My Lady Imposter by Sara Bennett - My Lady Imposter Page B

comes from the girl’s own lips, and from the nuns. A girl was born to your daughter over seventeen years since, shortly after she entered the convent, and the child was brought up by the nuns. Your daughter, it seems, did not wish to have her shame known, and refused to notify you. I chanced upon the girl when I was in Bristol and saw at once the resemblance to your family and yourself, my lord.”
    “I see it too.”
    “She is like your daughter... your son, too, my lord. Do you not think so?”
    The old face twisted, as if at some great, hidden pain. The eyes returned to Kathryn and fastened there. Ralf s hand on her arm pressed her forward again, towards the bed, and she curtseyed deeply. The withered hand waved her up, stretching for hers. She gave it, trembling, and glanced uncertainly down at the gnarled fingers.
    The black eyes wandered over her, as if uncertain of her reality. “I see the eyes, and the mouth. But still... any wench with such eyes might be taken as one of the de Brusacs, my Lord of Pristine. We are a French family, from the south, who came after William had taken England from Harold. We all have black hair and eyes, and the black passions to go with them!”
    “My lord,” Ralf looked affronted. “I come in all good faith. I –”
    “Enough. I am dying, Ralf. I have no time for the niceties. You know what will happen to my lands when I die. That butcher Plantagenet will take them for his own and his favorites. I have no heirs left. He has already killed my beloved son. I do not want to give him all this. Do you wonder I question the miracle you claim to have found me?”
    “I know how much it must mean to you, my lord, to have an heir,” Ralf said softly. “Both of us hate him equally, I think. The girl is your kinswoman. Look at her! She is yourself in female form.”
    “Aye, she is.” The black eyes closed suddenly. “Bring her again in the morning, when the light is better. I will look again then.”
    “My lord—”
    “Never fear. I will live that long,” he said drily. Ralf frowned, but gestured Kathryn out. She went gratefully, all but stumbling on the threshold. Sir Richard’s hand came out to catch her arm and steady her. He had been waiting there, no doubt listening to every word.
    “Quietly now, my lady. De Brusacs do not run from their fears, they turn and face them.”
    She scowled at him, hating that mockery in his eyes, but Lord Ralf had joined them. “Take us where we may refresh ourselves,” he told the servant sharply. “Move man. The lady is weary and wishes to repose herself.”
    The servant’s eyes skimmed her as they were lowered, insolently, and then he had shuffled past them, candle high. Far above, the stone towers and turrets echoed with the rumble of thunder. A storm was brewing as night closed, and Kathryn shivered. The castle was huge and draughty and dirty. She had no wish to remain in it. Her body ached, her stomach growled. She longed for Grisel’s familiar scolding voice, and jumped when Sir Richard whispered in her ear, “Take a firm hand with your servants, lady. They will resent an interloper, but they will respect you if you are firm.”
    She turned to glare at him, as the servant’s candle receded in the gloom. “I have no intention of doing anything, Sir Richard. I am not staying here.”
    He smiled a little. “Are you not? You have no choice, for the time. Did you think you had only to come and speak once with the old man? You will need to do more than that, if we are to win his lands and castles to our cause.”
    “Your cause?” she murmured. Then, “He hates the king.”
    Richard shrugged. “His son died in one of the interminable French battles. He says the king slayed the boy. He is a bitter man, and Ralf plays upon it for his own gain.”
    “Why do you tell me this?” she demanded loudly.
    “Hush!” He glanced down at her again, suddenly somber. “I am your friend, Kathryn. Remember it. If you have need of me, I will be