by Lisa Jackson
His head felt as if it weighed as much as a destrier.
With a groan, Kelan shifted on the bed. The room was dark and cold, the fire having smoldered to ash during the night, the window shuttered. And the bed was empty. His wife had already risen.
His wife.
What a strange thought. But no longer disgusting. The woman had surprised him. Time and time again. In the short span of their marriage he’d felt rage, humility, and then, unexpectedly awe.
Despite the hammering in his brain, he grinned at the memory of their lovemaking. While he had questioned her purity due to her unusual behavior throughout the day and later in their bridal chamber, at heart he’d expected his new wife to be a virgin, and he’d pleasurably discovered she was one. She was also a headstrong woman, one who had willingly embarrassed him. But he’d never thought he would find himself in bed with a sensual creature who, though frightened at first, had become as eager in the pleasures of the flesh as he. Perhaps this marriage would not be the torture he’d anticipated. He was too sane to believe in wedded bliss and happily ever after, but he did allow himself the notion that this union might not be as unpleasant as he’d convinced himself it would be.
Never forget how she embarrassed you. Do not let that hardheaded woman ever again get the upper hand.
He reached for his breeches, his fingers scraping through the rushes and brushing up against something solid and cold in the fragrant straw. “What the devil?” He picked up the small container, a vial, and opened it. The metallic scent of blood filtered to his nostrils and he dipped a finger into the cold purple liquid. Aye, it was blood ... but why here in this chamber? It belonged to his wife or someone who had been in the room, perhaps a servant. Someone who believed in the dark arts? Mystified, he scoured the floor and found another small container, this one empty and carrying no scent. Odd ... very odd.
He rubbed the back of his neck and wondered at the kind of woman he’d married.
Blood? Why blood?
And what had been in the other vial?
He’d heard of women who had used the blood of a chicken, or goat or some other animal, to sprinkle upon the bedsheets of a man they were duping, when they were trying to prove a virginity that had no longer existed. But his wife, she had not used the blood—the vial was still full and the sheets were stained. And she had been tight, so tight. As blurry as his memory was, he clearly remembered that she was pure. No doubt a virgin.
Then why the vials?
Straightening, he studied the bed, trying to remember the night before. ’Twas all so fuzzy and dark. He opened the shutters to let in the gray morning light. From his vantage point he looked over the bailey. Children were playing with an old hoop, women were gathering eggs and hanging laundry in the shadow of an overhang, a smith was pounding horseshoes at his forge, and a woman was climbing upon a reddish mare. For a second he wondered if the woman was his wife. She wore a brown cloak with a cowl covering her head. She glanced in his direction, then looked quickly away.
A stone settled in his stomach.
Surely the woman was not Elyn. For there was no reason for his bride to leave.
Astride the horse, she leaned forward. The animal took off, breaking into a gallop and streaking through the gates to the outer bailey and out of Kelan’s range of vision. ’Twas not Elyn. She would not defy him so. Not after last night. And yet, she was not a predictable woman. He’d learned that much in less than a day. He fingered the vials in his pocket and thought about the mysterious female upon the red mare. Why would she leave? Where would she go?
Those thoughts taunted him as he found a scrub basin and splashed cold water over his face, wincing at the ache slicing through his brain.
The woman he saw was not Elyn. His wife was here. In this castle. And either she’d return to their bedchamber soon or he’d go searching for her.
Just as soon as the throbbing in his head subsided. He found his empty mazer, filled it from the basin, and poured the water down his throat. He’d give her a little time ... but just a little, he thought as he stumbled to the fire.
He managed to toss a few pieces of oak onto the embers still glowing in the grate, but that one task was all he could manage. He, who awoke each morn ready for the day, eager for his day’s work. He was now lethargic and dull ... too much wine ...
As he straightened, he heard the vials clink and he wondered, just fleetingly, if some sleeping potion had been added to his wine. But why ... nay, he was just tired, that was all.
He needed sleep.
Before another thought could cut through his brain, he stumbled back to the bed. This was not like him ... but he was too tired to try and piece it all together. When his bride returned ... then he’d question her. Then he’d demand answers ... he’d insist upon knowing the truth ... but now, drowsiness was overtaking him and he gave into it, letting the darkness come, no longer fighting, and falling asleep with the worrisome thought that his new beautiful wife wasn’t all she appeared to be.
Chapter Eight
Elyn was nowhere to be found. Nowhere. Above the clouds, the weak winter sun had risen high overhead, and Kiera knew she had to return to the keep.
She had hastily searched every hiding spot she and Elyn had discovered while growing up. Kiera had ridden for hours. First to the cave in the cliffs above the sea, then the ledge behind a waterfall. She’d galloped across the meadow where they’d caught butterflies, and ended up at the gnarled oak tree they’d climbed to watch the ships sailing into the harbor.
When all else failed, she searched the old, abandoned mill where they’d swum naked in the millpond by day, and at night, away from the eyes of their father or Kemper or the castle priest, they’d huddled around a fire and learned of the old ways from Hildy. It was here where Kiera had seen her first spell cast, here where she’d learned to draw runes in the sand, here where she’d listened as Hildy had explained about the magic of the forest and the power of earth, fire, and water.
However, now there was no trace of her sister.
It was as if Elyn had disappeared into the thick mists that rose through the dripping ferns and skeletal trees.
Or somewhere with Brock.
“Where the devil are you?” Kiera asked in frustration as she combed the woods. She couldn’t spend all day searching for her, not if she had to keep up the lie that she was her sister. As the hours had passed, Kiera had become more certain that she was trapped, at least for another day, in her ruse.
After scouring every copse of trees and stretch of fields she could think of, she gave up her fruitless search and reined Garnet toward the keep. She could waste no more time.
Even now, Kelan could be stirring. Worse yet, he might already be awake and wandering about the castle searching for her. What if he caught her returning from her ride and what if someone in the castle was there—the stable master, or the carter, or even the gong farmer? If he acted as if they were wed and she was his bride, the peasants would point out that she wasn’t Elyn ... oh, no, she couldn’t let that happen.
“Hurry,” she whispered, riding through a final thicket of oak, thinking of the day ahead and the pitfalls she would have to avoid. She leaned forward in the saddle as the scent of the sea filled her nostrils and a few rays of sunlight pierced the clouds. How long could she keep up this deception? How would she keep her “husband” in Elyn’s chamber? She couldn’t very well lock him in. She thought of the sleepless night she’d spent and how she’d behaved, how easily he’d sparked the womanly fires deep within her, how even now she would like to feel those breath-stopping sensations just once more.
“Don’t think of it,” she growled to herself as she dug her knees into the mare. Strong muscles responded. Red legs flashed as Garnet sped across the damp fields of yellowed grass, racing over the uneven ground in long, quick strides. Kiera felt the rush of the wind, her fingers twining in the reins, her face slapped by the mare’s coarse mane. Through the rising mists, she saw the castle emerge, its towers spiring
high enough to disappear into the low-hanging clouds.
There was a chance that Penelope had found Elyn hiding within the castle walls. Mayhap even now she was with her husband ... Kiera’s stomach twisted at the thought. Could her sister take her place in Kelan’s bed? Was it possible for Elyn to have spent one last night of lovemaking with Brock, then slip into her discarded identity once again and take Kelan, her husband, as her lover? The thought was like a drip of ice in Kiera’s heart, though she didn’t want to think about why it mattered to her.
Tugging on the reins, she guided Garnet onto the rutted, muddy road leading to the main gates. Dirt flew from the horse’s hooves, and the wind, tugging off her hood, whistled past Kiera’s head. Her heart was pounding, but not so much from her wild ride as from the thought of facing Kelan. If Elyn had returned, Kiera would have to avoid Kelan entirely. But if her wayward sister was not within the keep, Kiera would need to take her place in his bed. If for no other reason than to keep him in their room.
Her pulse jumped at the thought, for she would like nothing better than another night learning the secrets and pleasures of lovemaking and yet ... it would be best for all if she never was with Kelan again, if she never felt his touch upon her skin. The sooner she ignored her silly fantasies, the better for everyone.
She raced around a miller’s wagon filled with flour sacks. Oxen were straining at their yoke, and the miller was growling orders at his team. Slowing as she reached the drawbridge, she guided the mare past a woman shepherding four children through the main gate and had to slow nearly to a stop when a peddler’s mule balked and brayed in protest at pulling his overladen cart past the guard. Silver trinkets in the cart jangled noisily and the florid-faced peddler snapped his whip angrily over the obstinate beast’s ears.
“Move, ye bloody slug!” the peddler shouted as Kiera guided her mare through the narrow opening between the cart and the sidewall of the gate. The horse perked up her ears and loped easily to the stable, where Orson, seated upon a worn stump, was watching with a critical eye as a stableboy held fast to a tether restraining a young, headstrong colt.
“Don’t fight him,” Orson barked as the black colt bucked and tossed his head as he ran in tight circles. “Hey, there, lad, let him know ye’re the master, but with a gentle touch. Ah ... that’s it.” The colt straightened his gait, galloping easily around the red-haired boy.
Kiera reined Garnet to a stop, which ruined all the lad’s hard work. His colt shied, nearly stripping the leather straps from the boy’s hands and jerking him off his feet. Scrambling in the dirt, he managed to hold on to the sweating, wild-eyed black, but the lesson was over for the day.
“Don’t lose him, now,” Orson warned, shaking his head. He lifted his cap, scratched his pate, then settled the woolen hat squarely upon his head again. “Bloody beast.”
Kiera slid to the ground and Orson glanced in her direction. His old eyes crinkled at the corners as he took the reins from her outstretched hand.
“A good ride?” he asked.
“Perfect.” Kiera patted the mare’s sweating shoulder and tried to appear calm while from the corner of her eyes, she was searching the grounds. Had Elyn returned? Or not? She glanced to the window of Elyn’s room, but there was no figure of a man in the recess. “Garnet runs like the wind.”
Orson took the reins from her just as she saw Penelope hurrying along a path leading to the stable. Upon spying Kiera, she shook her head so violently it seemed as if she were trying to dislodge water from her ear.
So Elyn hadn’t come back. Kiera’s heart sank. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Elyn would have returned unless some horrid fate had befallen her. She’d promised to return. She couldn’t have decided to desert Kiera. Not truly.
Some ghastly misfortune must have happened.
Or this time she’s deceived you.
“I—I found her not,” Penelope whispered, her cheeks ruddy from the cold. The fog was lifting, thin clouds blocking the sun.
Kiera glanced over her shoulder and saw the stable master following her with his eyes. “Shh.” She grabbed her younger sister by the elbow and propelled her around an empty wagon. “Say nothing. Where’s Hildy?”
“I know not.”
“Find her and send her to my room. Oh, and bring one of Elyn’s dresses from the laundress.”
“Which one?”
“It matters not!”
“But to which room: yours or Elyn’s?”
“Mine. Now, hurry along.” Releasing Penelope’s arm, Kiera cut past the well and hurried into the kitchen, where the cook, a fat woman with fleshy arms that jiggled as she worked, was glaring at two boys. One thick finger was pointed at the older boy’s nose. “And if I ever catch you stealing apples again, I’ll wring your neck like that.” She snapped her fingers and the boys jumped, the younger one nearly stumbling back into the fire, where a boar was roasting upon a spit tended by yet another lad. A young girl with frizzy hair was sneaking a peek at the boys and madly chopping onions at a scarred table in the comer. Two other girls, struggling to hide their grins, worked at a table near the door.
The smell of roasting meat and spices caused Kiera’s stomach to growl from hunger.
“You’ve seen me do it now, haven’t ye?” the cook demanded of the boys. “When I want a particularly fat hen for the lord’s supper?”
The younger boy gulped and nodded, his face bright red, while the older lad flattened his lips and glared through strands of unruly brown hair at the cook. “You don’t wring their necks. You cut off their ’eads with an ax,” he argued while grease spattered, sizzling as it landed on the hot coals.
“Well, maybe that’s what I ought to do to ye, John Miller. I’ll tell your father, I will, and he’ll make you wish I’d put a quick end to ye with my ax. Now, git outta here! Go before I change me mind. I be sick at the sight of ye.” The boys took off through the back door.
“Bloody thugs.” She turned quickly for a heavy woman. “Oh, m’lady. I didn’t see ye.”
Kiera managed a smile she didn’t feel as one of the serving girls pounded sugar at a nearby table. Just in case Penelope had forgotten Kiera’s earlier orders, Kiera decided to address the cook herself. “I spoke with my sister, Lady Elyn, this morning, and she would like me to bring a tray of food to her and her husband.”
“You? Oh, no, m’lady.” The cook was aghast. Fat fingers splayed over her huge breasts. “Lady Penelope already asked that trays be brought up and left at the door to the bedchamber. I’ll send up a tray with one of the girls right away if that’s what Lady Elyn wants. But won’t the lord and lady be dinin’ with your father?”
Kiera glanced at the floor, blushed, then met the cook’s curious gaze. “Elyn, she says they, um, want their privacy.”
“Oh, they do, do they?” The heavy woman chuckled as she walked to a wide table near the door where one girl was mashing spices with mortar and pestle and another was rolling dough. “Well, I remember when I was first married. Couldn’t get enough of me husband, I couldn’t. That all changed, let me tell you, after the fourth child. I wanted no more of ‘im, I did. And now, he’s gone.” She sighed, then turned her attention to the girl rolling the dough. “Hey, mind what ye’re doin’,” she growled. “Use a light touch, will ye? Here, let me show you how to do it proper like.” She edged the bony, disgruntled girl to the side. “Tend to the fire, would ye, Mary?” she ordered without looking up.
“Well, my sister’s been married less than a day,” Kiera persisted.
“Aye, and she’ll be plenty tired unless I miss my guess. Did you see her new husband? A handsome devil he is and strapping.” The cook’s bushy eyebrows twitched as she kneaded the dough while the scrawny girl she’d replaced sulked as she threw chunks of wood into the fire. ” ’Tis no wonder the lady doesn’t want to come downstairs for a while. Neither would I if I could spend some time in the Baron of Penbrooke’s bed.”
The girl at the fire snorted, the one grinding spices swallowed a smile
at the unlikely image, and Kiera felt her face flame more brightly than the coals beneath the spit.
The cook continued to chatter as she worked the dough. “I’m just glad she gave the man a chance after failing to attend the celebration of their union last night, the wedding feast I prepared.”
Kiera blushed as the cook looked her over. She realized that she had injured more than her new husband’s pride by not showing up last night.
“I’ll send Gladdys up in a while,” the large woman promised. “Is there anything else I can do for ye?”
“Just see that Lady Elyn and her new husband are not disturbed. Gladdys can knock, then leave the tray at the door,” Kiera emphasized.
“I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you.”
As Kiera hurried toward the back stairs, she caught a glimpse of the cook mopping her brow with the back of her hand.
“Where in the name of the Holy Mother is Zelda?” Cook growled, sweat gleaming on her skin. “I swear keeping my eye on all of you girls will send me to an early grave.”
Kiera stole up the stairs on silent footsteps. There was a chance Elyn was waiting for her, in her room. Though she had to admit, she had little faith she would find her sister patiently awaiting her return. At the third floor, she was about to slip into her own chamber when the door to Elyn’s room creaked open. There, with one shoulder braced upon the doorframe, was Kelan.
Kiera nearly jumped out of her skin.
Without a shirt, his black hair rumpled, his breeches unlaced, he stared at her. “You were out riding?” he asked, bewildered. Rubbing the back of his neck, his arm bent over his head and stretching the hard muscles of his flat abdomen, he blinked as if trying to focus.
Kiera swallowed hard. In her mind’s eye, she saw him as he had been the night before, naked and stretched upon her, his skin burnished from the light of a dying fire.
“Oh ... er, yes,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you.” She hurried toward him and, afraid someone would see them and recognize her, stood on tiptoe to plant a quick kiss on his lips. His gray eyes cleared a bit.