Impostress (5 page)

She felt him slide a glance her way.

She swallowed hard.

He was so big. So imposing. So ... masculine.

Holy Mother, what was she to do with him? Her heart beat as fast as a hummingbird's wings; her throat was as dry as desert sand. Her stomach was knotted in a tight fist that she doubted would ever loosen.

The priest was murmuring a prayer, but she could barely hear the words over the rush of blood in her ears. This was wrong. She'd never get away with it.

True, Penelope was to add a potion to his mazer of wine, as they had discussed earlier, but what if the herbs weren't strong enough? What if he didn't want any wine? What if all he really wanted was to claim his wife in the marriage bed?

She groaned inwardly. She should never have decided to go through with this mockery. Never. Just being this close to the man made her want to bolt. What would it be like to be alone with him in a locked room, with the promise of wedding vows hanging heavy in the air? Swallowing hard, she tried to hang on to her rapidly fleeing composure and forced her hands not to shake.

The priest was old, mumbling, but seemed joyous, as if pleased to have traveled three long days to bless this union. Would God strike her down for lying, for committing a sin in His house? Oh, she'd been a fool to ever don the wedding dress ...

She sensed her father to one side of the chapel, and men she did not recognize on the other. Penelope was nearby, and no doubt, Hildy was somewhere in the shadows.

Kiera bit her lip. If she could somehow just get through the ceremony and the next few hours— Suddenly she realized that the small room had become silent. There was an expectant hush. The priest was waiting ... he repeated the horrid words. Would she accept this man as her husband, to love him, to cherish him, to obey him ...

Her heart was a drum, blood pounding in her ears. Though the room was cold, sweat slid down her spine.

"I ... I do," she whispered and wondered if she'd just damned herself forever.

Every person in the small chapel let out a tiny sigh of relief. Everyone but the man kneeling next to Kiera. Kelan's back was stiff, his chin elevated in arrogant defiance. Though he, too, repeated his vows, his words were clipped and sharp. He made no effort to hide how anxious he was for the ordeal to be over.

She wanted to run out of the chapel as fast as her legs would carry her. What would happen when he lifted the veil to kiss her? Would there be someone in the room who would recognize her, who would gasp and point and accuse her of being the impostress she was?

And suddenly the rite was over. The priest offered up a prayer and announced that they were married— the Lord and Lady of Penbrooke.
God, help me,
she thought as her new husband leaned over to lift her veil and kiss her.

This is where it will surely all fall apart.

Slowly he pulled back the heavy lace, and her eyes met his in the darkened chapel. A stormy, angry gaze pierced deep into hers and seemed to see every one of her lies. 'Twas as if in that instant, he looked straight to her soul.

She drew in a quick breath. Her heart knocked wildly. Her knees nearly buckled.

He wasn't the ogre Elyn said he was.

Far from it.

His features were harsh, yes, rugged, but rough-hewn in a dangerous way that only heightened his masculinity. His silvery eyes glared from beneath thick, dark brows and rested upon cheekbones that seemed as if they'd been chiseled by God Himself. Square, beard-darkened jaw, narrow, strong nose, and blade-thin lips set in a furious hard line.

Her heart hammered noisily and she braced herself for a quick brush of those sensual lips over hers, for a fleeting touch of skin to skin, but she should have recognized the determination in the set of his jaw. His arms surrounded her and he pulled her tight, then lowered his head and waited just a heartbeat, long enough that she saw the raw power etched in his features.

In an instant, his mouth slanted over hers. Warm. Hard. Demanding. She nearly gasped and something deep inside of her started to tingle. The kiss deepened. Her head spun and the small room seemed to tip a bit and sway.
This is all wrong. It shouldn't feel like this! Not like this!

Despite all the thoughts racing through her head, her impulse was to kiss him back.

He jerked his head away from hers. Hot gray eyes assessed her for a split second, and she thought she recognized not only surprise, but arrogance, as if he was used to women swooning at the mere brush of his lips upon their skin.

Thankfully he let the veil drop. She was certain her face had turned a wild crimson color, and even with his weak vision her father might recognize her as she turned to face the chapel door.

God be with me,
she thought, catching a glimpse of Penelope standing next to their father. The Lord of Lawenydd was beaming,but his youngest daughter was awestruck, her round-eyed gaze never leaving the face of her new brother-in-law.

Kelan's arms dropped, and somehow Kiera's unstable legs held her. He didn't so much as hold her hand or offer her a steadying arm as side by side they walked quickly out of the chapel and into the corridor. As wobbly as her legs were, Kiera wouldn't have to feign sickness, for she didn't feel well, not at all. Her cheeks burned, her blood pounded hot through her veins, and she was filled with the horrifying notion that his kiss at the altar had not been so much a bonding, nor even an acceptance, but rather a dare and a furious one at that. As if the Lord of Penbrooke was as angry about this marriage as she was. More than that, it was as if he was silently warning her he intended to take out his fury on his wife.

Which is you, Kiera. At least as far as he knows. You're the one who said the vows. You're the one who nearly tripped over your sister's name as you promised to love, honor, obey, and be faithful, along with all those other promises at God's altar. Though Elyn is his legal wife, he thinks that you are she, and as such you will surely suffer his wrath.

Oh, this was a mistake. An unforgivable mistake. She should never have let her guilt get the better of her, never have tried to help Elyn in her lie. She should make things right. This instant. Before things got worse. But from the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of her father's face. Radiant and proud, he was shaking hands with well-wishers.

She couldn't disappoint him. Not now. She withered inside, felt far worse than she imagined she would. She wasn't cut out for deception and yet she was thick in it, so thick she saw no way out. The truth seemed to slip further and further away from her.

The deed was done. The lie complete. Kiera's misery was much greater than she had even feared it would be.

Servants held the doors open, and just outside the chapel Hildy waited, her thin lips pursed, her hands twisting in the folds of her skirt.

"Congratulations, m'lady."

"Oh, Hildy," Kiera whispered so that no one would recognize her voice. "I feel ... faint." Though the speech was rehearsed, the words were so true.

"But the feast—" Hildy protested, on cue.

"I ... can't ..." Through Elyn's wedding veil, Kiera cast a glance up at her new husband. "If you could please excuse me, m'lord."

"Yes, mayhap you should lie down in your chamber," Hildy suggested.

"This is our wedding feast," he said.

"Yes, yes, I know." Kiera laid a hand upon Penbrooke's sleeve and she felt the muscles in his forearm tense. "I—I'll join the festivities later."

"Will not your father be disappointed?" he said, obviously offended.

"Nay," she whispered. "He will understand."
And he's got what he wanted.
"I—I'll join you soon."

He hesitated.

Oh, no, he had to agree!

"This is an embarrassment," he said through lips that barely moved. "The guests—"

"I know. 'Tis a pity. If I could just lie down but a few minutes." She couldn't lift her veil at the lord's table in the great hall during the feast. Even her weak-eyed father would recognize her and realize that he'd been duped. She shuddered as if gripped by a sudden, intense pain.

"M'lord, she may have caught a sickness from her sister. Even now Kiera is abed. 'Tis why she didn't attend the ceremony. Mayhap the illness has spread," Hildy said. "We would not want to expose the guests or family to whatever vile sickness this is."

The man was silent at Hildy's remark, but clearly still seething.

Kiera didn't wait for his permission, but hurried toward the stairs.

Footsteps shuffled behind her, growing louder. She heard Father call after her, "Elyn!" She didn't turn around. Couldn't risk it. She sprinted up the stone risers as if her feet had wings. Upstairs, she flew into Elyn's chamber and cursed herself and her sister for this awful, stupid plan.

Yanking the door closed behind her, she gasped, catching her breath as she leaned against the thick oak panels and stared at the chamber—the bridal chamber. Inwardly she groaned. The bed was freshly made, the rushes strewn over the floor were new and fragrant. Dozens of candles had been set upon the window ledge and small tables, while a fire crackled and hissed in the grate. Upon the bed lay a sheer new chemise, pure white with tiny embroidered roses at the neck.

Kiera's stomach turned. How could she wear the diaphanous piece of nothing and lie in this bed waiting for the man who thought he was her husband?

Panic assailed her. She should run. Hide. Let him think what he wanted. She could appear mad, that was it, crazy as the old hermit locked in his cell in the west tower ... no ...
Calm down. Breathe deeply. Think, Kiera! You got yourself into this mess and it's up to you and you alone to get yourself out!

For a second, she thought of that breath-stopping kiss at the altar, the press of Kelan's warm lips to hers. Her blood raced, for she'd never expected her reaction. Rather than feeling revulsion, she'd been intrigued. Kiera even wondered what it would be like to kiss him a bit longer. She touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, then shook her head at her own folly. What was she thinking? She could feel nothing good for this man. Nothing!

Before her wayward thoughts got the better of her, she crossed the room to the bed. The marriage bed. Elyn's bed. The bed where she would spend the night with ... no, she wouldn't consider the night.

On the table next to the bed a jug of wine and two mazers were waiting. As planned. She lifted up one cup. There on the bottom of the stem an X had been scratched into the silver. Lowering herself to her knees, she felt in the rushes near the table and found two small vials. The potion. And the blood. Would it work? She remembered the determination and spark of intelligence in Kelan's gray eyes as he'd kissed her. In that quick glimpse she'd recognized that he wasn't a man easily fooled, nor would he be forgiving if he ever discovered he'd been duped.

But she had no other option.

Carefully she slipped the vials into a safe place in the rushes, near the head of the bed where they wouldn't get crushed by a misplaced boot.

Faintly, she heard the strains of music. Downstairs the feast had begun. It was only a matter of time before she had to face Kelan again. No doubt he'd be more than angry. Beyond furious. At her. For embarrassing him within minutes of being wed.

She shuddered. He would never let Elyn forget how she'd shamed him on their wedding day. Nor would he let her feign sleep tonight to avoid his wrath. No doubt he would wake her and demand his rights as a husband.

Kiera would have to stay awake to make sure he drank the sleeping potion and somehow keep him at bay until he fell asleep. Once he was no longer conscious, she could sprinkle the blood on the linens. If she dared.

Sending up a silent prayer, she walked to the window and stared into the cold winter night. Spangled by moon glow, the curtain wall shimmered silver. Beyond the thick battlements, somewhere in the surrounding forest Elyn waited for the man she loved.

A hollow feeling crept through Kiera's heart and she felt a second's envy for her sister. Elyn had found true love, or thought she had. Would Kiera ever know that particular and divine bliss? Would she ever fall in love? Would she ever care about someone above all others?

Frowning she experienced another, darker thought. If Elyn and Brock had such a deep bond, how would they ever break it? Why would her sister give up that which she most desired? Elyn had risked much to be with Brock of Oak Crest. As had he to be with her. So what was it that would force her back to Lawenydd? Kiera watched a cloud pass over the moon.

Who was to say that Elyn would return?

She promised.

Kiera fingered the cross at her throat.

So what? Has she not lied before? Did she not promise your father that she would marry Kelan? Did she not break that vow? So why would she return for you?

The thought curdled in Kiera's stomach, and though the doubts assailed her, she wouldn't believe them.

Surely Elyn wouldn't leave her to live the rest of her life caught in a lie, pretending to be wife to a man who was not her legal husband, forever an impostress.

Or would she?

* * * * *

Icy fingers of the wind snatched at Elyn's hood and slapped at her cheeks. Her lungs burned and exhaustion threatened to overtake her, just as it did the horse. Lather dampened the mare's coat, and her once long strides had slowed. "Come on, come on," Elyn whispered, urging the lagging beast up a final hill.

She was edgy, her stomach in knots.

What if Brock wasn't waiting for her?

What if he'd changed his mind?

What if ... what if he was toying with her?

He wouldn't! And yet, had there not been a time when he'd been untrue?

She gritted her teeth against the cold air and the grim thoughts slipping like ghosts through her mind, haunting her.

'Tis only the night getting to you. Have faith.

But the nagging doubts persisted as her teeth chattered and Royal, the game little mare, labored up the rise. This temperamental jennet was not her usual mount. Elyn had been careful to steal a horse she'd never ridden before, a mare Kiera favored, one that wouldn't be easily missed and associated with Elyn. Leaving the castle had been tricky, but dressed as a peasant boy, as she had often enough been in the past when she'd left to tryst with Brock, she'd eased past the guard. Busy with the miller whose cart was mired in the mud just inside the castle gates, he hadn't more than glanced her way.