Lisa Jackson_Medieval Trilogy 01

by Impostress

  He was gone. Kiera reached over to Kelan’s side of the bed and found the sheets cold, the bed empty. In the hours before dawn he hadn’t believed her when she’d tried to explain that she wasn’t Elyn. He’d been amused that she’d pretended to be her sister, but no matter how insistent she’d been, he hadn’t believed a word of it. He’d held her close, wrapping his arms around her body and burying his face in her hair, only to fall asleep.

  Recriminations had plagued her for most of the night, tearing at her as Kelan’s warm breath ruffled the back of her neck. How could she make him understand the truth? Now that the hateful words were said, how could she ever face him again? Around and around the tormenting thoughts had spun until she’d finally fallen asleep only to awaken hours later and discover him gone. Had she made a mistake confiding in him? But what else could she do? She couldn’t lie to him forever.

  Forcing herself out of bed, she threw water over her face and dressed without the aid of the maid that was always fussing about. The girl, Nell, was sweet enough, but she was a gossip. Kiera was certain that whatever Nell heard went in her ears and out her mouth within seconds.

  She started out of the chamber and glanced at the bed. Memories of making love to Kelan teased at her mind and she realized with a horrible sense of doom that it wasn’t just Kelan’s touch she craved, but so much more. Aye, he was an exhilarating lover, but there was more to him that she would miss were she to leave.

  Or be forced to leave.

  Hurrying out of the room, Kiera bustled down the stairs to the great hall, where Rhynn was haphazardly strewing fresh rushes over the cleanly swept floor. The dour-faced maid glanced up, then turned back to her work with only a mumbled “Good mornin‘, m’lady” as a greeting.

  “And to you, Rhynn.” The aroma of fresh-baked breads and tarts filtered through the rooms, and her stomach rumbled. Everywhere servants worked. One girl hummed as she replaced burned-down candles with new ones; boys brought in stacks of firewood; young children toted water or, leaving their vessels, chased after each other, running up and down the stairs or disappearing around comers until their mothers’ sharp voices drew them back to their tasks. Kiera smiled to herself, for she was beginning to feel as if Penbrooke was truly her home and that Kelan was … was her husband.

  Don’t think like that, she warned herself as she tucked her cloak around her and stepped outside to feel a bit of warmth from a rapidly rising sun. This is not your home and never will be. And if you’re foolish enough to fall in love with Kelan, then you are asking for heartache, sure as anything.

  “M’lady,” a male voice rasped, and she turned to find Timothy, the gardener, following after her. “A word, if you have a minute.”

  “Certainly.” She stopped at the comer of the wine maker’s hut, where a cooper’s assistant was rolling empty barrels inside.

  The gardener scraped his hat from his head. “I wanted to ask ye about the herbs ye’ll be wantin’. We’ll plant the usual—some have wintered over—but is there anythin’ special ye’d like? We’ve got thyme and rosemary and comfrey and yarrow, o’course, but I was thinkin’ ye might want me to try and grow some of the more exotic ones. I haven’t had much luck in the past, but … I thought if there was anything you’d like, I’d find me some seeds or starts.”

  He seemed so eager to please her, and though Kiera was late for mass, she said, “That’s a fine idea, Timothy. Let’s try anything that we can grow ourselves. I’m sure the lord will purchase whatever else that the cook would like.”

  He offered her a gap-toothed, shy smile. “Thank you, m’lady.”

  “Thank you, Timothy,” she said, then took the time to inquire about his pregnant wife and three children before hurrying to the chapel. The door creaked as she entered. As her eyes adjusted to the darkened interior, she searched for Kelan and was disappointed.

  “Is not my husband here?” she asked Father Barton.

  “Nay,” the old priest muttered, obviously irritated. “ ’Tis my guess that Baron Kelan thinks his own business is more important than that of the Lord.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “On the far side of the barony.” Father Barton tried and failed to hide his disapproval in the tightening of the comers of his mouth.

  Morwenna, from the single pew, had overheard the conversation. “There was a dispute last night, near the border of Serennog. A daft woman was found trying to steal a horse, and a farmer was badly injured. She kept insisting upon seeing the baron, so Kelan and the sheriff rode there. He should be back late tomorrow unless there are problems.”

  “He should have told me,” Kiera said, feeling an odd sense of doom. Mayhap it was because of her own admission and Kelan’s disbelief. Now that he was away from the castle, she was worried, would like to have had time this morning to explain herself. That he was gone didn’t bode well; why, she didn’t know, but the sense of foreboding settled deep in her bones.

  “He didn’t know until this morning that there was trouble,” Morwenna explained, “and he didn’t want to wake you.”

  The door to the chapel opened and a gust of wind banged it against the wall. Daylynn, horrified, cringed as she entered. “Sorry.” On her heels, Bryanna followed.

  Father Barton cast an extremely unholy glare in the girls’ direction, then sighed and lifted his hands. “Now, ladies,” he finally said, motioning to the wooden bench, “if you will kneel, we will begin.”

  Everyone bowed their heads. But as Kiera closed her eyes in an effort at piety and Father Barton began to intone the prayer, her mind was far from this tiny chapel in the middle of Penbrooke. She couldn’t stop thinking of Kelan, of the man she loved, of her sister’s husband.

  She was disturbed that he’d left her, and her premonition of doom was as strong as if Satan himself was watching and waiting for just the right moment to strike.

  “You lied to me?” Baron Llwyd bellowed, glaring at Hildy and Penelope with his faded eyes. “Both of you?”

  Penelope wanted to die a thousand deaths. Never before had she deceived her father. Now, standing in the solar of Lawenydd with Hildy, facing his rage, his disappointment, she felt as small as a runt in a litter of piglets.

  Her own gaze downcast, Hildy fingered her necklace. “Aye.”

  “And Kiera and Elyn lied as well.” He clucked his tongue, and as if the shame of it all was too weighty, he dropped into his chair by the fire and absently rubbed his favorite hound behind the ears.

  “ ’Twas Elyn’s plan,” Penelope tried to explain. “She forced Kiera to go along with it.”

  “No one forces Kiera to do anything.”

  “But Elyn left and promised to be back, and Kiera, she owed Elyn a favor and—”

  “Enough.” Her father held up a hand, cutting off the rest of her rambling explanation. “So you all decided to lie to me, to shame me, to humiliate me … Christ Jesus.” He mopped his thinning pate with one age-spotted hand, and to Penelope he looked older than his years. “Does Penbrooke know?”

  “Nay.”

  “And Kiera … she … oh, Mother of God, did she sleep with him? Oh, why even ask …” the baron bemoaned.

  Innocently, Penelope responded, “Yes, but she had a potion to keep him from rousing, so all she had to do was lay beside him and not … not …” Her father looked up at her as if she were a simpleton. Penelope actually shrank away from him.

  “So he was duped, too. And still he thinks the wrong sister is his bride? Oh, by the gods, why couldn’t I have had sons? They be so much easier than daughters.” Sighing, he said, “Surely this ruse has ended.” A muscle worked in her father’s jaw. “We must ride to Penbrooke today. We must tell him the truth, that he is wed to an imposter, as the woman to whom he was betrothed fled the castle before she was married.” Llwyd paused, his hand reaching up to his throbbing head. “Oh, Lord,” he moaned as he realized that Kiera had given herself to her sister’s husband, as Elyn’s name was on the marriage contract, and the name was binding. “By
the gods, when I get my hands on Elyn, I’ll shake the very life out of her. I swear I will.”

  “ ’Tis too late,” Hildy whispered and tears slid down her weathered cheeks.

  Penelope knew what her nursemaid was going to say before the words passed her lips. Nay! Nay! Nay! Not Elyn! Not any of my sisters!

  “Hildy, oh, no …” she whispered, but her father hadn’t understood.

  “Lady Elyn met with Brock of Oak Crest,” Hildy explained.

  “What?” Llwyd shot out of his chair, and the dog was on his feet in an instant, barking angrily. “She left to meet another man?” Penelope’s father’s face flushed to dark crimson. “Like a common whore? My daughter? You’re saying that Elyn gave herself to another man while she was betrothed to Penbrooke?”

  “They were lovers,” Hildy said tonelessly.

  “I believe it not!” A vein stuck out in his neck, pulsing with hot anger.

  Hildy didn’t respond.

  “You knew it, didn’t you?” he charged, pointing a crooked finger at Hildy’s narrow chest. “You knew this and said nothing? Did nothing? Even when I asked you to toss the stones for me, when I wanted the truth, you lied and kept secrets from me while my firstborn shamed me and shamed Lawenydd?” Slowly he advanced upon her. “What kind of a sorceress are you?”

  “I did not want to hurt you, and I had made an oath with Lady Elyn and Lady Kiera.”

  “Hurt me? You were concerned for my feelings?” Llwyd’s rage was palpable. “I think not. And you’d best remember that you made oaths with my daughters. Mine. Not yours. You miserable, lying Jezebel. You are to be banished from this castle at once!” So enraged he was shaking, he glowered down at her. She didn’t bother to dash away her tears, nor did she bow her head.

  “ ’Tis not her fault,” Penelope said quickly. “Hildy tried to talk Elyn out of her plan. And when Kiera decided to go to Penbrooke, Hildy tried to stop her as well. But Kiera insisted she had to because of some oath she’d made to Elyn. But now … now …” Penelope began to sob.

  “Now what?” Llwyd demanded, though the edge to his voice indicated that he was beginning to understand. “What is it, Hildy?”

  “Brock of Oak Crest is in my hut, a prisoner.”

  “What? God’s teeth, what do you mean, a prisoner?”

  “ ’Tis true,” she said, explaining Joseph’s mission and how he’d kidnapped Brock on his wedding day.

  “So now Fenn, Oak Crest, and Penbrooke have all been insulted. Compromised! By all that is holy, Elyn, what have you done?” he said, rolling his eyes toward the rafters as if his missing daughter could hear him.

  “There is more,” Hildy said quietly, her expression as grim as it had ever been, and Penelope steeled herself for what was to come.

  “More trouble?” he flung out with a shake of his head. “What more could there be?”

  “ ’Tis as I feared,” Hildy admitted, her tears again tracking down her hollow cheeks. “Lady Elyn was killed. She and Sir Brock had a fight; she ran off and was thrown from her horse into the river.”

  “What?” Llwyd grabbed hold of Hildy’s arms. His anger quickly gave way to disbelief. “Nay … I heard you not. Elyn, she’s alive somewhere. Hiding mayhap.”

  “I fear not, m’lord. I am sorry. So sorry.”

  Penelope could stand the pain no longer. Sobs erupted from her throat and she crumpled into a chair. How had this happened? And why?

  “I don’t believe you,” Llwyd said, but despair was evident in his face. “No. ’Tis not the truth you speak but some lie, some witchcraft. Have you not wounded me enough tonight, woman?”

  “Brock is here. In my hut. I spoke with him earlier and he agreed to tell you himself.” Hildy’s voice trembled. Penelope thought she might be sick. Penelope’s hands curled into fists and she remembered all the times Elyn had tried fruitlessly to teach her to shoot an arrow, or to ride a galloping steed, or to bet while rolling dice, none of which Penelope had ever learned. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t!

  “Have him brought to me,” the Baron of Lawenydd ordered as he dropped heavily into his chair and his dog settled at his feet again. “ ’Tis far past time that I knew the truth.”

  “As you wish.” Hildy half ran from the room, leaving Penelope to face the disgraced man who had sired her.

  “Father,” she said, grief-stricken, “I am so sorry. If there is anything I can do …”

  “You can do naught,” he said bitterly, hopelessness and shame evident in the grooves surrounding his mouth and eyes. His shoulders bowed as if under some invisible weight, and he shook his head in great, overbearing sadness. “You can do nothing to bring your sister back to the living, can you?”

  Her heart broke into a thousand pieces. “Nay, but—”

  “Nor can you restore my reputation or that of your sister Kiera, isn’t that true?”

  “Nay,” she said miserably.

  “I have lost a daughter and you a sister. If that heartache be not enough, there is more. And it will last forever. No baron who is not daft will ever sign an alliance with me again when they learn how my own children and servants have made a mockery of my agreement with the Lord Kelan of Penbrooke. Aside from the original deception, now I will be accused of plotting to kidnap Sir Brock, Lord Nevyll’s son, and ruin his marriage to Lady Wynnifrydd of Fenn, whose father will surely blame me and will never again trade or barter or align with Lawenydd. Nay, Penelope, there is naught you can do,” he said fiercely. “You have all done far more than you should have.”

  “But, Father, please,” she whispered, broken, her nose running, tears blinding her as she threw herself at his feet and the dog grunted in irritation. “Let me make this up to you.”

  “Ahh, Penny-girl,” he sighed, absently patting the top of the crown of her head. “ ’Tis too late. Far too late. Too much damage has been done.”

  She swallowed back her tears and, taking in a deep breath, forced herself to her feet. “I will make things right … well, righter than they are,” she swore, and her father’s opaque, saddened eyes looked up at her in weary disgust.

  “The best thing you can do right now is leave. Go to your chamber or … or anywhere. I care not. You and your sisters have disappointed and embarrassed me to the marrow of my bones. I want not to look at you any longer.”

  Stung, she held back a gasp. ’Twas as if she’d been slapped. Surely he didn’t mean it … but when she opened her mouth to argue, he waved her away as if sick to death of the sight of her.

  Fresh tears filled her eyes and she ran to the door, only to have it flung open. Hildy burst into the room. “M’lord,” she said, her eyes wide with worry. “Sir Brock has escaped.”

  “What?” Llwyd jumped to his feet, the dog barking and growling.

  “ ’Tis true. His bonds were left in my hut but he’s nowhere to be seen!”

  “Oh, for the love of God, call the captain of the guard. He must be found at once!”

  But Hildy didn’t move. She stood rooted to the spot, and the terror in her eyes warned of something far more dire than Brock’s breaking free of his bounds and slipping away. “There is more,” she admitted. “Lady Wynnifrydd has arrived. With her are the barons of Fenn and Oak Crest.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “He’s not here?” Wynnifrydd demanded, her lips tight, her spine as stiff as a flagpole. “Brock’s not here?”

  She couldn’t believe it. Of course Brock had fled to Lawenydd. Where else would he ride to but the home of his beloved? Standing in the great hall, she glared at the broken old man Baron Llwyd, the Lord of Lawenydd no less, and wondered if the old goat was lying to her. Or perhaps, because of his blindness, he just hadn’t noticed Brock. The baron seemed defeated and weary, as if he had no strength in his aging bones.

  And what of the others milling about him, a gaunt woman servant who seemed rife with secrets, and the younger daughter, a pretty thing whose face was cast in sorrow? The whole place was gloomy and dark, though not as tired and decre
pit as Oak Crest.

  “Sir Brock was here; one of my men brought him to the castle,” the old man explained as servants scurried with trenchers of meat, cheese, and tarts that they laid upon the lord’s table. Already both her father and Baron Nevyll had mazers of wine. As if there was time to tarry over a cup! “But he left.”

  “To go where?” Wynnifrydd cried, despite a quick sign from her father indicating that she should be still.

  “I know not,” the Baron of Lawenydd said.

  He was lying. There was a secret between him and his daughter and the old crone of a woman, who, though obviously of peasant birth, was allowed to hover close to the lord, more as a wife would than a servant. Aye, there was something between them.

  “Please, come and eat, ‘tis a day of mourning here, for I’ve been told that my daughter was killed. ’Twas your son,” he said, hitching his chin toward Nevyll, “who told Hildy what happened to her and … well …” He lifted a tired hand. “There is more involved than just that. Much more. Come, sit. We’ll talk.” Using a cane, he led them to the high table.

  “Your daughter, meaning Elyn?” Wynnifrydd clarified, and the old man nodded. Though it seemed impossible, his shoulders stooped further. Something was very wrong here. It chilled Wynnifrydd to the bottom of her soul. She pretended not to understand. “Did she not marry Kelan of Penbrooke?”

  “Aye, I thought so, but I was mistaken,” he said, throwing a hard glare at the ashen-faced serving woman. “ ’Tis a long story, one that I do not fully understand myself. The marriage … it occurred, but there may have been some deception to it.” He explained it all quickly, including the stableboy’s mission to Oak Crest and his capture of Sir Brock. With a weary sigh, he added, “It appears that I may have been duped and I was not alone.”

  Nor was she, Wynnifrydd thought, but she had no patience for the stupid old man. Nor did she care about Kelan of Penbrooke’s marriage to Elyn, except as it had to do with Brock. Reluctantly, only to appease her own father, she accepted a bit of the food that was offered. But she was going out of her mind. Where the devil was Brock? Who cared about anything else? “What of Brock?” she asked. “He was here, as your prisoner, but he’s escaped?”