“Pleased,” Grisel repeated, her smile awry. “Poor Will! I wonder if he knows what a termagant he’s getting?”
Will, it seemed, didn’t care. He came around the following evening, hands reaching out to stroke her at every opportunity. “Kathy this” and “Kathy that”. She wanted to scream, and grew so tired of pushing him away that in the end she let him leave his arm around her through sheer weariness. Snuff viewed them with a glint in his eye, Grisel with smiling relief. At last, they were thinking, she had seen the light. At last she would settle down, and put aside her foolish pride.
“Will, don’t.” She brushed his hand away, where it had crept onto her thigh. They had come outside, out of the stifling air of the single-roomed cottage and the noise of the misbehaving children. It was cool and clear, the sky deep blue and studded with stars. Through the thin wall behind her, Kathryn could hear Snuff roaring and Mildred wailing. A moth brushed her cheek, and she swished it impatiently away.
“Kathy, you’re so pretty.”
She laughed sharply. “Are you sure? Do you not think me filthy or diseased? Do you dare to touch me without gauntlets?”
He frowned, puzzled. “Kathy?”
“Never mind,” she shrugged her shoulder and turned to stare away, over the wide, low fields towards the great walls of the manor. Lights flickered, along the walls and in the guard tower. Lord Ralf’s flag flew proudly against the night-sky, informing all and sundry of his homecoming. She felt the bitterness burn her tongue.
Will bent over her—he was taller than she— and kissed her on the cheek, near her mouth. It left a damp patch, and she wiped it away. He put his arms around her, trying to pull her closer, but she shoved his chest, putting him off balance, and darted away. Her laughter drifted in the air, mocking him, daring him, and he spun in pursuit.
Past the huddle of smoky cottages, the various noises of crowded humanity. A goat rattled a chain and darted from her path. Her bare feet flew down the worn, short-grassed path between rectangles and squares of crops and gardens. A larger cottage or two, where the freemen lived. Hens complaining at being woken on their roosts. She turned aside, taking the narrow pathway through the trees towards the denser bulk of the woods. Will blundered behind her, snapping branches, calling her name.
She had almost reached the first of the larger trees when she became aware of the voices. Her feet drew up sharply, heart hammering, and she gulped at her quick breath. A horse whickered, soft and inquisitive. The voices stopped. For a moment all she heard was the chirping of crickets and the sudden swoop of a night bird from the sky above, and then the voices resumed.
“It’s nothing. A wild animal. Ralf has not, as yet, set about his yearly massacre.”
Her feet moved forward, silent, drawing her closer. She might, indeed, have been a wild animal for all the warning she gave of her approach. The horse breathed; she could hear it crunching on grass.
“He’s spoken with the King then?”
“He had no choice.” Her breath caught sharply. A picture of blue eyes and raised brows flew through her mind and was gone. She would never forget that voice, never. “The King has taken back what lands Ralf acquired during Stephen’s reign. There will be little gold in Pristine’s coffers from this day forward.”
“So. And will Ralf take such a slight so lightly?”
A pause. The horse stirred again, as if the men were restless. “I cannot see it. He bides his time merely. There are many others like him, who want nothing to do with King Henry’s justice. He has already begun to seek them out.”
A pause; a drawn breath slowly released. “War, mayhap? I thought we had had enough of it, Richard. Matilda and Stephen fought so long over the crown. I thought, with Henry Plantagenet as King, all the old quarrels would have been resolved.”
“Not all, it seems. The quarrels made Ralf a wealthy man, a powerful man. And now the King has taken his hard-won lands and destroyed his new-built castles. He has become nothing more than a petty baron.”
“And you, Richard? What of you?”
The horse stirred again, cropping grass. “I must join him.”
She had been listening so intently she did not hear Will approaching. And now his voice, so loud, made her almost fall. “Kathy!” It shattered the quiet. “Where are you, Kathy-girl!”
He was too far away from her to warn. Her voice would be heard by the two men. Instead, she darted further into the undergrowth on her right and, crouching down by a thick, gnarled old oak, tried to quiet the bumping of her heart.
Horses moved. Will shouted again, but further away now. He was going. A whisper, hissing through the night. Something dark passed before her and was gone. She closed her eyes, whispering thanks to her deity. Will called once more, a long way distant now, receding. She was safe.
The hand closed on her mouth so quickly she had no time to make a sound. She was spun back against a hard, broad chest and something icy and sharp touched her throat.
“Make no sound, spy,” he said, every word a warning. She shook her head, vigorous in denial. His other hand was about her waist, holding her against him, and now ii moved up over the firm flesh of her bosom. She shrank back against him, and suddenly the hand over her mouth was removed. He spun her round to face him.
Blue eyes narrowed in the shadowy darkness, fair hair made silver by the night sky. She thought, she prayed, he would not remember her. She was sure she looked much the same as any other dirty peasant girl. But she was wrong. He did know her. She saw it in his eyes. And then he had slid the knife back into its sheath, flicking her a mocking glance.
“Well, girl? You have a knack for skulking in these woods; was that your swain we heard crashing about?”
She was silent, only her eyes huge and dark and angry in her pale face. He stared down at her a moment, noting the stubborn chin, the cloud of black hair, its condition hidden by the darkness. And then he caught her arm, bruising the flesh, and gave her a little shake.
“Were you spying, girl?”
Kathryn tried to shake off his hand. “You aren’t wearing gauntlets, my lord.”
He frowned, peering down at her. He was much taller than she, and broader. She felt overwhelmed, being used to smaller men, like Snuff. “Gauntlets?”
“You said before you would not touch me without them.”
Remembrance came, a passing gleam in his eyes. His teeth flashed white. “So I did. It stung your pride, did it, girl? You should know by now that pride is a luxury no peasant girl can afford.”
She tried to pull away again, his laughter stinging her, but he held her, using his other hand to force her chin up. He looked down into her face. “You don’t look like Ralf!”
Her mouth dropped. “Look like Lord Ralf?”
“Yes.” He turned her face from side to side, frowning at it. “Your hair and eyes are so dark, while he is so fair. I thought that was what he meant, when he said he knew your features.”
She didn’t understand. He made an impatient sound. “Are you such an innocent? I thought you were his bastard. Was your mother ever a servant at Pristine?”
She struck him, hard, on the cheek. In the instant it took to do so, rage was splintered with horror at what she had done, and to whom. His hand relaxed on her arm in surprise, and she pulled away, stumbling through scrub and brush, back onto the path to the village. She feared he would pursue her, and kept glancing over her shoulder. She expected, any moment, to feel his dagger between her shoulder blades. She was still running when she reached the path and Will, darting out from his hiding place behind a haystack, caught her in a bear hug.
“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 s
hrugged. 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.
My Lady Imposter Page 2
