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

end of the hall. She looked around in surprise, realizing that somehow they had drawn some distance away from the main cluster of guests. Here, in the shadows, she felt like a ghost, viewing the colorful proceedings from behind her winding sheets. “Richard?” she said, stammering a little, the poise slipping. He looked down at her up-tilted face, a curious expression sliding over his features.
    “My father did not linger,” he said. “In death, as in everything else, he was over-hasty. But even so, I begrudged him the days, the weeks. And begrudged his damned lawyers their dusty, slow work. I even begrudged the King his charters and tempers, and the lovely Queen her sweet poetry and sweeter smile.”
    “You did not enjoy your stay then, my lord?” she breathed, her heart bumping unpleasantly.
    His laugh was both harsh and abrupt. He glanced about him and, seeing they were unobserved, brushed aside the curtain close by and bundled her into the dark silence of another chamber before she could made a sound to the contrary.
    The music and laughter were muted now. She heard her own breathing more clearly; a swift, shallow sound. She could hear her heart pounding. His arms came around her in the darkness, and suddenly she was pressed up against him. Hard chest and soft tunic, the smells of sweat and dust and horse, reminding her of Will, a little. And yet it wasn’t the same as Will. This man wasn’t humble or foolish or uncertain.
    “That’s better,” he breathed, stirring her long hair. She tried to push herself away.
    “Please, sir. I... I know not what you’re about, but...”
    “Hush, girl.”
    “But what is it you mean by this!”
    She looked up, her voice breaking, and encountered his mouth, seeking hers. It brushed her brow, her cheek. And suddenly fear struck her a blow like an axe, and she began to struggle in earnest. Kathryn, Lady de Brusac would not be treated like this! Only Kathryn, the serf of Pristine would expect to be tumbled by this arrogant, hateful man. All her weeks of hard work and suffering meant nothing to him, nor her fear of being locked up. He was going to ruin everything in one sweep, for the satisfaction of his own cruel lust. “I shall not make those lies they told Snuff and Grisel truth!” she told herself angrily. “I shall not!”
    “Be still, girl,” he muttered, and held her fast, as she squirmed. “You wanted to know what 1 felt like doing, when you pout so.” His mouth found hers at last, and he sighed, bringing her closer still. “I prefer rose water to peasant dirt,” he murmured, “but after two days in the saddle I’m not so particular.”
    The words stung her like a lash. She struggled violently and brought her foot down on his, hurting them both. He swore, releasing her, and she jerked away, fanning her burning face. “You swine!”
    He laughed. “How so? Would you prefer I held out the illusion of your greatness? I am not such a hypocrite!”
    “You don’t care!” she cried out, thinking: He doesn’t care if I fail in my task, and am whipped or locked up.
    He laughed again, softly, misreading her words. “Do I not indeed? Has Wenna been reading you romances? Does your little heart yearn for the knights and the ladies from the legends? Well I have not ridden two days to have you escape so lightly. Come here, Kathryn, and I will play Lancelot to your Guinevere.”
    She spluttered, speechless, and pushed by him to the curtain. The noise and lights of the hall dazed her a moment, dazzling her senses like a moth before a flame. How dare he? How dare he treat her like a common, cheap little trollop! How dare he speak so to the Lady de Brusac? How dare he make such fun of all her glorious pretensions?
    Tears pricked her eyes, and she bit her lip hard, to keep them at bay. And how dare he imagine for one moment she wanted him to paw her and kiss her and... and... she drew a sharp breath, and with a brief, frightened glance behind her, sped hastily into the