Free My Lady Imposter by Sara Bennett - My Lady Imposter

led them to their quarters. Kathryn slid from her mare gratefully, and it was only as her feet touched the ground that she realized her previous discomfort was as nothing to what she suffered now. Pain laced her flesh like hot needles, and she caught her breath and clung to the mare, trying to bite back her cry.
    A strong arm slid about her waist, holding her with ease as she wavered. “I’m crippled,” she moaned in real terror, and he laughed softly into her ear.
    “You’re unused to riding,” he corrected. “The nuns did not ride in Bristol.”
    She turned and tried to draw away, remembering suddenly how much she loathed him. “What do you know of Bristol or nuns!”
    The blue eyes chilled. “Enough, my lady. I know everything Lord Ralf has told you. Those men he does not trust he has left behind him at Pristine.” He moved impatiently, gathering her in against him, with one arm about her waist while his other hand cupped her elbow in a firm grip. “Come!”
    Her legs could not resist. She let him lead her across the cobbled yard, towards a lighted doorway. Beyond lay a small, sparsely furnished room, and though there was a fire its heat did not reach them.
    He was gazing into the room, his profile to her, and she saw suddenly how grim it was. His hair seemed darker, with dust, and a strand hung limp over his forehead. As if sensing her gaze, he turned. The blue eyes shone with a grim mockery, and then he had released her, retaining only her hand to bow over in the approved manner. His lips did not touch it, as he murmured, “Goodnight.”
    Kathryn watched him stride away, her heart beating unpleasantly fast. She did not hear Wenna come up until the woman pinched her arm and demanded she follow the two nuns to an even smaller room.
    Here, there was a pallet bed and some food on a trencher, as well as two smoking candles. “Do not linger in doorways,” Wenna said sharply, when the nuns had gone. “And do not make sheep’s eyes at Richard Tremaine.”
    Kathryn’s lip drooped sulkily. “I could not stand because of the horse, and he helped me. That is all. I hate him.”
    “Indeed,” but she sniffed and obviously did not believe it. “You’d do better to refuse any help from him altogether. He is as far above you as the moon and stars. He may think you amusing, at the moment, like a child with a puppy. But puppies become tiresome. He will be bored with you soon enough, and return to more adult pursuits.”
    Kathryn didn’t reply, and after a moment Wenna turned to her food. With a sigh, Kathryn followed her lead. It was plain but tasty, and she ate in the delicate, fastidious manner Wenna had taught her. What the girl had said was true enough. Richard had been amused by her, and now he no longer was. He had said he meant to make her his mistress, before Ralf brought her to Pristine. But now she was no longer naive and willing he wanted nothing to do with her. Would she ever have agreed to it? Her denial was violent, and she closed her mind against the niggling doubts that mocked her for a hypocrite.
    The pallet was hard, but better than Grisel’s, and Kathryn slept well. It was almost like being at home again. The crying of the cock at dawn, the lowing of cattle and snuffling of pigs. She lay half-waking, expecting any moment to hear her sister calling to her. It was a rude shock when Wenna ripped back the single blanket and said, “Get up, girl! We must be on our way.”
    It was agony to move. Her limbs creaked and groaned like an old water-wheel. And it was with great difficulty she stood up, under those cold, grey, unsympathetic eyes. “I cannot ride,” she whispered.
    “You will ride. A lady never complains of pain.”
    “I will fall off!”
    “Then you will fall off.” The fine mouth curled. “Do you think I do not ache, girl? You are a fool. A lady should never complain of physical discomfort—it is a weakness.”
    Kathryn was silenced. If Wenna could pretend, then so could she. She