My Lady Imposter (16 page)

“I’ve always had a taste for common women,” he said, as they left. It had begun to drizzle, but Kathryn was unaware of the droplets striking her face. Her heart ached, her pride was ashes. This time Richard had wounded her beyond bearing.

“My lady,” Emma whispered, gentle smile like honey to her scared heart. “It means nothing. You have angered him, mayhap. It will pass.”

“Pass?” she repeated, and lifted her face to the rain with a bitter laugh.

As they rode on the weather worsened. The sky hung dark and heavy with snow, while the wind numbed Kathryn’s hands and feet with its similar promise. When at last they stopped at another hostelry, she was too cold and weary to care what Richard did.

“Tis a poorly place,” Emma breathed in dismay. Kathryn stirred herself enough to look. A tumbledown building, smoke puffing from the doorway, the lowing of cattle from within. Emma’s pretty face was puckered with scorn. To Kathryn it was a little like that now-distant childhood home.

Richard strode in, men flanking him, to rout the occupiers, and returned at last with a short, fat man babbling apologies and offering ale. Kathryn’s head had begun to ache from the cold and the drenching, and she smiled at him with weary gratitude, and thanked him for his concern.

“You and your lord must have my own bedchamber,” he said. “Tis but the loft, but the best I can offer. The others can sleep in the common room. But the bedchamber, my lady, is yours.”

“Thank you,” she said, and did not look at Richard. “Have you food? Some hot mead perhaps? I am very cold.”

"Tis a well known fact,” the man blathered, “that the nobility feel the cold more than we common folk.”

She went with him swiftly, not daring to reply.

The place stank of animals and dirt. There was a steep ladder into the loft, which contained straw and hay, some of it not quite clean, and a barred and shuttered window. She sank down gratefully to drink the mead, while Emma removed her cloak and shoes, and began to rub her cold feet to warmth.

“My lady, you are frozen!”

“Is she indeed?”

Richard had come, stooping under the low ceiling. Emma looked up uncertainly. “My lord, the rain has soaked her clothing...”

“Then you must take it off, girl!”

Emma bit her lip. Kathryn struggled upright, saying tartly, “Do you intend to sit and watch?”

“I have neither the time nor inclination. I have to set guards outside. This is not a safe place.”

When he had gone, Emma rubbed her cold flesh to warmth and she settled down in some blankets and a dry cloak. She was asleep before Emma had gone, the smell of hay and straw leading her back to childhood and sanctuary. No fears there, beyond her father’s stout arm, if she should anger him. No worries about guarding castle walls and impressing vassals and pretending a hatred she no longer felt.

She woke to silence, broken by the cry of a
bird outside, and the pressure of something warm on her lips. She lay a moment, still drowsy and uncertain. Both vanished as she realized Richard was leaning over her, his palm over her mouth, his breath warm on her cheek.

“Hush! There is someone outside, and I have no wish to attract their attention to us.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide in the darkness, and he removed his hand. As she started up, she remembered she was naked beneath the cloak, and held it to her bosom as a shield as she knelt to face him. “Who are they? Who would come to this place?”

“Traders, maybe. Or brigands.”

A rattle of reins outside, a horse snorted. Kathryn held her breath, her eyes on his. A voice spoke softly, muted by distance and there was a further rattle. Downstairs, a pig squealed like a murdered girl.

Voices were raised now, and there were shouts as the men woke. Richard leapt towards the ladder, leaving Kathryn still frozen with fear. She crawled after him, peering down into the common room.

It was chaos. The semi-darkness was full of people falling and stumbling and swearing. A mule was braying outside, and a woman—Emma—was screaming in unison with the pig. “Stop that caterwauling!” Richard’s voice.

Faint light came from the remains of a fire, setting a reddish, hellish glow to everything. The stout man blundered towards the door, Richard after him.

Kathryn fumbled with the cloak, dragging it about her, before she started down the ladder. She knew only one thing: Richard was outside, in danger. She must go to his aid.

It was still drizzling, and she held a hand over
her eyes as she peered into the darkness. Voices to the left, and a horse snorting. She picked her way on bare feet, mud squelching up between her toes, cold water splattering her calves.

“God’s blood man, did you want to be spitted!” Richard’s voice, angry and relieved.

A murmur, fading as they shifted. Kathryn pulled her cloak closer to her throat, pushed back the locks of loose, heavy hair, and hurried manfully on, ignoring the mud and cold and rain. Richard’s silhouette was ahead, just visible in the night. A horse was tethered to a rail close near her, and she passed it in silence.

“How did you find me here?” Richard said. The other man replied, too low again for her to overhear. “Aye, well, you were ever a bloodhound, John. What else does he say to my letters? I have been waiting a reply this last month... Hold! There is something there.”

Kathryn stopped, uncertain now whether to flee or approach. Her fear seemed ridiculous. She should have stayed in the loft and waited for him to come back to her. Only a fool would think to help with no weapon.

“Who is it?”

Now was the time to answer, but for some reason she could not. There was a splash of water and mud as he strode hearer, slowing as he drew close. “Kathryn.” It was not a question. He looked over his shoulder to the other shadow, and hesitated before speaking to her. ‘Tis a friend, with news from London. Nothing more. You had best go back to bed.”

“A friend of yours?”

He hesitated again and then, reaching out an arm, drew her against him. At contact he took a sharp breath, dispelling it slowly. “Good God, woman, you’ll catch your death!” His other arm came around, folding her against his chest, warm and safe. She burrowed close, suddenly feeling deathly weary. A step sounded behind them.

“Tis my wife,” Richard murmured, and laughed abruptly. “Come inside, man! No one will bother us there, by the fire. You must be soaking.”

The man, John, said, “I thought never to be asked!”

“I’ve no shoes,” Kathryn said, feeling her face flush up. Richard laughed again, and reaching down, swung her up into his arms, carrying her as easily as air. She closed her eyes again, thinking how pleasant it was, and strangely she must have slept. When she reopened them she was in a little chamber, curtained off the main room, from which evidently Richard had evicted the stout man.

There was a fire, crackling and warm, and the walls were flickering red with shadows. She blinked, realizing she was still in Richard’s arms, as he sat by the hearth, his face frowning in concentration above her head. Opposite him was another man, lean and serious, with the same fair hair. Kathryn watched him from half-closed eyes, their dark gleam hidden by her lashes. He was saying something about the King, and she tried to concentrate, knowing it was important. But she felt altogether too weary, and the voice took on a low, murmuring quality, soothing her fears away.

Her feet were tucked up into the cloak, and one had gone to sleep. She tried to wiggle the toes unobtrusively. Behind them, the curtain rustled, and the stout man came in, setting a tray upon a table.

Bread and cheese and mead, steaming and hot. She eyed it, realizing suddenly how hungry she was. Sleep vanished. She was wide awake.

John bent to take his bread, saying, “You look tired, Richard. Does not your rise in fortunes agree with you?”

“I never seem to have time for sleeping.”

“You should have taken your vows, as our father wanted. I always pictured you as some red-garbed clergyman, with fiery words to denounce the wicked for their sins.”

He laughed. “I would have hated it, as you well know. Poor father. He knew us not at all, did he? You should have been the monk, John, not me. How goes it? Are you a good scribe?”

“I’ve had no complaints.”

“Do you still live in the Palace? I thought you to be married again.”

A pause. “I have not had the heart to, not after Frances. I have a woman to care for the child. I feel no need for else.”

Richard sighed. “They say one grows used to death. They say memories fade. I pray, for your sake, it is so.”

John laughed softly, almost mocking. “Do you, my brother? Then you know little of love. I don’t want memories to fade. I want to remember everything, every moment with her. For me, the memories must be enough.” He laughed again, “Don’t look so dismayed! I have my son, and in time he will need my guidance and my influence. Mayhap you’ll take him into your house, Richard. He could not do better than growing up under the banner of de Brusac.”

Kathryn held her breath. Was this brother also a traitor, though he lived in the Palace itself? She waited for Richard to speak, not daring now to move.

“I would be proud to teach him what little I know.”

“No prouder than I. You are the most honor
able, honest man I know, brother. My son could not do better than to emulate you.”

Richard said nothing to that. Kathryn wondered if he felt too shamed. His brother swallowed some more mead, and added in a different tone, “What of your wife? Would she mind?”

The arm about her shoulders shifted, drawing her closer against his chest. “Kathryn has too soft a heart to mind. Have you not, my love?”

She stiffened, but he would not be fooled and, stooping down, raised her chin. She opened her eyes, staring back at him. His eyes were blue and bright with mockery and amusement and made her dizzy. “I... it is for you to say.”

He laughed. “John. You have not met my wife. When I sought to introduce you before she had rudely fallen asleep. Kathryn, this is my brother.”

She flushed and put out her hand. He kissed her fingers, smiling so like his brother that she blinked. He was older than Richard, his features thinner and more austere, and the fair hair was thinning at his brow, making it much higher than Richard’s. His eyes were blue, but not so warm—sad eyes.

“My lady, asleep you were lovely, but awake, you are beautiful.”

“I... that is, I am most sorry for...”

“You were tired, and no doubt worried, too, for my foolish brother’s welfare. But, as you see, there were no brigands, only myself and my poor page.”

She moved to rise, but he stopped her.

“No, stay. I must leave now. Richard? Your reply?”

Richard’s fingers played idly with a tress of her hair, “My answer is ‘yes’, brother, as it always was. I await his coming with eagerness. I am tired of this waiting game, and sick to the stomach playing at friendship with men I heartily despise.”

John nodded and rose. The two brothers shook hands, and then he was gone. Kathryn knelt by the fire, warming her hands, and did not speak when Richard returned to his seat. He stared thoughtfully into the flames, and after a moment met her eyes.

“Do you trust me, Kathryn? I do not ask it idly. Our lives may depend upon your trust.”

Her mind rebelled, calling her a fool. But her heart formed the words, and she spoke them, knowing they were true. “I trust you with all my heart, my lord.”

A smile flickered at his lips’ corner and was gone. “Then ask me none of the questions I see in your eyes. Only trust me. It will be over very soon, and then...” He smiled, put up his hand as if to touch her, only to drop it again. “Ah, then will be time enough for other things!”

They returned to de Brusac, silent. She asked him nothing, and wondered at herself. But she had sworn it, and must be content. She called herself ‘fool’ a dozen times a day, and yet she did trust him. She could not believe, however much she remembered the words she had overheard, that he would hurt her. She could not believe it of him.

Christmas came creeping nearer, bringing snow. Kathryn leaned more towards Sir Damien. He seemed to distract her from her worries, and she needed other distractions than the running of the household and the ordering of servants. They had stores enough to last them months, everything was ready. No one could get into the castle without a long siege and even then, surely, there would be time for an army to come to their rescue?

And yet Richard seemed always busy. She saw him rarely, and longed more than ever that she had not been so stubborn when they first married, and let him be her husband in truth.

The winter had brought hardship to many. There were brigands again in the forest, and Richard went out with his men to deal with them. Kathryn was sewing a new gown in her room. It was almost done, when Emma came running up the stairs and, almost at the same time, horses clattered in through the gate.

“My lady! Tis Lord Ralf!”

Panic caught at her throat, like a desperate bird seeking escape. She pricked her finger on the bone needle and hardly felt the pain. “Lord Ralf!” She had meant to keep him out. The King would come soon, and then all must be well. There was already talk of him in Winchester.