Lady Deception

by Rizzo Rosko

  James’ body grew cold as Olma stepped away from him, shaking her head in denial. James turned his head about. Lady Seacliffe’s shocked declaration drew the attention of the other dancers, who stopped their movements to see what was happening.

  The knights who worked for Lord Gray stopped, also appearing to take notice with their shocked mutters which were made loud against the silence as the musicians ceased playing.

  Lady Seacliffe, though her face was not twisted in fury, continued to stare and draw more attention still. “Girl, why are ye dressed like that?”

  Olma ran from the great hall.

  “Stop her!” Someone shouted. Immediately several men jumped up or left their partners to run after her. James did not immediately move to aid in chasing her down.

  ***

  Olma flew down the hall. She could hear the men behind her gaining more ground and her terror twisted in her gut. Even if she were to get back to Lady Eliza’s room, ‘twas too late for her, she could not get out of the gown by herself, or in such a hurry.

  Even if she could, her face had been seen and she was recognised. There was no possibility of outrunning her pursuers, but the logic of that would not stop her feet which felt as though they could run forever.

  “Thief! Thief!”

  Her terror doubled. Thief! They thought her a thief! They would never believe that Lady Eliza had given her the gown to wear. She would be lashed, or thrown out of the castle, or into the pit and forgotten!

  She kicked off her shoes so that she might run faster. Turned a corner and ran directly in the waiting arms of one of the knights.

  His giant hands wrapped like manacles around her small arms, squeezing tight and pinching her skin. “Gotcha, ye little wretch! I’ll take ye outside and teach ye the penalty for stealing.”

  Her legs crumbled but her captor would not let her fall. Defeated tears leaked from her eyes. “No!”

  “Take yer hands off her! Ye’re hurting her!”

  James. He had followed her. Relief enveloped her like a gust of wind but ‘twas not enough to dry her eyes.

  The man who gripped her arms shook her. “She is a thieving maid and needs t’ be taught a lesson!”

  James looked at her, then at the knight who held her. “Then ‘twill be done by Lord Gray, the way he sees fit. Not by ye.”

  “Lord Gray will ‘ave her lashed at any rate.” The man moved to pass James, tugging her along with him. James stepped in his path, and though James was shorter, he stood tall before the bigger man.

  “And if ye are wrong? ‘Tis Lady Gray’s favourite serving girl ye hold. She will prefer to supervise the punishment, I am sure.”

  The knight’s face twisted in a knotted scowl. His giant mouth opened to yell again but Lady Gray’s voice was the first to be heard.

  “What is all of this? Why did everyone leave?” Lady Gray demanded as she marched quickly into the fray. Her eyes found Olma, and as they travelled down to the gown she wore, they widened.

  Relief and humiliation fought for dominance inside of Olma’s chest. She could not decide whether ‘twas better or worse for her lady to be standing there.

  Lady Gray’s mouth fell open. “Good Lord. What are ye doing dressed like that?”

  James smiled the same victorious smile that her captor produced. They both seemed confident that Lady Gray would take their side. Olma’s confidence, the very little she had, cowered in a corner.

  The knight who held her flung her forth with the ease of tossing a rag. James leapt forth and caught her arm before she could fall on her face.

  “Go on then, explain yerself!” The older knight jibbed, which prompted the onlookers to cheer along with him.

  Olma swallowed hard and lifted her head to look at Lady Gray,who stood tall before her, dark red hair braided over her shoulder as she looked between Olma and the knight who held her shaking hand.

  ***

  Elizabeth awoke to light behind her eyes. She opened the lids and sighed. She awoke from the most horrendous dream in the room that Lord and Lady Gray gave to her. She lay alone in bed, Sir Ian not with her, nor anywhere in the room. And Blaise—

  Blaise.

  An unnatural hurt presented itself inside of her chest, eating and biting at her like fleas. The force of the pain caused her to twist on her side and clutch her heart.

  The only good part of the dream had been when Blaise proposed marriage to her. She would not have minded that part of the dream. Something as wonderful as that could never happen to her in real life.

  The door to her chamber opened, and an older, squatter, plumper woman Elizabeth did not recognise shuffled into the room. She carried a tray of what Elizabeth could only assume was her breakfast.

  She placed the tray on her bed, bobbed a curtsy and a quick, "Yer breakfast, milady," Before turning to leave.

  Elizabeth’s hand flew out. "Wait!"

  The old woman stopped in the middle of the open door and turned her whole body to give her a questioning look. “Aye, milady?”

  "Where is Olma? And why am I eating in here? Should I not be joining everyone else in the Great Hall?"

  "’is lordship thought i' best to leave ye in bed, seein' as ye had such a bad fall, milady."

  "Fall?" Her hand flew to the back of her head, searching for any evidence of a fall. She felt no lump, no tender cut, naught at all. "I had no fall. And what of Olma?"

  The servant woman continued to look at her questioningly, but addressed her last question, her nose wrinkling slightly as she did. "Olma is being punished. 'Tis not wise for a simpering servant girl such as 'erself to ge' all ‘igh and migh’y. Dressin' in a lady's gown and such."

  Elizabeth flew off of the bed and rushed passed the shocked servant woman. She would discover what had happened to herself at a better time. She had to rescue Olma before she could be punished for Elizabeth's mistake!

  ***

  Blaise sat in a corner while Marianne stood off to the side watching the events unfold. Olma stood before William's writing desk, though he did not sit behind it. He circled the room, his hand on his chin, occasionally glancing up to confirm that 'twas Olma who stood before him.

  Blaise could hardly believe it anymore than William or his step-mother could. He knew that Eliza schemed so that Olma would have her chance at wooing James, but never did he expect dear, sweet little Olma to allow herself to be dressed in a lady's gown and attend the celebration as though she were invited.

  As of yet, the girl did not mention Eliza's part in their plan. Blaise would give the her credit for that much. He would not allow her punishment to be too severe, not when she bravely defended Eliza by keeping her out of the story.

  William ceased his pacing. "If ye could simply give me an answer as to why ye did it, I'll send ye back to yer duties and we can forget this ever happened."

  Blaise sighed and shook his head. The man was too soft for his own good.

  Olma bowed her head. "I ‘ave no reason, milord. ‘Twill never ‘appen again." 'Twas the same thing she'd spoken of when William asked her the first five times.

  Marianne rubbed her belly, as became her custom whenever her nerves pressed on her as much as pacing was William’s.

  Blaise shook his head. He wished to have her admit to her plan without letting on that he was aware of it. His father was a lenient man, he would not have her lashed for such an offence. "Olma, ye obviously did it so that ye might dance with Sir James. Everyone knows of yer infatuation with him."

  Her eyes widened into round orbs at his words, though she still kept her face pointed to her feet.

  "Is that why ye did it? Not to cause harm or pretend to be a lady, but so that ye might share a dance?"

  To Blaise's ear, it sounded as though William encouraged her to answer yes to his questions merely so that he could send her on her way.

  Lord knew the man loved Olma almost as much as Marianne did since, when his castle was in chaos and hardly a servant could be found to do their jobs in the absence of a chate
laine, Olma had been one of the few to properly, and efficiently, perform her duties.

  "I ‘ave no reason, milord. I am sorry for the ‘arm I ‘ave caused. 'Twill never ‘appen again." Her voice broke and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Amazing. She refused to reveal Eliza's part in their plot even now. Was the girl frightened that Eliza would face punishment as well and possibly be removed from the castle? Or was she simply that loyal?

  William turned to Marianne for advice. "What would ye have done with her?"

  Blaise did not believe Marianne knew anymore than William. Her helpless expression and shrug of her shoulders said as much.

  “'Twas our cousin who recognised her. If she is not punished, 'twill not speak highly of how ye handle yer own castle." Blaise said, though not unkindly as the poor girl continued to shake where she stood.

  He decided to show some pity on the poor thing. “Of course, we could merely say that we had her punished. No one would know that we actually did not.”

  William looked to the ceiling and sighed. "'Tis yer first offence, ever, in this castle, I'm certain a few extra chores in the kitchen will be enough of a punishment, but ye’re to never do such a thing again."

  Olma nodded frantically at the warning in William's voice. "Nay, milord. Never again."

  Blaise smirked. 'Twas humorous even thinking of his father attempting to threaten any of the servants. Usually Marianne did that.

  The door to the solar burst open. Eliza rushed in, dressed in naught but her sleeping garments, dark, chestnut hair down and chest heaving.

  Blaise rushed to her but she pushed passed him.

  She fell to her knees before William, her hands clasped together in a begging prayer. "Please do not punish her! The fault is entirely mine! I dressed her! I told her to hide and enter the Great Hall. 'Twas entirely my idea!"

  Blaise could not decide between feeling pleased or horror stricken.

  Pleased won out, and warmth spread inside him at the sight. How could he ever have harboured a suspicion against a woman willing to throw herself at the mercy of a lord for the sake of a servant?

  William's lips twitched as he stared down at her, Blaise could see him fighting back a smile. Olma stared with a face as white as a cloud, her mouth open, having chosen horror over amusement like everyone else in the solar.

  Blaise went to Eliza, took her by the arm, and lifted her to her feet. "Her punishment has already been decided, my love. She will work in the kitchen, 'tis all."

  Blaise watched with fascination as the color drained from her face, as though her blood were being poured out of her from a pitcher. "The kitchen?"

  He nodded. "Aye."

  Eliza's face twisted to Marianne, William, and then Blaise before starting over again, as though now wondering what her punishment would be.

  Marianne had difficulty containing her giggles. "'Twas decided that the crime was not severe enough to warrant a strong punishment."

  "However," William started. "There is now the question of what shall be done with ye. Had ye not burst in like ye had, we would have known nothing of yer involvement."

  "Nothing?" Eliza looked to Olma now. The servant girl risked glancing up to see her face.

  Blaise shook his head. "Aye, she spoke naught at all of yer part. Perhaps yer punishment will be that ye are no longer privileged to have a chamber all to yerself."

  She cocked her head, clearly not grasping his meaning.

  "Father, I believe she should be forced to share my chamber for what she has done."

  "What!" She pushed away from him. The smile melted from Blaise's lips.

  "I shall not share a room with ye! Ye can barely tolerate me!"

  "Barely tolerate ye!” Anger replaced the warmth in his chest at her utterly stupid statement. “I asked ye to wed me last night!"

  His words seemed to catch her off guard. "Ye did?"

  "Aye!" Foolish woman! Did she forget everything after a mere fainting spell?

  His father watched their interaction with a confused expression all his own. "Blaise, perhaps when ye offered yer hand to the woman, ye were not as clear as ye thought."

  "I was clear!" He snapped, memories her throwing her arms around his neck and allowing herself to be led into a private chamber where they almost made love still fresh in his mind.

  Her hand slowly came to her neck. "'Twas no dream."

  "Dream!"

  "Ah, I see the problem." Marianne said with a wave of her finger. "The first time William spoke of his love to me, I was so happy that I thought I dreamed it as well."

  "Why are women so fickle?" Blaise snarled, folding his arms and half glaring at the woman he proposed to the night before.

  "I am not fickle!" Eliza said, the outrage melting from her face as though a troubling thought struck her. "Sir Ian!"

  Blaise growled. "Has been taken care of."

  Marianne came forth and put her hands gently on Eliza's shoulders. "Blaise told us all of what happened last night. Sir Ian was sent back to his uncle’s, Sir Hugh Steele, for his punishment until his parents can be made aware of what has happened. He shall not be welcome back here."

  “‘Tis hardly any punishment at all,” Blaise muttered.

  William nodded. “Aye, but the severe beating ye gave him was. He will never look the same again.”

  "'Tis not a crime to rape a peasant girl." Eliza said, her voice small.

  Blaise winced at her words. Ian, while a fool who enjoyed his drink and his women too much, would get nothing more than a finger shaken at him from his father. Blaise did not care if he already gave Ian a beating, the man deserved so much more than that.

  However, Sir Nicholas and Sir Hugh were good friends. When Hugh discovered that his nephew nearly raped a lady and the relation of a dear friend, perhaps Ian's punishment would be more gruesome.

  The thought brought Blaise some comfort.

  "Ye are not a peasant girl, remember?" he said.

  Her face became pale again with the memory.

  "Olma, ye may take yer leave now," Marianne said. Olma curtsied and scurried out of the solar like a mouse escaping the cat’s den, leaving them to their privacy.

  Eliza’s eyes seemed far away as she searched through her memories. "Sir Nicholas Godwyn. He believes I am his daughter."

  "He does not just believe it any longer." Blaise said. "He examined yer birthmark and confirmed it."

  "But I have not yet seen—" She stopped herself. "Nay, I have seen it. He is..." Eliza sank into Blaise, who held her tightly to keep her from falling to the floor.

  “My father. I have a father.”

  Chapter Nine

  "Are ye troubled, my love?"

  Blaise's smooth voice and hand stroking her back brought little comfort. She sagged against him, needing him to keep her shaking legs from letting her sag to the floor.

  "I truly do not know. I am happy to discover that last night was no dream, but saddened all the same. Ye say I have a father who is alive, but I do not know him.” She looked up at Blaise. “What of Sir Ferdinand?”

  Blaise had told her that her mother did her a service by denying her the chance to know him, but this new knowledge, the knowledge of a new father, still confused her.

  Blaise gave her a pained look, as though he were not sure of what to say.

  Lord Gray cleared his throat. “Ye were not aware of how Ferdinand behaved whilst alive, correct?”

  Eliza shook her head.

  “Has Blaise told ye anything?” Lady Gray asking, pointedly glaring at the red haired man. Blaise coughed and shuffled his feet.

  “Just that I should be grateful for not knowing him.” Eliza’s voice sounded small even to her own ears.

  Lord Gray nodded. A pregnant pause filled the room, as though he too were struggling with the proper form in which to speak. “He was a torturer of women,” he said finally. “I imagine yer mother was only ever in his company because he forced her, but ‘twould still be enough for her to imagine that he was yer
sire and not Nicholas.”

  Eliza shivered. A torturer of women?

  Blaise wound his arm about her shoulders, hugging her to him. “He was no better than the men ye witnessed hurting Bertha,” he said softly.

  Eliza swallowed. The dry motion hurt her throat. She needed to think of anything other than those awful images that Blaise’s words brought into her mind. Her mother’s blue and swollen face after one of the men became violent, of her tortured limp, and of her false smiles over cut lips.

  “Sir...Godwyn. Aye, I believe that was what he said his name was.” She turned her eyes back to Lord Gray. “Is he a good man?"

  Was he good to my mother. ‘Twas what she wished to say.

  Perhaps if she had known Sir Ferdinand, had loved him and been cared for by him, she would have felt so much more than just the nothingness she did now. As it had not been the case, the most prominent thing she felt was curiosity.

  What was her true father like?

  Lord Gray's voice came strong and proud to answer her question. "Nicholas is the best of men. When we told him of ye, he demanded to see ye and wished to take ye to Godwyn castle immediately."

  "Take me—" Elizabeth could not finish the sentence. How foolish she'd been to assume last night had been a dream, and now that she knew for certain it had not been, she clutched Blaise tightly to her as though that would be enough to keep them together.

  Blaise’s arm, still around her shoulder, tightened. "Ye shall go nowhere. Ye are to stay here and be my bride."

  Eliza nodded her head, immediately accepting Blaise’s words. Still, regardless of where she lived, she wished to see Sir Nicholas. She wanted to meet the man who had not been a part of her life, not even through the stories of her mother.

  "Where is he?"

  Knowing who she referred to, Blaise answered. "I imagine he is in the Great Hall. He demanded to know of yer condition at all hours and is insisting upon staying until ye leave with him."

  Elizabeth swallowed hard, her blood buzzed and tingled under her skin as she took Blaise's hand. "Will ye take me to him?"

  He seemed equally troubled by the thought of their meeting, but still nodded. "Aye."