My Lady Imposter (3 page)

“Got you, Kathy!”

She burst into tears.

He didn’t seem to quite know what to do, and patted her shoulder clumsily, murmuring soothing, slightly foolish words. After a time her sobbing ceased, and she took a shuddering breath and asked to be returned to Grisel.

“We’re still to be married, aren’t we?” Will said, at the door. “Kathy?”

She shrugged. Her mind was too full of other things to care much. She might probably be dead by her wedding day. This Richard, whoever he was, was no unimportant lackey. He would have his revenge if he were anything like the Lord Ralf. She would be flogged or, at the least, imprisoned. At the most, she would be hanged.

Will seemed relieved with her silence. “I’ll beg permission of Lord Ralf then. He’ll surely give it us, Kathy, and then we’ll marry.”

“If you wish, Will.”

He patted her shoulder again, and turned away, whistling under his breath. She stood looking at the sky, trying to still the quiver in her heart. She must take her punishment with courage, whatever it was to be.
Everyone at Pristine worked in the fields at harvest-time. All serfs had to work three or so days a week, and if they wished to be excused then they had to pay a fine. But most had no money to pay fines, and so they worked, as Kathryn worked, bare-foot, arms aching, head bowed under the scarf she had tied about her hair to bind it away from her perspiring brow.

Days had dragged by, and there had been no summons. No men had come to drag her away to the lord’s court of retribution. She had waited, pale and wan, but nothing at all had happened. Excepting Will’s informing her of his formal request for their marriage, but that seemed of minor importance beside the other matter.

The two women beside her gossiped. Men! She sniffed to herself. That’s all they thought of! And as if those bejeweled lords at the manor cared a jot for serf girls.

“Why, ‘tis known to have happened,” one of the girls breathed, wide-eyed. “What is the Lady Wenna, after all, but a Saxon woman? And she is Lord Ralf’s layman.”

“But not his wife,” the other girl said slyly.

“Does it matter?” the wide-eyed girl sighed. “Lord Ralf is so handsome. I wish it were me.”

They giggled. Kathryn bit her tongue on the savage mockery that came to it, and worked determinedly on. She was still working when the sun had swung up high into the sky, and burned into her back beneath the rough cloth of the
gown she wore kilted about her waist, her knees bare.

The girls had stopped their chatter, and when she glanced at them she realised they were staring away over the fields. She shaded her eyes, straightening her own back, and felt her color drain. A number of horses were picking their way across the checkered fields of Pristine. Her heart began to throb painfully, and at the same time one of the girls beside her whispered:

“They seem to be looking for someone, sister! Oh, I wonder if ‘tis me!”

The other girl laughed scornfully. “You!”

“Perhaps Lord Ralf saw me when he rode past t’other day. Mayhap he’s seeking me!”

The horses were drawing nearer. The excited girls began to brush the earth from their hands and skirts. Kathryn stood like a stock, still shading her eyes, her own skirts still kilted. They were coming for her. They were coming to take her to Lord Ralf, and he would sentence her. She should flee, perhaps, but that was cowardly and, besides, the horses would only run her down, and then she must face the indignity of being dragged back to Pristine, her hands tied to the saddle bow by a length of rope. She had seen it done before, and shuddered now at the memory.

She could see the riders clearly now. Her heart beat even faster, for one of them was Richard. Even as she looked, he lifted himself in his stirrups, gazing around. The other three men had stopped by a serf with a sickle. One of them dismounted. Richard had seen her. He dug his heels into the horse’s sides; it sprang forward across the furrows towards her.

Kathryn dropped her hand to her side. The girls beside her clasped hands in their excitement. The horse came to a stop only yards from them, scattering clods of earth. “Here you are,” he said, his eyes gleaming in his stern face. He wore scarlet, and above it his hair was like a banner. Her throat had gone dry.

The two girls were looking at her in wonder and, as he walked the horse closer, stumbled back away. He circled her, while she turned around with him, never leaving her back to him. His mouth grew into a smile. “Peace, woman. I’ve not come to hurt you.”

Her eyes widened at that, flying to his. His eyebrows lifted ironically. “Yes. You deserve punishment, perhaps, but I have no intention of giving it. I was the one in the wrong, but I meant no insult, girl.”

He had apologized. She stared at him in awe and wonder, until he gave a bark of laughter and said, “Come!” His hand reached out and, when she simply stared, shook impatiently. “Come here, girl.”

Her feet dragged unwillingly. He gripped her chin, lifting it as he had done before, to peer into her face. He looked at her for a long time, all sign of laughter draining from his eyes, and then he released her with a sigh. “Come, follow me.”

“Follow you where?”

But he had turned away, expecting her obedience. Rage warred with fear. Fear won. She hurried after him, brushing down her skirts as she went, ignoring the outbreak of whispering at her back, ignoring the men and women who stopped to stare. She bowed her head, to avoid their eyes. She knew very well what it was they were thinking, and anger alone sustained her until they reached the big gates of Pristine manor.

Kathryn gazed up fearfully at the spikes of the portcullis overhead, her anger forgotten. And then they were within, and she stared with wide eyes, for she had never been here before.

The place thrived. Serving girls hurried to and from the kitchens, men-at-arms guarded the walls and practiced their skills of war. A carter was unloading goods from his wagon. Flags fluttered from the tower, far above. Horses hoofs lifted dust, fowls scattered, an old woman in a white cap beat a youth with a straw broom.

“Follow closely, girl.” Richard had dismounted, and was striding away. She stumbled after him, her bare feet coated in fine, brown dust. Someone shouted out to her, and a serving girl in a white apron drew” aside her bulky skirts and sniggered. Richard had reached the great doors of the inner walls, and passed through them. She hurried to follow.

Inside was musty dullness. She sensed danger, the unknown. Her feet faltered. He looked at her over his shoulder, frowning. “Kathryn.” It was softly said, and yet a command. She came to heel—like a mongrel hound she thought with self-loathing.

Before her, the great hall lay in all its sprawling splendor. Her breath caught at its immensity. A great cavernous place, its high-beamed ceiling so far above. The floor was scattered with rushes and sweetened with herbs. The manor had lately been re-laid with fresh rushes, as it was every year, and still smelt of the fields and the fresh air. There were weapons upon the stone walls, and a great fireplace at one end. Hounds were chained near the hearth, and people in fine clothes bustled about like ants.

“But what do they want of me here?” she breathed.

He heard her, and turned to view her coolly. “You’ll see soon enough, girl. Here!”

She came, breathless, and he reached up and, taking a silken wisp of cloth from his tunic, wiped away the dust from her cheek. Her face colored with anger and humiliation, but he only mocked her with a smile and turned away again.

There was a curtained doorway, and when he drew this aside, she followed him into a separate room. There was a window in the thick stone, a mere slit. A heavy table filled one end, and Lord Ralf sat behind it, parchment spread before him as he scratched with a quill.

The rustle of the curtain being replaced set her spinning about, afraid of being left alone. Richard frowned at her. She turned back, trying not to let the fear nibble at her. She must not show fear. To show fear was to invite it; she had learnt that much in her short life.

Lord Ralf was reading one of his parchments, a heavy red seal dangling from its end. He was frowning, lines scouring his brow, and from nose to lips. He was frightening, but as magnificent and golden as ever.

As if reading her thoughts, he looked up. The eyes were hard, the hardness of moss-covered rock, brown and yellow. They slid over her, from lank hair and filthy clothes, to dusty feet. “You will kneel before me,” he said. His dark, deep voice was icy. She went down on her knee on the hard floor, and stayed there, trembling. “I thought she would do very well,” he said. “But now, seeing her so close...”

Richard stepped forward. She saw his boots, soft and fine, and heard the jingle of his spurs. “Will I return her to her sister then, my lord?”

Ralf set the parchment aside and, rising, sighed. He came to stand before her. “Look at me, girl!”

She did so, though having to lift her head so far back made her dizzy.

“No,” he said, as though from far away.
“She
is the one. The plan must go ahead as we’ve agreed. She will stay here. See she’s kept out of sight. Only a few servants—well trusted ones—to tend to her personally. When the time comes, the rest must believe she is as we tell them.” After a moment he turned on his heel. Behind her the curtain swished and was still. She stayed where she was, dazed and confused. And then a hand under her arm heaved her roughly to her feet.

He was watching her somberly, and for some reason she was afraid. “What did he mean?”

The blue eyes were lowered. “You will know that soon enough.”

“I’ll be no man’s whore!”

He eyed her coldly. “If he wanted a whore, he’d find a dozen prettier and cleaner than you, girl, among the serving wenches. Though I doubt he’d bother, with the Lady Wenna.” A silence, he met and read her look. “And I would not touch you without gauntlets, remember?”

“I’ve done no wrong,” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

He frowned. “Who accused you of it, girl! Now hurry, we haven’t all day!”

She followed him out into the great hall again, hardly seeing the people now. It was not until they were halfway up the shadowy, twisting stairs in the Wall that she realized it and said sharply, coming to a halt behind him, “But surely I can leave now. What do you want with me here?”

“Follow me!”

“But—”

A woman passed them, coming down, and giggled. Kathryn slunk closer to his heels, her pride still prickly to slander and sly looks. He glanced around at her, one corner of his mouth
lifting, and strode on with echoing steps.

They reached the landing. She realized then that this was one of the corner towers. There were a number of landings, with heavy doors, but always more steps to climb, and always they must climb them. Slits at various intervals let in a little light, but the place smelt damp and unused, and the steps were uneven and made her legs ache. She leaned against the cold wall once, trying to catch breath, but he did not seem to need to rest and she must run to catch him up.

They reached the final landing at last. She closed her eyes, gasping, while he produced some keys and opened the door. It swung back, silent. Inside, light filtered through more slits, illuminating a round, rather bare room. She stared at it in horror before lifting her eyes to his face.

“But this is a prison,” she said, hardly more than a whisper. “You said I had done nothing wrong!”

“It is a chamber, not a prison,” he said, his voice impatient. “Come, go inside.” And then, with a mocking smile, “Are you afraid?”

She stepped forward at the dare, but did not go in. He caught her arm and swung her into the room. As she stumbled forward she heard the door close and lock. She tried to turn, but her feet caught in her hem, and she fell back onto the hard stone floor. Her voice came out as a sudden, high, squeak. “Richard!”

There was a pause, as though he hesitated at the door, and then his voice, muted: “I will go to your sister now. Never fear, she shall have a fair price for you. And perhaps, if you are good, you may visit her.” Tears sprang up and overflowed. “Richard!” But his footsteps were retreating, round and round, down and down. She stared about her, dark eyes enormous and glittering with tears. She was locked in, a prisoner. And her sister was to be paid for her purchase!

For some moments she knew not what to do, and sat staring at the forbidding door as though it might speak back to her. And then came anger, rising with the blood under the grime on her face, and she went to the door and pounded upon it until her fists were bruised and aching. But no one came, nor even stirred, and at last she ran back towards the slitted window, trying to peer out.

Far away lay the woods, where she had hidden and run, where she had picked and eaten her blackberries. Tears stung her eyes now at the thought of them and all the trouble they had caused. She was at the top of a tower which rose straight from the inside walls of Pristine, and was on the far side, away from the village and the fields. No sign of life interfered with her view, nothing moved along the winding road through the trees.

Her breath spilled out between her lips, and she closed her eyes tightly on the tears. There was a stone ledge by the window, and she subsided weakly upon it, wincing from the bruises of her previous encounter with stone. She was, indeed, a prisoner. What would Grisel say? Would she rant and rave and demand her sister back? Would she scream and fetch Snuff back from the fields, and both of them come running to save her? She sighed and knew it would never be so. Even if they wished to save her, how could they? They were the property of Lord Ralf, just as she was.