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

crowd. He might find her again, and if he did... her mouth burned. Her entire body burned. He might have made fun of her, but he had held her like a woman. If she did not hate him so... she might have enjoyed it.
    Wenna did not come scolding her that evening. No doubt the other woman was occupied with Ralf, and Kathryn had the chamber to herself. She lay, eyes wide in the darkness, too excited to sleep. She had passed her test; she had done everything expected of her, and more. She had behaved like a noblewoman and been accepted as such! At least, accepted by everyone but one, and he did not count.
    She turned her face away from the window and closed her eyes determinedly. But a thought sprang into her mind, unbidden, making them jerk open again. “I have not ridden two days to reach you, to have you escape me so easily.” What did he mean, reach her? Was it all a cruel and terrible jest? Was it all fuel for his cruel humor, his savage mockery? Indeed, oh indeed, what else could it be?

Chapter Five
    Kathryn stared into the distance, her face flushed a delicate pink by the cool air, and tried to ignore the ache in her back and legs. The mare was a gentle, placid animal, but she was still a horse, and horses were not something Kathryn enjoyed riding, though it was the first time she had been allowed out of the castle, alone, but for a page. Lord Ralf’s guests had gone. After several days and nights of their company, he had tired of them, and besides, the reason for their coming was achieved. Pristine was peaceful once more.
    Oxen teams were pulling the ploughs in the fields, while serfs—men and women and children—worked. Her mare picked its way delicately between the rows, towards the smoky clump of dwellings she had thought of as home for seventeen years.
    Now, it seemed incredibly small to her, incredibly dirty. The wind made her shiver again, and she pulled her cloak tighter about her head and shoulders, letting the mare dawdle and pause to crop grass. Behind her, the page also stopped, waiting upon her instruction.
    It had not been so very difficult, to give orders. She had a taste for it, and at first had enjoyed it immensely. Now, she did it without even thinking about it. Wenna mocked her sometimes, until her pride ached with anger and humiliation— Wenna never let her forget who or what she was—and when she had turned to Lord Ralf for help, he had only laughed.
    Of Richard Tremaine she saw little. He did not seek her out, and at meals his face was stern, his greetings brusque. It was as if the man of the darkness never existed. He had time, now, only for Ralf, and she refused to allow herself to dwell on him at all, except to hate him as he deserved. He was unimportant, she told herself with a shrug. She would not concern herself with him.
    She realized suddenly that she had wandered much closer to the village then she had meant. A tug at her foot brought her head down sharply, and she frowned at the ragged, dirty little man gazing up at her. The frown turned to amazement, as she met Snuff’s pale eyes.
    “My lady,” he said. “My lady, may it please you, my lady. I’m a poor man, and my wife’s with child. Our fifth child. Could you spare us something, your ladyship?”
    She gazed down in shocked wonder. He looked back at her, and yet not at her. He did not know her. She reached up to push aside her cloak, to pull away her veil, to cry out: “It is I, Kathryn!” But her hand was stilled even as it moved. She felt suddenly sick and afraid.
    “My lady,” he clung to her shoe. “Just a little something, I beg you. Just a little.”
    She tried to jerk the mare’s head up and around. “I... let me go.” But he clung, something of desperation in his eyes. “Just a little something, my lady.”
    The page boy had come forward, fumbling with the dagger at his side. Snuff clung on, his mouth thin and angry and determined. She knew that mulish look; it meant he would have his way. And then, behind her,