Impostress (28 page)

Or had the stones lied?

Hildy cupped the cold pebbles in her hands and tossed them across the worn planks of her table. They tumbled and bounced, stopping before sliding onto the dirt floor, shining in the fading firelight. Outside, thunder cracked and storm clouds roiled, but here within her hut, she studied the rocks, and for the first time in her life, she doubted what fortunes she read. She'd seen in the pebbles' placement that one of the baron's daughters was to die, though she didn't know which, and now ... now the stones said that there might be another as well... two children killed or maimed from Castle Lawenydd.

Her old heart was dark with fear, her blood cold as the sleet falling outside.

Could she tell the baron?

Could she not?

From habit, she deftly sketched the sign of the cross over her chest.

If only Joseph would return, or she would hear from Kiera or Elyn. "Please be with them," she whispered in a quick prayer as she scooped up the stones and placed them into her tattered bag. 'Twas her walk in life, to balance her beliefs of the old, pagan rituals with that of the Church, Sometimes it seemed as if she was destined to fall from favor with both the Mother Goddess and the Holy Father. Mayhap her own torn faith was the cause of this hellish curse that the stones foretold.

There was trouble brewing, worse than ever, she feared. A plaintive wail came from beneath the table and Hildy bent down to find her cat cowering in the shadows.

"Come along Sir James," Hildy said, coaxing the frightened beast from his hiding spot. " 'Tis naught but a storm." But a shutter banged loudly as if to disagree. The cat slunk farther from her, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated with fear and the darkness. Hildy managed to grab him by the scruff of his neck and pull him close enough to pick him up. He let out another terrified cry, his claws sinking through the rough wool of her tunic. "Ach ... calm down, will ya, now? 'Tis not as if you've been seeing the future and how dire it is. Why don't you kill me a fat rat or a mouse, eh, instead of hiding beneath the table?" The cat crawled up her arm to settle onto her shoulders. "Hey, now, look what I've got for ya. See here, I took it out of Cook's scraps and she was going to use it for fish-head stew." From her pocket she retrieved the head of a small eel and dangled it in front of the cat. He batted at it and pulled it close. "Spoil you, I do," she groused under her breath. She was still disturbed by the images she'd seen in the stones. "Come along now."

As she placed the cat and morsel by the fire, an alarm bell clanged, pealing loudly throughout the castle walls. Hildy's old spine turned to ice as she hurried to the door. What now? She thought of the omen in the stones and prayed it was not bad news of the baron's daughters, for she loved Elyn, Kiera, and Penelope as if they were her own.

"Halt! Who goes there?" the sentry's voice boomed over the storm.

" 'Tis I, Joseph," another voice answered.

Orson's son! Mayhap with news of Lady Elyn!
Hildy's worried heart nearly leaped from her rib cage. Hurriedly wiping her hands on her skirt, Hildy half ran outside, her footsteps carrying her to the main gate, where the portcullis clanked upward. Soldiers with knives, swords, and maces at ready ran from the barracks. Through the frigid drizzle two horses with riders appeared.

Hildy squinted hard and pulled her scarf over her head. Aye, it was Joseph on a small, skittish mare who pranced with mincing steps and tossed her dark head, fighting the bit. Despite the icy rain pelting from the sky, the bay was covered in lather. Hildy hurried along a muddy path, caring not that her skirt was trailing in the mud and puddles, hungry for news of Elyn. But it wasn't the lady who was with Joseph. Nay. She narrowed her eyes at the second horse, a larger, sand-colored animal with darker mane and tail. The rider atop this steed sat awkwardly, listing badly to one side. Only when she got closer did Hildy see the reason. The man appeared to be a prisoner with his hands tied in front of him and a gag cinched over his mouth. He had to balance upon the horse using only his leg muscles while his fingers clutched the saddle pommel. The reins to this mount were held in Joseph's free hand. The captive seemed about to topple over, and though it was dark, Hildy recognized him. All her fears gelled in that instant.

Sir Brock of Oak Crest was Joseph's prisoner.

No good could come of this. None whatsoever. This was sure to bode ill. A lowly stableboy capturing the only son of a baron. "What happened?" she asked, eyeing the bound man.

Wincing, Joseph climbed off his mud-spattered mount. His face was dark, his expression harder than she'd ever seen it. "Lady Elyn is dead," he said through clenched teeth. "I heard the bastard say as much, so I dragged him here. We've been riding for hours; we rode straight through the night."

"Nay!" she whispered, taking a step back as her legs began to fail her. She thought of the stones, the damning, cursed stones of fate and what they'd forewarned. "Nay, oh, nay."

" 'Tis true." Joseph spat on the hard ground. His jaw trembled a second and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Hildy felt her insides turn to stone, and images of Elyn as a child flitted through her mind. Bold, reckless, with a keen sense of humor, she was oftentimes more son than daughter to Lord Llwyd. It had been Elyn whom he'd taken hunting, Elyn whom he'd taught to handle a falcon, Elyn who had been allowed to ride even the most spirited of destriers, Elyn who had been as good with a bow and arrow as any of the soldiers within the keep.

Hildy's throat grew thick and tears welled in her old eyes. She loved each of Llwyd's daughters. She'd helped raise them, and had promised Lady Twyla that she would see to their safety and now ... now the firstborn was dead? Though she'd feared as much, though the stones had foretold of a death, Hildy found it hard to believe. Impossible to accept. Nay ... not Elyn. Not headstrong Elyn. Nor vibrant Kiera. Nor sweet Penelope. But had not the cursed stones bespoken of not one, but two of the baron's children dying? Oh, Great Mother, it couldn't be. Hildy's throat was choked and she had to force out the painful words. "If Elyn be dead, then where—where is she? Where is her body?"

Joseph's jaw clenched. "I know not. Washed away in the river, he says." Disgustedly the stableboy hitched his jaw in Brock's direction.

Hildy gazed up at the son of Oak Crest, his shoulders still stiff with false pride, his chin lifted angrily as the soldiers gathered around and the guard, carrying a sword in one hand and a torch in the other, hurried down from his tower in the gatehouse. He took one look at the prisoner and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Go back to your post, Peter!" Hildy ordered, forcing out the words as she was dying inside.
Elyn. Not Elyn.
She couldn't think that Elyn had drowned, had been pulled under an icy curtain of death. Nay, she wouldn't believe it, not even though the stones had warned of disaster, of heartache. Suddenly, she felt older than her years.

The guard was undeterred. "But Joseph's brought a prisoner."

" 'Tis personal," Hildy snapped, then swept a hand at the soldiers. "All of you, go back to your posts!" Guilt burned bright in her breast. With the warning the stones had given her, could she not have somehow prevented it, or was this ... this terrible death Elyn's destiny?

"Should not the baron be awakened?" Peter insisted.

"I'll speak with Lord Llwyd. You've done your duty. Now return to the tower and lower the gate!" Hildy ordered imperiously despite her grief. She had to take control, to save the baron from waking to this horrid news delivered by a thoughtless guard. Nay. The castle could not be awakened now. Not until she had time to think, to sort things through. Everyone at Lawenydd understood that she had the baron's ear, that he turned to her for advice and sometimes comfort. Few dared argue with her. Peter, the guard, however, appeared to be one of the stubborn.

"Should I not call the sheriff, or the captain of the guard?" he asked, though he sheathed his sword.

"Nay! Why wake them? I will handle this, Peter. I told you to go back to your post. I will speak to the baron myself in the morn. If there is any trouble, I'll take responsibility. Joseph here is my witness. You will not be blamed." Motioning with one hand, she said, "Joseph, take the prisoner to the dungeon."

"Who is he?" Using his hand to protect his eyes from the sleet, the curious guard held his torch aloft to get a better view.

"A common horse thief, is that not right, Joseph?" Hildy asked, her mind spinning with quick excuses. Silently she hoped the stableboy wouldn't blurt out the truth. Not yet. "Did this man not steal Baron Llwyd's mare?"

"Aye. This very horse," Joseph assured the guard, who scratched his beard and looked from Joseph to Hildy and back again while Brock shook his head vigorously and made mewling noises behind his gag.

"Worry not, Peter. We will deal with this thug. And the rest of you, too. Disperse!" she ordered, and the men talking among themselves drifted away. No doubt there would be speculation. Many of them had known Brock, but the broken man on the horse with his bloodied face could have been anyone. The mud on his clothes and face, the curtain of sleet, and the darkness helped disguise him.

Finally the wary guard rubbed his beard but slowly nodded. "Just see that he's locked up proper. I don't want no trouble on me watch."

"There will be none," Hildy said despite the muffled protests of the prisoner and the wild gestures of his bound hands. Reluctantly Peter walked into the gatehouse, his boots scraping the stairs as he ascended the tower. Soon, with a creak of old gears, the portcullis began to lower.

Once they were alone, Hildy and Joseph led the horses and prisoner to the stable. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded of the stableboy. "Have you suddenly gone mad? Why did you bring him into the castle?"

"What was I to do with him?" Joseph was angry. Furious. And limping slightly.

"Why bring him back at all?"

"He has to pay," Joseph ground out, pain reflecting in his night-darkened eyes. "Because of this bloody cur"—he hooked his thumb at the prisoner— "Lady Elyn is dead. Drowned in that river. I'd love to slit his gut myself and watch his innards spill on the ground! Drawn and quartered would be too good for the likes of him."

"Nay! Vengeance is all well and good, Joseph, but we have others to consider. What of Lady Kiera?"

Joseph glowered into the night as they walked past a roost, and several chickens, wakened from their slumber, let out disgruntled clucks. "Mayhap 'tis time for the truth to come out," Joseph muttered as they reached the stable yard.

Much as she wanted to, Hildy couldn't disagree. "Aye, but we need time ... Kiera needs to be told what happened so that she can deal with Kelan of Penbrooke."

"Christ Jesus, what a mess."

Hildy nodded, though her thoughts were already whirling ahead. "Does anyone other than our soldiers know that Elyn is dead? Did he tell anyone?"

Casting a hateful glance up at Brock, ignoring the cold sting of sleet, Joseph muttered, "Lady Wynnifrydd is aware that the lady lost her life. I overheard the bastard telling her. There could be others who have heard the news as well, but I know not who."

This was worse than Hildy first thought.

Not only was Elyn dead, but Kiera's identity was about to be exposed.

"We'll need to send a messenger to Penbrooke, to warn Kiera. Someone we can trust," she thought aloud as Brock struggled with the rope binding his wrists. "Stop it," she warned, "or I will throw you in the dungeon and tell the baron how you were responsible for his daughter's shame as well as her death."

He quit moving.

"I'll ride to Penbrooke," Joseph offered.

"But you've only arrived. And you're wounded. You walk with a limp."

" 'Tis only a scratch."

"Mayhap I should tend to it."

"As long as it's done so I can leave again." Joseph was adamant. "The less people who know of this, the better. I'd like to kill Brock this very night and I can't."

At least he was beginning to understand the need for secrecy. " 'Tis true. You will have to ride day and night to reach Penbrooke so that Kiera can tell Lord Kelan the truth before the news reaches him. At the same time, I will confide in her father." Hildy shuddered to think what Lord Llwyd would do when he realized one daughter was dead, another living a lie, and the third, along with the one woman he thought he could trust, keeping secrets from him. And Kiera ... when she confided in Kelan, what would happen to her? Pray that the Lord in heaven was with them all. Hastily she made the sign of the cross over her chest.

But the wind howling through the bailey cut straight to her soul.

"I need but a few hours' rest and a meal. I can leave in the morn." Joseph cast a glance up at his prisoner. "If I stay here, there's no telling what I would do to him." His lip curled in disgust and his big hands balled into fists.

"Leave him to me. I will take care of him."

"Throw him in the dungeon and let him rot or kill him outright. I care not. He's a murderer and any death, no matter how long he suffers, is too good for him," Joseph said, his eyes glowing with the need for revenge.

"Sir Brock is the son of a lord," Hildy reminded him.

Joseph spat on the ground. "He's a bloody cur."

"But someone will come looking for him."

"Aye, and soon, I'd wager," Joseph admitted as he tied the mare to a post. "He was to have been married later the day that I ... persuaded him to come with me."

"Will they think he left on his own, or that he was taken prisoner?"

"I know not," Joseph said, then thought for a moment. "There was no evidence of a struggle except for a little of my own blood. And only one horse would be missing, the mare that Brock stole from the lady."

Brock growled behind his gag.

"Shh!" Joseph hissed. "Or I'll kill you now, I swear it."

"Come along. Leave the horses here and we'll take him to my hut," Hildy instructed.

"Gladly." Joseph yanked Brock from his saddle and prodded him forward along the starlit path. Shards of ice glittered in the few puddles, and the frozen earth crunched beneath their boots.