My Lady Imposter

by Sara Bennett - My Lady Imposter

  This last brought her head around, and he smiled at her, a gleam of triumph dancing in his blue eyes.

  “What should I care for kings and queens,” she said haughtily. “What do they care for me?”

  “You should care, Kathryn. The thoughts and actions of kings shape our own. They order, we obey. We should make certain we do not have kings who order things we cannot obey.”

  She remembered, suddenly, the conversation she had overheard in the woods, and was silent. Outside in the garden a girl was bending to collect herbs. Kathryn watched her a moment, so intent she did not realize that he had bent closer to her, until his breath stirred her veil. “Ladies born and bred do not make it so obvious to their companions that they are bored.” He lifted his brow at her. “They reply demurely and listen to each and every word as though it were Holy writ. Ralf would not be pleased if you acted bored with him.”

  His blue eyes almost hurt hers with their intensity. And then he had drawn back and she was left wondering if the moment had ever been. “I am leaving tomorrow for London,” he said abruptly. “I have my own affairs to attend. My father is dying.”

  “I am sorry for it,” she murmured, grudging in politeness.

  The blue eyes were cool how, secret. “He has not always agreed with me upon things that matter—I am my own man, always. But I would not desert him for something so petty as revenge.”

  She believed it, looking at him. He was indeed his own man.

  “Richard!” Wenna, behind them, her voice cool and melodious. He rose and went towards the other woman. Kathryn stared moodily out of the window, pretending not to care. And yet, inside, she wondered at the sudden emptiness his words had caused. He was going to London. She had not often seen him, since her tuition began, but she had known he was here, at Pristine. Why should that comfort her? And why did she feel afraid, now he was to go?

  “Girl!” Wenna’s imperious tones were not to be ignored, but she came as slowly as she dared. The grey eyes scanned her with dislike, but it was a cool dislike. The feeling one might have for an insect. Richard was frowning.

  “You don’t walk, Kathryn,” he said. “You plod, like an unwilling ox before a plough.”

  Wenna laughed, the sound light in the dull chamber. And then, “Make your curtsey to Sir Richard, girl! There will be no dancing today. I have taken pity and released him from that odious task.”

  She curtseyed, wobbling a little when she reached the floor. His hand steadied her, the fingers pressing her arm as he helped her to straighten. Wenna sniffed.

  There was a pause, and then he said, “The girl will try hard. She has promised.”

  His voice was rough, and Kathryn looked up in surprise that it had lost its usual cool detached sarcasm. Wenna raised her lovely, grey eyes to his face and kept them there a long time. “She is a peasant,” she murmured at last. “She can never learn to be a lady, only to mimic one. I shall tell Ralf so, if she does not take that mulish look off her face.”

  Kathryn’s lip stuck out even further and she spun for the door, blind to the consequences. Richard’s hand stopped her as she reached to push aside the stiff curtain. His voice, low and rushed and angry, hissed in her ear.

  “You fool! If you displease her she will have you flogged. Do as you are bid, child, or you will not be alive when I come back from London.”

  She turned to look at him, her mouth trembling a little. “Come back? I thought... if your father dies, you must stay... he has lands and…”

  He bowed his head a moment, hiding his face from her. “I am my own man,” he said quietly. “I told you so. I will come back.” His eyes lifted, and looked for a moment directly into hers. She felt something in her chest catch.

  But he had turned back to Wenna, with a laugh that grated. “She is a child, my lady. But children learn quickly. You will see.”

  Wenna shrugged, and then smiled as he bent to whisper in her ear. Her lips parted in soft laughter, her fingers lingered on his sleeve. Kathryn lowered her big eyes, hiding the sudden anger in them. He had spoken to her so... so sincerely, and now he flirted with his lord’s mistress! She hated him, hated him. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he had already gone.

  Chapter Four

  Kathryn rose slowly from the table, smoothing her gown to her slim hips. The serving girl winked at her, before removing the trenchers and tankards. Wenna sat by the window, hands folded in her lap, waiting until the woman had gone. Kathryn met her eyes, waiting.

  “Passable,” she said at last. “Come here!”

  Kathryn came at once. She had learned obedience since Richard’s warning. She moved with a fluid grace which had nothing to do with training. Once she had lost her angry nervousness of Wenna, the stiffness in her bearing had vanished.

  Now Wenna nodded slowly, grey eyes sliding critically over the other girl. “You progress... a little. Come with me.”

  Kathryn opened her mouth, then reluctantly closed it.

  Wenna, noting the control over the outburst, smiled. “Just so.” She rose and went to the curtain, her long fingers twisting on the cloth as she paused. “There is something more. A man, a peasant, wishes to see you. He refuses to go away. I would have him whipped, only he will make trouble and my lord dislikes to be troubled. He is waiting for you in the hall.” Another pause, Wenna turned with cold grey eyes. “You will not tell him what we have done here. You will not tell him anything. And you will send him away and see he does not return.”

  It was Will.

  He looked up, his eyes growing wider and wider as she came towards him in her new gown, her long hair plaited and fastened about her head beneath the loose flowing veil. “Kathryn?” his voice was a croak.

  “Yes, it’s Kathryn.”

  He swallowed and his eyes flickered away, as if she were too bright for him to look long upon. “Kathy-girl, I... I talked with Grisel and Snuff. They could only tell me you were here, and Sir Richard Tremaine had... Kathy!” His eyes were full of dumb animal pain. “You’re so changed! Are you in truth that man’s mistress?”

  Shock held her still, and then pity made her reach to touch his arm. But he drew back.

  “You’re his whore,” he whispered, something between terror and pride shining in his eyes. His shoulders shook a little. “I knew it would be so.”

  “I am still only a serf, Will.” She bit her lip, “Why did you come?”

  “I thought...” but his voice trailed off. She knew well enough why he had come. Because he loved her and still wished to marry her. But now that he had seen her so changed, his eyes told him he could never marry the woman she had become.

  “How is Grisel?” she managed at last.

  “Well,” he said, brightening. “Very well. Another baby on the way.”

  “Poor Grisel.”

  He seemed puzzled, but after a moment said curiously, “You sound different.”

  “I’m to be a lady,” she said with mockery. He didn’t understand it, and stood a moment shuffling his feet, uneasy in the little chamber. “Will, it’s of no use to come here. You see that, don’t you?”

  He looked at her miserably, but nodded. “I see you’re changed, and if that man’s made his mark upon you...”

  She bit her tongue in the longing to tell him it was not so, but did not. If he thought this shameful thing, at least he would think her beyond his reach and find some other girl. At least Grisel and Snuff could continue to be proud of her ‘great’ status. And besides, the truth was so confusing. She did not even know it herself.

  “Goodbye, Will,” she said softly.

  “Goodbye, Kathy.”

  She stood staring at the place he had been, until Wenna came and mocked her for it and sent her away.

  She had been learning some of the arts of being a lady’s maid. She had learned to dress Wenna’s long hair, and mend clothes and cut patterns. She had learned to dry herbs and make them into simples. She had learned that every great household had its cellars and store rooms, and what must be
kept therein during summer and winter. She had learned until her mind hurt her with all its knowledge, and still they expected her to learn more.

  Lord Ralf, however, seemed pleased with her meekness and her sweet voice. He may not have been so pleased, had he been able to see her eyes, modestly lowered beneath thick lashes. They shone black and angry—the eyes of a wild creature, caught and forced to come to heel, but not at all pleased about it.

  The weeks passed. The harvest was done. The days came and went, lazy and still, with long, golden evenings over Pristine’s lands. Lord Ralf also went to London, taking most of his men-at-arms. The household slowed down to match the unseasonal heat. Wenna was cross and short-tempered and slapped Kathryn’s hands when she made mistakes in learning to play the harp and lute.

  “You have fingers like hoofs,” she said, sourly, turning impatiently aside.

  “You play then, my lady,” Kathryn held out the harp, smiling. “You play so well.”

  Wenna looked at her, grey eyes considering. “You have a quick tongue, girl. A clever, cunning tongue. Take care it does not grow too sharp and cut you.” But she took the proffered harp, and sang.

  As the first chill winds cut through the drowsy days, and the first dying leaves fell in the woods, Lord Ralf came home, bringing with him many knights, all with squires and pages and servants, and many with their wives and ladies. Pristine was in a turmoil of excitement.

  Kathryn heard the news first as she woke that morning. The stout woman who had first bathed her was shaking her, excitement in her eyes. “Such news, child! Lord Ralf is home, and with such an entourage! And all, it seems, for you. You are to dress at once.”

  Kathryn reached automatically for her gown, only to have her fingers slapped. “Not those! These!”

  She stared. Fine, soft clothes of rose silk, with slippers soft and handsome, and a veil like cobwebs. She had not seen clothes so fine, except on Lady Wenna. Her eyes met the other woman’s in shock.

  “You are to dress and wait here for Lord Ralf,” she said, soft and conspiratorial. “Oh child, how beautiful you will look!”

  She was bathed in the rose-scented water, and dressed in the fine clothes. The gown fitted snugly to her slim waist, and was laced up the sides, her chemise showing through the diamond cutouts. Her sleeves were so long at the wrist, they must be knotted up to prevent them dragging on the ground, and her hair was brushed out loosely over her back and shoulders, as befitted a young unmarried noblewoman.

  Lady Wenna came to view her with cool grey eyes, a glint of something like hatred in their depths, making her face older. “Remember all you were taught, girl,” she said sharply. “If you do not, my lord will throw you into the dungeons and forget you.”

  Kathryn lowered her eyes. The dungeons were dark and deep, she would never see the sun again. She had no wish to occupy Pristine’s dungeons.

  Wenna’s hand closed on her arm, nails biting. “I almost wish... I almost wish you would make a mistake.”

  But it was said softly and swiftly, and she had moved away as swiftly, so that Kathryn was unsure it had been said at all. Besides, at that moment a page came hurrying in, Lord Ralf behind him, and she had to go into a low, perfectly steady curtsey.

  There was a silence. She stared at his boots and the glinting sword at his side. And then a hand, laden with rings, was stretched out towards her, and she was raised up beneath his awesome visage.

  He was unchanged. Still as handsome and golden as before. His smile as broad and blinding and utterly false. She gazed at him without speaking, only remembering, when Wenna pinched her arm, to drop her eyes modestly to the floor.

  “Well,” he drew a breath. “Wenna, you have done well!”

  Wenna smiled gently. “A miracle, my lord.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” he strode about her, viewing her like a mare on sale at a horse fair, she thought indignantly.

  Wenna watched her lover with sharp grey eyes, but could read nothing more than satisfaction in his face, and perhaps a glint of amusement—the odd amusement that so annoyed her. Life, to her, was such a serious business. She had no time to laugh at it.

  “Look up, girl!”

  Her head jerked up, her lashes lifted. Dark as a moor’s, he thought with interest. There was a challenge in them, and a hint of pride. But it was sheathed as swiftly beneath the demure blankness Wenna had advocated,

  “You look a lady, at least. Time will be the test for the rest. Still, a surface gloss may be all that is needed. What is the girl’s name?” This last was to Wenna.

  “Kathryn.”

  “Kathryn,” he repeated, and nodded thoughtfully. “Tis well enough. We’ll not change that.”

  “It was my mother’s name,” she said, a little sulkily.

  “Your mother,” he said sharply, “was the Lady Alys deBrusac”

  She looked at him in amazement. His eyes were cold on her own, but his lip quirked. “Remember that. Remember also this...” he paused and thoughtfully pulled at his lip. “The Lady Alys died in the Convent of St Ursula at Bristol. You were born there, and have lived there all your life, until now. You were out walking with the nuns when I saw you, and questioning you discovered your true origins. Your mother was a devout woman, sweet but cold, gentle but distant. You knew her hardly at all.”

  Kathryn stared as if he had run mad. Behind her, Wenna said, “So, that is the game. It is a dangerous one, my lord.”

  Ralf shrugged. “The girl looks every inch a de Brusac, Wenna! I saw that, even under her dirt. The resemblance is startling. She will pass even Sir Piers” keen gaze.”

  “And then? Even if he does believe it, even if everyone believes it, and he acknowledges her? A message to Bristol would prove the lie.”

  “He will send no one to Bristol. And if he does, I have taken precautions that the news he receives be what I wish it to be. The good sisters at St Ursula are in need of funds. And as for here ... no servant of mine will be able to inform about her. She has been seen by only a few, and those trusted. Her family believe her a whore, and think no more of her. She has vanished, and reappears as the daughter of Alys de Brusac.”

  “So,” Wenna said again. “And when he acknowledges her, what then?”

  “He is an old man. And he has no heir.”

  Wenna’s mouth curved. Ralf smiled back. “You can see the coffers filling already, my love. We must hope the girl does not blunder. There are other eyes apart from Sir Piers’. That is why I have brought this menagerie back with me. If she can pass beneath their eyes, they will carry the news far and wide, and the lie is half won.”

  “You are so sure he will acknowledge her!”

  “The resemblance is so stunning. And there is more. Piers is as loath to let the King take his lands as I am to let it happen. He will be only too glad to acknowledge her, never fear.”

  His hand went out, catching Kathryn’s jaw and holding her.

  “Well, girl, do you remember that? There are proper ladies and knights at Pristine now. You must pass beneath their censorious gaze before you are let loose at de Brusac.”

  She looked at him a moment, her dark eyes opaque, and then she began to speak softly: “I am the daughter of the Lady Alys, who died in the Convent of St Ursula in the city of Bristol. She was a sweet lady, and devout. I knew her very little. I was walking with the nuns when you came upon us, saw me, and questioned me. You took me back to Pristine with you, and now you mean to take me to Sir Piers, who is my—” she paused, her dark brows lifting inquiringly. He laughed, eyes gleaming.

  Wenna, behind her, said sharply, “You are pert, girl!”

  “No,” Ralf shook her jaw before releasing her. “She is clever.” The laughter faded. “But beware your tongue, Kathryn. If it grows too long, we will have it out. You could as easily be a mute heiress as a talkative one.”

  She blanched a little at that, but held his gaze steadily enough.

  “Sir Piers is your grandfather,” he said at last. “And he is dying. He has been dyi
ng these past two years, and now his candle is almost out. He began to die, I think, when he heard his son had died, rebelling against our glorious King. He hates the King almost as much as I.”

  “I see,” she said. And did, a little.

  Ralf turned away. “Bring her down with you, Wenna. We will hope she makes no blunders.”

  The curtain rustled back into place. Wenna stepped out in front of Kathryn, her grey eyes cold and angry. “Remember to mind your tongue, girl. If you betray my lord, he will kill you. His threats are never idle ones. And beware, also, trying to usurp my place here, for if you do I will kill you.”

  The great hall was alight with laughter and people. They paused, at the top of the stairs. Wenna, her cool beauty enhanced by a pale blue gown, and behind her, Kathryn, alive and vibrant in the rose. She gazed down at the upturned faces, and felt a sting of fear and bewilderment in the sudden hush of expectancy.

  How could she go down there, amongst them? So many knights and ladies, so many richly gowned nobles? She was a peasant, no more. How could she? But the very fact of it stung her pride, and she lifted her head, unconsciously looking every inch a princess.

  Lord Ralf was there, to take her hand. “This is Kathryn de Brusac,” he said.

  Someone curtseyed. She stared at them in an amazement that passed for indifference. A man bowed over her fingers. She stared at him coolly, not knowing what to say. They took it for disdain. Wenna, watching, began gradually to relax.

  They sat down to their meal. Kathryn sat on Ralf s left. He spoke to her as if she were his equal. She found herself answering and gradually growing calmer, less afraid of making mistakes. She could hear her own voice, low and melodious, and she liked it. She even began to smile, and to laugh. Her eyes swept down to the other faces; the bobbing heads and rich clothing. She began to feel like a princess.