Impostress (4 page)

Except that Elyn had been missing since morning.

But that was a well-kept secret and all day long Penelope, Kiera, and Hildy, a trusted household servant who had long been the three sisters' nursemaid and confidante, had been searching for her. To no avail. Kiera had admitted the daft plan Elyn had cooked up, and was worrying that if Elyn didn't return, she would have to go through with it. It was all so romantic and thrilling. Hildy and Penelope would have to play their parts and even then things could go awry.

Swiping at her nose with the back of a gloved hand, Penelope crept from her cranny and hurried down the tower steps as fast as her feet could fly. At ground level, she burst from the tower, tripping over a calico-cat and nearly knocking flat a girl carrying two plucked geese to the kitchens.

"Hey—watch where ye're—" Upon recognizing Penelope, one of the baron's daughters, the serving girl back-stepped. "Oh, m'lady, 'tis sorry I am. I didn't see ye. 'Tis all my fault."

" 'Tis nothing. Worry not." What a twit! Penelope couldn't waste time with excuses or apologies. She raced behind her mother's bench in the garden, leaped over a puddle, and flew into the kitchen, rounding the corner as a boy threw bundles of wood onto the cook fires and another turned the spit where a pig was sizzling, grease dripping into a collection pan on the floor. A girl was grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle, another slicing apples, while the cook was stuffing sliced eels that were split from one end to the other.

But Penelope, intent on her mission, barely noticed. The cook glanced up as she raced to the back stairs. "Miss Penelope, should ye be—"

She didn't hear the rest. Her boots were already pounding up the stairs to the third floor, where breathless, she threw herself into Elyn's room.

"He's here!" she panted, flinging herself onto the bed and looking up at the whitewashed ceiling while a small fire crackled in the grate and a few sparse candles flickered in the surrounding sconces. "The Lord of Penbrooke's arrived."

Kiera's stomach turned. She had two choices—to tell the truth and let both Penbrooke and her father be embarrassed, or to go along with Elyn's ludicrous scheme. Just last night, before bed, Elyn had come to her chamber and held her hand, lacing her fingers through Kiera's. "I just want you to know that I would do anything for you," she'd said. "Even if things were reversed and you were the one to marry the Beast of Penbrooke, I would stand in for you, for just one night, especially since Penbrooke will not know the ceiling from the floor once he drinks the potion. After all, 'tis not that much to ask, for I am to be married to a man I detest for the rest of my life. I can only hope 'twill be short." Blinking against the tears in her eyes, Elyn had hugged Kiera fiercely.

Kiera felt as if she hadn't slept a wink. All night long she'd stared miserably at the dim shadows cast upon the ceiling by the fire and wondered if she'd been entirely too selfish. How would she feel if she'd been promised to a man she'd never met who was rumored to be a rake? She'd dozed near morning and dreamed that Elyn had come to her and whispered, "I'm sorry," as she'd left their mother's jeweled cross in her hand. Kiera had woken with a start, sweating, her heart pounding, the room empty. She'd wanted to dismiss the silly dream but found the necklace wound around her wrist. And Elyn was nowhere to be found.

And now the Lord of Penbrooke was here.

He would insist upon meeting his bride. Sweet Jesus!

Upon the bed, Penelope rolled onto her stomach.

"How many men are with him?" Kiera asked, the wheels in her mind turning sweat collecting upon her skin. Could she go through with her sister's mad plot if only to save her father from embarrassment?

"A handful."

"And a priest?"

"I couldn't tell."

Kiera's heart was pounding wildly, her pulse racing. She rubbed her damp palms upon her skirt. It would only be for a few hours. That was all. Then her sister would be wed, her father happy, an alliance with Penbrooke in place. Soon it would be done. 'Twas nothing. Yet her throat was dry, her stomach twisting, her heart a frightened drum.

"What?" Penelope asked. "Kiera, what are you thinking?" Kiera glanced at Elyn's wedding dress. White lace and tufted velvet, draped over a screen that partitioned off part of the chamber. Could she go through with it? Don the dress and veil, utter the sacred vows ...

"Elyn's not returned?" Penelope asked.

"Nay." Pushing her hair from her eyes, Kiera slumped onto a stool by the fire and knew she was as pale as death. Where the devil was Elyn?

"So are you going to do it? Are you really going to pretend to be her?" Penelope asked, her eyes bright with a sense of adventure. Ever since Kiera had confided in her, swearing her to secrecy this morning, Penelope, the youngest and most flighty of the three sisters, had been unable to hide her excitement.

"Did you get the vial from the apothecary?" Kiera asked.

"Aye. A concoction of herbs that he said would make even a wild man drowsy."

"And you know what to do with it?" Oh, this was insane!

"Yes!"

Penelope was to make sure that the elixir was placed in a mazer scratched with an X on its bottom. Kiera would know that cup was for the bridegroom. The rest of the potion was to be left in the vial and hidden in the rushes on the floor near the bed.

Kiera couldn't believe what she was contemplating, but she felt as if she had to go through with it. What other choice had Elyn left her? Anxious as a caged wolf, she paced to the window and opened the slats to stare at the inner bailey. How had Elyn left the castle so early this morning? How had she not been detected, especially on this, her wedding day? Had someone helped her? Brock? Mayhap he'd slipped inside just as the castle gates were opening and helped her escape. Oh, dear God, could she go through with the deceit? Swallowing back her indecision, she faced her sister again.

"Now, remember," Kiera said, "all you have to do is—if anyone asks—claim that I'm Elyn. I'll be wearing the dress and veil." She motioned toward the stool where the veil of thick, patterned lace rested. By the saints, this was idiocy! "No one should question you. If they ask for me—"

"You, Kiera, or you, Elyn?"

"Me.
Kiera. If they ask for
me,
you are to tell them that I'm ghastly sick. Hildy will agree. Everyone will think that I'm in my chamber and can't come down to the nuptials."

" 'Twill be odd."

Kiera threw up her hands. Maybe she was making a horrid, horrid mistake. "It's all odd!"

Penelope looked worried for the first time. "What if Father asks about you?"

"The story is the same." Kiera rubbed her temple against a sudden headache.

"I don't like lying to Father."

"Neither do I. But ... but we must," she said as she touched the jeweled cross at her throat. "Now, make sure that the Beast of Penbrooke drinks plenty of wine tonight at the feast. Hildy will see that there is potion in it, so that he will feel dizzy and sleepy. He'll come up to the chamber and I'll give him more wine."

"What if—"

"He'll fall asleep," Kiera cut in. "Later, when Elyn returns, I'll sneak back into my room, and she'll take her place as his bride. When he awakens he will have a pounding head but will be with his real wife. No one will know there has been a deception." The last word tasted bitter upon her tongue, yet she ignored it.

"Not even the Lord of Penbrooke?"

"Not if we're lucky."

"And if we aren't?" Penelope asked.

Kiera's eyes closed for a second. Her sister had voiced Kiera's worst fear. She sketched a quick sign of the cross over her chest. "If we aren't, then God help us."

* * * * *

Despite the icy air, the headstrong mare was sweating. Stomping nervously, tossing her dark head and snorting, the damned horse acted as if she sensed the lies swirling in the forest, and the guilt that Elyn felt surrounding her heart.

"Shh," Elyn commanded with a sharp jerk on the reins. "Whoa." With gloved fingers, Elyn held fast to the leather straps, keeping the jumpy horse from bolting as she cast one final look over her shoulder to the castle. Lawenydd. Her home.

But no longer.

Her throat ached and tears burned at her eyes, but she blamed it on the raw winter wind that tore through the fields, bending the dead grass. With biting cold it nipped at Elyn's cheeks as she stared at the thick stone curtain and high towers of the keep. It was nearly nightfall, but enough moonlight shone over the castle that she was left with one final impression of it before she yanked roughly on the reins and kneed her mare into the forest.

This was her choice, not to marry the man to whom she was promised, but to seek out real love, the true heart she'd met, an irrepressible spirit who had sworn to love her.

Brock. Oh, love.

Her blood ran hot and guilty at the thought of him and what she was about to do. What she had planned was unthinkable and she felt a kernel of regret for poor Kiera. But, Elyn decided, her younger sister would survive. Kiera had promised to do anything Elyn asked, hadn't she? Then changed her mind. Elyn's lips twisted at her sister's cowardice. Pathetic, weak creature.

Certainly in the days to come Kiera would be tested. Just as Elyn had been. She'd hidden within the keep for most of the day, waiting for the perfect time to sneak away, and now she was free. Free!

Was it fair that Elyn was to have been sacrificed for her father's petty alliance, that she would have to give up her life all for duty and Lawenydd, just because she was firstborn?

Nay, nay, nay!

She was still angry at how easily her father had bartered her away, with as little concern as if she'd been a lame horse, something to quickly dispose of. Well, Llwyd of Lawenydd was about to find out that his daughter was as strong as he.

Gloved fingers twisting in the reins, she guided the bay through the thickets to splash across an icy stream. She dared not ride along the road for fear she might meet someone who would recognize her and then all of her plans would be destroyed. But she had to be wary. The woods were far from safe, as she'd discovered on her own, and she'd overheard her father and the soldiers talking about the thugs and their raids upon the innocents who traveled undefended. Yet she couldn't take the chance of joining a group of travelers who might know her as Elyn of Lawenydd.

For her plan to work as she'd plotted, Kelan of Penbrooke must think that he'd married the woman to whom he'd been promised.

If Penelope, Hildy, and Kiera would only hold their tongues, play their parts, and Morwenna, Kelan's sister whom Elyn had met years ago, didn't recognize the switch ...

Dear God, what was the chance of that?

'Twas Kiera's worry now.

Again guilt stung her, but she paid it no heed. Could not. She'd made her decision.

Aye, and Kiera will have to pay the price.
Shoving aside that nagging little thought, Elyn leaned low over her horse's neck. Coarse hairs from the bay's mane slapped at her cheeks. The wind whispered through the barren, skeletal branches, making them creak and moan. Elyn shivered. Her heart raced faster.

She couldn't turn back and face her father's wrath. Nor could she marry Penbrooke, whom she would never love. For Elyn refused to marry without love.

So now Penbrooke is Kiera's problem,
Elyn's mind nagged.
Kiera's fate. Kiera's doom.

Well, fine.
Better she than me!

Yet the wind moaning through the forest seemed to mock her, to jeer at her for sneaking away like a thief in the night.

And now Kiera would have to fight the man off, night after night ... once she understood. Then she would eventually have to give in, accept her fate. Guilt, suddenly sharp as a cutthroat's dagger, sliced through Elyn's mind once more. She closed her eyes and steadfastly brushed the blame aside. She had no time for doubt.

Besides, Kiera would make the best of the situation. She was a clever girl.

Even so, Elyn bit her lip until it bled as she thought of Lawenydd and the ceremonies about to take place.
Forgive me,
she silently prayed before forcing her thoughts to the uncertain path stretching before her.

Ahead lay Brock.

Oh, precious, precious love.
Her throat tightened. He was worth every second of regret she might feel.

Far in the distance she heard the rolling peal of bells.

Wedding bells.

Chimes announcing the marriage of Elyn of Lawenydd to the Lord of Penbrooke.

"So be it," she whispered, and spurred her fidgety mare onward.

To Brock.

* * * * *

As the bells tolled out her miserable fate, Kiera closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked slowly into the chapel. So Elyn had abandoned her. Fear and anger burned through Kiera's blood, and when her sister returned later tonight, she'd be lucky if Kiera didn't strangle her.

Through the heavy veil she saw little, but she made her way to the altar, where candles burned and a man—Elyn's bridegroom—awaited.
God, help me.

Stomach clenched, she stole a glance in his direction. Through the tightly woven lace she couldn't see his features distinctly. Yet she was able to discern that he was a tall man with wide shoulders, a straight spine, a flat abdomen, and long legs. His silhouette looked like that of a warrior. Candlelight reflected upon his head of thick, dark hair.

He was not at all as Elyn had told her. Swallowing hard, Kiera sensed that the Beast of Penbrooke's expression was hard, though she caught only a shadowy glimpse of his face.

The small room was dark; the few people were blurry, hard to recognize through the lace.
Dear God, forgive me for this deception,
she thought, her heart in her throat as she made a quick sign of the cross and knelt beside Elyn's betrothed. Upon his knees he dwarfed her, and she bowed her head, more to hide her features than for the sake of piety. Along with the smells of incense and burning tallow, she recognized the faint hint of wood smoke and leather and something else—something frighteningly male that seemed to emanate from him. Her shoulder nearly touched his arm, so close were they, and was it her imagination, or did she feel resentment, even anger, as if he was no more happy than she?