Impostress (24 page)

"Let me deal with him. Now go, Rosalynn. I'll be but a minute." As the nurse grumbled her way out the door, Lenore lifted a tired hand and waved Kiera closer. "I'm glad you came."

"Of course I would come." Dear Lord. If possible, Lenore looked weaker than she had before. An embroidery hoop was at her side but remained untouched.

"Something is troubling you," the older woman stated. It was a pronouncement, not a question, and Kiera felt a moment's relief that Kelan's mother had not discerned the truth.

" 'Tis only that I'm new here."

"And?" Lenore prompted. "Something is on your mind. More than missing your home and family." She reached for Kiera's hand. "What is it? Does my son displease you?"

"Oh, no! 'Tis nothing of the sort."

"He treats you well?"

She thought of the fact that he hadn't brought up the vials for some time, his defense against Morwenna's attack the night before, the dresses he'd ordered made for her, the way he'd introduced her to the staff, and, most of all, the lovemaking sometimes tender, other times so passionate she couldn't breathe. "Aye, he treats me well," she admitted, afraid a tremor in her voice would betray her.

" 'Tis because he loves you."

"Loves me?" Kiera repeated, torn between elation and despair. Oh, to think that Kelan cared for her, that he actually loved her, was heaven itself. Or was it hell? For he could never love a woman who had deceived him so. Never. Eventually the truth would come out.

Tonight.

She had to tell him tonight.

"Aye. I know my son. I thought him incapable of falling in love, and if I'd had even a glimmer that he would become besotted with his wife ... oh, my.

I only wish I could be here to see his child ... your child."

Kiera's heart twisted. She realized that if she was not already pregnant, she would never have the opportunity to bear Kelan a child. Suddenly she felt empty inside. Bereft and hollow.

"I think there is something you should know," she said, hearing the beginning of her confession before she'd actually thought it through. Surely she should tell Kelan the truth rather than his mother.

Frail as she was, Lenore straightened in the bed, and Kiera caught a glimpse of the younger woman she had once been, the strong, vibrant woman whose aging body was set upon betraying her. "What is it that's worrying you? Do you not love Kelan?"

Love him?
Love
him?
Nay, that was impossible and yet ... hadn't she thought, nay, feared the very same? Desire was not the same as love. It could not be, but the feelings Kelan had evoked from her belonged not only to the body, but to the heart as well. " 'Tis not about love," she hedged, though she was certain Elyn's mother-in-law could see through her evasion. Though Lenore was ill, she was still clear in her mind. "The loving is not a problem."

"Then all is well. For he does love you, Elyn. A mother knows her own son and I see his love for you in his eyes. When the two of you visited my chamber, I caught him staring at you when you weren't aware that his gaze was following you. Oh, he tries to hide it, I can see that, but he's smitten." A tiny, satisfied smile curved her lips, and Kiera wished she were dead a thousand times over, knowing that this ill woman received a glimmer of hope and happiness in the knowledge that her son had married well. Oh, 'twas awful. She had to set things straight.

Lenore turned to her embroidery hoop. "This was to be part of a wedding present," she said with a sigh. "But, I fear, 'twill never be done." She picked up the hoop with its stretched fabric and intricate stitches, half-finished images of two doves holding a ribbon threaded through matching gold bands. "It was for you, and I will ask Daylynn to finish it after I pass."

"Please, don't talk like this. You don't know that your time is near."

Steady blue eyes held hers and the room seemed to suddenly hush, the sounds of the castle no longer seeping through the door, the fire's hiss softening the echo of footsteps in the hallway nonexistent. "I know, daughter," she said, and Kiera cringed inwardly at the endearment. "When a woman's time is due, she knows. 'Tis not much different from sensing a husband's infidelity, or feeling that her unborn babe is about to enter the world. I've lived a full life. Grieve not for me. Just knowing that Kelan is married and happy, 'tis more than I could have wished for. I had only hoped that he would find some peace in the arrangement my husband made with your father, but this, seeing him smile and look at you the way he does, this is a true blessing."

Kiera's eyes began to fill and her soul was twisted in two. Should she hold her tongue and let Lady Lenore pass on to the next world without knowing, assuming that Kelan and Elyn were, indeed, happily wed, or did she owe the older woman the truth? She glanced at the embroidery hoop with its intricate stitches made by an ailing woman. "I—I think you ought to know that things are not as they seem," she said, her voice sounding far away to her ears as she steeled herself for the reaction that was to come.

Lenore's gaze focused hard on Kiera. "If not, then maybe they should be," she said. 'Twas almost as if she could sense the deceptions, feel the lies. "Whatever is on your mind, Elyn, please do not speak it. Ever. It's of no matter and sometimes a woman must turn her head away from the truth when it would be too painful for her family to withstand, or would serve no purpose other than to rend that which should be forever whole." She folded one thin hand over the other. "I have seen the pain of love gone awry ... Morwenna herself as a young girl... oh"— Lenore shook her head sadly—" 'twas a poor choice. Carrick of Wybren. How she fell in love with that rogue I'll never understand ..." Her voice trailed off for a second as she remembered something that brought her eyebrows close together. " 'Tis of no matter now. What is important is that Kelan loves you and I think you love him, do you not?"

Kiera's heart twisted ever more painfully. How could she admit to loving her sister's husband?

Is it any worse than making love to the man? Worse than pretending to be someone else?

"I—I am not who you think I am," she admitted.

"Who I think you are is the only woman who has ever touched my son's soul." She grabbed Kiera's arm again, her fingers clasping as if in desperation. "Please, I implore you, whatever it is that's troubling you, whatever it is that haunts you, do nothing to thwart this marriage."

"But I am not—"

"Shh!" Lenore would hear none of it. "A true love is a rare, precious gift. Guard it with all your might. Promise me."

"I—can't."

"Promise me."
Suddenly Lenore's eyes burned with a bright, fervid fire. "I ask nothing more of you. I need to go to my grave knowing that this, your marriage, the children you will have with my son, will not be in jeopardy." Her voice was a harsh, demanding whisper. "For the love of God, Elyn, promise me this."

Kiera swallowed hard. Her throat was near swollen shut. 'Twas a vow with Elyn that had got her into this mess in the first place. With Kelan's desperate mother clutching her sleeve in a death grip, she was about to make another oath that she was certain would only lead to heartache.

"Do not deny me this. Let me go to my grave in peace."

"Aye, I promise that I will do the best I can to make the marriage work."

" 'Tis all I can ask." Lenore's tense features relaxed a bit. "Thank you, daughter." Her fingers loosened and she sighed as she sank onto her pillows.

Kiera could hardly breathe.

But I am not your daughter,
she thought miserably.
Nor am I your daughter-in-law.

"Now I grow weary. We'll talk another time." The fire in Lenore's eyes dimmed. Apparently satisfied that she'd got Kiera's word, she sagged, her strength suddenly dissipated. Slowly her eyelids lowered and she lifted one bony hand, her fingers fluttering slightly. "Please, call the nurse. Good day, Elyn."

Kiera didn't have to say a word. As if she'd been hovering on the other side of the door, Rosalynn bustled in. Casting Kiera a disparaging glance, she hurried to the bedside as Kiera said a quick good-bye.

"I'm here, m'lady," the nurse assured Lenore.

"Good ... Please see that Daylynn finishes this bit of needlework," she said, her words following Kiera as she entered the hallway. " 'Tis a wedding present for my son and his new wife."

* * * * *

From his hiding spot in the hayloft, Joseph spied the missing mare. Nervous and fidgety, her crooked blaze standing out upon her dark coat, she was tethered in a stall away from the rest of the horses. Most of the animals that were not being used for pulling a cart or carrying a soldier were in the south meadow, grazing on the scrub grass that grew in an orchard. Joseph had sneaked outside and observed what seemed to be a daily routine. The idle horses were tended by a lazy, rawboned lad who wore a hat pulled down over his eyes to protect him from the rain. He leaned against the bole of a leafless apple tree, either whittling or dozing. Which was just fine. He seemed dull enough not to miss the mare.

Just as you didn't?
his guilty mind nagged.

Joseph's jaw clenched as he considered his plan. He'd steal the mare that belonged to Baron Llwyd; 'twas the least he could do and might somehow make up for losing Obsidian a few years back.

But what of Lady Elyn?

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he climbed down from the hayloft and paused to pet the mare's soft nose. Tossing her head, she snorted. Silently Joseph slipped out of the stable. It was not yet dusk. He pulled his cowl over his head and kept to the shadows and away from the well-worn paths. The wind was brittle and cold, the rain once more spitting from the sky.

Despite the weather, workers were busy within the crumbling castle walls of Oak Crest. Women carrying jugs, platters, dead chickens, eggs, and vegetables followed after huntsmen with their kills and woodsmen with carts of firewood. Cows lowed, sheep bleated, and there was chatter everywhere, an air of excitement in the smoky air. High upon the north tower, the green-and-white standards of Oak Crest snapped in the breeze, and on a lower flagstaff, the crest of Fenn was flying as well.

Lady Wynnifrydd was soon to be Sir Brock's bride. So what of Lady Elyn? If her horse was here, did it not follow that Elyn, too, was within the keep? Yet he'd heard not one mention of her name, had seen nothing, aside from the skittish mare, to indicate she was nearby.

Or was she?

A dark trepidation had been growing in Joseph's heart. For over a day Joseph had moved within the population of the keep. He'd overheard dozens of conversations and filtered through enough gossip and rumors to surmise that Lady Elyn hadn't arrived at the castle. Unless she was secreted away, hidden from everyone but Brock. But why?

He frowned and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck, hiding more of his chin. He didn't believe Lady Elyn would allow the man she loved to marry another woman. Not when she'd gone to such great lengths and taken such incredible risks to be with the bastard of Oak Crest. Joseph hated the man, not only for his brash manner, but because Lady Elyn loved him.

"Cur," he muttered sourly in the muffle of his wool scarf. The fear that something unspeakable had happened to her gnawed at his brain. He found it impossible to think that sharp-tongued, outspoken Lady Elyn of Lawenydd would cower and hide and be satisfied with living a lie to be ... what? Brock of Oak Crest's mistress? Nay ... that thought made no sense and brought a bitter taste to Joseph's mouth. If Elyn truly loved Brock, she would not settle for anything other than being his bride.

Yet Sir Brock's marriage to Wynnifrydd of Fenn was to take place this very afternoon.

Joseph didn't like the feeling that teased at his brain. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Either Elyn was hurt, mayhap kidnapped and imprisoned, or she had escaped and was on her way back to Lawenydd without her horse, or—and this thought settled like lead in his gut—it could be that somehow she'd been killed.

By Brock?

Or Wynnifrydd?

Or someone else entirely?

It mattered not. If Elyn was dead at someone's hand, then that person would pay. Joseph would personally see to it.

"I promise that I will do the best I can to make the marriage work."

The vow to Kelan's mother haunted her, chasing after Kiera as she explored the castle, and reminding her that she had to find her sister and end this pretense as quickly as possible. Had Joseph gone to Oak Crest to find Elyn and Brock? Was her father, Baron Llwyd, even now waiting for Kiera's return? Was Penelope able to keep her secret?

As she made her way down a back staircase, smiling at a girl sweeping the stone steps and nearly tripping over a man carrying baskets of cold ashes from the great hall, Kiera felt like a cornered fox. There was nowhere to run, no one that her lies hadn't touched.

She could ignore her oath to Lady Lenore and tell Kelan the truth, thus breaking the old woman's heart, or she could wait until Kelan's mother had passed on and then admit all her sins. That thought was bitter. Kiera didn't want Lenore to die and hated the idea of basing her own freedom on her passing.

There had to be another way.

First thing she had to do was learn how Penbrooke was run. When the gates were open and when the portcullis was cranked down. She needed to know who the guards were, what their positions were, when they relieved each other ... just in case she had to leave.

Outside, the day was cold as it neared sunset, the wind cutting as it blew against her face and toyed with the hem of her cloak. Kiera pulled her scarf tightly around her neck as she passed by the chapel, her gaze taking in every nook and cranny in the bailey. The priest was leaving the chapel, and Kiera looked quickly away and hurried down a well-trodden road. She'd prayed often for divine insight into her plight but heretofore had not been able to solve the dilemma. She'd considered visiting Father Barton but had not drawn up enough courage to confess her sins. Not yet.

Ducking around a corner near the kitchens, she came upon a fire pit where three girls were tittering and gossiping as they plucked feathers from half a dozen dead geese. At the approach of the lord's wife, the girls became suddenly silent as stones and went back to their tasks of removing feathers from the carcasses and singeing off the hairs before gutting out the innards.