by Lynsay Sands
“I am glad you are here,” Joan went on, clasping her hands with a smile. “I was afraid I would not have the opportunity to thank you and say good-bye ere I left.”
“Left?” Brinna echoed faintly.
“Aye. I am leaving. Phillip and I are running away to be married.”
“Phillip?” Brinna stared at her blankly, sure the drink had affected her more than she had realized.
“Phillip of Radfurn. Lord Thurleah’s cousin?” Joan prompted with amusement. “When he visited Laythem we—” She shrugged. “We fell in love. He followed me to court, then on here, and has been staying in the village so that we could see each other.”
“But he told Royce that you were a spoiled brat,” Brinna reminded her in confusion.
“Aye. He was hoping to convince him to break the contract. He wanted me for himself, you see.”
“I see,” Brinna murmured, but shook her head. She didn’t really see at all. “Did you say you were running away?”
“Aye. To be married. Phillip is fetching the horses now.”
“But you can’t. You are supposed to marry Royce tomorrow morning.”
“Well, obviously I will not be there.”
“But you cannot do this. He’s—”
“I know, I know.” Joan rolled her eyes as she moved to the window to peer down into the darkness of the courtyard below. “He is a nice man. Well, if you like him so much, why do you not marry him? He will be looking for a wife now that I am out of the picture anyway. As for me, Phillip is more my sort. We understand each other. And we will not spend our days moldering out on some old estate. He adores court as much as I do.”
“What of your father?”
Joan grimaced. “He will be furious. He may even withhold my dower. But Phillip does not care. He loves me and will take me with or without—” She paused suddenly, then smiled. “There he is. He has the horses. Well, I’m off.”
Whirling away from the window, she pulled the hood of her mantle over her head and hurried to the door. Pausing there, she glanced back. “I left the rest of the coins I promised you in the chest. Thank you for everything, Brinna.”
She was gone before Brinna could think of a thing to say to stop her. Sighing as the door snapped closed, Brinna sank down on the edge of the bed in dismay.
What a mess. It was all a mess. Joan was rushing off with Lord Radfurn. Royce’s plans would be ruined. His hopes for his people crushed. And she was at fault, she realized with horror. She had ruined everything for him. If she had not masqueraded as Joan, Joan would have been forced to remain here and spend time with him and—
Oh, dear Lord, how could she have done this to him?
“Joan!” Sabrina rushed into the room, slamming the door behind her with a sigh. “It is madness out there. Everyone is drunk and I thought I saw Brinna slipping out of the keep—” She paused as she drew close enough to see the color of Brinna’s eyes and the miserable expression on her face. “Brinna?”
She nodded solemnly.
“Then that was Joan I saw slipping out of the keep?”
“Aye,” Brinna sighed. “She is running off with Phillip of Radfurn.”
“What?” Sabrina shrieked. “Oh, I knew that man was trouble.”
Brinna’s eyes widened in surprise. “Phillip of Radfurn?”
“Aye. He was all over her at Laythem. Trailing after her like a puppy dog. Going on and on about how grand Henry’s court is. As if Joan’s head wasn’t already stuffed with the thought herself.” She shook her head in disgust and dropped to sit on the bed beside Brinna. “He must have followed us here.”
“Aye, he did.”
“Then she has probably been slipping out to see him every day. No wonder she wanted me to accompany you. That way she could flit about unchaperoned. Lord knows what they have been getting up to. They—oh, my God!” Sabrina turned on her in horror as if just understanding the significance of Joan’s running away. “What are we going to do? Lord Laythem will be furious when he finds out.”
“No doubt,” Brinna agreed, thinking that the man would also be mightily confused after coming across someone he thought was Joan messing about with Royce in the stables just last night. He would be furious to think that after that, she had then run off with Radfurn. Royce would be just as confused and angry.
“Oh, dear Lord.” Sabrina stood abruptly and moved toward the door. “I am getting out of here.”
“Out of here?” Brinna stood up anxiously. “What do you mean out of here?”
“My father sent men with Uncle Edmund to escort me home to be married. I had insisted that we wait until after the wedding to go, but now . . .” Pausing at the door, she turned back to shake her head. “I will insist we leave first thing on the morrow. I do not want to be here when Uncle Edmund discovers this. He will skin me alive for my involvement. And I would rather be far and away from here before he finds out.”
“But should we not tell them? They will worry and—”
“Worry? Girl, what are you thinking of? Forget their worry and think of yourself.”
Brinna blinked in surprise. “I have nothing to worry about. I am just a servant.”
“Who has been parading as a noble for the past nearly two weeks,” Sabrina pointed out, then bit her lip. “Oh, dear Lord, I knew I should have told you this sooner.”
“What?” Brinna asked warily.
Sabrina shook her head. “I was talking to Christina that first night at table. The night Joan stayed up here to train you to be a lady,” she explained. “She happened to mention that a neighbor’s smithy got caught impersonating Lord Menton this last summer. It seems the lord had commissioned a new suit of mail. The smithy finished it earlier than expected, but rather than take it at once to his lord, he donned it and paraded about, masquerading as him. He was caught, and they buried him alive with the mail, saying that since he coveted it so much he could spend eternity with it.”
Brinna paled and winced at the story, then shook her head. “Aye, but that was different. Lady Joan insisted I masquerade as her. She said she would say ’twas all a jest and all would be well. She—”
“She is not here to tell anyone that, is she? And as it turns out, ’tis not much of a jest. At least I don’t think Lord Laythem or Lord Thurleah will see it as one.” Sabrina nodded as Brinna’s eyes widened in dawning horror. “Mark my words. Dirty your face and hair with soot, redon your kerchief and clothes, then get you on that pallet by the door and feign sleep until the morrow. When they come looking for Joan, claim she did not return last night and you know not where she is, then just get out of the way. As for me, I am going to speak to my father’s man and see if ’tis too late to leave tonight.”
Brinna leapt into action the moment the door was closed, rushing to the chest to begin digging through it for her ratty old gown and the strip of cloth to cover her hair. She had just sunk to her knees by the chest in horror as she recalled that Joan had been wearing her clothes when she left, when the door to the room opened again.
“Ah, yer here already,” the old crone who entered murmured with disappointment as she spotted Brinna by the chest. “I was hoping to beat ye here and see yer bed turned down ere ye arrived.”
Brinna made a choking sound and the old woman smiled benignly. “Now, now. I know ye insisted I rest a bit longer to be sure I’m recovered, but really, I am well now and ready to take on my duties again. ’Sides, I wouldn’t leave ye in the hands of some inexperienced little kitchen maid on the eve of yer wedding.”
Brinna held her breath in horror as the woman, who could only be Joan’s maid, approached. At any moment the woman would cry out in horror once she saw Brinna up close and realized that her eye color was all wrong and her features just a touch off—but it never happened. Instead, Brinna’s eyes were the ones to widen in realization as she saw the clouds that obscured the woman’s eyes leaving her nearly blind. Brinna was safe for now, so long as she kept her mouth shut. But she had to figure a way out of this mess by morn
ing, else she might find herself spending the day watching them dig a grave to bury her alive in.
BRINNA STOOD SILENTLY between Royce and Lord Laythem, her head bowed to hide the color of her eyes and her shaking knees. She couldn’t be sure whether they shook from her fear of discovery, or the fact that she had been standing with her knees slightly bent all throughout the priest’s short morning Mass in an effort to appear an inch or so shorter so as not to give herself away to Joan’s father.
It was fate that had brought her here. Fickle fate, blocking her at every turn, making escape impossible. First her clothes had left the room on Joan’s back; then Joan’s maid had arrived to usher her to bed before settling herself on the pallet before the door, ensuring that no one entered . . . and that Brinna couldn’t leave. She had spent the night wide awake, tossing and turning, as she tried to find a way out of this cauldron of trouble. The only thing she had been able to come up with was to simply slip away at her first opportunity, find Aggie, get her to find her something more appropriate for a servant to wear, then do as Sabrina had suggested.
Fate had stepped in to remove that opportunity as well. She simply had not been given the chance. Joan’s maid had barely risen in the morning and begun to fuss around Brinna before the door had burst open to allow Lady Menton and a bevy of servants to enter. Aggie had been among them, and Brinna had waited stiffly for her to say something, but the woman who had raised her from birth seemed not to recognize her as Brinna was bathed, dressed, and primped. It wasn’t until just before Royce arrived that Brinna had realized that the woman had known who she was all along. The bath had been removed and Lady Menton and the rest of the servants had left with it when Aggie had suddenly stepped up to her and placed a silver chain about her neck.
“Yer necklace, m’lady. Ye can’t be getting married without this,” she had murmured. “’Twas yer mother’s.”
Brinna had lifted the amulet that hung from the chain in her hand and peered down at it, her eyes widening as she recognized it as the one that Aggie had worn for as long as she had known her.
“All will be well,” the old woman had whispered gently, and Brinna had gasped.
“You know!”
Giving her a sharp look of warning, Aggie had gestured to Joan’s maid, who was busy digging through the chest, then chided Brinna gently. “I’ve known from the beginning. Did ye think I wouldn’t when I met that other girl in here?”
“But what do I do?”
“You love him, don’t you?”
Brinna’s answer had been in her eyes, and Aggie had smiled. “Then marry him.”
“But—”
“Here we are.” Joan’s maid had approached then with a veil for her to wear, and Aggie had merely offered Brinna a reassuring smile and slipped from the room. Then Joan’s maid had veiled her, Royce had arrived, and she had found herself making the walk she had made every day since taking on this foolish masquerade. Only this morning she had known she was walking to her death.
Mass this morning had been delayed and shortened due to the wedding, but now the priest had finished it and moved on to the ceremony while Brinna struggled with what to do. She knew what she should do. Throw off the veil that half-hid her features and proclaim who she really was before this went any further. Unfortunately, fear was riding her just now. While Brinna loved Royce, she certainly did not think that she could not live without him. She was quite attached to living actually. In fact, the more she considered how some poor smithy had been killed for daring to misrepresent himself as his lord, the more she loved life.
“Do you, Joan Jean Laythem, take Royce to be your . . .”
A rushing in her ears drowned out the priest’s voice briefly, and Brinna felt the sweat break out on her forehead as she swallowed some of the bile rising up in her throat.
“Love, honor, and obey . . .”
Love, she thought faintly. Aye, she loved him. And she thought he might actually love her too. But how long would that last once he realized how she had tricked him? Good Lord, he would loathe her. How could he not when she was taking the choice away from him. Tricking him into marriage with a scullery maid.
“My lady?”
Blinking, she peered at the priest, suddenly aware of the silence that surrounded her. They were waiting for her answer. Her gaze slid to Royce, taking in the expression on his face. It was two parts loving admiration, and one part concern as he awaited her response. Swallowing, she tried to get the words out. I do, she thought. I do. I do. “I don’t.”
“What?”
Brinna hardly heard Lord Laythem’s indignant roar as she watched the shock and alarm fill Royce’s face. Shaking her head, she gave up her slouching and stood up straight and tall, wondering even as she did what madness had overcome her. “I cannot do it.”
“Joan?” The confusion and pain on Royce’s face tore at her.
“You need the dower for your people. If that were not so . . . But it is, and I cannot do this to you. You would never forgive me. And you shouldn’t forgive a woman who could do that to you.”
Royce shook his head in confusion. “What are you saying?”
“I am not Joan.”
There was silence for a moment, then Royce gave an incredulous laugh. “You jest!”
“Nay. I am not Joan Laythem!” Brinna insisted, and her heart thundering in her chest, she ripped the veil from her head. As those there to witness the occasion leaned forward in confusion, wondering what they were supposed to be seeing, she whirled to face Lord Laythem. “I am naught but a scullery maid. I—your daughter—I was sent to tend to Lady Laythem when she arrived because her lady’s maid was ill. When she realized how similar we were in looks, she insisted I take her place for Lord Royce to woo,” she ended lamely, despair and resignation on her face.
“Joan.” Lord Laythem turned her to face him, then paused in surprise as he noted the extra inches she suddenly sported. Frowning, he shook his head and looked her grimly in the eyes. “Joan, I—green,” he declared with dismay.
Royce frowned, his stomach clenching in concern at the expression on the man’s face. “My lord?” he asked warily.
“Her eyes are green,” Lord Laythem said faintly.
“Nay, my lord.” Royce frowned at him, his own eyes moving to the lovely gray orbs now filling with tears of fear and loss. “Her eyes are as gray as your own.”
“Aye, but my daughter’s are green.”
Royce blinked at that, then shook his head with horror. “Are you saying this is not your daughter?”
“Aye,” he murmured, his gaze now moving slowly over her features, taking in the tiniest differences, the smallest variations with amazement, before he recalled the problem before them and asked. “Girl—what is your name?”
“Brinna,” she breathed miserably.
“Well, Brinna, are you saying that since my daughter has arrived here, you have been Joan?”
“Aye,” she confessed, shamefaced.
“Even in the stables?”
Her face suffusing with color, Brinna nodded, wincing as Royce cursed harshly.
“And where is my daughter now?” Lord Laythem asked, ignoring the younger man.
“She ran off to marry Phillip of Radfurn last night,” Brinna murmured, turning to peer at Royce as she said the words and wincing at the way he blanched. Knowing that all his hopes for his people were now ashes at his feet, she turned away in shame, flinching when he grasped her arm and jerked her back around.
“You knew her plan all along? You helped her?” he said accusingly with bewildered hurt, and Brinna bit her lip as she shook her head.
“I helped her, aye, but I didn’t know of her plan. Well, I mean, I knew she did not want to marry you and that she was looking for a way to avoid it, but I did not know how she planned to do so. And . . . and had I—I didn’t know you when I agreed to help her, I just—she offered me more coins than I had ever hoped to see and I thought I could use them to make Aggie comfortable and—” Recognizing th
e contempt on his face and the fact that nothing she was saying was helping any, Brinna unconsciously clutched her mother’s amulet and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Look, girl,” Lord Laythem began impatiently, only to pause as his gaze landed on the amulet she was clutching so desperately. Stilling, he reached a trembling hand to snatch at the charm. “Where did you get this?” he asked shakily, and Brinna swallowed nervously, afraid of next being accused of being a thief.
“It is my mother’s,” she murmured, recalling what Aggie had said as she placed it around her neck. Brinna had always known that Aggie was not the woman who had birthed her, but since Aggie had always avoided speaking of it, Brinna had never questioned her on the subject.
“Your mother’s?” Paling, Lord Laythem stared at her blankly for a moment. Then, “What is her name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you know, you must know.” He gave her an impatient little shake. “What is her name?”
“She doesn’t know.”
They all turned at those words to see Aggie framed in the chapel door. Mouth tight with anger, she moved her wretched old body slowly through the parting crowd toward them. “She’s telling the truth. She doesn’t know. I never told her. What good would it have done?”
“Aggie?” Brinna stepped to the old woman’s side, uncertainty on her face.
“I am sorry, child. There was no sense in yer knowing until now. I feared ye would grow bitter and angry. But now ye must know.” Turning, she glared at Lord Laythem grimly. “Her mother was a fine lady. A real and true lady in every sense of the word. She arrived in the village twenty-one years ago, young and as beautiful as Brinna herself. The only difference between the two was that her eyes were green.”
