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.