Impostress

by Lisa Jackson

  Despite the icy air, the headstrong mare was sweating. Stomping nervously, tossing her dark head and snorting, the damned horse acted as if she sensed the lies swirling in the forest, and the guilt that Elyn felt surrounding her heart.

  “Shh,” Elyn commanded with a sharp jerk on the reins. “Whoa.” With gloved fingers, Elyn held fast to the leather straps, keeping the jumpy horse from bolting as she cast one final look over her shoulder to the castle. Lawenydd. Her home.

  But no longer.

  Her throat ached and tears burned at her eyes, but she blamed it on the raw winter wind that tore through the fields, bending the dead grass. With biting cold it nipped at Elyn’s cheeks as she stared at the thick stone curtain and high towers of the keep. It was nearly nightfall, but enough moonlight shone over the castle that she was left with one final impression of it before she yanked roughly on the reins and kneed her mare into the forest.

  This was her choice, not to marry the man to whom she was promised, but to seek out real love, the true heart she’d met, an irrepressible spirit who had sworn to love her.

  Brock. Oh, love.

  Her blood ran hot and guilty at the thought of him and what she was about to do. What she had planned was unthinkable and she felt a kernel of regret for poor Kiera. But, Elyn decided, her younger sister would survive. Kiera had promised to do anything Elyn asked, hadn’t she? Then changed her mind. Elyn’s lips twisted at her sister’s cowardice. Pathetic, weak creature.

  Certainly in the days to come Kiera would be tested. Just as Elyn had been. She’d hidden within the keep for most of the day, waiting for the perfect time to sneak away, and now she was free. Free!

  Was it fair that Elyn was to have been sacrificed for her father’s petty alliance, that she would have to give up her life all for duty and Lawenydd, just because she was firstborn?

  Nay, nay, nay!

  She was still angry at how easily her father had bartered her away, with as little concern as if she’d been a lame horse, something to quickly dispose of. Well, Llwyd of Lawenydd was about to find out that his daughter was as strong as he.

  Gloved fingers twisting in the reins, she guided the bay through the thickets to splash across an icy stream. She dared not ride along the road for fear she might meet someone who would recognize her and then all of her plans would be destroyed. But she had to be wary. The woods were far from safe, as she’d discovered on her own, and she’d overheard her father and the soldiers talking about the thugs and their raids upon the innocents who traveled undefended. Yet she couldn’t take the chance of joining a group of travelers who might know her as Elyn of Lawenydd.

  For her plan to work as she’d plotted, Kelan of Penbrooke must think that he’d married the woman to whom he’d been promised.

  If Penelope, Hildy, and Kiera would only hold their tongues, play their parts, and Morwenna, Kelan’s sister whom Elyn had met years ago, didn’t recognize the switch ...

  Dear God, what was the chance of that?

  ’Twas Kiera’s worry now.

  Again guilt stung her, but she paid it no heed. Could not. She’d made her decision.

  Aye, and Kiera will have to pay the price. Shoving aside that nagging little thought, Elyn leaned low over her horse’s neck. Coarse hairs from the bay’s mane slapped at her cheeks. The wind whispered through the barren, skeletal branches, making them creak and moan. Elyn shivered. Her heart raced faster.

  She couldn’t turn back and face her father’s wrath. Nor could she marry Penbrooke, whom she would never love. For Elyn refused to marry without love.

  So now Penbrooke is Kiera’s problem, Elyn’s mind nagged. Kiera’s fate. Kiera’s doom.

  Well, fine. Better she than me!

  Yet the wind moaning through the forest seemed to mock her, to jeer at her for sneaking away like a thief in the night.

  And now Kiera would have to fight the man off, night after night ... once she understood. Then she would eventually have to give in, accept her fate. Guilt, suddenly sharp as a cutthroat’s dagger, sliced through Elyn’s mind once more. She closed her eyes and steadfastly brushed the blame aside. She had no time for doubt.

  Besides, Kiera would make the best of the situation. She was a clever girl.

  Even so, Elyn bit her lip until it bled as she thought of Lawenydd and the ceremonies about to take place. Forgive me, she silently prayed before forcing her thoughts to the uncertain path stretching before her.

  Ahead lay Brock.

  Oh, precious, precious love. Her throat tightened. He was worth every second of regret she might feel.

  Far in the distance she heard the rolling peal of bells.

  Wedding bells.

  Chimes announcing the marriage of Elyn of Lawenydd to the Lord of Penbrooke.

  “So be it,” she whispered, and spurred her fidgety mare onward.

  To Brock.

  As the bells tolled out her miserable fate, Kiera closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked slowly into the chapel. So Elyn had abandoned her. Fear and anger burned through Kiera’s blood, and when her sister returned later tonight, she’d be lucky if Kiera didn’t strangle her.

  Through the heavy veil she saw little, but she made her way to the altar, where candles burned and a man—Elyn’s bridegroom—awaited. God, help me.

  Stomach clenched, she stole a glance in his direction. Through the tightly woven lace she couldn’t see his features distinctly. Yet she was able to discern that he was a tall man with wide shoulders, a straight spine, a flat abdomen, and long legs. His silhouette looked like that of a warrior. Candlelight reflected upon his head of thick, dark hair.

  He was not at all as Elyn had told her. Swallowing hard, Kiera sensed that the Beast of Penbrooke’s expression was hard, though she caught only a shadowy glimpse of his face.

  The small room was dark; the few people were blurry, hard to recognize through the lace. Dear God, forgive me for this deception, she thought, her heart in her throat as she made a quick sign of the cross and knelt beside Elyn’s betrothed. Upon his knees he dwarfed her, and she bowed her head, more to hide her features than for the sake of piety. Along with the smells of incense and burning tallow, she recognized the faint hint of wood smoke and leather and something else—something frighteningly male that seemed to emanate from him. Her shoulder nearly touched his arm, so close were they, and was it her imagination, or did she feel resentment, even anger, as if he was no more happy than she?

  She felt him slide a glance her way.

  She swallowed hard.

  He was so big. So imposing. So ... masculine.

  Holy Mother, what was she to do with him? Her heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings; her throat was as dry as desert sand. Her stomach was knotted in a tight fist that she doubted would ever loosen.

  The priest was murmuring a prayer, but she could barely hear the words over the rush of blood in her ears. This was wrong. She’d never get away with it.

  True, Penelope was to add a potion to his mazer of wine, as they had discussed earlier, but what if the herbs weren’t strong enough? What if he didn’t want any wine? What if all he really wanted was to claim his wife in the marriage bed?

  She groaned inwardly. She should never have decided to go through with this mockery. Never. Just being this close to the man made her want to bolt. What would it be like to be alone with him in a locked room, with the promise of wedding vows hanging heavy in the air? Swallowing hard, she tried to hang on to her rapidly fleeing composure and forced her hands not to shake.

  The priest was old, mumbling, but seemed joyous, as if pleased to have traveled three long days to bless this union. Would God strike her down for lying, for committing a sin in His house? Oh, she’d been a fool to ever don the wedding dress ...

  She sensed her father to one side of the chapel, and men she did not recognize on the other. Penelope was nearby, and no doubt, Hildy was somewhere in the shadows.

  Kiera bit her lip. If she could somehow just get through the ceremony and t
he next few hours—Suddenly she realized that the small room had become silent. There was an expectant hush. The priest was waiting ... he repeated the horrid words. Would she accept this man as her husband, to love him, to cherish him, to obey him ...

  Her heart was a drum, blood pounding in her ears. Though the room was cold, sweat slid down her spine.

  “I ... I do,” she whispered and wondered if she’d just damned herself forever.

  Chapter Three

  Every person in the small chapel let out a tiny sigh of relief. Everyone but the man kneeling next to Kiera. Kelan’s back was stiff, his chin elevated in arrogant defiance. Though he, too, repeated his vows, his words were clipped and sharp. He made no effort to hide how anxious he was for the ordeal to be over.

  She wanted to run out of the chapel as fast as her legs would carry her. What would happen when he lifted the veil to kiss her? Would there be someone in the room who would recognize her, who would gasp and point and accuse her of being the impostress she was?

  And suddenly the rite was over. The priest offered up a prayer and announced that they were married—the Lord and Lady of Penbrooke. God, help me, she thought as her new husband leaned over to lift her veil and kiss her.

  This is where it will surely all fall apart.

  Slowly he pulled back the heavy lace, and her eyes met his in the darkened chapel. A stormy, angry gaze pierced deep into hers and seemed to see every one of her lies. ’Twas as if in that instant, he looked straight to her soul.

  She drew in a quick breath. Her heart knocked wildly. Her knees nearly buckled.

  He wasn’t the ogre Elyn said he was.

  Far from it.

  His features were harsh, yes, rugged, but rough-hewn in a dangerous way that only heightened his masculinity. His silvery eyes glared from beneath thick, dark brows and rested upon cheekbones that seemed as if they’d been chiseled by God Himself. Square, beard-darkened jaw, narrow, strong nose, and blade-thin lips set in a furious hard line.

  Her heart hammered noisily and she braced herself for a quick brush of those sensual lips over hers, for a fleeting touch of skin to skin, but she should have recognized the determination in the set of his jaw. His arms surrounded her and he pulled her tight, then lowered his head and waited just a heartbeat, long enough that she saw the raw power etched in his features.

  In an instant, his mouth slanted over hers. Warm. Hard. Demanding. She nearly gasped and something deep inside of her started to tingle. The kiss deepened. Her head spun and the small room seemed to tip a bit and sway. This is all wrong. It shouldn’t feel like this! Not like this!

  Despite all the thoughts racing through her head, her impulse was to kiss him back.

  He jerked his head away from hers. Hot gray eyes assessed her for a split second, and she thought she recognized not only surprise, but arrogance, as if he was used to women swooning at the mere brush of his lips upon their skin.

  Thankfully he let the veil drop. She was certain her face had turned a wild crimson color, and even with his weak vision her father might recognize her as she turned to face the chapel door.

  God be with me, she thought, catching a glimpse of Penelope standing next to their father. The Lord of Lawenydd was beaming, but his youngest daughter was awestruck, her round-eyed gaze never leaving the face of her new brother-in-law.

  Kelan’s arms dropped, and somehow Kiera’s unstable legs held her. He didn’t so much as hold her hand or offer her a steadying arm as side by side they walked quickly out of the chapel and into the corridor. As wobbly as her legs were, Kiera wouldn’t have to feign sickness, for she didn’t feel well, not at all. Her cheeks burned, her blood pounded hot through her veins, and she was filled with the horrifying notion that his kiss at the altar had not been so much a bonding, nor even an acceptance, but rather a dare and a furious one at that. As if the Lord of Penbrooke was as angry about this marriage as she was. More than that, it was as if he was silently warning her he intended to take out his fury on his wife.

  Which is you, Kiera. At least as far as he knows. You’re the one who said the vows. You’re the one who nearly tripped over your sister’s name as you promised to love, honor, obey, and be faithful, along with all those other promises at God’s altar. Though Elyn is his legal wife, he thinks that you are she, and as such you will surely suffer his wrath.

  Oh, this was a mistake. An unforgivable mistake. She should never have let her guilt get the better of her, never have tried to help Elyn in her lie. She should make things right. This instant. Before things got worse. But from the comer of her eye she caught a glimpse of her father’s face. Radiant and proud, he was shaking hands with well-wishers.

  She couldn’t disappoint him. Not now. She withered inside, felt far worse than she imagined she would. She wasn’t cut out for deception and yet she was thick in it, so thick she saw no way out. The truth seemed to slip further and further away from her.

  The deed was done. The lie complete. Kiera’s misery was much greater than she had even feared it would be.

  Servants held the doors open, and just outside the chapel Hildy waited, her thin lips pursed, her hands twisting in the folds of her skirt.

  “Congratulations, m’lady.”

  “Oh, Hildy,” Kiera whispered so that no one would recognize her voice. “I feel ... faint.” Though the speech was rehearsed, the words were so true.

  “But the feast—” Hildy protested, on cue.

  “I ... can’t ...” Through Elyn’s wedding veil, Kiera cast a glance up at her new husband. “If you could please excuse me, m’lord.”

  “Yes, mayhap you should lie down in your chamber,” Hildy suggested.

  “This is our wedding feast,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Kiera laid a hand upon Penbrooke’s sleeve and she felt the muscles in his forearm tense. “I—I’ll join the festivities later.”

  “Will not your father be disappointed?” he said, obviously offended.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “He will understand.” And he’s got what he wanted. “I—I’ll join you soon.”

  He hesitated.

  Oh, no, he had to agree!

  “This is an embarrassment,” he said through lips that barely moved. “The guests—”

  “I know. ’Tis a pity. If I could just lie down but a few minutes.” She couldn’t lift her veil at the lord’s table in the great hall during the feast. Even her weak-eyed father would recognize her and realize that he’d been duped. She shuddered as if gripped by a sudden, intense pain.

  “M‘lord, she may have caught a sickness from her sister. Even now Kiera is abed. ’Tis why she didn’t attend the ceremony. Mayhap the illness has spread,” Hildy said. “We would not want to expose the guests or family to whatever vile sickness this is.”

  The man was silent at Hildy’s remark, but clearly still seething.

  Kiera didn’t wait for his permission, but hurried toward the stairs.

  Footsteps shuffled behind her, growing louder. She heard Father call after her, “Elyn!” She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t risk it. She sprinted up the stone risers as if her feet had wings. Upstairs, she flew into Elyn’s chamber and cursed herself and her sister for this awful, stupid plan.

  Yanking the door closed behind her, she gasped, catching her breath as she leaned against the thick oak panels and stared at the chamber—the bridal chamber. Inwardly she groaned. The bed was freshly made, the rushes strewn over the floor were new and fragrant. Dozens of candles had been set upon the window ledge and small tables, while a fire crackled and hissed in the grate. Upon the bed lay a sheer new chemise, pure white with tiny embroidered roses at the neck.

  Kiera’s stomach turned. How could she wear the diaphanous piece of nothing and lie in this bed waiting for the man who thought he was her husband?

  Panic assailed her. She should run. Hide. Let him think what he wanted. She could appear mad, that was it, crazy as the old hermit locked in his cell in the west tower ... no ... Calm down. Breathe deeply
. Think, Kiera! You got yourself into this mess and it’s up to you and you alone to get yourself out!

  For a second, she thought of that breath-stopping kiss at the altar, the press of Kelan’s warm lips to hers. Her blood raced, for she’d never expected her reaction. Rather than feeling revulsion, she’d been intrigued. Kiera even wondered what it would be like to kiss him a bit longer. She touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, then shook her head at her own folly. What was she thinking? She could feel nothing good for this man. Nothing!

  Before her wayward thoughts got the better of her, she crossed the room to the bed. The marriage bed. Elyn’s bed. The bed where she would spend the night with ... no, she wouldn’t consider the night.

  On the table next to the bed a jug of wine and two mazers were waiting. As planned. She lifted up one cup. There on the bottom of the stem an X had been scratched into the silver. Lowering herself to her knees, she felt in the rushes near the table and found two small vials. The potion. And the blood. Would it work? She remembered the determination and spark of intelligence in Kelan’s gray eyes as he’d kissed her. In that quick glimpse she’d recognized that he wasn’t a man easily fooled, nor would he be forgiving if he ever discovered he’d been duped.

  But she had no other option.

  Carefully she slipped the vials into a safe place in the rushes, near the head of the bed where they wouldn’t get crushed by a misplaced boot.

  Faintly, she heard the strains of music. Downstairs the feast had begun. It was only a matter of time before she had to face Kelan again. No doubt he’d be more than angry. Beyond furious. At her. For embarrassing him within minutes of being wed.

  She shuddered. He would never let Elyn forget how she’d shamed him on their wedding day. Nor would he let her feign sleep tonight to avoid his wrath. No doubt he would wake her and demand his rights as a husband.

  Kiera would have to stay awake to make sure he drank the sleeping potion and somehow keep him at bay until he fell asleep. Once he was no longer conscious, she could sprinkle the blood on the linens. If she dared.