The Awakening by Tamara Leigh

Author:Tamara Leigh [Leigh, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2018-01-18T18:00:00+00:00

“I HAD NEAR GIVEN up hope of seeing you ere the wedding,” the priest said as Lothaire swung out of the saddle.

“I pray you will forgive me for not coming sooner.” Lothaire looped the reins over the top rail of the fence enclosing the churchyard.

“Ever the work of wool,” Father Atticus said.

“Until Lexeter is restored.” Lothaire adjusted his sword belt as he followed the priest toward the church. “I will not enter,” he said, knowing the man would insist and, as usual, lose the argument. Though Father Atticus was adamant the Lord was not offended to receive within His house one who evidenced hard, honest labor, Lothaire could not cross the threshold even though he had washed in the stream before leaving the bulk of the day’s shearing to the workers.

“Then let us sit on the bench.” The priest gestured to the left of the church doors.

“That was easier than usual,” Lothaire said.

The man chuckled. “Two boys are on their faces before the altar repenting for stealing every last berry from widow Magda’s bushes. I would not have the rascals listen in on us.”

Lothaire lowered to the bench beside the priest and could not contain his sigh over how good it felt to be still, something he was usually too fatigued to savor when he dropped into bed.

The all-knowing Atticus left him to it until Lothaire’s own impatience made him lift his head. “Let us be done with it, Father.”

“So you may sooner work through the remainder of daylight?”

“It shall sound prideful, but I am amongst my best workers.”

The gently aging man snorted. “Were you not of the nobility, methinks we would have to pray hard for your soul.”

Lothaire glanced down his worn, stained tunic and chausses. “My mother would argue that because I am of the nobility we ought to pray hard for my soul.”

“So she would. And be wrong, bless her.” He did not like Lady Raisa any more than she liked him, but any word he spoke against her was ever with apology and oft followed by a blessing as if to absolve her of wrongdoing. Setting his forearms on his thighs, he clasped his hands. “Lady Laura Middleton.”

Lothaire inclined his head. “Twice my betrothed.”

“You must know I am remembering the day you spurred past my church as if the devil had hold of your hair, then reined around so violently you were nearly unseated.”

“I do know.” In this moment, it seemed almost the day past he had cursed and shouted and cried every league between Owen and Lexeter. Until Laura’s betrayal, he had thought it fanciful that the thing beating in his chest could break over love lost, but so much pain had radiated from it that all he could think was he must get to High Castle and give himself into the physician’s care. But as he urged his horse past Thistle Cross, he had glimpsed Father Atticus.

“You are no longer that young man, Lothaire, and I am proud of who and what you have become.

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