My Lady Imposter (13 page)

“Ralf is ready to leave. Wenna goes with him, of course.”

He had come up behind her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, and forced her voice out, light and almost gay, “Of course.” And then, “Why doesn’t he wed her?”

He laughed softly. “Wed a Saxon?”

“You did.”

She felt his hands stiffen on her, hurting. After a moment he said, “But the case is entirely different, my love.”

Different, she thought. Oh yes! This Saxon wife would not live long enough to be an embarrassment, Once Ralf had begun his rebellion. No one but Ralf and Wenna knew that this wife was tainted with peasant blood. She bit her lips to redden them and detract from the pallor of her face, before turning to him.

“We must bid them farewell, Richard, if they are leaving. I must dress.”

He released her without protest, and she hurried to the bonded trunk against the wall, tossing back the heavy lid. Clothes lay within, neatly folded between layers of perfuming petals. As she bent, seeking blindly for the gown, her mind turned over furiously. She would not sit back and let them kill her, she would not! When the time was ready for them, she would also be ready. She would build herself such defenses, they would never tumble them down!

“I’m sending some of the men-at-arms, to protect them to Pristine,” he said, after a moment. He was brisk again, the man she remembered from the battle. “Then will be time enough to rid ourselves of the brigands.”

“As you say, my lord.”

She found the gown and shook it out, the soft folds wafting perfume. “What is this?” he demanded, mockery stinging in his voice. “As
you say, my lord!
Are you sickening, Kathryn?”

“I thought duty was expected of wives.”

He laughed. “Come kiss me then, if you’ve a mind to be dutiful.”

Her fingers trembled and she clenched them. After a moment she turned to face him. He was smiling a little, daring her, commanding her. She had no choice, if she were to lull him into suspecting nothing from her but obedience.

“Can you kiss me?” he breathed, mocking. “I think you are not at all dutiful, Kathryn.”

The gown slid to the floor. She stretched up, her eyelashes lying dark against her cheeks, and felt his breath warm her lips. The kiss was light, but he held her closer, and despite fear and hatred, she felt her body comply. Her head spun, and she gasped as he left her lips for her bosom, holding her captive back over his arm.

“Kathryn,” he whispered. “If you weren’t such a frightened child, I would have you here and now, and then we would make such a pair... Ralf would tremble.”

The curtains behind them rustled. Emma, arriving unsuspecting upon Ralf’s orders, squealed and spun about. Kathryn broke away from him, her hands shaking as she pulled her nightgown back into some order. “I—I must dress. Really, I must.”

He was frowning, but after a moment he shrugged and turned abruptly on his heel. When he had gone, she sat down heavily onto the trunk and buried her face in her hands. Her entire body was atremble with emotions she dared not analyze. It took a long moment for her breath to steady and her heartbeat to slow.

What was it he said?
Together we would make such a pair that Ralf would tremble.
What did it mean? What could it mean? She shook her head wearily. She would not dwell on it. She would dismiss it and concentrate upon her own future.

Wenna’s blue veil fluttered in the wind, brushing her soft skin. Ralf held his mount as it stamped and snorted impatiently. About them the walls of de Brusac soared grey to the blue sky. The cavalcade of men, heavily armed mercenaries among them, stretched back towards the drawbridge. A mule near one of the laden carts began to sound its displeasure at the delay.

“I trust you to make de Brusac safe for us,” Ralf said, golden eyes cool and intent on Richard.

Richard bowed his head. “My lord.”

Wenna held out her hand, a smile twisting her pink mouth. “God keep you, Richard, until we meet again.”

He brushed the fingers with his lips. Kathryn saw the girl quiver and lower her eyes as she withdrew her hand. She had noticed before the woman’s partiality for Richard and wondered briefly if the feeling were returned.

“Kathryn.” Ralf was smiling down at her, but it was a cold smile, and she stared up at him proudly, hating him. He meant to dispatch her with no more emotion than he would kill a rabbit. He read something of her feelings and laughed. “Sweet Lady de Brusac. Your eyes are very expressive. Take care your tongue,” and he leaned closer to foil listening ears, “is not so free. Richard will be listening, and he will be my proxy.”

She curtseyed, very low, mocking him. Wenna took a sharp breath, but bit her lip on whatever words she meant to utter. And then they had turned, and there was a great boom and rattle as the party moved off over the drawbridge. They yard was alive with men and movement, the horses” hooves struck fire on stone and wood. Kathryn covered her ears, and, stepped back from the clouds of dust-laden air. Richard shouted something to the men on the wall. The drawbridge was raised again.

“My lady.”

Sir Damien had come up behind her unheard, and she spun around in surprise. The man bowed.

“What is it?”

“The priest wishes to speak with you, lady.”

Richard had heard, and moved his hand impatiently. “There is no time for that now, man. Tell the priest he must await our pleasure.”

He turned his back arrogantly, and did not see the cold, furious glint in the other man’s eye. Kathryn shivered, and her smile to Damien was as apologetic as her voice. “It is as my husband says. Thank you for bringing me word of it, however.”

Some of the stiffness went out of the mercenary’s bearing. He bowed and went away.

“Perhaps I should see the priest after all,” she said after a moment, but Richard snorted.

“You have a peasant’s awe of holy men, my love. The priest will be wanting his chapel glorified, and you have not the funds to waste upon such vanities. We need all our treasures to make de Brusac the iron fortress it used to be. We need arms, we need workmen and supplies, and we need more soldiers to patrol our forests and our lands. We have much to do and very little time.”

“But... are the brigands so dangerous?”

He mocked her ignorance with his smile. “Set your women to cleaning the castle, my lady, from top to bottom. The place is filthy. If they are tardy tell me and I will see them whipped.”

His eyes were hard, his stance arrogant. He seemed every bit the lord of
this
manor. She stared back at him a little wonderingly, but was obedient to his command. However, on turning, she paused with one more question. “Does Lord Ralf mean to begin his rebellion so soon, my lord?”

He looked at her consideringly. “I wish to hear no mention of rebellion from your lips.”

“But if it is not the brigands you are making us strong against, it must be the King. Lord Ralf wants de Brusac to be his stronghold. Is that not so?”

It was so, but the words did not seem to please him. He frowned at her darkly, his eyes cold as winter. “You have a keen mind, my love. I wish to hear no more talk of arms or rebellions. Concern yourself with your cleaning women, and leave the war to me.”

He strode away towards the gatehouse. The wind tossed her skirts as she stared after him, wondering if she had said too much. But it was too late now, and she had needed to know, so that she too could be prepared.

She set the servants to work. Orders seemed to come naturally to her after all, with all the attendant arrogance of great ladies. And if she wasn’t so confident of running a place as large as de Brusac, the women seemed to know what was expected of them. Walls and floors were scrubbed. Tables were cleaned, new rushes laid.
Everything was scoured. In the kitchen, everything was boiled and scrubbed, everything swept clear. Sir Piers had let his household grow grubby, and now the servants seemed almost ashamed that it had happened, and eager to make everything as it should be. They had given her their loyalty, and that was no transient thing.

The dark-eyed servant girl, Emma, fussed that Kathryn should be in the midst of the dirt and the work, but she would not listen. De Brusac was hers. She felt it, knew it in her heart. She was not ashamed of dirtying her hands for its sake.

She found time, during the days of hard work, to slip up onto the walls and gaze out over the countryside. The green forest rose up all around, and the pale stripe of road slid through the dark shadows, away towards the east. It was beautiful.

There was smoke, a thin trickle of it, in some places, proclaiming village or perhaps brigands. Even further away, larger towns clustered about the shoreline, their people living on the trade from the ships that paused there. Her towns, her villages, her lands.

The shouts below broke in upon her agreeable thoughts. Richard was shouting orders to a group of mounted men. She watched him, his fair head bright against the dark chain mail. Her face creased in a frown and she sighed. He had taken his own room now, and no longer slept in hers. She was glad of it and yet... her heart
ached a little that he should hate her so, even while her pride bade her hate him equally for plotting her death.

He would be going out to seek the brigands soon. She was glad of it. It would give her time to think, to plan, to begin to build her own defenses.

Her eyes wandered back over the forests.
Her
lands; Ralf must never get his clutches onto them.

The next morning, Richard took some of the men-at-arms into the forest. They were well armed, and intended to stay out for a few days and nights, fighting brigands when they came upon them. Sir Damien was impressed.

“The brigands know the woods and dells as well as ourselves,” he told Kathryn, as they sat down to eat in the great hall. A serf poured him some wine, and he sipped it frowningly. “But I think we may still run them to earth. Your husband is not one, my lady, who would give up easily.”

Far down the table, Richard was in close conversation with one of his other men. Kathryn watched him stoop over his trencher, frowning. He looked tired and drawn. He had been pushing them all to more and more work. De Brusac was swiftly becoming the stronghold he had wished it to be. And yet there was always more to be done. She no longer saw him, apart from the one meal they all took together. And then she had no chance to speak with him. He did not seek her out, nor she him. They might have been strangers rather than husband and wife..

“Has my husband told you why he is preparing as if for a siege?” she said suddenly.

Sir Damien’s eyes flickered. “I believe, my lady, the King is planning to visit the west in the New Year. He will need protecting. Some of the barons wish him harm.”

She stared at him, aghast. The King to come to de Brusac? Did Richard mean to slaughter England’s anointed King in
her
castle?

Sir Damien watched her a moment before speaking again. “My lady, I have no reason to doubt your husband’s loyalty. Have you?”

He should not speak so to her. She knew it, and yet could not find it in her heart to reprimand him when her own thoughts were so similar.

“Not as yet.”

He smiled, a grimace. “I am your man, whatever your husband might do. I serve you alone.”

She saw the truth of it in his eyes and closed her own momentarily, feeling dizzy with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, and wondered then if she should tell him the whole truth. But caution made her bite her tongue. Once begun she could not retract, and this man was a King’s man, whatever his actions had brought him to.

Richard was watching her, down the length of the cluttered table. His eyes, in the smoky room, were brilliant. She felt their touch like flesh, making her face hot. Did he know what she had thought, what she had almost said? Could he read in her face the knowledge inside her?

And then, just as she was sure he must know, someone at his side claimed his attention again, and the moment was over. With a sigh, she leaned forward and pretended to eat.

They rode out the next morning. The castle seemed oddly quiet, with so many of its protectors gone. Kathryn set her women to work as usual, trying to stave off thoughts of war and death. In the afternoon, Emma came to her, reminding her once again of the priest’s wish to see her, and with a sigh she rose to comply.