Impostress (13 page)

"He'll never know." Elyn had placed a hand upon Kiera's shoulder. "Someday, you, too, will fall in love and then you'll understand. Nothing is more important."

"Not your freedom? Not your life?"

"No," Elyn had said and laughed gaily as she'd thrown back the curtain and hurried up the stairs, her dress, this very silk gown Kiera held in her hands, shimmering beneath the rushlights.

Now, Kiera's shoulders slumped as she began to peel off her wrinkled tunic. Her sister had been foolhardy when it came to love, a woman blind to her beloved's faults and her own folly. Until last night, Kiera had never understood this rash side of Elyn. Even yesterday she would have thought her own rashness when it came to love impossible. Today, after sleeping with Kelan, she wasn't so certain.

There was a quick, light rap on the door. She froze.

Kelan?

Penelope shot to the door.

"No, wait!" she whispered to Penelope, then more loudly called, "Who is it?"

" 'Tis I, Hildy," the nursemaid responded, and Kiera nodded at Penelope, who unlatched the door to let the old woman inside. Hildy's eyes were dark with worry, her hands rubbing together nervously.

"Have you not found Elyn?" Kiera asked, though she knew the answer before the old woman could respond.

"Nay, she has not returned." Hildy shook her head and rubbed her arms as if suddenly chilled. "I've inquired in the town, listened to the gossip, hoping to hear something. Anything. But no one suspects there's something wrong."

"That's good," Kiera said.

"Mayhap, but I found out nothing. No one has seen Elyn, or if they have, they talk naught of it." Frowning, she walked to the window and stared through the slats of the shutters, as if by simply willing Elyn to appear, she could conjure up the missing daughter of Baron Llwyd. "I fear something dire has happened."

"Something dire?" Penelope asked, her eyes rounding.

"Trouble ... ill will ... I know not. I've cast the stones."

Penelope gasped. "And what? What did you see?"

"Trouble. Corning to Lawenydd."

"What kind of trouble?" Kiera asked, goose bumps rising on her flesh. Hildy was known to see into the future, to have glimpses of how each person would meet his fate.

" 'Tis still unclear." Hildy's old hands opened and closed, as if she was grasping for something she couldn't hold on to. " 'Twas foolishness for Elyn to run off," Hildy murmured.

"Aye," Kiera agreed. "But she did and now we have to make things right by finding her."

"If she can be found." Hildy's eyes were dark.

"Did the stones say otherwise?" Kiera asked.

"As I said, 'twas unclear."

"What will we do?" Penelope asked, her face without color.

"Find her." Kiera wriggled into Elyn's gown. Though it would not matter to Kelan, since he had never seen Elyn, the servants would be more likely to mistake Kiera for her sister if she was glimpsed in Elyn's clothing.

"What if she intends not to return?" Hildy asked.

Kiera's heart turned to ice. 'Twas what she most feared. "Then we'll have to search her out. I'll need your help," she said to Hildy as she adjusted the dress around her waist and shoulders.

"How?"

"More wine and more of the potion." She straightened a sleeve and tossed back her hair. "Stronger this time."

"Stronger?" Hildy repeated softly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I think I could tell if someone is asleep."

"Penbrooke was awake?" Penelope asked, her eyes rounding even further. She blinked hard, as if she was astounded. "Then how ... how did you ... you know, keep him away from ... well ..."

"From bedding me?" Kiera asked in a harsh whisper. " 'Twas not easy, but worry not of that, for now we must find Elyn and switch places. There is a likelihood that he will recognize the change, but we will face that problem if it arises. Hopefully the drugs will make his memory hazy, so it is important that he is given the elixir and wine. More wine."

Hildy wrapped her thin arms around her middle as if to ward off a chill. "Too much of the medicine could harm him."

Every muscle in Kiera's body tensed. No matter what, she would not want Kelan harmed. "Hurt him? How?"

"A sleep from which he doesn't awaken. Or even ... even death."

"Dear Lord." Penelope flounced onto the bed. "You mean we could kill him?"

"He won't die," Kiera said as she thought of his muscled body. "He's healthier than the best stallion in the stable."

"But—if he goes into the deep sleep?" Hildy asked.

"Then it will give us more time to find Elyn." Kiera felt a niggle of guilt. What if she damaged Kelan? Nay, she could not do it. She bit at her thumbnail, then dropped her hand to her side. She couldn't bear the thought of harming him. They would have to be careful. Very careful.

"Could we not just tell Father the truth?" Penelope asked.

"Now?
Don't you think we should have done that sooner?" Kiera remembered her vow to her sister, her promise to do anything Elyn asked in repayment for saving her life. Then, she'd objected to Elyn's request. And now ... oh, Lord, perhaps deep down she wanted to pretend to be her sister for just a little longer. "We're stuck with it now, aren't we? Until we locate our sister. Then mayhap we'll go to Father and my ... Elyn's husband ... and tell the truth." Bending her head forward, Kiera reached behind her, quickly plaited her hair, and tied the end with a ribbon that matched the fine strings that laced the neckline of her dress. "Just make sure no one spies me with the lord. And see that more wine is brought to the room."

"With the potion?" Penelope said.

"Of course!" Was the girl a half-wit? "And please, see that you mark the cup clearly this time. There can be no mistake." Kiera straightened and tossed the plait over her shoulder as she faced Hildy, the old nursemaid and sorceress. "You can send the extra vial of potion by wrapping it in a cloth and hiding it in a basket of ... bread or cheese or clothes to wash ... or whatever." She crossed to the door. "But please, hurry!"

Penelope fidgeted with the neckline of her dress. "What will you do?"

Kiera paused, her hand resting upon the latch. "Get Elyn's husband drunk again and hope that he falls into a deep sleep that lasts for hours." She felt a jab of guilt for this deception, but ignored it. She couldn't let recriminations stop her, not now. "After he falls asleep, I will retrieve the old vials, escape the room, and try again to find our sister."

"How?" Penelope asked, clearly doubting this was possible.

"I know not, but we have to do something. And soon," Kiera admitted as she opened the door. "Elsewise this deception has all been for naught."

His new wife was a puzzlement.

Kelan rolled off the bed. He'd been dozing on and off most of the day, which, it seemed as he glanced to the window, was now waning to dusk. He winced at the pain blistering through his brain. 'Twas as if a dozen steel-shod horses were galloping through his head. Any light burned his eyes, and his bladder was stretched to its limit.

Yet he couldn't help but consider his bride. An enigma she was, a pleasant surprise.

Kelan had met more than his share of women in his days and they were all different, all unique. But this one, this female to whom he was married, intrigued him as had no other. He'd known her but a day ... no, that wasn't true; he didn't know her at all. Most women, given enough time, revealed themselves, but he had a feeling about his wife that suggested he would constantly be surprised by her.

He set the tray with its few remains of their shared meal upon the floor and made his way out of the darkened room. His legs were still unsteady, his muscles tight, and the pain in his groin reminded him of the pleasures of the night before.

Aye, she was a wild, beguiling woman, Elyn of Lawenydd.

He stepped into the hallway, where the rushlights burned low, then made his way to the latrine to relieve himself. The corridor was dark and deserted, the tiny garderobe icy cold from the open slats on the windows. His member was sore, but the pain was pleasant as it hinted at pleasures yet to come. This marriage might not be as bad as he'd expected. He laced up his breeches and walked down the short flight of stairs to the third floor.

As he entered the corridor he heard voices. They emanated from the room next to his wife's, the chamber that belonged to Elyn's middle sister, Kiera. He wondered about that one. He'd learned that Kiera was close in age to his bride, and yet she had not been at the wedding. He'd been told that she'd been too ill to attend, and yet now she was in her room with others. One voice sounded as if it belonged to an older woman. Another, he swore, was his wife's.

Woman talk,
he thought with a snort and re-entered Elyn's chamber. The smell of sweat and sex was thick over the fragrances of the rushes, but the room was as cold as a tomb. Empty.

Plowing stiff fingers through his hair, he wished his bloody headache would fade. He couldn't help but wonder about the wine he'd consumed and whatever else might have been in it, for the vials were testament that something was amiss. Seriously so. He fingered the small vessels again, smelling them and deciding that once Elyn returned he would confront her with them.

In the meantime, there was much to do. He needed to get dressed, find his small company of men, and make plans for leaving Lawenydd. 'Twas time to return to Penbrooke. His frail mother would be impatiently awaiting his return. Imagining Lenore's pleasure at seeing him happily wed, Kelan grinned and reached for his tunic. He would find Tadd, Orvis, and the priest, tell them that they would leave at dawn.

But first things first. He made his way to the grate and found a stack of split, mossy oak, which he arranged in the fireplace, then blew on a few remaining coals. The embers glowed red and slowly a flame emerged, crackling as it began to devour the dry, moss-laden oak.

Kelan rocked back on his heels. He'd thought Elyn's odd behavior during the wedding had been due to shyness, and then her refusal to come to the feast, evidence of a defiant streak. He'd come to this room intending to make her bend to his wishes ... and he'd ended up making love to her and caring more for her own needs than his. She was bold one minute, flirtatious the next, then incredibly demure the following. He'd suspected she had feigned her illness, that she had been avoiding him, and even that she was impure. Yet when he came to her, she was living, breathing passion. A virgin, yes, but one who was a willing, nay, eager lover. Just thinking of the night before brought his manhood to attention. So why had she slipped out of bed and gone riding? Then returned and insisted upon bringing him a meal rather than allow the servants to carry in the food? And what of the damned vials he'd discovered in the rushes?

'Twas troubling. And his head, oh, how it thundered. From too much wine? Too little sleep? It was unlike him.

The latch of the door clicked. Turning, he caught a fresh glimpse of his wife entering the chamber. She'd tied her hair back and changed into a dress that shimmered and rustled as she moved.

"I've asked for more wine to be sent up," she said, and even in the darkening room, where the light was fleeing with the setting sun, she was beautiful to him, her features muted by the shadows.

"Should we not join your father?"

"Later," she insisted and sent him a glance from the corner of her eye, a glance that was innocence and seduction.

"I was about to meet with my men and discuss leaving. We should set out for Penbrooke early tomorrow, as soon as dawn breaks."

Was it his imagination or did she stiffen just a bit? "So soon? Can we not wait another day or two?"

"I think not." Again the reticence. She walked to the bed and he noticed that her small hands were clenched into tight fists.

"Don't you want to see Penbrooke? 'Tis your new home."

"In time." Again he noticed that hardening of her spine. She picked nervously at the folds of her skirt. " 'Tis just so soon."

"You can visit here often, if you like. 'Tis but three days' ride."

"I know, but ..." She bit her lower lip, then seemed to find some inner strength.

He felt himself cracking. Giving in. His mother would surely survive a few more days. When he had left four days ago, she had been frail but in good spirits at his upcoming nuptials. "If it would please you, we can stay another day, mayhap two, but then we must be off."

"Yes, oh, yes," she said hurriedly. "Two days. 'Tis all I need; then I'll gladly ride with you to our new home." She offered him a smile, though there were doubts shadowing her eyes, and something else. Fear?

"So be it." Straightening, he dusted off his hands. 'Twas time to ask her of the vials. "I found something," he said, reaching into his pocket just as someone tapped on the door.

She visibly started.

"I'll get it," he said. Already half across the room, he noticed that she walked to the window and stared out, turning her back at the visitor as he yanked the door open. An older woman servant stood in the corridor, one he'd seen at the nuptials. Her face was lined and grim, her eyes dark as stones. She balanced a tray upon which was a large jug and two half-filled mazers as well as a smaller platter of tarts.

"M'lord," she said, bowing her head of black hair streaked with gray. "Congratulations on your marriage." Her old voice cracked a bit, but he recognized it as the same one he'd heard earlier talking in Kiera's chamber.

"Thank you."

Some of the starch left Elyn's spine as she turned to greet the woman "This is Hildy. She was my mother's maid, our nursemaid, and now attends me."

"Aye, 'tis true, I'm afraid. I've known the lady since she was a babe. How are you this day ... Lady Elyn?" she asked, setting her tray upon the small table and brushing some crumbs to the floor as she glanced at the bed.

For a mere second, there was a flicker of disapproval in her eyes, her lips pursing a bit as she caught a glimpse of the rumpled bedsheets.

"May ... may your union produce many strong sons and daughters," she said as she handed him a cup. "And for you, m'lady." Cradling the other mazer, she approached his wife. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"