Tori Phillips Page 17

  “Aye, those sweet, innocent maids of yours.” He pulled the laces tighter, then tied them together. “Methinks we must see them married soon, so that we need not go tiptoeing around our own home.”

  A warm smile danced on Kat’s lips. How she liked to hear him talk of “we” and “our home.” Aloud she changed the subject. “There is one thing that we must speak of before we leave this room.”

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, Brandon turned her around to face him. “And what is that, pray tell?” He kissed her on the nose. “Are you afraid that I have compromised your virtue? That my intentions are not honorable?”

  “Nay,” she replied. She smoothed out the creases of his doublet over his shoulders. Such magnificent shoulders! she thought. “I trust your intentions to be the soul of honor.” Even though you have not said you loved me. She pushed that niggling thought away.

  He took her hand in his. “My intentions are most honorable, and always have been.”

  She tilted her head. “Even when you swore you were Sir John Stafford?”

  The lines around his eyes crinkled with a smile. “I never swore to that, sweetheart. I merely introduced myself by that name.” He kissed her fingers. “Besides, Jack is an honorable man under all his posturing.”

  “’Tis Jack, I speak of,” Kat continued, enjoying the attention his lips paid to her hand. “And Miranda.”

  “Ah, the hidden lady. What of them?”

  “When we leave this room, who are we, my lord? Kat and Brandon, or Sir John and Miranda?”

  Brandon nodded. “I see your point Jack knows that your cousin is Miranda.”

  “She is in love with him, I fear.”

  Brandon gave her a wry smile. “So is half of Henry’s court.”

  “Does Sir John merely dally with her affections in your name, or is there something deeper?” Brandon kissed her other hand. He made this serious conversation most difficult to continue.

  “Methinks that Jack has met his match at long last. He swears he will wed the lady, if she’ll have him.”

  Standing on tiptoe, Kat kissed his chin. “Do you think he speaks the truth? She has no dowry of her own, but what I will give her. No lands, no titles.”

  Brandon grinned. “Jack is rich enough in everything but love. In that area, he has been sorely lacking ever since I have known him. He has played the lover well, but with a false face. Never, in fifteen years, have I seen him as he is with your gentle cousin. Aye, he speaks the truth this time.”

  “Thank the sweet angels for that!” Kat rewarded Brandon with another kiss on his chin. “Then this is what I think we must do. Let us continue our sham before the household. If we do not, and Miranda learns the truth, I fear she will indeed enter a nunnery to hide her mortification. If I tell her that she must continue as me, she will do it, for she is a most loyal and loving kinswoman.”

  “And Jack will have his chance to repair any damage he may have done to her. I like this plan, sweet Kat. To seal the bargain, give me a kiss.”

  “Aye, my lord,” she said, and sighed with pleasure. “I was waiting for your invitation.”

  “Miranda! Open this door! I am fast running out of patience; and clean clothes.” Kat rattled the latch. From the top of the stairs, Brandon waved at her before he descended to the hall. She heard his whistling echo down the stairwell.

  The stout oak door opened a crack. Miranda’s pale face peeked out. “You are alone?” she asked, looking up and down the corridor.

  “Aye, coz.” Kat pushed her way past Miranda.

  The bedclothes looked as if her cousin had fought off a dozen demons in the middle of the night. Kat knelt by the cold fireplace. “The evening draws near. You will catch a chill,” she observed as she laid a few logs on the iron grate.

  Miranda sank into the window seat. “I care not,” she replied listlessly.

  This mooning about has gone on long enough. Tis time I shake Miranda up a bit—for her own good.

  While she considered what she should say, Kat struck a flint to the kindling under the logs, then blew on the smoking twist of straw until it burst into flame. Standing, she brushed the soot from her hands.

  Kat took a deep breath. “Fie upon you, Miranda! I am most amazed, and do not know what to say!”

  Miranda blinked. Intense astonishment touched her pale face. “How now, coz? Why do you speak so sharply to me?”

  Kat summoned a withering glare. She put her hands on her hips. “And so I should! You have sat here the whole day, sighing and weeping for love—over my betrothed husband!”

  “Oh!” Miranda covered her mouth with her hand. Two bright red patches spotted her white cheeks.

  Kat continued as she paced the floor with long strides. “Aye, you should blush for shame! ‘Tis six days and a bit until my wedding, yet you have acted as if ’twas you who had been wronged by Sir Brandon, and not me! What care will he have for you come Midsummer’s Day?”

  Miranda’s face crumpled as she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands.

  “Sweet Kat, I had forgot! Forgive me, I beg you. ’Twas a wicked madness that overtook me yesterday. Truly, I meant no harm.”

  Kat sat down beside her and drew her weeping cousin into her arms. “There, there, dear Miranda. No harm is done, save to your pride. Sir...Brandon has been at sixes and sevens all day, thinking that he has offended you—meaning me, of course.”

  Miranda lifted her tearstained face. “Truly?” she whispered.

  Kat pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to her cousin. “As true as fire burns. Here, blow! Indeed, Sir...John only just told me that his friend felt so badly over you—meaning me—that he punished himself by drinking himself into a dead stupor. Now his head is paying the price.”

  “Poor Brandon!” Miranda murmured. “He should bathe it with witch hazel.”

  “I believe he went for a ride.” Kat bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Sweet, gentle Miranda! “But he will return for supper, and there he hopes that you—meaning me—will forgive him, and make him merry again.”

  Miranda shook her head. “Nay, Kat, I cannot.”

  “Why?” What foolish idea had Miranda taken now, Kat wondered.

  “‘Tis time to confess ourselves, Kat. Indeed, methinks ’tis past time and a half. We should have done it weeks ago.”

  Kat brushed back Miranda’s hair from her face. “Before you fell in love with my Lord Cavendish?” she asked gently.

  Miranda’s lip quivered. “Aye. I cannot help it, Kat. He has spoken so sweetly to me, and paid me more attention than I have ever dreamed possible.”

  Kat hugged her again. “’Tis all my fault, I agree. I should have sought a husband for you years ago. Yet I selfishly craved the comfort of your company.”

  “And willingly I gave it, Kat.” Miranda blew her nose again.

  “Aye, and I was so at peace, that I thought you were, too. Since marriage was so hateful to me, I forgot how much you wanted that blessed state. Forgive my blindness.”

  Miranda sighed. “Nay, you gave me your friendship and a good home. I have been content.”

  Kat arched an eyebrow. “Until two handsome blond knights rode through our gateway?”

  Miranda nodded. “Aye,” she replied mournfully. A fresh storm of tears threatened.

  Kat wiped Miranda’s face. “Be of good cheer, coz. Have I not promised you a husband yet?”

  “Aye, but...but, Kat, I want yours!” she wailed.

  Kat rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Should she tell Miranda the truth now, or—?

  The pounding of hooves over the causeway bridge stopped further conversation. Miranda raised her eyes to meet Kat’s. Both women leaned out of the window. Below, Jack dismounted before his huge horse had come to a complete halt. After tossing the reins to a startled stable boy, he bounded up the stairway toward the hall.

  “’Tis my Lord Cavendish,” Miranda gasped. “Look at his stern expression!”

  “God shield us!
There must be something amiss!” Kat jumped up, pulling Miranda along with her. “Quickly! Let us get you washed and dressed. As mistress of the house, ’tis your duty to find out.”

  “But, Kat,” Miranda pleaded as her cousin pulled off her dressing robe. “Shouldn’t we—?”

  “Nay!” Kat pushed her toward the washstand. “’Tis not the right time. Later, perchance. Stars, Miranda! Start dressing!”

  With that, Kat raced out of the door. Sweet angels! Have the French invaded the country? They can’t! Not when I finally want to get married!

  “I thought you took a ride to clear your mind, not to lose it,” Brandon bantered as Jack grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the alcove. “Speak plain.”

  “Aye,” Jack panted, out of breath. “Listen to me, and you’ll see what happened to my wits. There is a mad dog lurking in yon forest, armed with a crossbow, who seeks your blood. His name is Scantling, and he has murder in his heart. Is that plain enough?”

  Jack’s words wiped the smile from Brandon’s face. “Is this God’s truth?” he rasped, his fingers closing over the small dagger he wore on his belt.

  Jack nodded. “Aye, I all but ran down his servant in the wood. The boy is half out of his wits with fear of his master. Scantling wants Kat’s estates, and he is past caring how he gets them. He plans a hunting accident, and waits in hiding for you to ride past. Wormsley swears the knave is a good marksman. Hear me, Brandon? How can there be a wedding if there is no bridegroom?”

  Brandon released his friend, then he leaned back against the wall. Only an hour before, he had held Katherine next to his heart and dreamed of sharing many happy years with her.

  “We must protect the ladies, and all in this household, for the dog is rabid and may strike at anyone.” As Brandon spoke, his anger bubbled over into a scalding fury. “Give word to our men that we will saddle our horses at first light and hound the cur into the earth.”

  Jack shook him. “’Tis you he seeks. You will ride straight into his snare.”

  “Nay, I will be the bait to spring the trap,” Brandon replied sharply.

  “You will be a dead man before you hit the ground,” Jack growled. “Be warned, my friend. If I have to tie you to the bedpost until your wedding day, I will do so.”

  Brandon knotted his fist. “Make no light threats, Jack, unless you have the strength to carry them out.”

  Before Jack could retort, Kat appeared in the doorway to the alcove. “How now, my lords? What’s amiss?”

  “Nothing!” Brandon snapped, shooting a warning glance at Stafford. “Save that Jack saw a wild boar near the village. Tomorrow we will hunt him down and serve him with an apple in his mouth at our wedding feast.”

  “Come rack and ruin!” Jack muttered.

  “My lords, my lady!” Montjoy’s mournful voice echoed in the hall. “There is news!”

  Kat threw up her hands. “Has all the world gone giddy before supper? Here, Montjoy.” She stepped into the larger chamber. “What is all the new fuss?”

  Gripping Jack’s shoulder, Brandon whispered in his ear. “Your oath that you will say nothing to the ladies.”

  Jack returned him a glowering look. “Do as you please, and go to the devil.”

  “Good,” Brandon muttered, “I am glad we understand each other.” Then, in a louder voice he asked, “What is this news, Montjoy?”

  The old steward looked at each of them in turn, then, staring at a spot above the chimney piece, he intoned, “There is a messenger come from the king. ’Tis for Sir Brandon Cavendish and Lady Katherine Fitzhugh.” Pausing, he lowered his voice. “When you have decided among yourselves who will receive him, let me know. I await in the corridor.”

  So saying, Montjoy turned smartly on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

  “Saints in heaven!” Kat sent Brandon a stricken look. “The king has changed his mind!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brandon’s face wore an impassive expression. “Let us see what the king has to say.”

  His words, spoken in a cool, impersonal voice, drove an icy dagger into Kat’s heart. Brandon was happy for this last-minute reprieve. At least, he was thoughtful enough to mask his pleasure from her.

  Three weeks ago, Kat would have welcomed the king’s mercurial change of heart. Now, ’twas her own heart that had changed. She recalled that Sondra had once said something about not appreciating a thing until you had lost it. Looking at Brandon’s stiff posture and compressed lips, she could almost feel him withdrawing from her. Jack sent for the messenger.

  Neither of them spoke, nor even glanced at each other. Brandon’s fingers clenched into a tight fist. Kat saw his knuckles stand out white against his skin. She lifted her chin. She was no moonstruck girl, but a mature woman. She had faced adversity before, and she could do so again. At least she could be thankful to Brandon for one thing. He had taught her the meaning of love.

  Montjoy escorted a young, mud-stained messenger into the hall just as Miranda descended the stairs. “My lords and my ladies,” the king’s servant began after his bow. “I have a letter from Sir Thomas More.” Pausing, he looked at the four people before him. “Who is the Lady Katherine Fitzhugh?”

  Kat glanced over her shoulder at Miranda. Miranda appeared to have gone into a trance as she stared across the hall at Jack. Ignoring the messenger, Jack crossed to her side and took her hand in his.

  Kat shook herself. “Give the letter to me. I speak for Lady Katherine.” She held out her hand.

  The messenger pulled a small vellum packet from his leather pouch. With another bow, he presented it to Kat.

  She managed to return his smile. “You must be tired and near famished from your ride. Montjoy will take you to the kitchen, where you may eat as much as you desire. After that, he will show you where you may rest.”

  The messenger touched his forelock. “My thanks, lady.”

  After Montjoy took the boy out, Kat looked down at the letter in her hand. The end to her happy idyll lay under its fat wax seal.

  “Open it, sweetheart,” Brandon murmured.

  Startled, Kat looked up into his ice blue eyes. She had not heard him move to her side. “My...my hands shake,” she whispered.

  “Let me come to your aid.” Brandon took the packet. Slitting open the seal, he scanned the contents. A grin spread over his face, followed by his deep, rolling laughter. “A jest too rich and rare to be believed!”

  Kat gritted her teeth. Their betrothal a rich jest? How happy and relieved he looked! The churl! How dare he take her heart, then grind it into the mud! She itched to slap him, just to stop his shameless laughter that grated upon her nerves like a rusted hinge creaking in a wayward wind.

  “What is the news?” Jack asked, leading Miranda to the center of the hall.

  Brandon managed to stop laughing long enough to answer. “The Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, informs us to expect Robin Hood, Maid Marian and the whole band of Sherwood Forest outlaws at our wedding next Saturday morn! He further states that Robin will expect right royal treatment in every detail. He suggests that Lady Katherine lay in a goodly store of provender to feed the royal company.”

  A wave of light-headedness washed over Kat. She clasped the golden brooch on her bodice.

  “Hoy-day, look to the lady!” Jack called a warning.

  Brandon caught Kat as her knees gave way. “Think you were going to escape being wedded to me that easily, my sweet?” he whispered as he carried her over to the window seat.

  Kat clung to him as he settled her in his lap. “Methought, for the briefest of moments, that you...that the king...that you were glad...” She reached for the cup of wine that Miranda handed to her, and drank the contents greedily.

  Brandon chuckled near her ear. “Glad to escape wedlock? Nay, my lady. I have grown too fond of...playing hazard with you.”

  Kat drew in a deep breath of relief. She reveled in the warmth of his hands around her, and the aroma of mint, leather and musk that accompanied
him.

  Miranda gasped. “Then you know!”

  Brandon groaned in mock surrender. “I fear we have been discovered, sweet Kat.”

  “Aye.” She sighed, though, at this blissful moment, she didn’t care who had discovered what. She was still betrothed to Brandon, and no one, not even the king, was going to stop her wedding now.

  Miranda glanced from Brandon to Kat. “Have you no shame, sir? You know that she is Lady Katherine, and yet, you still dare to pay court to her, while my Lord Cavendish stands by. Fie upon you, Sir John! How could you encourage him, Kat?”

  Brandon raised one eyebrow in amusement. “She’s a pretty little vixen when she’s angry, eh, Jack? ’Tis something you will have to watch out for in the future.”

  “Aye,” he replied, gazing at Miranda with a soft, adoring look. “If the lady will have me.”

  Miranda merely stared at the grinning trio, tongue-tied. Her eyes grew larger. She opened her mouth, but no sound came forth.

  Poor Miranda! This shock may send her back to our chamber for a month! Kat smiled at Miranda. “‘Tis true, cousin. We have been outfoxed by these grinning rogues. I promise you, I have kept my pledge to Sir Brandon, for ’tis he who holds me in his arms.”

  Miranda raised her eyes to Jack. “And you are...?”

  He kissed her hand, “Sir John Anthony Joseph Stafford of Fenderwick, but my friends call me Jack—and I pray that you will be the foremost of my friends.” He gathered her into an embrace. Miranda swayed.

  “Help me, I feel faint,” she murmured.

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “It must be something in the air, Jack, that makes our ladies swoon.”

  “Aye,” he replied, sitting down next to Brandon, with Miranda in his arms. “Methinks the malady is marriage.”

  Kat sat up straighter. “Marriage! Alack, I almost forgot! Who does Sir Thomas mean by Robin Hood coming to our wedding?”

  Brandon began laughing again, until Kat rapped him on the back of his hand. “‘Tis none other but the king himself, my sweet,” he told her when he had caught his breath. “’Tis a great trick of his to disguise himself in some outlandish costume, then surprise his unwary subjects.”