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wed so that I may hurry back to Penbrooke to see her before she dies. God's teeth, there is no time to do anything else!" She sighed as if all the misery of the world lay upon her shoulders. "If there is any bit of a blessing in this, it is that Father knows I am unhappy about the marriage. He is afraid I will embarrass him in front of his friends, so there are few who will be there."
    "But those that are will see that I'm not you!"
    "Nay, I've thought of that," she said, though she seemed vastly worried. "Most people, even our relatives, have trouble telling us apart. Remember we sometimes fooled Father, and now he is nearly blind with age, his eyes as white as milk these past few years. Hildy nearly raised us, so she won't give me away, Penelope will consider it a grand joke, and the priest is from Penbrooke. Father Barton or Bartholomew or something. He's never met me."
    "What about the baron?" Kiera asked, not believing for a second that this plan had a chance of working. 'Twas idiocy of the highest order. "You know, the man
you're
supposed to marry."
    "He's never laid eyes upon me."
    "You're certain?" Kiera was disbelieving and looked to the sky where a hawk was circling. "Could he not have seen you at a tournament or at a neighboring castle during the Christmas Revels or—"
    "Shhh! No! There is a rumor that Kelan was disowned by his father for a time because of his wild ways, and only recently regained favor. I've heard the guards call him the Beast of Penbrooke when they think no one is listening. He has never attended proper functions."
    The carter rounded the corner, a dog limping behind him, and Elyn tugged on the sleeve of Kiera's tunic. "Come along," she said, smiling and nodding her head as the carter greeted them, then set to his task of removing the broken wagon wheel.
    Elyn guided Kiera through the herb garden, where a few patches of thyme grew heartily within the clumps of rosemary and sage. The sisters sat on a bench that had once been their mother's favorite spot to work on her embroidery in the warmth of the summer sun.
    "Penbrooke won't know you're not his bride," Elyn insisted as Kiera dug at a clump of weeds with the toe of her boot. "All you have to do is say the vows and beg off from the festivities, claim a headache. Everyone will believe it's a case of nerves. Then the next morning I'll return and take my place as his wife. It will not matter that it is you who has said the vows, for the marriage contract hinges on my name, which is all that is important in this mercenary union. I will be married to the man." She shuddered at the prospect, and Kiera understood why. Elyn hated the thought of being wed to a man she didn't love.
    But then another thought occurred to her, a horrid thought. Kiera suddenly lost all interest in the stubborn weeds. "Wait a minute. The next morning?" She gulped. "You've not mentioned the wedding night. What am I to do when the lord comes to my chamber and expects me to ... to ..."
    "You mean, when he expects to bed you?"
    "Not me.
You,"
Kiera pointed out.
    Elyn rested her chin on her fists. Her green eyes narrowed on a winter bird flying past. "You don't have to sleep with him ... well, yes, you do have to do the sleeping part, but not the other."
    "And how am I to accomplish that?" Kiera hissed. "I don't believe a headache or a case of nerves will be enough of an excuse on my wedding night."
    "Of course it won't. Besides, he has to think that you are—or I am—a virgin. There must be blood on the linens."
    Kiera shot to her feet. "Blood on the linens? Oh, now I know you've lost your mind. How could I possibly see that the sheets were stained without... without—well,
you know."
Horrified, she glared at her sister. If it wasn't for the gravity of Elyn's expression, she would have thought that her older sibling was toying with her, pushing a bad joke beyond its limits. "This is a daft plan. Daft! You must have left your mind in the stable, because it's certainly missing! I