Impostress

  Never had Kiera seen such a display. Pale silks—some, the tailor assured her, brocaded in Italy—were set alongside bolts of rich velvet and damask, a heavy material brought from Damascus. Threads of silver and gold were woven into the plush fabric, and the tailor was already suggesting colors and trim for dresses that he envisioned.

  “Sable is always in fashion,” he confided as if it were a great secret, while placing a sleek dark pelt over a bolt of silvery gray damask. “And when summer comes, there is this lavender sandal—now, where is it? I had it just yesterday ... Gwayne ... oh ... here it is!” He showed off the bolt in question, a shimmery lilac over which he draped a fine white lace and a plum-colored ribbon. “Is this not exquisite? This gown will be fitted at the waist, with a square neckline trimmed in lace and a train that you’ll carry over your forearm. We could have the skirt in layers, some of the darker fabric!” He practically glowed as he described dress after dress. Kiera couldn’t remember which style he put with the different fabrics, but told herself it mattered not.

  “Now, let’s measure you,” the tailor suggested as he snapped a finger at the seamstresses.

  While being measured, Kiera studied the vibrant colors of cloth and told herself she could not go through with this. The elaborate gowns would cost a king’s ransom and were intended for Kelan’s wife.

  She decided she would have to speak with him, while the tailor rambled on and on about sleeves, necklines, and hems as he envisioned not only dresses, but cloaks, mantles, headdresses, and shoes that Kiera would never wear. While listening with half an ear, Kiera imagined what her husband would say when she told him the truth.

  He would be livid. Mortified. And ready to draw and quarter her. She would have to throw herself upon his mercy and ask for his help in finding his true bride.

  Her stomach soured at the thought of the extent of Kelan’s humiliation and shame and ensuing wrath. But she had to confess. She had to. This morning, when Kelan had gently awoken her with his caresses, she had wanted to explain everything, but words had failed her. After meeting his mother and earning her approval, Kiera had made passionate love to her husband again. But she could not continue to pretend to be Kelan’s wife. No matter what punishment Kelan meted out, no matter what embarrassment they both would suffer, she could no longer live this lie.

  She put up with the fidgety little tailor working around her only because Kelan was now too busy to talk to her. She’d have to wait until they were alone and in the meantime she could do nothing to alert the staff that anything was wrong. Kelan deserved the dignity of learning of her perfidy first.

  “Ah ... here’s something special,” the tailor announced, showing off a roll of deep blue velvet and accenting it with the long white fur of a rabbit. “Yes ... with your eyes and hair, ‘twould be elegant, nay, regal, m’lady. Pointed sleeves, I think, a high bodice, and a deep enough neckline to be daring. Yes?” He rubbed beringed fingers in his excitement.

  “Thank you, but I’m not sure that I need so many clothes,” she said as the energetic man kept up with his task, draping linens, silks, and velvets over her shoulders, only to step back and stroke his pointed beard as he imagined the fabric sewn into his creation.

  “Your husband was very insistent. A dozen dresses. No less. With matching shoes, headdresses, and cloaks.” A twinkle lighted his dark eyes. “He must love you very much.”

  Kiera felt all the more miserable. Though she didn’t believe Kelan was in love with her, she knew that he’d become fond of her and she ... oh, blast, she was beginning to fall in love with him despite the fact that he was Elyn’s husband.

  “Come, lady, smile. ’Tis not every day that a lord orders an entire wardrobe for his wife.”

  She managed a thin pretense of a grin, for there was no explaining that the dresses would never be sewn, that by tonight Kelan would rescind his order for the clothes and probably strip Kiera of the ones she was wearing before casting her into the dungeon.

  But there was nothing she could do about it.

  She had to tell him the truth and somehow find Elyn, if her sister was alive. Then, assuming she could be found, Elyn could deal with her new husband.

  Oh, what wretched, wretched torture. For as much as she wanted to locate her sister, she could not think of being separated forever from Kelan. To think of him with another woman, her sister—oh, nay. Her stomach threatened to lurch at the cursed image. So lost in thought was she, she didn’t hear the door to the chamber open.

  “Lady Elyn?”

  Kiera turned.

  Morwenna, the sister who knew Elyn and so obviously doubted Kiera, breezed into the room. With her raven-dark hair and intense blue eyes, she cast a quick smile at the tailor and said, “Lady Elyn, when you’re finished here, my mother would like to speak to you.”

  Kiera’s heart dropped. Now what? “But I already met with her.”

  “Aye. And now she wants a word with you alone.”

  “We are nearly done, m’lady,” the tailor said as he snipped off a length of saffron burnet.

  “Please, see to her as soon as you can.” There was a deep sadness in Morwenna’s eyes, underscored by distrust, and as quickly as she had entered the room, she left.

  Why would Kelan’s mother want to see her alone? Had she known by sight that something was amiss? Had she, like Morwenna, met Elyn years before? Yet Lenore had uttered not a word when Kiera and Kelan had visited with her. Though frail and ill, her body not recovering from her fall, Lady Lenore had smiled and her gaze had seemed friendly and warm. Kelan’s mother had even grabbed Kiera’s hand in surprisingly strong fingers and whispered a firm, seemingly heartfelt “Welcome to Penbrooke.”

  Kiera’s throat had clogged and tears had burned behind her eyelids at the strength of the woman.

  So why the urgent need to see Kiera again? Unless Morwenna had voiced her doubts about Kelan’s wife to his mother.

  When the tailor had finished, Kiera hurried out of the solar and up a half flight to Lady Lenore’s chamber. She started to make one wrong turn, then corrected herself. Earlier, Nell had shown Kiera a trick of remembering passageways by pictures or furniture landmarks. She’d met two dozen servants, all of whom had tried to make her feel welcome. At home. Oh, God, she could not let this go on a second longer.

  At Lady Lenore’s door, Kiera paused, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, then rapped on the panels.

  Within seconds the door was answered by a nurse.

  “I’m here to see Lady Lenore.” Kiera peeked into the darkened interior where Kelan’s mother lay, propped upon her bed.

  “Yes, she’s been expectin’ ya. Askin’ about ya she has been,” the woman said. “Come in, come in.”

  “Is it Elyn?” Lenore called softly from the bed.

  “Sure’n it is, m’lady.”

  “Good. Let her inside and please, give us a few minutes alone.”

  “But the baron, he instructed me ta stay with ya no matter what.”

  “Then wait on the other side of the door. If I need you, I’ll call for you,” Lenore commanded, displaying what Kiera supposed was her old fire.

  “But Lord Kelan, if he catches me, will—”

  “Let me deal with him. Now go, Rosalynn. I’ll be but a minute.” As the nurse grumbled her way out the door, Lenore lifted a tired hand and waved Kiera closer. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Of course I would come.” Dear Lord. If possible, Lenore looked weaker than she had before. An embroidery hoop was at her side but remained untouched.

  “Something is troubling you,” the older woman stated. It was a pronouncement, not a question, and Kiera felt a moment’s relief that Kelan’s mother had not discerned the truth.

  “ ’Tis only that I’m new here.”

  “And?” Lenore prompted. “Something is on your mind. More than missing your home and family.” She reached for Kiera’s hand. “What is it? Does my son displease you?”

  “Oh, no!
’Tis nothing of the sort.”

  “He treats you well?”

  She thought of the fact that he hadn’t brought up the vials for some time, his defense against Morwenna’s attack the night before, the dresses he’d ordered made for her, the way he’d introduced her to the staff, and, most of all, the lovemaking, sometimes tender, other times so passionate she couldn’t breathe. “Aye, he treats me well,” she admitted, afraid a tremor in her voice would betray her.

  “ ’Tis because he loves you.”

  “Loves me?” Kiera repeated, torn between elation and despair. Oh, to think that Kelan cared for her, that he actually loved her, was heaven itself. Or was it hell? For he could never love a woman who had deceived him so. Never. Eventually the truth would come out.

  Tonight.

  She had to tell him tonight.

  “Aye. I know my son. I thought him incapable of falling in love, and if I’d had even a glimmer that he would become besotted with his wife ... oh, my. I only wish I could be here to see his child ... your child.”

  Kiera’s heart twisted. She realized that if she was not already pregnant, she would never have the opportunity to bear Kelan a child. Suddenly she felt empty inside. Bereft and hollow.

  “I think there is something you should know,” she said, hearing the beginning of her confession before she’d actually thought it through. Surely she should tell Kelan the truth rather than his mother.

  Frail as she was, Lenore straightened in the bed, and Kiera caught a glimpse of the younger woman she had once been, the strong, vibrant woman whose aging body was set upon betraying her. “What is it that’s worrying you? Do you not love Kelan?”

  Love him? Love him? Nay, that was impossible and yet ... hadn’t she thought, nay, feared the very same? Desire was not the same as love. It could not be, but the feelings Kelan had evoked from her belonged not only to the body, but to the heart as well. “ ’Tis not about love,” she hedged, though she was certain Elyn’s mother-in-law could see through her evasion. Though Lenore was ill, she was still clear in her mind. “The loving is not a problem.”

  “Then all is well. For he does love you, Elyn. A mother knows her own son and I see his love for you in his eyes. When the two of you visited my chamber, I caught him staring at you when you weren’t aware that his gaze was following you. Oh, he tries to hide it, I can see that, but he’s smitten.” A tiny, satisfied smile curved her lips, and Kiera wished she were dead a thousand times over, knowing that this ill woman received a glimmer of hope and happiness in the knowledge that her son had married well. Oh, ’twas awful. She had to set things straight.

  Lenore turned to her embroidery hoop. “This was to be part of a wedding present,” she said with a sigh. “But, I fear, ’twill never be done.” She picked up the hoop with its stretched fabric and intricate stitches, half-finished images of two doves holding a ribbon threaded through matching gold bands. “It was for you, and I will ask Daylynn to finish it after I pass.”

  “Please, don’t talk like this. You don’t know that your time is near.”

  Steady blue eyes held hers and the room seemed to suddenly hush, the sounds of the castle no longer seeping through the door, the fire’s hiss softening, the echo of footsteps in the hallway nonexistent. “I know, daughter,” she said, and Kiera cringed inwardly at the endearment. “When a woman’s time is due, she knows. ‘Tis not much different from sensing a husband’s infidelity, or feeling that her unborn babe is about to enter the world. I’ve lived a full life. Grieve not for me. Just knowing that Kelan is married and happy, ’tis more than I could have wished for. I had only hoped that he would find some peace in the arrangement my husband made with your father, but this, seeing him smile and look at you the way he does, this is a true blessing.”

  Kiera’s eyes began to fill and her soul was twisted in two. Should she hold her tongue and let Lady Lenore pass on to the next world without knowing, assuming that Kelan and Elyn were, indeed, happily wed, or did she owe the older woman the truth? She glanced at the embroidery hoop with its intricate stitches made by an ailing woman. “I—I think you ought to know that things are not as they seem,” she said, her voice sounding far away to her ears as she steeled herself for the reaction that was to come.

  Lenore’s gaze focused hard on Kiera. “If not, then maybe they should be,” she said. ‘Twas almost as if she could sense the deceptions, feel the lies. “Whatever is on your mind, Elyn, please do not speak it. Ever. It’s of no matter and sometimes a woman must turn her head away from the truth when it would be too painful for her family to withstand, or would serve no purpose other than to rend that which should be forever whole.” She folded one thin hand over the other. “I have seen the pain of love gone awry ... Morwenna herself as a young girl ... oh”—Lenore shook her head sadly—” ’twas a poor choice. Carrick of Wybren. How she fell in love with that rogue I’ll never understand ...” Her voice trailed off for a second as she remembered something that brought her eyebrows close together. ” ’Tis of no matter now. What is important is that Kelan loves you and I think you love him, do you not?”

  Kiera’s heart twisted ever more painfully. How could she admit to loving her sister’s husband?

  Is it any worse than making love to the man? Worse than pretending to be someone else?

  “I—I am not who you think I am,” she admitted.

  “Who I think you are is the only woman who has ever touched my son’s soul.” She grabbed Kiera’s arm again, her fingers clasping as if in desperation. “Please, I implore you, whatever it is that’s troubling you, whatever it is that haunts you, do nothing to thwart this marriage.”

  “But I am not—”

  “Shh!” Lenore would hear none of it. “A true love is a rare, precious gift. Guard it with all your might. Promise me.”

  “I—can’t.”

  “Promise me.” Suddenly Lenore’s eyes burned with a bright, fervid fire. “I ask nothing more of you. I need to go to my grave knowing that this, your marriage, the children you will have with my son, will not be in jeopardy.” Her voice was a harsh, demanding whisper. “For the love of God, Elyn, promise me this.”

  Kiera swallowed hard. Her throat was near swollen shut. ’Twas a vow with Elyn that had got her into this mess in the first place. With Kelan’s desperate mother clutching her sleeve in a death grip, she was about to make another oath that she was certain would only lead to heartache.

  “Do not deny me this. Let me go to my grave in peace.”

  “Aye, I promise that I will do the best I can to make the marriage work.”

  “ ’Tis all I can ask.” Lenore’s tense features relaxed a bit. “Thank you, daughter.” Her fingers loosened and she sighed as she sank onto her pillows.

  Kiera could hardly breathe.

  But I am not your daughter, she thought miserably. Nor am I your daughter-in-law.

  “Now I grow weary. We’ll talk another time.” The fire in Lenore’s eyes dimmed. Apparently satisfied that she’d got Kiera’s word, she sagged, her strength suddenly dissipated. Slowly her eyelids lowered and she lifted one bony hand, her fingers fluttering slightly. “Please, call the nurse. Good day, Elyn.”

  Kiera didn’t have to say a word. As if she’d been hovering on the other side of the door, Rosalynn bustled in. Casting Kiera a disparaging glance, she hurried to the bedside as Kiera said a quick good-bye.

  “I’m here, m’lady,” the nurse assured Lenore.

  “Good ... Please see that Daylynn finishes this bit of needlework,” she said, her words following Kiera as she entered the hallway. ” ’Tis a wedding present for my son and his new wife.”

  From his hiding spot in the hayloft, Joseph spied the missing mare. Nervous and fidgety, her crooked blaze standing out upon her dark coat, she was tethered in a stall away from the rest of the horses. Most of the animals that were not being used for pulling a cart or carrying a soldier were in the south meadow, grazing on the scrub grass that grew in an orchard. Joseph had sneaked outside and ob
served what seemed to be a daily routine. The idle horses were tended by a lazy, rawboned lad who wore a hat pulled down over his eyes to protect him from the rain. He leaned against the bole of a leafless apple tree, either whittling or dozing. Which was just fine. He seemed dull enough not to miss the mare.

  Just as you didn’t? his guilty mind nagged.

  Joseph’s jaw clenched as he considered his plan. He’d steal the mare that belonged to Baron Llwyd; ’twas the least he could do and might somehow make up for losing Obsidian a few years back.

  But what of Lady Elyn?

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he climbed down from the hayloft and paused to pet the mare’s soft nose. Tossing her head, she snorted. Silently Joseph slipped out of the stable. It was not yet dusk. He pulled his cowl over his head and kept to the shadows and away from the well-worn paths. The wind was brittle and cold, the rain once more spitting from the sky.

  Despite the weather, workers were busy within the crumbling castle walls of Oak Crest. Women carrying jugs, platters, dead chickens, eggs, and vegetables followed after huntsmen with their kills and woodsmen with carts of firewood. Cows lowed, sheep bleated, and there was chatter everywhere, an air of excitement in the smoky air. High upon the north tower, the green-and-white standards of Oak Crest snapped in the breeze, and on a lower flagstaff, the crest of Fenn was flying as well.

  Lady Wynnifrydd was soon to be Sir Brock’s bride. So what of Lady Elyn? If her horse was here, did it not follow that Elyn, too, was within the keep? Yet he’d heard not one mention of her name, had seen nothing, aside from the skittish mare, to indicate she was nearby.

  Or was she?

  A dark trepidation had been growing in Joseph’s heart. For over a day Joseph had moved within the population of the keep. He’d overheard dozens of conversations and filtered through enough gossip and rumors to surmise that Lady Elyn hadn’t arrived at the castle. Unless she was secreted away, hidden from everyone but Brock. But why?

  He frowned and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck, hiding more of his chin. He didn’t believe Lady Elyn would allow the man she loved to marry another woman. Not when she’d gone to such great lengths and taken such incredible risks to be with the bastard of Oak Crest. Joseph hated the man, not only for his brash manner, but because Lady Elyn loved him.