Lothar stared at the wooden rafters above his head. The sky outside the window was darkening fast and the candle beside the bed was burning so low that if he didn’t get up and replace it soon, it would go out. He still didn’t move. He couldn’t. His wife was sleeping peacefully against his shoulder and he didn’t want to disturb her—wanted to savour the feeling of her in his arms for a while longer.
He shouldn’t have slept with her. No matter how much he’d wanted to, he should never have given in to the temptation. He was leaving. He’d spent the last two months reminding himself of that fact over and over again, warning himself to keep away from her, not that he’d been able to. Instead, he’d convinced himself that he was strong enough to resist, even though every evening they’d spent together had felt like a slow torture, as if he were taunting himself with what he could never have. It hadn’t helped that she’d seemed to grow more and more desirable each day, her skin taking on a healthy glow as her eyes gradually lost their dark shadows. Even the curves of her body had started to fill out again—he’d spent enough time looking to notice—so that he’d had to use all the self-control he possessed to stay in his chair in the hall every night, allowing her enough time to reach her chamber before going to his own room upstairs. If he could he would have slept in the hall, but he hadn’t wanted to start any rumours.
Now it seemed he’d succeeded in restoring her health, but failed in his other, more important resolve. On the very last day, he’d failed, unable to resist when she’d mentioned the marriage debt. Then he’d been unable to fight his desire any longer, telling himself it was something he had no choice over, though deep down he knew he’d taken her because he’d wanted to, because he wanted her more than any woman he’d ever met. She’d said she wanted a child, but he’d failed her even in that, pulling away at the last moment. The thought of leaving her had been bad enough, but the idea of leaving her with a child while he left for another country had been more than he could bear.
He tightened his arm around her instinctively, burying his face in the deep red mass of her hair. It still smelt of honeysuckle. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her skin and he had to wrestle the urge to stroke it away. If only... He tensed, gripped with an emotion he hadn’t felt for as long as he could remember, so powerful and all-engulfing that he felt as if his chest were being squeezed in a vice.
No!
He leapt out of the bed, flinging her away so forcefully that she woke up at once. It couldn’t be that. He wasn’t capable of that. He had to get out of there.
‘Lothar?’ She sounded alarmed. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ he answered gruffly, pulling his clothes on without turning around. ‘I have things to prepare. So do you.’ He risked a quick look over his shoulder and then wished he hadn’t. Confusion and hurt were writ plain on her face. ‘We’ll be leaving early.’
She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her eyes on his back, watching as he raced for the door. He had to get out. The room seemed to be closing in around him and he needed some air—air and space to clear his head and breathe, to let his heartbeat return to something resembling a normal pace.
If only...
He flung the door shut behind him and rested his head against the wood. There was no if only... He wasn’t capable of if only. For a terrifying moment, it had felt as though he might be, as if what he’d thought was a stone in his chest was actually just a hard shell cracking open, splintering apart to reveal a real beating heart underneath. But that couldn’t be true. It wasn’t possible—and if it was then he didn’t want to know what was inside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They left Haword at dawn, riding the interminable, two-day journey to Devizes in near-silence, the few words they spoke sounding unnaturally loud, as if every background noise were being absorbed by the cold. Lothar had chosen half a dozen soldiers as an escort, but even they stayed mute, seemingly afraid to disturb the close atmosphere that hung so heavily in the air around them, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling uncomfortable with silence before. For most of his life he’d actually favoured it, but now it felt oppressive, reproaching him for what he’d done. He’d managed to pull himself back together, but he had the unnerving suspicion that whatever balance he’d found was fragile, liable to shatter at any moment. All he knew was that his wife deserved better. She deserved someone capable of loving her, not an empty vessel like him. She’d given herself to him and he’d taken advantage of the situation, taking her innocence and offering nothing back in return. The stricken look on her face when he’d left her chamber afterwards had haunted him almost every moment since.
‘There’s Devizes, sir,’ one of the guards called out.
He drew rein, reluctant to go any further as he spied the great tower of the castle in the distance. Another hour and the brief interlude of their married life would be over. As much as he’d told himself it was for the best, that Juliana would be better off without him, actually confronting that fact was another matter. But he had no choice. He couldn’t disobey the Empress’s orders any more than he could change who he was—and who he was wasn’t anywhere near good enough.
They rode on towards the city gates and he led them through a throng of people towards the keep.
‘Find some quarters for the night.’ He dismounted and handed his reins to one of his soldiers.
‘Just for tonight, sir?’
‘Yes,’ he answered tersely, wishing he knew the real answer to that. ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to go back to Haword in the morning.’
He turned away to avoid further questions. He didn’t believe Juliana was in any real danger from the Empress, just as long as she didn’t say anything foolish about her allegiance to Stephen. He trusted that he’d made her see sense about that, though he also knew that pushing her on the subject would avail nothing. Hopefully she’d be pragmatic enough not to say anything too incriminating. Then, with any luck, she’d be able to leave with his men again tomorrow.
‘It’s huge!’
The sound of her voice behind him made his chest constrict almost painfully. He’d missed her voice, he realised, even if it had only been absent for two days. How much more would he miss it after a week, a month...a year? He turned to find her staring up at the keep with a dumbfounded expression, as if she’d never seen anything like it. Probably she hadn’t. It was immense, built entirely of stone and not yet thirty years old. He ought to have considered how intimidating it might appear to someone who’d spent most of her life in the country, but he hadn’t dared look ahead to this moment. Now she seemed so overwhelmed that he wanted to lift her down from the horse and wrap her up in his arms, but he daren’t do that either. For the sake of his sanity, if nothing else, he had to get her to the Empress as quickly as possible.
‘It’s just stone. Come.’
She gave a visible gulp as she slid out of her saddle, landing with such an ungainly stagger that he leapt forward instinctively, grasping hold of her waist to steady her.
Their eyes met and for a moment he thought he’d been attacked. Surely only that could explain the visceral jolt that tore through his body as if someone had just shoved him hard in the chest. It took a few moments to realise that the sensation had actually originated in his hands, as if the very touch of her were enough to send all of his senses reeling. He tried to loosen his fingers and found himself gripping tighter instead, his muscles refusing to obey his commands. At that moment, he didn’t know which of them was steadying the other. He had the startling impression he might fall if he let her go.
‘We should go in.’
Her voice had a pleading note he’d never heard before, breaking the spell somehow, and he tore his hands away with an effort, keeping only a light hold on her elbow as he steered her past the castle guards and towards the great hall. At the last moment he slowed down, trying to think of something to say, some words of comfort or reassurance, but as usual there was nothing. Nothing he could think of to make either one of them feel better. Then it was too late and they were in the hall itself, the ambience of the room shifting subtly as they entered, as if everyone inside had been waiting for them.
‘Lothar!’ Matilda’s voice rang out from where she stood in the centre, surrounded by her usual cohort of soldiers and courtiers. ‘You’ve come back at last.’