My Lady Imposter (7 page)

“Ah, and it is ‘Sir’ Richard now. I prefer the other, but I would not have you struck for my preference. You did not ask me how my father did. No matter,” at her quick glance. “He is dead, and if I am not mourning for him I am at least a little sorry we did not get on as we might. Still, we made a sort of peace with each other, before the end. It is over.”

They had reached the further end of the hall. She looked around in surprise, realizing that somehow they had drawn some distance away from the main cluster of guests. Here, in the shadows, she felt like a ghost, viewing the colorful proceedings from behind her winding sheets. “Richard?” she said, stammering a little, the poise slipping. He looked down at her up-tilted face, a curious expression sliding over his features.

“My father did not linger,” he said. “In death, as in everything else, he was over-hasty. But even so, I begrudged him the days, the weeks. And begrudged his damned lawyers their dusty, slow work. I even begrudged the King his charters and tempers, and the lovely Queen her sweet poetry and sweeter smile.”

“You did not enjoy your stay then, my lord?” she breathed, her heart bumping unpleasantly.

His laugh was both harsh and abrupt. He glanced about him and, seeing they were unobserved, brushed aside the curtain close by and bundled her into the dark silence of another chamber before she could made a sound to the contrary.

The music and laughter were muted now. She heard her own breathing more clearly; a swift, shallow sound. She could hear her heart pounding. His arms came around her in the darkness, and suddenly she was pressed up against him. Hard chest and soft tunic, the smells of sweat and dust and horse, reminding her of Will, a little. And yet it wasn’t the same as Will. This man wasn’t humble or foolish or uncertain.

“That’s better,” he breathed, stirring her long hair. She tried to push herself away.

“Please, sir. I... I know not what you’re about, but...”

“Hush, girl.”

“But what is it you mean by this!”

She looked up, her voice breaking, and encountered his mouth, seeking hers. It brushed her brow, her cheek. And suddenly fear struck her a blow like an axe, and she began to struggle in earnest. Kathryn, Lady de Brusac would not be treated like this! Only Kathryn, the serf of Pristine would expect to be tumbled by this arrogant, hateful man. All her weeks of hard work and suffering meant nothing to him, nor her fear of being locked up. He was going to ruin everything in one sweep, for the satisfaction of his own cruel lust. “I shall not make those lies they told Snuff and Grisel truth!” she told herself angrily. “I shall not!”

“Be still, girl,” he muttered, and held her fast, as she squirmed. “You wanted to know what 1 felt like doing, when you pout so.” His mouth found hers at last, and he sighed, bringing her closer still. “I prefer rose water to peasant dirt,” he murmured, “but after two days in the saddle I’m not so particular.”

The words stung her like a lash. She struggled violently and brought her foot down on his, hurting them both. He swore, releasing her, and she jerked away, fanning her burning face. “You swine!”

He laughed. “How so? Would you prefer I held out the illusion of your greatness? I am not such a hypocrite!”

“You don’t care!” she cried out, thinking: He doesn’t care if I fail in my task, and am whipped or locked up.

He laughed again, softly, misreading her words. “Do I not indeed? Has Wenna been reading you romances? Does your little heart yearn for the knights and the ladies from the legends? Well I have not ridden two days to have you escape so lightly. Come here, Kathryn, and I will play Lancelot to your Guinevere.”

She spluttered, speechless, and pushed by him to the curtain. The noise and lights of the hall dazed her a moment, dazzling her senses like a moth before a flame. How dare he? How dare he treat her like a common, cheap little trollop! How dare he speak so to the Lady de Brusac? How dare he make such fun of all her glorious pretensions?

Tears pricked her eyes, and she bit her lip hard, to keep them at bay. And how dare he imagine for one moment she wanted him to paw her and kiss her and... and... she drew a sharp breath, and with a brief, frightened glance behind her, sped hastily into the crowd. He might find her again, and if he did... her mouth burned. Her entire body burned. He might have made fun of her, but he had held her like a woman. If she did not hate him so... she might have enjoyed it.

Wenna did not come scolding her that evening. No doubt the other woman was occupied with Ralf, and Kathryn had the chamber to herself. She lay, eyes wide in the darkness, too excited to sleep. She had passed her test; she had done everything expected of her, and more. She had behaved like a noblewoman and been accepted as such! At least, accepted by everyone but one, and he did not count.

She turned her face away from the window and closed her eyes determinedly. But a thought sprang into her mind, unbidden, making them jerk open again. “I have not ridden two days to reach you, to have you escape me so easily.” What did he mean, reach her? Was it all a cruel and terrible jest? Was it all fuel for his cruel humor, his savage mockery? Indeed, oh indeed, what else could it be?

Kathryn
stared into the distance, her face
flushed a delicate pink by the cool air, and tried to ignore the ache in her back and legs. The mare was a gentle, placid animal, but she was still a horse, and horses were not something Kathryn enjoyed riding, though it was the first time she had been allowed out of the castle, alone, but for a page. Lord Ralf’s guests had gone. After several days and nights of their company, he had tired of them, and besides, the reason for their coming was achieved. Pristine was peaceful once more.

Oxen teams were pulling the ploughs in the fields, while serfs—men and women and children—worked. Her mare picked its way delicately between the rows, towards the smoky clump of dwellings she had thought of as home for seventeen years.

Now, it seemed incredibly small to her, incredibly dirty. The wind made her shiver again, and she pulled her cloak tighter about her head and shoulders, letting the mare dawdle and pause to crop grass. Behind her, the page also stopped, waiting upon her instruction.

It had not been so very difficult, to give orders. She had a taste for it, and at first had enjoyed it immensely. Now, she did it without even thinking about it. Wenna mocked her sometimes, until her pride ached with anger and humiliation— Wenna never let her forget who or what she was—and when she had turned to Lord Ralf for help, he had only laughed.

Of Richard Tremaine she saw little. He did not seek her out, and at meals his face was stern, his greetings brusque. It was as if the man of the darkness never existed. He had time, now, only for Ralf, and she refused to allow herself to dwell on him at all, except to hate him as he deserved. He was unimportant, she told herself with a shrug. She would not concern herself with him.

She realized suddenly that she had wandered much closer to the village then she had meant. A tug at her foot brought her head down sharply, and she frowned at the ragged, dirty little man gazing up at her. The frown turned to amazement, as she met Snuff’s pale eyes.

“My lady,” he said. “My lady, may it please you, my lady. I’m a poor man, and my wife’s with child. Our fifth child. Could you spare us something, your ladyship?”

She gazed down in shocked wonder. He looked back at her, and yet not at
her.
He did not know her. She reached up to push aside her cloak, to pull away her veil, to cry out: “It is I, Kathryn!” But her hand was stilled even as it moved. She felt suddenly sick and afraid.

“My lady,” he clung to her shoe. “Just a little something, I beg you. Just a little.”

She tried to jerk the mare’s head up and around. “I... let me go.” But he clung, something of desperation in his eyes. “Just a little something, my lady.”

The page boy had come forward, fumbling
with the dagger at his side. Snuff clung on, his mouth thin and angry and determined. She knew that mulish look; it meant he would have his way. And then, behind her, she heard the clatter of hooves, and twisting about saw a fair head and blue tunic... and heard a voice she knew.

“My lady?”

Snuff stumbled and fell, half dragging her with him. Richard reached them then, and seeing the ragged man, growled and raised his sword. Kathryn caught her breath in a cry: “Richard, no!”

They froze into a tableau. The page held his dagger uncertainly. The mare snorted and whinnied. Snuff, sheltering his head, crouched upon the ground and peeped up through his fingers. And Richard, the sword still raised, looked at her, pale with surprise. “Kathryn?”

“No,” she said. “No, Sir Richard. He meant no harm. He...” She felt the tears coming and said, “Give him some coins. ‘Twas all he wanted. Give him his money!” Her mare jerked around, sidling beneath her desperate hands as she tried to turn. Her cloak came loose, blown out like wings
behind her. The page hurried to her side. Behind them, Richard stared after her, while the ragged man’s pale eyes flickered from him to her with the rapidity of lightning.

Kathryn spurred the mare into a canter, and then a gallop. Back towards the drawbridge. Inside, she flung the reins to one of the men-at-arms, slid down and ran. The garden welcomed her, sweet and serene, and she sank down into a bower by the roses and sobbed until her heart felt as if it must drown in sorrow.

Why she wept, she wasn’t quite certain. Perhaps because she had realized suddenly how isolated she felt, how alone. She was not a lady, and yet no longer a peasant. She was caught in the door between two worlds. Quite, quite alone.

“What are you blubbering about?”

She stiffened and began to sob all the harder. He had found her. Why couldn’t he leave her be?

The scabbard of his sword rang as it struck the stone seat. “Kathryn? You ran off like some hoyden. Come now, it’s not so bad, surely? I paid the man, and more than he deserved. He was a half-wit, I think. He gaped at me all the while and said not a word. Kathryn?”

She turned her face away, her shoulders trembling.

“Did he insult you, is that it?”

The sword rasped up the scabbard.

“Would you like me to run him through?”

She turned in sheer amazement, eyes wide and swimming with tears. He had the sword out, testing the edge, his eyes fierce and bright under the fair fringe of hair. A sob made her hiccup; she covered her mouth. “Run him through?” she repeated in her precisely learned speech.

“Yes, damn you. Because I will, if you want me to, if he insulted you.”

She looked away, her breath coming painfully. A magical wand had touched her heart and she could hardly see for fresh tears.

“No one,” he went on, “should be allowed to insult the Lady de Brusac without retribution.”

The wonder faltered and died. He was only keeping up the pretence. He didn’t really care about her, about Kathryn. She didn’t reply, and after a moment the sword was returned to its sheath. A bird alighted on the grass, hopping and pecking. She watched it a moment, letting the tears dry on her cheeks.

“We are to go to de Brusac,” he said at last. “To Sir Piers.”

She stiffened but did not reply.

“Lord Ralf has sent a message that we are coming, and why. It will be dangerous. The roads are not safe.”

“I hope you do not come with us,” she said coldly, and stuck out her lip.

“Do you not?” he said, after a moment, in a cool, uninterested voice. “Then you will be disappointed. I am coming.”

She flicked him a glance under sooty lashes. He was frowning, but at her glance he reached out and brushed her mouth gently with his forefinger. “Remember what I said about pouting.”

She opened her mouth to insult him, but he had risen and was standing looking down at her, the sun at his back blinding her eyes. He seemed immensely tall and overpowering. She gazed up in silence.

“Do you wish to see your family before we depart? You may not have the chance to do so again.”

“No,” she said breathlessly, and turned her face away. “I never want to see them again. Never.” She had made her bed—or it had been made for her—and she must lie in it. She was not one of them now, they did not know her and would not welcome her. It was better to break away completely.

“You would have left them anyway,” he said harshly. “If Lord Ralf had not chosen you for this... plan. You would have left them anyway.”

“How so?” she whispered bitterly. “I had no such opportunity.”

His hand came up, his fingers tracing the neckline of her gown, and her color rose up under his touch. “Indeed, I speak the truth,” he said softly. “You are not the sort to be chained down, girl. Even with your dirt, I could see that.”

She drew away from him, her heart thudding. “You insulted me!”

His laughter came out of the glare of the sun. No matter how she squinted her eyes, she could see no more than his dark silhouette against its brightness. “I meant to warn you, no more.”

“Against Lord Ralf?” she whispered, drawn further and further into the maze of his words.

“And myself.”

“Yourself?”

“I would you had remained a simple peasant, Kathryn. It would have been so much the better for you. There would have been no danger, no intrigues. You would have thought it a great honor I did you, and come without the warring emotions and thoughts Wenna has fed into you. Now it is too late. You have lost your simplicity.”