My Lady Imposter (2 page)

“My lord,” he said, an impatient sound in his deep voice. “Must we waste time here? The Lady Wenna awaits you at Pristine.”

Lord Ralf smiled. “Wenna. Of course.” But turning again to Kathryn he frowned. “Ifeel I know her, Richard. The line of her cheek, that dark hair. Even the way she stands so boldly...” He shook his head, perplexed, the golden lord of Pristine, and drew back his riding crop. After a moment he shrugged one broad shoulder.

“She is but a peasant girl, my lord,” Richard’s blue eyes swept down upon her, and he laughed harshly. “By God, and a filthy one! I would not touch her without my gauntlets. She is surely diseased...”

Ralf echoed the laugh. Even Anthony sniggered. The men-at-arms shifted restlessly. A nod from Lord Ralf to the man who held her, and her arms were released. She swayed a moment before them, and then stumbled back onto the grass. The horses surged forward, choking her once more with dust and their laughter. It echoed about her, mocking her, making her ache to pelt their backs with clods from the road. For a moment she didn’t realize that one of them hadn’t gone. His voice brought her spinning round, almost falling in her haste to face him.

“Get back to your work, girl! What do you wandering around in these woods?”

She stared back at the blue eyes in growing fury. “This is not your land! You cannot order me to do anything!”

He raised an eyebrow, gazing at her as if she were an interesting specimen of insect. “I meant only to warn you that it will not be safe in these woods, now Lord Ralf is home.”

Diseased, he had called her. Diseased! Summoning all her rage, she spat upon the ground at his horse’s feet. “That is what I think of your warning!”

He was silent a moment, and then he bowed elaborately, a savagely mocking gesture. “As you please,
my lady.”
The horse danced forward in the direction the others had gone, lengthening its stride to a gallop. She glared after him until the bend swallowed him up, still smarting from his sarcasm and her own trampled pride.

Grisel was waiting for her, when she returned. “Where’ve ye been! Little Mildred’s fallen and cut her cheek, and young Stephen—” The high voice broke off, as Grisel glimpsed her sister’s face. “What is it, Kathryn!”

“I met with Lord Ralf.”

“He didn’t... didn’t—”

“No,” with a curl of her lip, scrubbed almost raw in her efforts to remove the blackberry stains, “I would have scratched his face to shreds. He and his lecherous knights insulted me.”

Grisel let out her breath. “Oh well, ‘tis his right.”

“He has no right to say those things!”

“Don’t get your temper up at me, girl! He has, and you know it.” Grisel rose abruptly, folds of flesh jolting as she moved to the door. “Kathy,” she said, suddenly weary, “why keep on fighting against what must be? He is our lord, we are his slaves. It will always be so, it always has. You were born here, at Pristine, and here you will die. Marry Will. He’s kind and he’ll keep you safe. Be content.”

When she had gone, Kathryn dropped down on the pallet beside where little Matilda lay sleeping and glowered at the wall. Grisel always preached contentment. How could she be content with this? How could she shrug off those hurting words?

After a moment she went over to the water bucket and peered down at her reflection. Apart from being a little flushed, she looked the same as always. What was the matter with her? What was wrong with her dirt? It was all very well for that blue-eyed fool to speak so disparagingly, but she needed her dirt.

Matilda woke, crying, and Kathryn lifted her in her arms, soothing the child. As she stood, rocking the hiccupping girl, she wondered suddenly what it would be like, after all, to wed with Will. To have her own cottage, her own goats and garden, her own child, her own man to scold and love. But Will! She shuddered abruptly. He might be the only man prepared to put up with her airs and tantrums and high-and-mighty ways, as Grisel put it, but he was still a serf. She would be even more chained than before.

Snuff came home pleased with himself. He’d exchanged two old goats for one young pig. “We’ll fatten it up for winter,” he said. “Then we can sell what we don’t use.”

Grisel was beaming with pride. “Aye, that we can.”

Snuff turned to Kathryn, crouched in the corner with the older children, engaged in a game with straws. “You can feed the beast, Kathy-girl. Little else you do.”

She scowled and turned away.

Snuff laughed. “Miss High and Mighty. I hear that Lord Ralf has brought back with him a dozen or more rich knights. If you’ve a mind for a proud husband, girl, why not go up there and look them over? You might find
one
to your liking.” He snorted at his own joke.

“I already have looked them over,” Kathryn retorted sourly, “and I don’t like any of them.”

Snuffs mouth dropped, “You what?”

“It’s true enough,” Grisel burst out, and told him what had happened. Snuff’s eyes narrowed, suddenly sly.

“Are you sure they didn’t like the look of you, Kathy-girl? Some fine lords pay much for a pretty girl. Peasant or noble, it’s all one to them.”

“They didn’t think me pretty,” she said breathlessly, “so there! You can’t sell me, Snuff. They could have had me for free, and they made fun of me instead.”

He grunted and subsided onto the table.

Grisel flickered Kathryn an uneasy glance. “Kathryn’s been thinking of taking Will to husband, Snuff.”

“Will from the stables?” Snuff’s face brightened, his sandy brows rose. “Well, that’s good news!”

Kathryn scowled, but held her tongue under Grisel”s warning look. What was the use? Today, Lord Ralf s glittering cavalcade had made her aware, bitterly aware, of the great ravine between herself and all her childish dreams. Even the prospect of being sold to one of the knights was laughable. They had made fun of her, cheapened her, humiliated her. She hated them all.

“I’ll have a word with him tomorrow then,” Snuff promised, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve a mind for some of that new-cut hay, and likely Will’ll be so pleased, he’ll put some aside for me.”

“Pleased,” Grisel repeated, her smile awry. “Poor Will! I wonder if he knows what a termagant he’s getting?”

Will, it seemed, didn’t care. He came around the following evening, hands reaching out to stroke her at every opportunity. “Kathy this” and “Kathy that”. She wanted to scream, and grew so tired of pushing him away that in the end she let him leave his arm around her through sheer weariness. Snuff viewed them with a glint in his eye, Grisel with smiling relief. At last, they were thinking, she had seen the light. At last she would settle down, and put aside her foolish pride.

“Will, don’t.” She brushed his hand away, where it had crept onto her thigh. They had come outside, out of the stifling air of the single-roomed cottage and the noise of the misbehaving children. It was cool and clear, the sky deep blue and studded with stars. Through the thin wall behind her, Kathryn could hear Snuff roaring and Mildred wailing. A moth brushed her cheek, and she swished it impatiently away.

“Kathy, you’re so pretty.”

She laughed sharply. “Are you sure? Do you not think me filthy or diseased? Do you dare to touch me without gauntlets?”

He frowned, puzzled. “Kathy?”

“Never mind,” she shrugged her shoulder and turned to stare away, over the wide, low fields towards the great walls of the manor. Lights flickered, along the walls and in the guard tower. Lord Ralf’s flag flew proudly against the night-sky, informing all and sundry of his homecoming. She felt the bitterness burn her tongue.

Will bent over her—he was taller than she— and kissed her on the cheek, near her mouth. It left a damp patch, and she wiped it away. He put his arms around her, trying to pull her closer, but she shoved his chest, putting him off balance, and darted away. Her laughter drifted in the air, mocking him, daring him, and he spun in pursuit.

Past the huddle of smoky cottages, the various noises of crowded humanity. A goat rattled a chain and darted from her path. Her bare feet flew down the worn, short-grassed path between rectangles and squares of crops and gardens. A larger cottage or two, where the freemen lived. Hens complaining at being woken on their roosts. She turned aside, taking the narrow pathway through the trees towards the denser bulk of the woods. Will blundered behind her, snapping branches, calling her name.

She had almost reached the first of the larger trees when she became aware of the voices. Her feet drew up sharply, heart hammering, and she gulped at her quick breath. A horse whickered, soft and inquisitive. The voices stopped. For a moment all she heard was the chirping of crickets and the sudden swoop of a night bird from the sky above, and then the voices resumed.

“It’s nothing. A wild animal. Ralf has not, as yet, set about his yearly massacre.”

Her feet moved forward, silent, drawing her closer. She might, indeed, have been a wild animal for all the warning she gave of her approach. The horse breathed; she could hear it crunching on grass.

“He’s spoken with the King then?”

“He had no choice.” Her breath caught sharply. A picture of blue eyes and raised brows flew through her mind and was gone. She would never forget that voice, never. “The King has taken back what lands Ralf acquired during Stephen’s reign. There will be little gold in Pristine’s coffers from this day forward.”

“So. And will Ralf take such a slight so lightly?”

A pause. The horse stirred again, as if the men were restless. “I cannot see it. He bides his time merely. There are many others like him, who want nothing to do with King Henry’s justice. He has already begun to seek them out.”

A pause; a drawn breath slowly released. “War, mayhap? I thought we had had enough of it, Richard. Matilda and Stephen fought so long over the crown. I thought, with Henry Plantagenet as King, all the old quarrels would have been resolved.”

“Not all, it seems. The quarrels made Ralf a wealthy man, a powerful man. And now the King has taken his hard-won lands and destroyed his new-built castles. He has become nothing more than a petty baron.”

“And you, Richard? What of you?”

The horse stirred again, cropping grass. “I must join him.”

She had been listening so intently she did not hear Will approaching. And now his voice, so loud, made her almost fall. “Kathy!” It shattered the quiet. “Where are you, Kathy-girl!”

He was too far away from her to warn. Her voice would be heard by the two men. Instead, she darted further into the undergrowth on her right and, crouching down by a thick, gnarled old oak, tried to quiet the bumping of her heart.

Horses moved. Will shouted again, but further away now. He was going. A whisper, hissing through the night. Something dark passed before her and was gone. She closed her eyes, whispering thanks to her deity. Will called once
more, a long way distant now, receding. She was safe.

The hand closed on her mouth so quickly she had no time to make a sound. She was spun back against a hard, broad chest and something icy and sharp touched her throat.

“Make no sound, spy,” he said, every word a warning. She shook her head, vigorous in denial. His other hand was about her waist, holding her against him, and now ii moved up over the firm flesh of her bosom. She shrank back against him, and suddenly the hand over her mouth was removed. He spun her round to face him.

Blue eyes narrowed in the shadowy darkness, fair hair made silver by the night sky. She thought, she prayed, he would not remember her. She was sure she looked much the same as any other dirty peasant girl. But she was wrong. He did know her. She saw it in his eyes. And then he had slid the knife back into its sheath, flicking her a mocking glance.

“Well, girl? You have a knack for skulking in these woods; was that your swain we heard crashing about?”

She was silent, only her eyes huge and dark and angry in her pale face. He stared down at her a moment, noting the stubborn chin, the cloud of black hair, its condition hidden by the darkness. And then he caught her arm, bruising the flesh, and gave her a little shake.

“Were you spying, girl?”

Kathryn tried to shake off his hand. “You aren’t wearing gauntlets, my lord.”

He frowned, peering down at her. He was much taller than she, and broader. She felt overwhelmed, being used to smaller men, like Snuff. “Gauntlets?”

“You said before you would not touch me without them.”

Remembrance came, a passing gleam in his eyes. His teeth flashed white. “So I did. It stung your pride, did it, girl? You should know by now that pride is a luxury no peasant girl can afford.”

She tried to pull away again, his laughter stinging her, but he held her, using his other hand to force her chin up. He looked down into her face. “You don’t look like Ralf!”

Her mouth dropped. “Look like Lord Ralf?”

“Yes.” He turned her face from side to side, frowning at it. “Your hair and eyes are so dark, while he is so fair. I thought that was what he meant, when he said he knew your features.”

She didn’t understand. He made an impatient sound. “Are you such an innocent? I thought you were his bastard. Was your mother ever a servant at Pristine?”

She struck him, hard, on the cheek. In the instant it took to do so, rage was splintered with horror at what she had done, and to whom. His hand relaxed on her arm in surprise, and she pulled away, stumbling through scrub and brush, back onto the path to the village. She feared he would pursue her, and kept glancing over her shoulder. She expected, any moment, to feel his dagger between her shoulder blades. She was still running when she reached the path and Will, darting out from his hiding place behind a haystack, caught her in a bear hug.