by Impostress
“You will see them, Mother; you will see all of your grandchildren,” Daylynn said fiercely, her throat working. “You will get stronger. Do not … do not talk like this.” Daylynn’s red-rimmed eyes looked from her mother to each of her grim brothers and sisters, seeking some kind of agreement. She found none. The others knew that Lenore was slipping into the next life. Daylynn’s little chin wobbled as she touched her mother’s shoulder. “Rest, Mother, please, and drink the broth—you will be fine.”
“Ah, Daylynn … ’tis weary I be.”
“Then sleep. We will leave so that you can rest and gain back your strength.”
“Shh, Lynnie. ’Tis my time. To join your father.”
“Nay!” Daylynn flung herself over the bed and broke into heart-wrenching sobs as she buried her face in their mother’s frail chest, and Bryanna choked back a cry. “Do not give up, Mother. Do not leave us. Not yet. We … I need you,” Daylynn whispered.
Wearily Lenore stroked Daylynn’s dark tresses. “ ’Tis best, daughter.”
Kelan saw the lines of strain on his mother’s pale face, the pain registering in her eyes. He glanced at Morwenna and she nodded, for they had always been close enough to know what was on the other’s mind. “Come, Lynnie,” she said softly. “Father Barton has returned from Lawenydd; let us leave Mother so that he may be with her.”
“But—” Daylynn tried to protest.
“Shh. Mother needs her rest.” Carefully Morwenna peeled her youngest sister from the bed. With Bryanna’s help, she shepherded Daylynn from the warm chamber.
From her bed, Lenore watched them leave, then turned tired, glassy eyes toward her two sons. “It is your duty … both your duties … to see that they marry well. Now … please leave me be. I’m so weary. I hate to wait but I’ll meet my new daughter-in-law come morning.”
As the maid hovered nearby, Lenore sighed and closed her eyes.
The knot in Kelan’s gut tightened. He knew his mother was dying and accepted it, yet it was hard to lose someone who had held him dear all of his life. As he strode out of the room, he sent up a silent prayer for her soul and nearly tripped on the steward as he approached.
“M’lord, I hate to bother you, but if you have a minute,” he interjected, falling into step with Kelan. He was shorter by a head and had to half run to keep up with the baron. “There are some disputes you need to see to,” he said breathlessly, as if the faster he talked, the more likely Kelan would stop and listen. “The farmers to the south are grumbling about the taxes, and there is a quarrel on hunting rights, and the wardrober found the cooper’s son filching spices, and—”
“Must this be settled right now?” Kelan snapped.
“But you’ve been gone for days and—”
“It will wait. Everything will wait.” Kelan didn’t break stride. “I’ll meet with everyone tomorrow, after the daily round. Today I have much to attend to.”
“I know, but the spices are expensive and the wardrober’s angry. He trusted the boy and feels played for a fool. He’s been losing spices for months, been certain it was Girlie Flout and had a talk with her. She burst into tears, denying it all and running to Lady Morwenna; then he up and catches Robert Cooper with ginger or caraway seeds in his pockets. He wants the boy’s head, let me tell you.”
“One more day won’t matter,” Kelan insisted. “Let Cooper stew about what I’ll do to him.”
“And what will that be?”
He spun on his heel and glared down at the shorter man. “I’ll decide tomorrow. Is that all?”
“Nay, there are still robbers and cutthroats in the forest. Two days ago a visiting priest was attacked. Unharmed, but his horse was stolen. And yesterday one of the merchants was robbed on the road to the north, by a bend in the river, on his way to Black Thorn.”
“Now are you finished?” Kelan asked crossly. He had no time for this. Not now.
The steward opened his mouth as if to say more but seemed to think better of it as he saw the impatience evident in Kelan’s features. “Aye, m’lord.”
“Good. As I said, I’ll see to all the complaints in the morning.” Kelan stormed down the stairs and out the door. He’d deal with the petty bickering, thievery, and robbery and whatever other problems the steward planned to lay at his feet tomorrow. As it was already twilight, his visit with his mother having taken most of the afternoon, he intended to have a servant watch over his mother. Then he would take a long bath, eat a hot meal, drink wine by the fire, and spend the rest of the night making love to his new wife.
Chapter Sixteen
Kiera sank to her neck in the towel-lined tub. Hot, fragrant water washed away the grime of the journey and the aches from her neck and back. A fire blazed in the grate and candles burned on the tables and mantel.
Elyn’s gowns, freshly pressed, had been brought up and were hanging in one of the alcoves. Thankfully, dour Rhynn hadn’t returned and the girl attending her, Nell, was a chatty, pleasant little thing with a quick smile, keen eyes, and ringlets framing an elfin face.
Nell washed Kiera’s hair, all the while talking and gossiping without hardly taking a breath. Kiera closed her eyes and let the soothing water run over her, asking a few questions and trying to learn as much about the keep as she could.
“ ’Tis glad we all are that the lord has taken a wife,” Nell confided without the least bit of concern that Kiera might repeat what she said. “He’s a handsome one, he is, and oh, many of the ladies who have visited Penbrooke have fancied him. I’ve seen it meself, but he … well, he had his troubles, you know.”
“Troubles,” Kiera repeated as the girl’s small fingers massaged her scalp.
“Oh, ‘twas a few years back. Two … nay, more like three or four. He and his father, Baron Alwyn, they had themselves a row the likes of which hadn’t been seen between these curtain walls.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering, so that Kiera could barely hear her. “ ’Twas about a woman. Well, now, isn’t it always? Baron Kelan—well, he weren’t the baron then—he didn’t like his father makin’ alliances and plannin’ his life. When it was suggested that he marry the Lord of Hawarth’s daughter, oh, there was hell to pay. Baron Kelan refused and they got themselves into a sword fight of sorts. ’Twas an awful thing, with blood bein’ spilt. Baron Alwyn, he ended up with another nasty scar on his chin, he did, from his son’s blade. Lady Lenore was fit to be tied, but the old baron he up and banished his son … and …”
“And what?”
Nell hesitated. As if she’d suddenly realized she’d said too much. “I don’t know if I should be talkin’ behind the lord’s back.”
“I’m his wife,” Kiera said, running a cloth along her arm to rinse off the soap and trying to hide the fact that she was desperate to know anything and everything about the man to whom she was married.
“I know, but—”
“Whatever you say, Nell, I swear it will go no farther.”
“Not back to the baron. He’s been good to me and me mum, kept us on when she was ailin’. He’s a good man, he is, Lord Kelan, and I shouldn’t be tellin’ tales. No one knows if they’re true or not anyway. It’s just gossip.”
“Then why would anyone care?” Kiera asked with a smile.
Nell bit her lip and stared into the sudsy water, then shrugged. “Well, ’twas a few years back when Baron Alwyn was still alive and … and there were rumors that someone had recognized his son as an outlaw, part of a ring of horse thieves and the like. No one believed the rumor until one of the crooks was caught with a stolen horse and he claimed the son of a baron had sold it to him.”
“And that son was Kelan?”
“So the thief insisted even as he was walkin’ up the scaffolding to be hung by his neck.”
“What happened?”
“Lord Kelan, he eventually returned. By this time his father was near to dyin’, but they patched things up, forgave each other, they did. Though, if ye ask me, the lordship’s other son, Tadd, he didn’t like it much. Though
t he was going to become the baron. But then that one … well, he’s got his own problems, let me tell you. It wouldn’t surprise me if the two brothers got in to it. The lord, he’s got himself a temper!”
The door opened and Kiera jumped. Water sloshed and Nell, already flustered, gasped at the sight of the very man she was maligning as Kelan filled the doorway. “Oh, m’lord,” she said, blushing. “I was just givin’ the lady her bath.”
One of Kelan’s dark brows lifted. “Thank you, Nell, but I think the lady can finish herself.”
“But—her hair is wet and … and …”
Kelan walked into the room and Nell, her blush intensifying, scurried away just as Kiera reached for a dry towel. “Close the door behind you, Nell,” he commanded, his voice deep and sending a chill down Kiera’s spine.
Kiera was wary. The room seemed suddenly close, and she far too unclothed. Kiera did not forget that on top of the issue of the vials, she now had to somehow explain Morwenna’s insistence that she was not Elyn. “If you’ll give me a minute to dress.”
“There is no need.” He was crossing the room and she sank under the water. He’d seen her naked before, but never here, in his keep, with candles flickering brightly, the fire giving off a warm, seductive glow. ’Twas unsettling. At Lawenydd, she knew everyone; here she was a stranger. Isolated. With a man who thought he was her husband and knew she had lied to him.
“Did you rest?” he asked as he reached the tub. His eyes moved from her face to the aromatic water and, she knew, the slightly distorted view of her body.
“Nay. I had not time.”
“After dinner, then.”
“Yes. Are … are we not expected to dine with the others?”
“Aye, and this time, wife, you will accompany me and sit by my side.”
“Then I should dress and—”
“Not yet.” She glanced up at him and watched as he slowly rolled up one sleeve. “I don’t think you’re quite done with your bath.” Plucking the towel from her hand, he stared straight into her eyes and flicked the towel onto the bed. “Mayhap you need some help.” Slowly, he lowered his hand into the tank.
“You’re going to wash me?” she asked, stunned, when she realized what he had planned.
“To begin with.” His fingers grazed her breast and a shock wave zinged through her. Her eyes widened and he brushed his lips across hers. “You know, wife,” he whispered, his fingers sliding down her wet abdomen, “there are secrets you have kept from me, lies you have told, and I know not what they are or why. I have wondered what to do about them.” He feathered his fingertips across her inner thighs, and the water swirled around them. “I’ve considered all sorts of punishments.” She swallowed hard as his hands caressed her nest, teasing and stroking while the water lapped deliciously. “But what I want most is the truth.” Again he swept his lips across hers, and this time his tongue traced the outline of her mouth. Kiera strained upward to taste more of him and one finger slipped inside her.
She gasped.
“Like this, do you?” He touched her intimately. When she didn’t respond, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips lightly before trailing his tongue down her neck.
Her blood was warm as the surrounding water, her legs parting, her mind swimming with the need of him, all of him. She writhed, arching upward, one nipple breaking the surface. He captured it with his lips and suckled hard. She closed her eyes, her head spinning as he stroked her, his hand plying sweet, sweet magic deep within her, his mouth and tongue laving her already wet breast.
“Kelan,” she whispered, writhing. “Please …”
“What, little one? Please what?”
His fingers found that incredible spot and she cried out. “Ooooh … please … more.”
“Precisely what I was thinking.” He bent over and dragged her from the tub, then carried her, dripping, to the bed. Cold air caused her nipples to tighten. Drips from her hair rained on him. Together they tumbled upon the bedclothes and as he pulled off his shirt, she fumbled with the laces of his breeches. He was hard. Straining. She felt his length, hot and pulsing, withdrew it from its bonds, and kissed him, stroking him, sensing his muscles tense.
“Oh, love,” he whispered, his hands in her hair, his breathing shallow with restraint. “You are a witch, you know that … you’ve … you’ve cast a spell over me …”
And then he was without words, rolling her onto her back and parting her knees with his. He kissed a drop of water still clinging to her breast. She arched, ready. With one hard thrust, he claimed her and the world began to tilt again. Hot and wanting, she met his pace with her own eager rhythm. Her hands traced the muscles of his shoulders and down his back, along his spine, past the scars, one deeper than the others in his hard flesh.
Faster and faster she spun. Candlelight swirled. Blurred. Kelan’s face, his incredibly handsome face, swam in her vision, burned through her brain, and for a fleeting instant she thought she loved him. Would that be so wrong?
With a sharp jolt, she felt their souls fuse and become one. In that magical instant he cried out, every muscle in his body straining, every sinew tight. Kiera clung to him, her body convulsing as he spilled himself into her. With a rush of breath he collapsed, holding her tight, his shallow breath pulsing at her neck.
Her arms surrounded him.
His body slackened.
She thought for the briefest of seconds that she really was his wife and strangely, for no reason she understood, she felt a tear slide from the comer of her eye.
“Lord Kelan!” Thud. Thud. Thud. “Are you not coming down to dinner?”
Kelan opened one eye. The room was near dark, the fire having died, the woman beside him sleeping as if she would never waken. He brushed a curling lock of hair off her face and felt an emotion he didn’t want to name. By the gods she was a beauty. She sighed and turned over, her lips moving. He wondered with a surprising bolt of jealousy if she was dreaming of making love and if so, who it was she was kissing.
“Lord Kelan?”
Again the pounding. Duty called. And his stomach growled. Playfully, he slapped his sleeping wife’s smooth, white rump. “Time to waken.”
She burrowed into the covers, and he leaned over and kissed her swollen lips. “Wake up, Elyn,” he whispered, and her eyes flew open. He felt her tremble and the answering heat of his blood. As if it was second nature, she turned her face up to his, offering her lips.
“Lord Kelan?” the guard called through the door.
“I’ll be down soon,” Kelan yelled from the bed as his arms surrounded his wife, then added in a whisper only she could hear, “When I’m finished here.”
In the end, they were late. For their first dinner. She’d plaited her hair hastily and donned one of the dresses she’d brought with her. The apple green silk rustled as she walked. The embroidered bodice was tight, the square neckline lower than she would have liked, but she felt radiant as Kelan’s wife, no matter how false the title was.
“Hurry,” he insisted, taking her hand as they hastened down the staircase. A loud buzz of conversation wafted throughout the corridors and seemed to carry with it the scents of roasted meat, baked bread, and all sorts of tantalizing spices. Kiera’s stomach growled, for she was hungry. Yet the thought of meeting all of Kelan’s servants, subjects, and family members was formidable.
As they reached the great hall, a trumpet sounded and a man with a deep voice announced, “Welcome back the Lord of Penbrooke and his new bride, Lady Elyn.”
Kiera nearly tripped, yet Kelan smiled widely as, from the tables set up on the floor of the great hall, people rose and applauded, smiling as they took their place at the head table. Musicians played from the balcony, stopping only as Kelan greeted everyone within the hall and introduced her as “Lady Elyn of Penbrooke.”
Kiera withered inside. She managed to smile and nod, but felt every bit the fraud she was. Hildy had been right; she should have told the truth before they left Lawenydd, for every day
that passed made the truth more difficult to admit. The longer she played the part of Kelan’s wife, the more likely his fury would rise, his shame and embarrassment double.
The feast was grand, course after course carried in by servants who wended through the peasants’ tables to offer each succulent dish first to the baron and his new bride. Kiera died a thousand deaths knowing she was the reason for this incredible celebration. It was all she could do to force a smile and watch as stuffed heron and pike, salmon and roasted boar, custards, pies, and tarts, more food than Kiera could possibly eat, were brought before her. She sat wedged between Kelan and his brother, Tadd, the rogue who had ridden with them and now seemed amused that the Lord of Penbrooke had finally wed. Next to Tadd was Daylynn, a beautiful dark-haired girl who eyed Kiera as if she were an oddity, a person most rare. Another sister, Bryanna, was friendly and warm, though there was a sadness to her eyes, which Kiera assumed was because of their mother’s ill health. But the person who worried her most was seated on the far side of Kelan. His sister Morwenna, who, while nibbling at her food, studied her new sister-in-law as they made conversation.
“So, you do remember Castle Fenn?” Morwenna asked, between bites of a fine fish pastry.
“Of course.” Kiera nodded but felt the warning hairs on the back of her neck raise.
“And there was a squire there you fancied, wasn’t there? Brock of Oak Crest?”
Kiera’s heart dropped like a stone. Where was this conversation leading? “Aye, I remember him, I think.”
“What happened to him?”
“I know not,” she said quickly and plopped a jellied egg into her mouth in the hopes of ending the conversation.
Little lines of concentration formed between Morwenna’s arched eyebrows. She fingered her knife. “Did I not hear that he was betrothed to Wynnifrydd, the Lord of Fenn’s daughter?”
“Was he?” Kiera asked, lifting a shoulder and trying not to notice that any trace of merriment had left Kelan’s face.
From the other side of her Tadd spoke up. “Aye. I’m sure of it.” He motioned to a page to refill his mazer. “The wedding was planned for … what? This week, I think.”