Impostress (19 page)

He droned on and on about the grandeur of Penbrooke. The stables were larger than he'd ever seen, with a training ring attached; the kitchens were vast, requiring dozens of workers; the tailor was an artist of the highest order; the hounds were cunning and the best hunters in all of Wales; and the steeds were of some private, incredible lineage that ensured they were the swiftest and strongest in all the land.

Not to mention Kelan's family. His sisters were the most beautiful, well-mannered, and kindhearted in the surrounding baronies. Oh, and they knew their place. Kelan's brother, Tadd, though a bit of a ladies' man, was a fierce, clever warrior, an incredible strategist. Then there was Baron Kelan himself. The old priest practically genuflected at the mention of his name. Without a doubt Kelan was the shrewdest businessman, the fairest judge, the most caring, responsible baron in all of Wales and certainly England as well, considering how brutish the English were.

Kiera's head was spinning with all of the blessings attributed to Elyn's new family. She wanted to tell the old man to be silent, but didn't. He was, after all, a priest, so she didn't respond. The less anyone knew her, the more likely Elyn, wherever she was, could step into her place, though as each day passed Kiera knew that the chances of her sister's return were shrinking to almost nothing. And there would be little chance of a switch now—she had accepted that; she and Elyn would have to explain why she'd pretended to be Kelan's bride and suffer the consequences. She let out a weary sigh.

"What is it, my child?" the priest asked from astride his mud-spattered mount, a once-white, even-tempered mare. "You seem troubled."

" 'Tis nothing."

"Ah, well, if you can't talk to me, then who? I know 'tis difficult to leave a family. Aye, I had a hard time of it myself when I joined the priesthood. Yes, and I know that marriage ... well, can be a trying change. But the baron, he's a good man. Oh, he had his problems in the past, but that rebellion, 'tis long behind him now."

She wondered about Kelan's "problems" and "that rebellion" but didn't ask, and the priest, as if he realized he'd said too much, didn't elaborate. They rode onward but he wasn't one to keep his silence.

"Should you need any comfort, m'lady, please seek me out, and I will pray with you, or for you."

"Thank you," she said, hoping to end the conversation. It had carried on for longer than she thought, Kiera realized as she saw that daylight, through the wet gloom, was fast fading. Staring straight ahead, she watched Kelan ride. Astride a bloodred destrier, he sat arrow straight, his wide shoulders unbowed as he rocked with the steed's steady gait. She couldn't see his face from this angle but knew it was probably etched with the same worry it had been since Tadd had given him the grave news of their mother's impending death. From the moment of learning of Lady Lenore's plight, Kelan had driven man and beast mercilessly in an effort to return to Penbrooke before she passed on. Kiera only hoped that they would make it in time.

* * * * *

"Can we not but rest a while?" Orvis asked, pulling his fatigued destrier sidelong to Kelan. " 'Tis weary the men be and we've ridden so hard we are now but a day's ride from Penbrooke."

Kelan looked at the darkening sky, then at Orvis.

"And think of the lady. She's got grit, I'll give her that—she's not complained—but she needs to rest a bit."

Kelan frowned darkly. He was driven. Wanted to keep riding. But he felt the fatigue in his own mount and had cast more than one glance over his shoulder to see Elyn riding silently on. Half the time she was listening to the old priest prattle on, the rest, as Orvis had mentioned, without complaint.

He knew he'd ignored his new bride, mayhap even punishing her for her deception. But then there were the cursed vials he'd found in the bedchamber and Elyn's own reticence about explaining them. Aye, he thought, his fingers twisting in the reins, let her suffer.

"We ride on," he growled, feeling like an ogre. What was he attempting to do? Kill his horse? Turn the men against him? All for what? Yes, he had to get to his ailing mother's bedside, but there was more to it. He was trying to prove to his wayward wife that he wouldn't put up with her lies. For all he knew she may have tried to poison him, murder him as he slept.

If so, it didn't work, now did it?

And if she hated you so much, would risk an attempt on your life, why then had she come so eagerly to your bed?

Images of their lovemaking burned through his mind. He remembered the taste of her, the feel of her skin, the thrill of her tongue running upon his shoulders and back. Had not her ringers lovingly explored him, had not she fired his blood as no other woman had? By all that was holy, what was he to do with her?

"Lord Kelan." The priest had ridden closer. " 'Tis dark and time to rest. Even God set aside a day of rest."

"Aye," Kelan ground out. He was anxious to return to Penbrooke, but not at the expense of his men. "We'll camp at the river for the night."

"Praise God," Father Barton muttered, and Kelan felt a tiny jab of guilt when the riders pulled up at the river and he saw Elyn nearly collapse off her horse. No woman, even one who lied to her husband, deserved to be put through such a grueling ride. His soldiers had complained mightily in the last two days of riding at a breakneck pace, but his new wife had never so much as uttered one word against him.

The past two days Kelan had ridden so fast and hard as to cut half a day from their journey.

Still, he hoped they were not too late, that his mother was still alive, and though long ago he'd given up his faith in God, he sent up a prayer for Lenore of Penbrooke's life.

He ordered the men to their tasks. Within the hour a campfire was roaring beneath the carcasses of three unlucky hares and a small pig sizzling upon two spits. Fat drizzled and steamed in the moist night and a jug of wine was passed among the men. Elyn sat on a flat rock, still within the circle of firelight, a bit distant, apart from the soldiers, not yet accepted. Only Father Barton made an effort to speak to her, but even he, at last, gave up.

"Trouble in the marriage already?" Tadd asked, sipping from the jug and eyeing his new sister-in-law.

"No trouble." Kelan pried one of the hares off its spit with his knife.

"If she were my wife I would have already taken her to my tent and pallet and—"

"She's not your wife," Kelan reminded him gruffly and, despite his anger with his bride, carried part of the meat to her. "You must be hungry," he said. "And tired."

"We all are."

Her gaze met his in the firelight and his groin tightened. As weary as she was, there was still a spark in her eyes, a bit of rebellion that he found fascinating. "Mayhap you would rather eat in the tent."

"If that would suit you," she mocked, and lifted a precocious eyebrow. "For that is what this has all been about, has it not? The long hours in the saddle, the punishing gait. 'Tis to keep me in my place. And so, as you request ..." She gathered herself and, head held regally, made her way to his tent.

A few men had heard the exchange and didn't bother to hide their smirks. Orvis cleared his throat. Tadd grinned. Kelan was left holding the damned meat—his peace offering—and grinding his teeth. As his men watched, he followed her into the tent.

She was seated on the pallet, her cloak pulled tight around her.

"It would be wise," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "for you to be respectful."

"Would it?"

"I will not accept any insubordination from you."

"Is that so?"

He crossed the short distance between them and loomed over her, still holding the damned piece of burned meat. "Aye. I'll suffer no disrespect from you, wife."

"As I have from you?" she shot back. "You have treated me more as a servant than a wife."

"Mayhap that is because I expect to trust a wife." He placed the meat upon the pallet and walked out of the tent before his temper was lost to him completely. The tent was too close, too intimate, with the firelight playing through the thin walls. 'Twould be better to leave her be for the night, for even now, angry as he was with her, he felt his member begin to rise. Just being close to her stirred far too many emotions, too many feelings at war with each other. The men were trying and failing not to look in his direction. He grabbed the jug of wine and took a long pull. Once the men had dispersed to their tents and were snoring off the long ride, then he would deal with his headstrong wife.

* * * * *

She shouldn't have baited him. Kiera knew she'd pushed him too far, ridiculing him in front of his men, but she was tired, hungry, and furious at the way he'd treated her.

What do you care? He's not your husband.

That thought only made things worse. She finished eating alone in the tent, wiped her fingers as best she could, then wrapped her cloak around her and pulled the fur blanket tight to her neck. The pallet was lumpy, but at last she was warm, and though she intended to stay awake, to wait for Kelan's return, to at least try to find some grounds for a truce between them, her eyelids were heavy. Exhaustion had taken its toll and she soon fell asleep.

She didn't hear him return, didn't know that he'd slipped onto the small mattress with her, only became aware of him when she felt a cold hand upon her breast.

She sucked in her breath, but as soon as he kissed the back of her neck, his lips as warm as his hands were cold, her blood began to heat. She was too tired to resist, and though she knew things were far from settled between them, that she was weak where he was concerned, she turned in his arms and kissed him full upon the lips.

After all, what did one more night of lovemaking matter?

* * * * *

They'd ridden for hours, when the soldiers' horses' ears perked forward and their gaits seemed more lively.

Kiera, too, felt the excitement. She closed her mind to the night before, to the passion she'd been unable to allay. She couldn't dwell on the mistake, not now.

Kelan's band was no longer alone. Groups of travelers appeared on the road as they closed in on Penbrooke. Huntsmen and soldiers, peasants lugging huge baskets, older children running along the muddy ruts while younger ones clung to their mothers' skirts. Oxen, horses, and mules slogged onward, straining against their harnesses and yokes, pulling heavy carts laden with crops, goods, and trinkets.

The muddy road curved through thickets of oak and spilled into fields surrounding a keep the likes of which Kiera had never seen. The rain had stopped, and the sight before her seemed nearly enchanted as a pale winter sun cast rays against the castle and its surrounding grounds. Kiera had been certain the old priest had been exaggerating when he'd spoken of Kelan's home, but she'd been wrong. Penbrooke was a massive, sprawling castle sculpted from light gray stone. Eight square towers spired high into the sky, and a wide curtain wall extended far from the keep to encircle and protect the town.

"Did I not tell you?" Father Barton asked proudly. "As fine a keep as any in the land."

Kelan quickened the pace, urging his mount faster, and the other horses followed at a swift gallop. The wind tore at Kiera's hair, slapping her face, tearing the breath from her lungs, and she felt exhilaration mixed with that awful, never ending sense of dread. Hoofbeats ringing, the horses raced across a drawbridge and into the town teeming with merchants, peasants, animals, and children. As impatient as Kelan was, he had to slow as the streets were cluttered. Artisans and craftsmen sold their wares off tables. Peddlers and farmers had positioned their carts and wagons on the sides of the narrow streets and were offering their goods while people milled about, clogging the road.

Over the hum of conversation and the creak of wheels, one man's gruff voice caught Kelan's attention.

"Bless you and your new wife, m'lord!" The skinny man was holding a cap in his hands, worrying the tattered wool. " 'Tis sorry I am about your mother."

Kelan drew up hard. "My mother." His face drained of color. "She's not already passed on!"

"Nay, oh, nay, Lord Kelan. I meant not to alarm you, but to express me concerns."

"Thank God." Kelan managed a tight smile at the rail-thin man. "Thank you, Tom."

"Surely the physician will be able to help her." This time it was a woman who spoke. She was carrying a baby while a toddler clung to her skirts and peeked up at Kelan with shy eyes.

"Lady Lenore, she's a strong one, she is. She'll be fine," said another woman wearing a heavy apron and a scarf wound around her head. She was nodding rapidly, as if agreeing with herself.

"Me and the missus, our prayers be with ye and yer family, m'lord." This from yet another man in a stocking cap and huntsman's garb.

The apple-cheeked woman at his side offered a bit of a smile. "Welcome home, Lord Kelan. 'Tis better I feel, knowin' yer here in the keep. And congratulations on yer wedding." Her gaze skated to Kiera before returning to Kelan. "May the Father bless you and the lady with many sons."

Astride her mare, Kiera closed her eyes, wished she could shut her ears. She felt the gazes of the curious turned in her direction and she dared not meet even one.

"Is that the baron's new wife? A tiny thing she is," one cackling voice observed.

Kiera's eyes flew open, but she didn't glance in the direction of the conversation.

"Shh, Esme. She's got ears, y'know."

"Is it true she didn't want to marry Lord Kelan? By the saints, what's wrong with her? Has she no eyes? I'd kick me husband out of the bed any day of the week for an hour or two with the baron. If he's half the man he looks, he'd know how to keep a woman satisfied." Esme cackled, amused at her own joke.

"Hush! Are ye daft? She can hear ye!"

"Oh, bother," Esme, the cackler, muttered, her voice fading only to erupt in another nasty laugh. Kiera wanted to shrink into the sodden ground. What was she doing here, riding past the shops of the village? She was an outsider, and not only that but she was a fraud. These people—freemen and serfs, knights and merchants, husbands and wives—all seemed to show respect for Kelan, even revered him a bit. And she was a traitor amid them all, a liar of the highest order, a pretender.