Tori Phillips

by Midsummer's Knight

“Your pardon, Sondra.”

  The housekeeper retrieved the jewel, then she returned to her hemming. Meanwhile Kat’s thoughts continued to race.

  Sir Brandon seemed honorable enough, even though he still persisted in calling himself Lord Stafford. From the first moment of their meeting, his arresting good looks had totally captured her attention despite her resolve to the contrary. She found that she approved of his attitude of self-command, and, at the same time, his teasing, relaxed manner with everyone at Bodiam, whatever their station.

  Kat thought of his firm mouth, curled as if always on the edge of laughter. She tried to ignore the memory of the kiss they had shared, but her body refused to forget it. Treacherously it yearned for more. Kat tossed her head. No doubt all the women of the court found Brandon deliciously appealing.

  “Pray you, Lady Kat, hold still.” Sondra sat back on her haunches to regard her work. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Your new husband will take one look at you in that fine gown and he’ll think he’s died and taken flight with an angel. But, methinks that angels do not have such pensive looks, my lady.”

  “This wedding day comes too soon, Sondra.”

  Sondra cocked her head. “Aye?”

  “I had not the mind to marry again.” The dress felt suddenly confining. “And if I considered marriage at all, I wanted to be free to make my vows as my heart dictated.”

  “From what I’ve seen, you like the man well enough,” Sondra observed. Shaking out the hem, she allowed it to swirl into graceful lines at Kat’s feet. “’Tis not as if you haven’t been bedded before.”

  Aye, there’s the rub. Kat swallowed. “’Tis that part that worries me.” What if Brandon wanted children?

  Sondra grinned. “I could brew you up a potion, my lady.”

  Kat shook her head. “Nay, good Sondra. I need to be in full command of my wits when I encounter my Lord Cavendish in the marriage bed.”

  There was a knock at the door, then Violet popped her head around it. The girl seemed out of breath.

  “My lady, a word with you, I pray!” she gasped.

  Pray God Montjoy has not had heart palpitations The old steward had looked a little pale and drawn in the days since Fenton’s visit. Aloud, Kat asked, “What’s amiss, Violet?”

  After closing the door softly behind her, the girl tiptoed over to them. “I have a most marvelous secret, my lady!” she whispered, her large brown eyes growing even more enormous.

  Kat gave her a reproving look. “No tittle-tattle, I pray?” Her maids tended to make mountains out of pimples.

  The girl shook her head. “Nay, my lady. ’Tis gospel true.”

  Rising from her position on the floor, Sondra put her hands on her hips. “Aye? So, do not take until Saint Michael’s Day to tell us this great secret. Out with it. We are alone, as you can see. Miranda is off listening to Lord Cavendish sing more songs to her.”

  Violet wrinkled her nose. “Not so, neither!”

  Kat placed her hand over her heart; her fingers clutched the rose brooch. What had happened to Miranda? If that smiling rascal had taken any improprieties with her, he’d have the devil to pay with Kat! “What is it, Violet?”

  “My Lord Cavendish, Lady Kat. He is not Sir Brandon at all.”

  Kat’s shoulders relaxed. “Aye, this is old news to me.”

  Violet lowered her voice. “But there is more. I overheard their conversation with Jess in the stable this very morn.”

  Sondra’s brow went up. “Oh, aye? And what was a chambermaid like you a-doing in the stable at the crack of dawn?”

  Violet blushed a strawberry hue. “I was... talking with Patrick, one of Lord Stafford’s grooms. He’s Irish, methinks, but quite civilized. And ever so fine to look at.” She giggled.

  Kat rolled her eyes. While she had been occupied with entertaining her guests, her guests’ handsome servants had been busy entertaining her susceptible maids. “We will discuss your stable activities later, Violet, but for the present, is there anything else you overheard?”

  “Aye, what did Jess say?” Sondra wanted to know.

  “That is the nut and core of it, mistress. Jess said that you, Mistress Sondra, had wheedled out the truth of his master’s identity.”

  “Sweet Saint Anne!”

  “Bestrew me! Jess is a stronger man than methought!”

  Kat ran her hand through her hair. “What did Sir Brandon say when Jess told him of this? Was he very angry?”

  “Nay, my lady. My Lord Cavendish—the real one—laughed so hard he could barely stand.” Violet licked her lips. “Then he said something about trying to seduce the mistress of the house, and cuckolding himself. At least, methinks he said that.”

  Sondra put her hand over her mouth to hide her grin. “What a roguish knave!”

  Kat played with an auburn curl between her fingers as she considered the implications of this new twist. “That means that Sir Brandon, who is pretending to be Sir John, knows that I am really Katherine, even though I call myself Miranda.”

  “Aye, my lady. ’Tis why I thought it was important to tell you straightway.”

  A slow smile grew on Kat’s lips. “But he doesn’t know that I know that he knows!”

  Violet’s dark brows met in the middle of her forehead. “Your pardon, my lady? I don’t understand.”

  “But I do!” Sondra clapped her hands. “Oh, Lady Kat! How the game turns, and turns again in a widening circle! Like the ripples in a pond when you toss in a stone.”

  “Aye, so long as I do not get caught in the snares of my own making.” Kat tapped her cheek with her forefinger. “And now this smiling knave means to test my virtue—and my honor, as well.”

  “I know just the thing!” Sondra suggested. “This afternoon I will fix you a basket for your picnic with the noble gentlemen that will please every appetite.”

  A little warning bell sounded in Kat’s mind. “No love potions, Sondra! Mark what I say. My Lord Cavendish does not need any additional urging. He has too much vigor already.”

  Sondra ignored her. “’Twill be a feast for lovers.”

  Kat tried to move but found herself hampered by her unpinned hem. “Sondra!”

  Sondra unlaced Kat’s gown. “Never fear, Lady Kat. You will enjoy what I fix for you. And what may happen after that?” She lifted one shoulder with a dismissive air. “Who can say?”

  By the book! Her whole household had turned into Cupid’s minions! At least, they had better be silent ones. “Sondra, Violet, say nothing—absolutely nothing—to anyone about this. Especially not to Miranda. Violet, I mean that particularly to you. If I hear one whispered remark out of little Pansy’s mouth, I shall know where to lay my grievance.”

  Violet drew herself up with an important air. “My lips are sealed, my lady.”

  “And I give you my pledge, Lady Kat,” Sondra added. She scooped up the half-finished gown in her arms. “Now, Violet, you can clean out all the fireplaces, which might take your mind off a certain wicked-eyed Irishman for the day. I am going to the kitchens. You, Lady Kat, deck yourself in your buttercup cambric. And prepare for battle.” She pulled open the door. “They say, ‘All’s fair in love and war.’ You decide which it will be this afternoon.”

  Taking Violet with her, the housekeeper skipped out, silvery laughter following in her wake. Kat stared after her, while her brain spun like a child’s top.

  Very well, my clever Lord Cavendish. Prepare yourself, for this afternoon you will meet your match. Seduce me, indeedl What does he think I am? An empty-headed maid whom he can toss on the ground for his pleasure? Nay, Sir Brandon! After this day, you will think twice before you change your stripes again.

  Brandon released a contented sigh, stretched out his long legs, cradled his wine cup in his hand and leaned back against the trunk of a wide willow tree, under which the two couples had passed the afternoon pleasantly filled with wine, music and food. After many nudges and winks from Brandon, Jack had finally taken his fair lady on a walk. Within t
en minutes, they had disappeared around the bend of the riverbank.

  Now to begin his assault of this delectable fortress.

  “By my troth, Mistress Miranda, methinks your cook must be in league with the goddess Venus,” Brandon remarked, his gaze skimming over the remains of the picnic dinner.

  Kat glanced up from the pile of daisies, cornflowers, poppies and buttercups that she wove into colorful chains. “How so, Sir John? Philippe is French, and not classically inclined.”

  Brandon chuckled. “Worse and worse. The French are the very votaries of love and all its ploys. Observe.” He pointed to the numerous dishes and bowls. “To begin, we had plover’s eggs stuffed with cinnamon, as well as mushrooms marinated in oil and vinegar.”

  “Aye?” Kat split the stem of a daisy, then tied a buttercup through it. “Did they not sit well in your stomach, my lord? Methought the eggs were particularly tasty. They are a rare treat.”

  As you are a rare treat for me, Lady Kat. You look like a tender yellow chick in your summer’s day gown. The gold of his rose brooch gleamed in the late afternoon’s sunlight. It pleased him inordinately that Kat had worn his poor gift every day. Moving his gaze upward, he approved of the warm creamy color of her slender throat above the provocative cut of her tight bodice. Her long, sensitive fingers worked skillfully at her self-appointed task. What those fingers could do, if she would entwine them around him!

  Crossing one leg over the other, Brandon fought to ignore the warmth in his loins. “Why, Miranda, did you know that eggs are reputed to enhance fertility in women and vigor in men?”

  A faint blush stole into her cheeks. She bent her head closer to her work.

  Brandon grinned behind his hand. “Great Jove! The eggs of a plover are especially noted for rendering a person irresistible to amorous assaults. And to stuff them with cinnamon, a spice well known to induce lively desire? I am amazed that you are not panting with lovesickness this instant.” He moistened his dry throat with a sip of wine.

  Kat peeked at him from under the wide brim of her straw hat. Her eyes took on a deeper shade of green. “If I am panting at all, my lord, ’tis with the heat of this June afternoon. You spoke of the mushrooms. Are they equally dangerous to consume?”

  Brandon ran his forefinger around the wet rim of his wine cup. “Aye, so I have been told. They say that if one shares a dish of mushrooms with a lover, it leads directly to the bedchamber.”

  “Indeed?” Kat pursed her lips. “I suppose ’twould be true, if the mushrooms were poisonous.” She added a cornflower to her chain.

  Brandon took another swallow of the rich sugared burgundy. Kat was no one’s fool. ’Twould make his conquest all the sweeter.

  “The next dish was dove pie, if I recall,” he continued.

  “I believe so, Sir John, though you and Sir Brandon ate it up so quickly, I cannot be sure. Pray, what properties have the poor doves? Or is it the pastry you remark upon?”

  “Doves, from the earliest times, have been considered the birds of love, for they do nothing but bill and coo. Do you feel inclined to coo, Miranda?” He winked at her.

  Pausing in her occupation, she appeared to give the matter some thought. “I fancy that I coo to babes and small children, as well as to puppies, kittens and other assorted young creatures.” She swept him an appraising glance. “But since neither you nor I nor the river that babbles at our feet could be considered young, I am not moved to coo—nor to bill, for that matter.”

  She is playing hard to get. Excellentl I like a challenge.

  “Our main course was a goodly crock of hare stewed in a wine sauce,” Brandon continued. “My compliments to your cook for that inspiration.”

  Kat threaded two more buttercups together. “How so? Rabbit stew is a common enough dish.”

  “Have you never been warned of the dangers of eating hares, especially in the springtime?”

  “’Tis summer, my lord, and I’ve eaten rabbits all my life.” She held up her chain to measure its length. “Pray enlighten me.”

  Leaning forward, Brandon lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hares have a universal reputation for exciting unbridled desire. Consider the vast number of offspring they produce.” He winked at her again.

  Kat yawned, covering her mouth in a languid motion. “And I suppose that the salad of cress, mustard greens, radishes and onions also has amorous qualities?”

  “Just so, mistress mine. They stimulate vigor and hot desire.”

  “And you will no doubt tell me that the spiced cakes and peaches stewed in honey are also unsafe to eat in mixed company?”

  Brandon nodded with mock seriousness. “Particularly the peaches, I fear. Why, I am amazed that mother church has not banned the eating of peaches by all except old married couples past their prime.”

  Kat bent closer to her dwindling pile of meadow flowers. Her hat hid her face. “’Tis very strange. I feel satisfied by the choice of foods and their manner of preparation. But lusty? Full of heated desire? Ready to leap into bed? Nay, my good lord. Far from it. Besides...” She flashed him a beguiling smile from under her brim. “You have forgotten. I am but a spinster maid, and know nothing of bed sport.”

  “Aye.” Brandon inclined his head in tribute. “I had forgotten that point, for the moment.” He poured himself more wine and wondered where to go to from there.

  Kat’s golden voice interrupted his scheming. “Tell me, my lord, how is it you know so much about the foods of love? Is it something they teach you when you live at court?”

  Brandon allowed a small smile. “Our good king is most interested in pleasing all the appetites. Food and love go hand in hand with Great Harry.”

  “Ah!” She furrowed her copper brows. “Methinks ’twould make a frightful mess to combine the two in close proximity.”

  Brandon’s wine went down his windpipe. He choked. Dropping her flower chain, Kat scrambled over to his side.

  “Sweet angels! My good lord, are you all right?” She thumped him on the back several times.

  “Aye,” he gasped, sputtering to draw a breath.

  Kat struck him again between the shoulder blades for good measure. Zounds, the woman had a strong arm! He must remember that for future reference. Forsooth! If he had known ’twould take him half choking to death to get the cunning Kat within his grasp, he would have done that in the beginning.

  “Sniff through your nose,” she instructed, her lovely face very close to his. “Sondra always tells us that, and it works.”

  Brandon drew in air through his nostrils as commanded. Remarkably the raw, tickling sensation in his throat eased.

  “Your Sondra is a wonder,” he gasped, mopping his eyes with one of the picnic napkins.

  Kat’s lips twitched. “Aye, she is, indeed. Are you quite recovered, Sir John?”

  He placed his hand over hers. “Only if you stay by my side like this, in case I am besieged by another attack of my windpipe.”

  She cast him a saucy glance. “If you did not guzzle your wine like a dog in the slops, you would not be prone to these uncomfortable outbursts.”

  Brandon coughed again. “I thank you for your advice, good mistress. I shall endeavor to remember it.”

  Kat smoothed out the skirts of her gown, then leaned against the tree beside him. Their shoulders lightly touched. Brandon itched to take her in his arms, but her cool demeanor counseled that he bide his time. The evening had barely suggested itself. The sun would not disappear for several more hours. Time enough. Taking her hand and lacing his fingers between hers, he marveled at the delicacy of her skin. She did not pull away. They sat in companionable silence within the bower of the overhanging willow branches for a few minutes.

  Kat released a small sigh. “Tell me, my lord, do you know Sir Brandon well?”

  Brandon rested the back of his head against the willow’s rough bark. What was the minx up to now? “Aye, Miranda, as well as I know myself. Why?”

  She cast her gaze down to their joined ha
nds, then answered in a voice that reminded Brandon of the sound made by a butterfly on the wing. “The wedding day draws near, my lord, and I would have Lady Katherine take joy in its coming.”

  “And I desire the same thing, sweetheart,” be replied with a tightness in his throat.

  “As Katherine’s closest friend, there are some things I must ask you—concerning my Lord Cavendish.”

  Brandon squeezed her hand. “And as Brandon’s closest companion, I will try to answer your questions.”

  Kat caught him directly in her gaze. “First, why does your good friend drink so much?”

  Brandon had been in the act of lifting his cup to his mouth. At her question, he put it down at his side. “You think he takes too much wine?”

  “Mayhap, especially when he is angry or doesn’t get his own way. Is this true, my lord, in your close observation?”

  Brandon chewed his lower lip. “I had not noticed it before, sweetheart, but I will keep an eye on the problem in the future.”

  She smiled at him, her twin pools of green melting into soft mist. “That greatly eases my mind, my lord.” Then she furrowed her dainty brows. “Fitzhugh drank far too much, and it made a monster out of him.”

  Slipping his arm around her shoulders, Brandon drew her closer to him. The spicy scent of potpourri filled his nostrils. “Tell me about Fitzhugh, if you can bear it,” he suggested.

  She trembled. “He was false of heart, light of ear and bloody of hand. No dog was more mad than he, no wolf matched him in greediness. Like a lion after prey, he took what he wanted, whenever he wanted. Had he been inclined to cannibalism, he would have boiled and eaten those who opposed him. God forgive me for saying this, but he is the one man I hate above all others.”

  Brandon squeezed her shoulder. “I heard that he beat you, and your cousin.”

  Kat closed her eyes. “Aye, and the less said of those times the better. I have spoken too much as it is.”

  “Do not think of him that was, but of him that is to come,” Brandon murmured. “I swear upon my honor, that Sir Brandon Cavendish is a far better man, and will make his lady very happy.”