Impostress by Lisa Jackson

more likely nothing more than the play of pale sunlight through the fog. Kelan was asleep and would probably not waken for hours. At least she hoped so.
    "Have a good ride."
    "I will." Kiera swung onto the mare's back, and the pain between her legs caused her to wince as she took up the reins. She had to work fast and find Elyn ... wherever the bloody hell her sister was hiding.
    Mayhap she's hurt. Even dead. Thrown from her horse.
Kiera's heart turned to ice. Her fingers twined in the reins. Nay. The worst that could have happened was that Elyn had changed her mind and wasn't returning. Kiera had kept that wayward thought at the back of her mind, but it was there just the same even though she prayed her sister wouldn't have betrayed her.
    But why would she not?
    Had she not risked life and limb and banishment to be with her beloved? Perhaps she'd left Kiera to deal with Penbrooke forever. Kiera urged her mare toward the main gates. She had to find Elyn.
    Or else she would be forced to play the part of Kelan's bride again tonight.
    And would that be so bad? The damage is already done. Why not spend another night learning the ways of lovemaking?
    And what then? Would she not be further enmeshed in her own web of lies? She guided Garnet through the bailey and under the portcullis. One way or another, she had to locate her sister and insist she return to take her place as Kelan of Penbrooke's bride.
    * * * * *
    His head felt as if it weighed as much as a destrier.
    With a groan, Kelan shifted on the bed. The room was dark and cold, the fire having smoldered to ash during the night, the window shuttered. And the bed was empty. His wife had already risen.
    His wife.
    What a strange thought. But no longer disgusting. The woman had surprised him. Time and time again. In the short span of their marriage he'd felt rage, humility, and then, unexpectedly awe.
    Despite the hammering in his brain, he grinned at the memory of their lovemaking. While he had questioned her purity due to her unusual behavior throughout the day and later in their bridal chamber, at heart he'd expected his new wife to be a virgin, and he'd pleasurably discovered she was one. She was also a headstrong woman, one who had willingly embarrassed him. But he'd never thought he would find himself in bed with a sensual creature who, though frightened at first, had become as eager in the pleasures of the flesh as he. Perhaps this marriage would not be the torture he'd anticipated. He was too sane to believe in wedded bliss and happily ever after, but he did allow himself the notion that this union might not be as unpleasant as he'd convinced himself it would be.
    Never forget how she embarrassed you. Do not let that hardheaded woman ever again get the upper hand.
    He reached for his breeches, his fingers scraping through the rushes and brushing up against something solid and cold in the fragrant straw. "What the devil?" He picked up the small container, a vial, and opened it. The metallic scent of blood filtered to his nostrils and he dipped a finger into the cold purple liquid. Aye, it was blood ... but why here in this chamber? It belonged to his wife or someone who had been in the room, perhaps a servant. Someone who believed in the dark arts? Mystified, he scoured the floor and found another small container, this one empty and carrying no scent. Odd ... very odd.
    He rubbed the back of his neck and wondered at the kind of woman he'd married.
    Blood? Why blood?
    And what had been in the other vial?
    He'd heard of women who had used the blood of a chicken, or goat or some other animal, to sprinkle upon the bedsheets of a man they were duping, when they were trying to prove a virginity that had no longer existed. But his wife, she had not used the blood—the vial was still full and the sheets were stained. And she had been tight, so tight. As blurry as his memory was, he clearly remembered that she was pure. No doubt a virgin.
    Then why the vials?
    Straightening, he