Lady Deception

by Rizzo Rosko

  Marianne sighed. "'Twould be a shame to see her go, but for her to be the daughter of sir Nicholas is a much better outcome for all than having her be the child of Ferdinand's."

  Blaise had told her that Bertha had done Eliza a service, but he had not told her why. If his father decided that breaking the news gently to Nicholas was proper, then he could gently open Eliza's eyes to what the man she thought was her father truly was.

  'Twould stun her, surely, but if Nicholas was truly her father, then perhaps the news would not be such a shock to her after knowing what sort of man Ferdinand was.

  If she was the daughter of Sir Nicholas, and Blaise highly suspected it to be true, for he'd seen the same sword shaped mark on Nicholas's forearm many times in his youth, she needed to know that she thought of the wrong man as her sire.

  He set off to find her.

  ***

  Elizabeth pulled her thumb from her mouth when the sting of pain pierced. She took to biting her nails to keep herself from going mad, and instead of banishing her nerves she cracked her thumbnail with her teeth to the point where she saw blood.

  "Are ye well, Lady Elizabeth?" Olma asked when she stopped walking.

  Elizabeth sucked on the tip of her thumb. A painful throbbing bloomed from the cut anyway. "Aye, I am well."

  Olma waited for her to keep moving, but she could not, even when satisfied that no more blood would trickle out of her thumbnail.

  She had been the one who wished to walk outside along the courtyard, hoping to clear her head and calm her heart. Instead she found herself in a worse place than before. The urge to run back and spy outside the door where the lord of the castle spoke with his family caused a twitching in her legs.

  She forced them to move again, but not back towards the castle. She continued her walk along the outer wall, knowing Olma followed obediently behind her.

  She suspected that as a lady in waiting, she was expected to spend more time with the lady of the castle. But for the most part, ever since she arrived at Graystone, Elizabeth had been able to freely walk about wherever she pleased.

  Lady Gray always seemed to want private discussions with her husband and step-son, discussions that Elizabeth was not privy to.

  Despite their wishes and how she had yet to spy again, she knew of which they spoke. Her. From what Blaise said to her earlier, 'twas obvious that there was some history with her father and the lords in command of this castle. It could not be a good history either.

  Elizabeth prayed that they were not contemplating throwing her out of the castle. 'Twas only her third day living with them, and already had she grown used to the luxuries of sleeping in a bed, having a bedchamber to call her own, and not frightening herself over where her next bite to eat would come from.

  And despite how she revealed the nature in which her mother put food in Eliza’s belly as a child, no one uttered any vile comments to her, propositioned her should she share the same profession as her mother, or attempt to force her into something she did not want.

  Then Blaise had defended her when she called herself a bastard. The stiffening of his shoulders and twisting of his face told her how much he despised the word.

  She could not blame him if he himself was one.

  Curiosity attacked her insides, demanding that she seek out answers. If Blaise did not share the blood of Lord Gray then why did he live as the eldest son? Was Lord Gray the sort of kind hearted man who would raise a boy not his own?

  She forced calm into her shoulders. ‘Twas not her business and obviously something Blaise did not wish to speak of. She would not ask one of her rude questions.

  Perhaps one small question would hurt no one.

  "Olma?"

  "Hmm?"

  Elizabeth turned to stare at the girl for such an odd response.

  Olma's head faced away from her, turned upwards to stare at where the knights worked on the battlements. Some laughed and drank ale as though taking a rest. Others marched stiffly and watched for any possible disturbance among the people working outside the walls.

  Elizabeth found the man Olma stared at. 'Twas easy since he stood off by himself and Olma's eyes were pointed in his direction. The knight in question turned his head at the call of a fellow knight, and Elizabeth saw that 'twas the same dark haired man who opened the gates to allow both her and Blaise entrance on the day of their arrival.

  "Sir James?"

  Olma's head spun so quickly Elizabeth was shocked her headdress did not fly off. Her eyes turned into round orbs and her lips trembled. The image reminded Elizabeth of a trapped animal about to be eaten.

  The answer came in an instant. Elizabeth laughed out loud. She could not believe it. The girl was in love with the knight!

  Olma's head suddenly returned to the post above where James stood. Along with the look of a frightened animal, her face paled as well.

  Elizabeth turned her head upwards. Apparently James heard her laughter, turned, and saw the both of them standing there. Elizabeth waved and hooped her other arm through Olma's. “Hello, Sir James!” She called.

  James hesitated before he turned, and walked away without sending a greeting back, as though he had never even seen them.

  Elizabeth's face fell, her hand slowly doing the same. She did not understand. Beside her, Olma's tiny body shook. Elizabeth looked down at the girl, her expression that of mortification, and Elizabeth did not know if the girl held back anger or tears.

  "But, I assumed—"

  "He is a knight, Lady Elizabeth." Olma said, though she did not face her. Her eyes pointed firmly at the grass beneath their feet. "He has not much of his own, so he will marry a wealthy bride, not a servant."

  Elizabeth's head spun back to where James stood, among other knights of varying ages who conversed joyously among each other, though from the distance she could tell that his expression remained solemn.

  Shock churned inside her like an overflowing pot of boiling water. Could it be that the nobles were capable of such cruelty? But then again, Sir James was not quite nobility. Perhaps there had been a mistake? Elizabeth took both of Olma's shoulders and forced the girl to look her in the eyes. "Do ye love him?"

  Olma looked up at her, the brows of her eyes coming together in confusion.

  Elizabeth shook her for good measure. "Do ye love him?"

  The confusion melted away, replaced now with a mild fright. "Aye, Lady Elizabeth. But 'tis not possible for us—"

  "Do not speak of impossible to me! Before arriving here I was no better than a serf! Poor, filthy, and constantly in fear of the men who would lurk outside of my hut at night," she hesitated a moment to allow Olma to absorb her words. "Now I am here, ye are my friend and equal."

  The panic returned to Olma's eyes. "Nay, Lady—"

  "No, do not call me that. Remember where I came from. From now on, ye shall refer to me by my Christian name. Elizabeth."

  Olma did not speak. Her head remained lightly ducked, and her face bright as though suffering from a horrid embarrassment. “I could never presume—”

  Elizabeth leaned closer to her. "Say it. Eli-za-beth," she prompted gently.

  Olma opened her mouth, half shut it again, then opened it once more, struggling with the word. "El—Eliz—abeth." She smiled brightly when the words finally escaped her lips.

  Elizabeth clapped her hands in delight. "Excellent, now, does James return yer love?"

  Olma's had bowed again, the shameful blush returning to her cheeks. "I do not know, Lady Elizabeth. I thought ‘e did, once, but I must ‘ave been mistaken."

  "'Tis Elizabeth, and if ye believed he returned yer love then he must have given ye some hope that he indeed returned it."

  "But La—Elizabeth. He is searching for a bride, and will likely choose one at the celebration Lady Gray has arranged."

  Elizabeth tapped her chin in thought. A celebration of any kind would be a marvellous way in which to meet a potential husband, or in the case of James, a wealthy bride.

  As ‘tw
as usually the case, her brilliant idea came to her in one neat package. "I do not know why I hadn't thought of this sooner, but while at the celebration, I shall dress ye in one of the gowns Lord Gray has promised for me! When Sir James sees what a beauty ye are, he will abandon any thought of wealth and choose ye."

  Olma's shoulders stiffened again. "Nay, milady! I could never—"

  "Do not be so quick to assume we shall create a fuss and announce ye as Lady Olma. Ye shall be dressed to woo yer noble knight, and before anyone else sees ye there, whisk ye off to return to yer normal clothing. 'Tis a perfect idea! And while we are at it, I too shall dress to catch a lord's eye."

  “Please, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “I shall hear no more of it. Ye are simply allowing yer fear to guide ye. ‘Tis not a habit that ye should have if ye want certain things.”

  As if sensing there was no point in arguing Elizabeth’s plan further, Olma moved the subject off of herself. "Anyone in particular, Lady Elizabeth?"

  Elizabeth blinked. “In particular?”

  “The ball,” Olma said, turning her head back up to where the knights worked and jested with each other. “Any man ‘ose eyes ye would like to catch?”

  Elizabeth smiled. "I am not sure to whom the eyes will belong, but they shall be dazzling, I am certain. Perhaps I will find the owner of those eyes and he shall make me his wife."

  She would not mind at all if those eyes were a sparkling blue like gems glistening in a lake. ‘Twas a shame such a fancy was impossible.

  ***

  At first, hard jealousy claimed Blaise when Elizabeth waved so merrily at James on the battlements. The man had been lucky he turned away instead of returning the gesture or Blaise would have felt forced to fight him.

  Burning anger scorched inside of him like a hungry fire, and for a moment he thought it would consume him until he listened closer.

  Relief extinguished the fire like a splash of cool water. Elizabeth was merely speaking of the servant girl's silly infatuation with James. Surely she must know that a man in James's position would need to find someone worthy for a bride, and not a poor sewing maid.

  He listened with an amused ear as they plotted to woo the poor, unsuspecting man during the celebration of Blaise's good health and life. Then his Eliza happened to mention that she would be searching for a husband during that celebration, and his jealousy returned.

  He shook himself. What did it matter if the woman sought out a gullible knight to be her husband? He felt nothing for her, nothing romantic at any rate.

  Perhaps 'twas a mere possessiveness that took over and squeezed him at the thought of her with someone else. Shrieking that same joyous laugh she'd made when he twirled and lifted her into the air.

  'Twas possible he could be feeling such a thing because she was the first his eyes landed on when he awoke after his attack.

  A wicked smile twisted Blaise's lips. If he felt possessive toward her, then why fight it? If her goal the entire time had been to find herself a husband, an innocent enough scheme when it came to women, then he should be there to ensure that the only man she saw at that celebration was himself.

  First, he had to find a delicate way to tell her that the man she thought of as a father was an evil whore-son.

  “Eliza!” He called. The two women turned their heads to him before they could walk back to the castle.

  Eliza’s face heated. Blaise liked to think ‘twas because he angered her over the use of her name. Slowly, they came forward.

  “Aye? Lord Blaise?” Eliza asked. He noted the difficulty in which she met his eyes.

  “Eliza,” Best to get it over with quickly. “I would like to introduce ye to a friend of mine.”

  Her eyes widened slightly and became interested. “A friend?”

  He cleared his throat. “Aye, a friend, as an added reward for saving my life.”

  Quickly would be too harsh on her. He needed to lull her, relax her, give her something to amuse her for a few moments, then he would tell her. Perhaps then the news wouldn’t seem so harsh.

  “I—” She sputtered, as though trying to discern how introducing her to a mere friend would amount to the same thing as a reward. Finally, she smiled. “Very well, I would be delighted to meet yer friend.”

  “Good. Olma, ye may return to yer duties.” Blaise didn’t wish her to be present when he revealed such personal matters of Eliza’s past to her.

  The girl curtsied obediently and scurried off.

  Eliza watched her go with sad eyes.

  “Does it comfort ye when she is around?” Blaise asked.

  “Aye, I suppose it does. She is a wonderful listener.”

  Blaise nodded ‘Twas the same reason Marianne adored the girl when she first came to Graystone.

  He would have to send Eliza back to Olma to weep on her shoulder when he told her the truth. He should not be battling his nerves at the thought. “Well then, kindly follow me.”

  He walked on. She followed. “I expect ye not to wander over here at any other time. The falconers do not need ye distracting them.”

  “Falconers?”

  He nodded and motioned towards the area where the mews were kept. Eliza gasped behind him and quickened her steps until she was nearly leading him.

  “Ye will show them to me?” Her head spun between the mews where they were heading, and Blaise, as though she wished him to hurry his pace.

  “Briefly,” he said with a smile. Offering to show her the falcons had not originally been part of his plan, but Marianne had taken to the birds. He suspected Eliza would wish to see them as well, and he’d been correct.

  The falconer, a tall, skinny man with scarred hands, stood up from where he inspected one of the perches at Blaise’s approach.

  “Do not concern yerself with us. We will not be long,” he said.

  The man nodded and returned to cleaning the perch. “Aye, Lord Blaise.”

  Blaise reached his hand out to grab Eliza’s but found only empty air. He turned. She already stood before the perch of his father’s falcon.

  The bird was tethered and hooded, but he did not like how close she was to it. Cedric, the falcon, could hear her feet shuffling and rapid breathing as she admired him. His head twitching from side to side told Blaise as much.

  Eliza reached her hand out. Her fingertips so close to stroking the near spotted, white-tipped feathers.

  His hand reached out and grasped her wrist before she could.

  Confused brown eyes met his.

  “His eyes may be covered, but his beak is not.”

  Her eyes widened before pointing towards the deeply pointed beak, as though seeing it for the first time. Blaise released her hand and she clutched it to her chest, still eyeing the bird fearfully. “But I thought...Are they not trained?”

  Blaise reached to take a leather glove from a hook. “Do ye wish to take that chance?”

  She shook her head.

  Blaise took her hand and put the glove on. “Then ye shall wear this.” ‘Twas made for a man so the fit was large, but she wiggled her fingers into each proper slot with little trouble.

  Her excitement returned. “I am to hold him?”

  Blaise nodded, picked up another glove and put it on his own hand. The fit was a better one. “Aye. His name is Cedric. He does not answer to it when ye call him, though.”

  Blaise nudged his hand under the thin, orange legs until Cedric stepped on, then he made the transfer from his glove to Eliza’s, the wings unfolding slightly as he did so. Eliza smiled when the tips of his wings touched her face as Cedric caught his balance.

  “Keep yer voice calm, yet firm, and yer movements small. Do not startle him.”

  She did not take her eyes away from the tiercel peregrine perched on her hand. The bird opened his beak to release soft, confused cries, but otherwise did naught else. “Are ye not frightened he will fly away?”

  “His leg is still tethered. He will go nowhere.”

  “He is beautiful.” She gasp
ed her words.

  Blaise nearly opened his mouth to say that Eliza was the beautiful one. He halted himself and closed his mouth tightly before the words could form. He would never tell her that.

  “Ye’re shaking. Calm yerself.” Blaise stood behind her and reached his arms out so that they held onto hers. Her shaking ceased immediately and only then did Blaise smell the fresh scent of her hair and skin.

  She bathed recently, ‘twas the only explanation for the lavender scent. He inhaled deeply, then sighed for being foolish enough to put himself in such a position.

  She leaned back into his chest. The touch burned and tingled through his tunic and he clenched his teeth at the odd, though not entirely unpleasant feeling. Did she feel it too?

  He wanted to toss her off of him and march away, anything to put that sensation at bay, but he could not. ‘Twould frighten Cedric, and she could be injured with a panicking falcon flailing about.

  He swallowed hard. “I should...ye should know something.”

  Her voice was quiet, her form still as she leaned against him. “What is that?”

  Blaise wet his lips. The knowledge would hurt her, she may very well have to leave with Sir Nicholas because of it, but it could not be kept from her. “Ye should know that...” He took a deep breath, once again inhaling her scent. “While I am glad ye came, ‘tis not proper for us to be seen standing like this. Especially if ye plan on finding yerself a husband.”

  She tensed in his arms.

  Fool! Why could he not simply have the courage to tell her the truth?

  Eliza pulled herself free from him. “I see.” With calm deliberation she turned and placed the bird back into Blaise’s gloved hand.

  He returned the falcon to its perch, then removed the glove and studied her face for any signs of displeasure.

  There were none. She handed him back the leather glove she’d worn and grinned. “Thank ye for introducing me to Cedric. ‘Twas very kind of ye.”

  “Perhaps I shall allow ye to pet him, next time.”

  Her dark eyes became bright. “There shall be a next time?”