouds scattered across the sky would join forces to provide a cool drink to the garden’s loveliest occupants. By day’s end, she thought, and hoped the clouds would not work themselves into a great storm more apt to drown than water all that thirsted.

Now where was one of those who sought to become her lord husband?

She lowered her chin. And there stood the memory that made her question if she were yet inside it.

Nay, this Lothaire’s face was not that of a young man, and he was in the garden of Windsor where he ought not be.

She tried to hold onto her smile so he would not know how deeply he affected her, but it quivered so much she lowered it.

“Lord Soames, are you to be my first…” She raised her eyebrows. “What should I name you? Appointment? Ah, that sounds too much like business. Rendezvous? Nay, slightly scandalous. Audience?”

“Appointment,” he said, continuing to lean against the tree where he had watched her for how long she could not know.

That realization unsettled her, though she assured herself no matter what had passed over her face, he could not guess what went behind it.

“Then I should invite you to join me on the bench?” She glanced at the place beside her, silently beseeched, Pray, stay where you are. Better, mount your horse and leave me with three suitors. I do not need a fourth. I do not need you.

He pushed off the tree and strode forward in tall boots that beautifully fit his muscled calves.

Try though she did to appear relaxed, her back stiffened and hands convulsed amid her skirts when he lowered beside her, leaving barely enough space to allow another to sit between them.

The last time we sat this near, ere long we were nearer yet, her thoughts defied her. My hands as much in his hair as his were in mine. And his lips smiled upon mine. Has he been as unhappy as I?

She looked sidelong at him.

His gaze awaited hers, moved down her nose to her mouth, quickly returned to her eyes. “I am to be kind to you.” Resentment punctuated his words. “The queen’s orders.”

That hurt, though it was his due. He had every reason to feel she had betrayed him in the worst way, but having failed on the night past to send him running, she would have to make it very difficult to be kind to her.

“Poor Lothaire.” Her heart ached over his name. “As much as you hate me, you must be in dire straits to seek the hand of a whore.”

A sharp breath flared his nostrils.

She pushed a sorrowful smile onto her lips. “That is what I am, is it not? And should you be so desperate as to entertain doubt, I have the daughter to prove it.”

He did not leave as he ought to, and so she steeled herself for her next words. “Clarice is lovely—has her father’s eyes. Of course, if you prevail against my other suitors, you will see for yourself. Every day.”

He rose and strode opposite.

Laura kept her chin up and stared after him lest he look back.

He did not.

Better this way, she told herself. Better for both of us. Better for Clarice.

Certain he would go directly to the stables and be away from Windsor as soon as his horse could be saddled, Laura sagged, put her face in her hands, and cried. One last time.

* * *

Lothaire halted. He was doing exactly what she wanted—fleeing the one who could be Lexeter’s only hope, proving she was as much a coward as he. She may have fallen into sin, but the woman who taunted him, seeking to make him forget she was his somehow, was not the same he had once called Laura love. She whom he had fled was an entirely different creature, just as she wished him to believe.

He turned, with apology sidestepped an elderly couple who strolled the path, and shortly passed beneath the vine-covered arbor.

The sun in Laura’s hair revealing there was still red among tresses that had darkened over the years, she sat forward, elbows tight to her sides, face in her hands.

He paused to listen. Though she made no sound, the jerk of her shoulders told she wept, and he was glad. Here was proof some of the young woman he had loved yet breathed. He could not feel for her again, but for Lexeter he would tolerate her. And the daughter who had her father’s eyes.

He continued forward. When she did not respond in any way to indicate she was aware of his return, he dropped to his haunches and caught up the hem of a heavily beaded skirt shot through with gold thread—revealing a pretty ankle and shapely calf.

She gasped, lifted her head. As he stared into her moist eyes, he recalled once he had thought them so dark they would haunt did they not sparkle like stars on a moonless night. He had thought right. They haunted. And moved him as he did not wish to be moved.

He thrust the handful of skirt at her. “Dry your tears, Lady, and resolve to turning your efforts to discouraging your other suitors.”

Her mouth worked, but no words passed her lips. Then she snatched the material from him and sat back. But rather than wipe at her eyes and cheeks, she swept her skirt down as if modesty were of greater import than erasing evidence of emotions she had not wished him to know she possessed.

He shrugged, straightened, and as her gaze followed him upright, said, “When this farce is done and our queen well-entertained, you shall be going home with me.”

She swallowed loudly. “I will not.”

“It will not be the life our foolish young selves imagined,” he continued, “but it will be of great advantage to my family and people. Even to you, methinks, and your daughter. Many a night I spend away from High Castle, and when I am home, I am oft gone from dawn to eventide. Once you have given me an heir, I will not bother you again.”

Sparks flew from eyes he could not help wishing were sparkles, then bitter laughter sprang from her. “So you have become your father.”

He frowned, tried to remember what he had revealed of his sire who, at that time, was a dozen years missing from Lexeter. If she referred to Ricard Soames’s faithlessness, that he had not revealed, meaning another had.

“How many mistresses?” she confirmed her knowledge of his mother’s heartache. “How many more illegitimate children have you than I?”

Realizing it mattered not who had told her—whether it was their all-knowing queen or idle conversation Laura happened upon, he caught up her hand. Before she could snatch it away, he pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers. “I will leave that to you to discover when we wed”—he smiled as she pulled free—“a month hence.”

“Go home, Lord Soames,” she hissed. “Go home to your mother who will praise the Lord you escaped me again.”

More easily he recalled what he had shared about the controlling Raisa Soames who, mostly bedridden throughout their betrothal, had disapproved of how often he visited Laura—heaping guilt on him, bemoaning she should not have accepted such a woman for her son’s wife, warning that as entranced as he was, she could prove a Delilah and a Jezebel.

That last he had not shared with Laura. Never had he cause to—at least until Lady Maude sent him away, refusing to reveal the reason for his broken betrothal. Minutes later, Laura had turned at the pond’s bank, her hand resting on the reason they would never wed.

“Were we not greatly in need of what you bring to the marriage,” he said, “my mother would, indeed, praise the Lord you are not to be her daughter-in-law. But she knows what is needed, and you will provide it.” He inclined his head. “I shall see you at dinner, my lady.”

He stalked away.

A half hour later, in Lothaire’s hearing, Lord Gadot was most unfortunate to boast to Lord Thierry of what he would do to Lady Laura on their nuptial night.