My Lady Imposter by Sara Bennett - My Lady Imposter

blood.
    “Geoffrey’s dead,” he said, without seeming emotion. “We’ll take the body on to de Brusac, the castle is not far now. No use in leaving it here for those vultures. I thought Piers would have had his land clear of brigands by now. But mayhap he’s too ill to care.”
    Wenna sidled closer. “Your... that is, the Lady de Brusac came close to being slit open with a knife.”
    Ralf looked around at Kathryn sharply, and flickered a look up and down before turning away. “She seems unharmed.”
    “Sir Richard went to her rescue, my lord.”
    “A small matter,” Richard said shortly. “Though I doubt the girl was in any real danger— her caterwauling was enough to frighten the hardiest brigand.” He said it sneeringly, and Kathryn’s fingers clenched on the reins as she lowered a flushed and furious face.
    “You’re cut, man!” Ralf cried suddenly. “I hope you paid your attackers in kind?”
    “I was over generous. He lies yonder,” was the grim reply.
    “We are not far from de Brusac now,” Ralf repeated. “Come, we’d best ride on. How fare you, Wenna, my love?”
    “I am unharmed, my lord.”
    Kathryn was surprised how soft the cold voice became, and watched Ralf return her smile before he rode back to the head of the party. With a sigh, she kicked her mare into a trot.
    Ralf’s idea of a short distance was by no means hers. They had two hours of hard riding before, finally, they came upon a slope and, looking down through dark woods, she saw the grey-white towers of a castle rising supplicant to the grim sky. Her castle. De Brusac.

Chapter Six
    It was drizzling. The outside of Kathryn’s cloak was already damp, and droplets of rain struck at her half-concealed face. They rode down into a hollow, dark with the trees, losing sight of the stronghold for a moment. But they soon came upwards again, along a leaf-dappled road, which led right up to the great, grey walls of de Brusac.
    Ahead, Lord Ralf drew them to a halt, scanning the walls with narrowed eyes. There were no signs of any guards, and the place had a deserted look. If it had not been for the fact that the great gates were closed they might have thought it abandoned.
    Lord Ralf rode back, spurring his stallion to a gallop, and drew up beside Kathryn with a scatter of damp dust. “You will ride with me,” he said softly. “If you betray yourself, or fail me in some way, you will die. Do you understand me, my lady?”
    She met the golden eyes, and knew he meant it. She nodded jerkily and urged her own horse to follow him as they rode back to the head of the line.
    The great grey walls towered before them, silent. Lord Ralf lifted his hands to cup his mouth and cried out in a bellowing voice: “Open your gates!”
    Silence. A horse pressed closer behind them, and Sir Richard’s quiet voice said, “It looks empty, my lord.”
    Lord Ralf grunted. Somewhere above them there was a clang, and then a helmeted head peered down at them from the gatehouse. “Who are you?”
    “Lord Ralf of Pristine demands entry!” Richard cried out, making Kathryn start. A pause, and then the head turned back, no doubt to confer with some more of the same. “I mislike it,” he murmured, and Kathryn turned to look at him. The lines about his mouth were grim, and he frowned beyond her at the walls.
    “Sir Piers is dying,” came the echoing reply from the wall. “What do you here, my lord?”
    “Fine hospitality,” Lord Ralf muttered. Then, “I bring his kinswoman! Open your gates!”
    A pause, and then suddenly the gates groaned and began to swing in, like a great mouth opening. Lord Ralf laughed abruptly, a triumphant bellow, and spurred forward. Kathryn went too, borne on the wave, fear and excitement warring within her.
    If she failed, she would die. And once through the gates there could be no turning back. She must be... she was the Lady Kathryn de Brusac.
    “My Lady de Brusac,” a voice mocked behind her.
    She turned, her face flushed