It was much easier than Kathryn had imagined. The man, curious at first, soon swore his loyalty to her. The difficulties melted away. They saw the de Brusac eyes and coloring; they saw Richard’s determination; they were won.
After that, Kathryn almost enjoyed it. She would have liked to remain longer in each household, being entertained and learning about her vassals. But Richard seemed determined to get it done as swiftly as possible, and she was afraid his motives were to do with Ralf and the King’s promised New Year visit.
By the time they reached the final vassal, they were both weary and longing for de Brusac’s safe, familiar walls. And it was the final vassal who caused the most concern.
The keep was small, but tidy, and the servants and soldiers efficient. The vassal, a big, bluff man, came to greet her, kissing her fingers in the approved manner. “My lady,” he said, dark eyes sliding over her in a way she decided was insolent. As if she were indeed only a peasant girl.
He had veined cheeks, and beneath the fresh clothes he had donned for the occasion, his body smelt sweaty and dirty. Sir Edmund, her loyal subject, washed infrequently.
“Sir Edmund,” she murmured, bowing her head slightly, and drew back her hand. Behind her, Richard stepped forward and she introduced him stiffly. They had grown no closer during their travels. Indeed, if it were possible, they saw even less of each other than before.
Sir Edmund’s eyes brightened at the sight of a man. He brushed past Kathryn, almost rudely, in his efforts to greet a fellow creature. Behind him a pale woman was revealed, thin to the point of brittleness, her graying hair plaited severely beneath her veil. Hollow eyes flickered to Kathryn and away, as she scuttled forward to offer wine.
At the same moment, Sir Edmund stepped back, suddenly remembering his duty to Kathryn and the fact that, mere woman or not, she was his liege lady. He bumped against his wife, causing her to spill the wine down his back. It ran in a great stream into his hose and boots. There was a hush, and then in a rush of fury he spun and, lifting his hand, struck her cheek with a resounding crack.
“Out of my way, woman!”
There was another silence. Kathryn felt the blood rushing to her face, clouding her senses with a red-hot fury. She had raised her own fist before she knew it, and brought it down with all her slender force upon that broad back.
Sir Edmund spun to face her, his gooseberry eyes popping in astonishment. Then, with a low growl, he raised his fist. He would have struck her, she was sure. But Richard stepped in front of her, shielding her, and caught the punch, as it was launched, with his hand. His fingers turned white with the effort of holding it back—Sir Edmund was bigger and heavier than he—and Kathryn heard him say, his voice a whip:
“Do you dare to strike your lady?”
There was a clank and a shuffle as Kathryn’s men-at-arms closed ranks about her. She felt the sweat of fear beading her brow and smelt fear and rage and death, like a cloud in the air. Richard’s coiled strength was evident in the corded muscles of arms and shoulders, the white strain about his mouth.
And then, suddenly, Sir Edmund seemed to realize the enormity of what he had almost done. His arm dropped limply, the big shoulders slumped, and he fell to his knees, gabbling excuses and begging forgiveness. “How could I know? She is a woman. I forgot. Women are to be beaten into submission. How could I remember she is different?”
Kathryn slipped to Richard’s side, her fingers cool on his hand, where it clenched the sword hilt. He looked at her in surprise, and she saw the remains of his anger drawn from his face. Edmund had threatened him through her, she reminded herself. He was only protecting his own interests. And yet she felt a sting of pleasure, at his so prompt defense.
“You are forgiven, Sir Edmund,” she said, her voice strong and cold. “And now you must beg the forgiveness of your wife.”
The eyes flashed, the red face turned redder, but as he opened his mouth on a snarl, Richard said abruptly:
“Do it.”
The struggle between rage and pride and good sense was brief. The latter won, and Sir Edmund rose and went to where his wife stood, head bowed, clutching her cheek. “I’m... I’m sorry,” he muttered, and brushed past her, striding towards the door into the hall. Kathryn released her breath with an audible sigh, and stepped quickly towards the other woman, saying gently, “Here, let me see your cheek.”
The hollow eyes stared at her a moment in disbelief, and then as suddenly the white face crumpled into a flood of tears. Kathryn caught her, almost stumbling back before the onslaught, as the woman clung, sobbing, to her shoulders. “Come now, come now,” she murmured. “Dry your eyes. You should not let him see you so overset.” She glanced back at Richard, but he seemed grim and angry, and met her eyes coldly.
“Take her in,” he said shortly. “I’ll settle the men and horses.” And as she hesitated, “Go on!” She scuttled away as swiftly as Sir Edmund’s wife.
After a time, the woman recovered enough to act the hostess, and saw to food and bed and bathing. Emma scorned her as a poor creature, but Kathryn felt a throb of pity. Did she not know how it was to be unloved and unwanted? To be beaten and treated as unworthy even of simple human kindness?
“If she didn’t look so scared of being hit all the time, my lady, she wouldn’t be hit,” Emma pronounced cynically.
“Do you mean that if I went about like a mouse, Sir Richard would beat me?” Kathryn retorted.
Emma’s dark eyes considered. “Mayhap you should try it and see, my lady. Though I doubt he would hurt you, when he’s so besotted with you.”
Kathryn gaped. “Besotted? Your wits are addled, girl!”
Emma laughed softly, “Are they? I watched him protect you, my lady. I watched his face grow white and angry, afterwards, when he thought of what might have been.”
“You don’t understand,” Kathryn murmured. The anger was for himself, all for himself. He did not even like her.
They ate in the hall, good plain fare, a hearty meal. Sir Edmund seemed to have forgotten all about the incident in the yard, and spoke to Richard in a loud, blustery voice while Kathryn drew conversation from his wife. “Like sucking water from a stone,” she told Emma, later. Afterwards, the women retreated to the bower, leaving the men to their wine and talk. But not before Richard had drawn her aside for swift words.
“I would force that fool to do homage to you now,” he said, blue eyes mocking, “but I can see it would not answer. And we must have his allegiance, Kathryn. Disloyal vassals are the devil to deal with, and like as not will breed more disloyalty.”
“We could replace him.”
He frowned. “I thought of that, but no. We have not the time, and in all ways he seems a good and loyal man. He defends his castle and land, he works it well and feeds his servants. I can find no fault with him apart from this foolishness concerning women. He thinks them the weaker sex.”
She met his look with arched brows. “And do you not think that too, my lord?”
For a moment she thought he might smile. “I have met Queen Eleanor.”
Sir Edmund’s wife, Elizabeth, seemed to be much more assured when she was alone with Kathryn in the bower. They spoke of household matters, and then of children. “My own have all been stillborn,” the woman murmured softly, and shrugged. “My husband wishes divorce, and I must admit I would be glad of it. But where would I go?”
Kathryn sighed. “Does he hurt you so much and so often?”
Frightened eyes flickered to hers and away.
“You may tell me, I shall not berate you.”
“Do not tell him that I’ve told you!” she breathed, white-faced. “He has forbidden me to speak to others about my foolishness.”
“Foolishness!” Kathryn gasped. “I am his liege lady. You may tell me anything you wish.”
Elizabeth hesitated, but Kathryn’s grand manner won her over, and she began to speak. Slowly at first, but growing in confidence. It poured out, the tale of horrors and woe and cruelty. Kathr
yn listened in silence, straight-faced, while inside her blood cooled in horror.”Were there men really so cruel, so savage and so brutal? In the end, she was glad that the soft voice faltered and stopped.
Kathryn took a breath, clenching her trembling hands. “You must leave this place. You must come to de Brusac.”
Elizabeth actually smiled. “God bless you, lady, but no. I wish to retire into a nunnery. I crave such solitude. But I know of none that would take me without a dower.”
Kathryn sighed. “If you wish it, it shall be. I will provide both nunnery and dower.”
The talk chilled her, and yet she felt strangely happy. What if Richard had been another such as Sir Edmund? But he was not. He never hurt her, not physically anyway, and protected her and her interests. And she felt, strangely, she could depend upon him.
She was still thoughtful as Emma brushed her hair, and it was not until a firmer, harder hand rested upon her head, that she realized Richard had come up silently behind her.
“Sir Edmund has drunk himself under the table,” he said.
She felt his fingers stroking the soft, heavy strands. After a moment he lifted the heavy tresses off her nape. His lips pressed there, soft and light. “Richard...” her breath caught.
“He meant to break your pretty nose, my love. He says women are to be beaten into submission. I don’t know but that he’s right.” He paused, as if waiting for some reply. Waiting for her to say how lucky she was, not to have wed such a brute. But she said nothing.
“Perhaps I should have let him do so,” he added at last.
“The soldiers would have killed him.”
He laughed sharply. “Yes. You seem to inspire loyalty, Kathryn. The Lord knows why!”
“So he will do homage?”
“I think I have persuaded him to it. I told him it was necessary, sometimes, to swallow one’s natural abhorrences in favor of keeping one’s head adjoined to the body.”
“How clever of you.”
He laughed again. “Clever? Is that what you think me?”
She didn’t reply but began to straighten her combs and brushes. After a moment he said, “You hate me, I know. You’re as cold as ice, my love. Every single thought in your head concerns only yourself and how you may further your deception.”
She turned then, white-faced. “It was never any deception. Never mine!”
He smiled, but his eyes were hard. “When you look like that, I could almost believe to myself that you are the Lady de Brusac. Sleep well with your thoughts of greatness, Kathryn. And try not to hate me too much, hmm?” He turned on his heel and was gone.
She stared after him, feeling cold fingers of dismay press into her skin. Hate him? How could he say that? When every moment she despaired she might betray her love?
They left Sir Edmund and his wife the following morning. Elizabeth had promises to be received into a nunnery whenever she so wished, and Sir Edmund had promises of a divorce. Both seemed brighter for the knowledge.
They travelled south through less wooded, undulating country. Richard did not speak to her, and when he happened to glance at her his eyes were cold. It was only when they stopped at the hostelry that she saw him smile, and that was to a bold-eyed wench who brought them their ale and bread. He even slipped his arm about her plump waist when she answered him saucily, and let her twine her fingers in his hair.
Kathryn stared ahead out of the door, trying to pretend she didn’t see, while Emma choked and bowed her face low over her tankard.
“I’ve always had a taste for common women,” he said, as they left. It had begun to drizzle, but Kathryn was unaware of the droplets striking her face. Her heart ached, her pride was ashes. This time Richard had wounded her beyond bearing.
“My lady,” Emma whispered, gentle smile like honey to her scared heart. “It means nothing. You have angered him, mayhap. It will pass.”
“Pass?” she repeated, and lifted her face to the rain with a bitter laugh.
As they rode on the weather worsened. The sky hung dark and heavy with snow, while the wind numbed Kathryn’s hands and feet with its similar promise. When at last they stopped at another hostelry, she was too cold and weary to care what Richard did.
“Tis a poorly place,” Emma breathed in dismay. Kathryn stirred herself enough to look. A tumbledown building, smoke puffing from the doorway, the lowing of cattle from within. Emma’s pretty face was puckered with scorn. To Kathryn it was a little like that now-distant childhood home.
Richard strode in, men flanking him, to rout the occupiers, and returned at last with a short, fat man babbling apologies and offering ale. Kathryn’s head had begun to ache from the cold and the drenching, and she smiled at him with weary gratitude, and thanked him for his concern.
“You and your lord must have my own bedchamber,” he said. “Tis but the loft, but the best I can offer. The others can sleep in the common room. But the bedchamber, my lady, is yours.”
“Thank you,” she said, and did not look at Richard. “Have you food? Some hot mead perhaps? I am very cold.”
"Tis a well known fact,” the man blathered, “that the nobility feel the cold more than we common folk.”
She went with him swiftly, not daring to reply.
The place stank of animals and dirt. There was a steep ladder into the loft, which contained straw and hay, some of it not quite clean, and a barred and shuttered window. She sank down gratefully to drink the mead, while Emma removed her cloak and shoes, and began to rub her cold feet to warmth.
“My lady, you are frozen!”
“Is she indeed?”
Richard had come, stooping under the low ceiling. Emma looked up uncertainly. “My lord, the rain has soaked her clothing...”
“Then you must take it off, girl!”
Emma bit her lip. Kathryn struggled upright, saying tartly, “Do you intend to sit and watch?”
“I have neither the time nor inclination. I have to set guards outside. This is not a safe place.”
When he had gone, Emma rubbed her cold flesh to warmth and she settled down in some blankets and a dry cloak. She was asleep before Emma had gone, the smell of hay and straw leading her back to childhood and sanctuary. No fears there, beyond her father’s stout arm, if she should anger him. No worries about guarding castle walls and impressing vassals and pretending a hatred she no longer felt.
She woke to silence, broken by the cry of a bird outside, and the pressure of something warm on her lips. She lay a moment, still drowsy and uncertain. Both vanished as she realized Richard was leaning over her, his palm over her mouth, his breath warm on her cheek.
“Hush! There is someone outside, and I have no wish to attract their attention to us.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide in the darkness, and he removed his hand. As she started up, she remembered she was naked beneath the cloak, and held it to her bosom as a shield as she knelt to face him. “Who are they? Who would come to this place?”
“Traders, maybe. Or brigands.”
A rattle of reins outside, a horse snorted. Kathryn held her breath, her eyes on his. A voice spoke softly, muted by distance and there was a further rattle. Downstairs, a pig squealed like a murdered girl.
Voices were raised now, and there were shouts as the men woke. Richard leapt towards the ladder, leaving Kathryn still frozen with fear. She crawled after him, peering down into the common room.
It was chaos. The semi-darkness was full of people falling and stumbling and swearing. A mule was braying outside, and a woman—Emma—was screaming in unison with the pig. “Stop that caterwauling!” Richard’s voice.
Faint light came from the remains of a fire, setting a reddish, hellish glow to everything. The stout man blundered towards the door, Richard after him.
Kathryn fumbled with the cloak, dragging it about her, before she started down the ladder. She knew only one thing: Richard was outside, in danger. She must go to his aid.
It was still drizzling, and she held a hand o
ver her eyes as she peered into the darkness. Voices to the left, and a horse snorting. She picked her way on bare feet, mud squelching up between her toes, cold water splattering her calves.
“God’s blood man, did you want to be spitted!” Richard’s voice, angry and relieved.
A murmur, fading as they shifted. Kathryn pulled her cloak closer to her throat, pushed back the locks of loose, heavy hair, and hurried manfully on, ignoring the mud and cold and rain. Richard’s silhouette was ahead, just visible in the night. A horse was tethered to a rail close near her, and she passed it in silence.
“How did you find me here?” Richard said. The other man replied, too low again for her to overhear. “Aye, well, you were ever a bloodhound, John. What else does he say to my letters? I have been waiting a reply this last month... Hold! There is something there.”
Kathryn stopped, uncertain now whether to flee or approach. Her fear seemed ridiculous. She should have stayed in the loft and waited for him to come back to her. Only a fool would think to help with no weapon.
“Who is it?”
Now was the time to answer, but for some reason she could not. There was a splash of water and mud as he strode hearer, slowing as he drew close. “Kathryn.” It was not a question. He looked over his shoulder to the other shadow, and hesitated before speaking to her. ‘Tis a friend, with news from London. Nothing more. You had best go back to bed.”
“A friend of yours?”
He hesitated again and then, reaching out an arm, drew her against him. At contact he took a sharp breath, dispelling it slowly. “Good God, woman, you’ll catch your death!” His other arm came around, folding her against his chest, warm and safe. She burrowed close, suddenly feeling deathly weary. A step sounded behind them.
“Tis my wife,” Richard murmured, and laughed abruptly. “Come inside, man! No one will bother us there, by the fire. You must be soaking.”
The man, John, said, “I thought never to be asked!”
My Lady Imposter Page 11
