Brandon slicked back his hair. “Mark! Pip! Get some ropes, and buckets. There is a lot down here that needs to be cleared.” Glancing at Kat, Brandon grinned. “My compliments, Lady Kat! You have provided us with excellent sport this day!”
Before she could tell him to leave the rest of the cow’s skeleton alone, Brandon dived again. Jack followed after. With a tremendous shout, Guy jumped into the muck, practically on top of the other two.
“’Tis too bad we cannot lower the water level, so they could work better,” Miranda observed.
Kat hugged her startled cousin. “You have hit upon the very idea, Miranda! Oh, what a clever one you are!”
Miranda gave her a lopsided grin. “I did?”
“Aye! Quickly, we must hurry! Columbine, Laurel, you others, come with me!” Lifting up her skirts, Kat dashed around to the corner of the moat where Montjoy commanded his small army of potboys.
“Montjoy! We must take the water out of the moat!”
Montjoy slowly raised his thinning brows. “Of course, my lady,” he intoned. “My very thought, indeed. Do you have a magic spell?”
“Buckets!” Kat gasped, arriving at his side. “Tubs! Pitchers! Basins! Bowls! Anything that will hold water. We will form two lines of people—one at the sluice where Sir Brandon is working and one at the other end where the river gate is.”
“Very good, my lady,” replied Montjoy with a puzzled frown.
“Oh, don’t you see, Montjoy? ’Twill be a line of brimming buckets from the moat to the river, and then empty ones back again. I should have thought of this a year ago when the problem first became noticeable.”
A beatific smiled wreathed Montjoy’s lined face. Kat could not remember when the old man had looked so overjoyed. “An excellent device, my lady!”
With that, Montjoy moved faster than Kat had thought possible. The old steward literally shocked the troops of men, boys and maids into action. With more shouts and yells, everyone dashed off at once—some to fetch the items needed, others to form the lines under Montjoy’s direction. Belle, seeing the increased activity around her, left the decayed skull on the grass and promptly joined the bucket line by the sluice.
Kat approached Francis and his little band of young admirers under his willow. “How are you?” she asked.
Rolling his eyes, he answered with a wide grin. “Feeling much better, Lady Katherine, though I wish I could help my lord. I am a dull sluggard lying here.”
How the boy reminded her of Brandon! Kat resisted the urge to swoop down and give him a big hug and kiss. ’Twould not be proper to shower such familiar attentions upon a mere page, especially not in front of his impressionable audience.
Instead, Kat asked, “I wonder if you could organize your company here to bring out food and casks of ale for everyone? ’Twill be a long day’s toil, but the sun is shining in a friendly sky, and merry hearts make the work lighter.”
Francis inclined his head gravely. “’Twill be an honor to serve you, my lady,” he replied.
Kat’s lips twitched. “Good, Francis! With Montjoy otherwise engaged, you are in charge of our picnic.”
“Aye, my lady.” He turned his bright blue gaze upon his three admirers. “Now, Pansy, you and Rose here...”
With a grin, Kat left him. It made her heart swell with love to watch him. No wonder Brandon was so proud of the boy! A small dart of pain struck her heart. How she wished she could give Brandon another son like Francis! Or any child for that matter! She pushed away the idea. She did not care what the king might say tomorrow, when Sir Thomas voiced his displeasure at the match. For today, Brandon was still hers, and she would savor that possession to the fullest, even if her lord currently was covered in slime.
“Oh, la, la, Kat! You are a wonder-worker!” Celeste complimented her, when Kat rejoined the ladies in the comparative quiet under their tree. “I do not think I have seen Guy in such a motley state in all my life! Quel amusement!”
Lady Alicia smiled with maternal satisfaction. “My boys have always enjoyed playing in the mud. Indeed, as children, they were happiest when dirtiest.”
“Ah! But ’tis the bathing afterward that I think I like better!” Celeste gave a wicked grin. “Oh, la, la! Guy will be in my power then!”
Interesting idea! Kat made a mental note to start kettles heating bathwater after the noon dinner break.
Lady Alicia tapped Celeste with her fan. “You are a shameless creature, my dear!” she teased. “And you, a dignified mother!”
“Oui!” Celeste agreed, not looking the least bit ashamed. “How do you think I became a mother in the first place?”
Kat joined in their laughter, but it had a bitter taste in her mouth. More than ever she wanted to become a member of this loving family—a far cry from anything she had ever known. If only Sir Thomas weren’t so fixated on an heir! If only Brandon could love her for herself!
Quit sighing for the moon! Make merry today and let tomorrow take care of itself. You still have this night.
Fenton observed Wormsley through slitted eyelids. The slug had become a millstone around his neck. No one knew they were back on Bodiam’s lands, unless Wormsley escaped from Fenton and babbled his master’s intent.
The churl must disappear permanently. His usefulness was long over. Fenton wrinkled his nose. The boy stank in his foul clothing, and he positively reeked of fear. Fenton had grown quite weary of his whining company. He cast another malevolent glare at the youth, who dozed fitfully within arm’s reach. No witnesses to point an accusing finger at Sir Fenton Scantling, Lady Katherine’s most loving nephew, when Sir Brandon Cavendish was mysteriously cut down on his wedding day.
Marriage! The very word conjured up a reddish haze before Fenton’s eyes. A month ago it had seemed entirely possible to nip this impending disaster in the bud. A poisonous word here and there, a suggestion of foul character whispered in the right ears, and the match would be annulled by the parties involved. Except the biggest party involved in this match was the king, and he was a very determined one. A pox on that tub of royal lard! Fenton ground his teeth.
Tomorrow was the wedding day, and Cavendish’s last upon this earth. Fenton idly wondered how the man was passing his few remaining hours. He snickered to himself.
Wormsley yawned. “My lord? You spoke?”
Why not do it now and be done with it?
Wormsley rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Is it day?” He squinted up toward the hole above them. “Are they out again to look for us? My lord? Are you well?”
Fenton stood. “Aye, Tod, my friend, I have never felt fitter.”
The youth pulled himself up to his feet. His knees knocked against Fenton as he did so. Fenton recoiled. ’Twas bad luck to touch a condemned man.
“Can we leave now, my lord? I perish with hunger and thirst.”
Fenton slipped the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder. “My very thought indeed.”
So saying, he pulled himself out of their hiding place. Once in the open air, Fenton inhaled deeply, enjoying the freshness of the morning.
“My lord?” Standing at the bottom of the hollow, Wormsley extended his hand to Fenton.
How disgusting the boy looked! Fenton unstrapped his crossbow. From his quiver, he selected a bolt. Taking his time, he slid the arrow into the shaft of the weapon.
Wormsley’s eyes grew rounder. “My...my lord? Do you see an enemy?” Tod asked in a strangled voice.
A smile curled Fenton’s lips. “Aye, Tod, I do.”
The youth swallowed. “Is it Cavendish?” he whispered.
Fenton’s smile widened. “Nay, Tod. I am looking at him even as we speak.”
Wormsley backed up against the side of the trunk. “But...but you look at m-me, sir,” he stammered.
Fenton nodded. “How observant, my lad!” He drew back the bowstring and notched it into place. Lifting the weapon, he sighted it down into the hiding place. “You have my complete attention.”
Wormsley dropped to his
knees. “M-mean you me, my lord? I...I have d-done you no wrong. You cannot mean to k-kill me, sir!”
A thrilling sensation of supreme power washed over Fenton. ’Twas much better than drinking the best cask of Canary wine. His finger touched the trigger. Wormsley’s shaking body filled his sight.
Wormsley buried his face in his arms. “Sweet Jesu, save me.”
The idiot presented his entire back to Fenton’s arrow.
“I shall see you in hell, Tod!” Fenton squeezed the trigger. The bolt barely had time to sing its death song before it struck home.
Without a whimper, Wormsley crumpled to the ground. A dark stain immediately spread across his back. The dry leaves soaked up the blood. At this close distance, the bolt had probably shot straight through the vermin’s body.
Fenton shouldered his bow, then swung to the opposite tree and from there to the ground. Great Jove, it felt good to be able to stand up and move unfettered again. A lovely morning! Humming a little tune to himself, he made his way through the tangled briars. The great oak and its grisly secret were quickly out of sight and mind.
“’Tis clear, my lord!” From his position at the closed river gate, Mark called to Brandon.
Brandon’s mud-caked face literally split with his grin. He swept his gaze around the busy scene. For the first time in several hundred years, the silted bottom of the moat lay exposed to the waning rays of the late afternoon sun. The dispossessed swans had been forced to seek comfort on the bank. There, most of them had gone to sleep, tucking their heads under their wings, leaving one cantankerous male on guard. He hissed every time Belle crept close to the flock.
The household servants lay in tired heaps on the greensward, exhausted by their successful labors to drain the watercourse. Several wagons drew up next to the pile of debris: bones, pieces of rusted plate armor, oddments of kitchen pots and utensils, a rotten heap of mud-preserved leaves, broken crockery and lumps of indistinguishable metal. Within the hour, the debris would be trundled away to the castle’s refuse pit.
Brandon’s grin widened as he spied Kat running toward him. Her hair, like a burnished copper cloud, billowed unbound and free about her face. The hem of her plain green gown was soaked with the muck. Her feet were bare like his. Mud splotches decorated her bodice, her sleeves, and speckled her fair face. All in all, Brandon didn’t think he had ever seen her looking more beautiful than she was this minute.
“’Tis done?” she asked breathlessly.
“Give the word, and Mark will open the gate. Then we shall see if the river will do its part.” He chuckled. “On such a grand occasion, there should be music and fireworks.”
Kat tossed her head. Her eyes sparkled. “I do not care for the trappings, so long as our labors have not been in vain.”
Lifting his head, and cupping his hand around his mouth, Brandon shouted across the moat to Guy. “Is the sluice clear?”
“All clear,” his brother shouted back.
The servants stirred and sat up. His mother and sister-in-law got up from the haven of their shade tree and drew closer to watch. Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon saw Jess lift Francis and carry the boy down to the bank.
Behind his back, Brandon crossed his fingers. A childish thing to do perhaps, but he desperately prayed that the thing would work. There was no way of knowing, but to do it.
“Give the word, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice to Kat.
“Now?” She clasped her hand over his brooch. Her simple gesture swelled his heart.
“Aye, unless you want to wait for the king to do the honors.”
Kat wrinkled her nose. “Nay, ’tis my home, my office.” She took out her wrinkled handkerchief, and waved to Mark. “Let the river flow I ” she cried with a touch of drama.
Mark put one foot on the top of the wooden frame and planted the other firmly on the bank. Polly had to restrain Belle from rushing to help the muddy squire. Mark took hold of the top of the gate and pulled. At first nothing happened, save that Mark grew very red in the face. Then, with a loud sucking sound, the ooze on the bottom released the embedded timbers. As the gate slowly rose in its frame, the brown waters of the Rother gurgled through.
Brandon expelled the breath he had been holding. By the stars, the thing worked! At his side, Kat laughed and clapped her hands like a young girl.
“Saints be praised, Brandon! ’Tis a miracle!”
The in-rushing waters gathered more speed as they poured through the fully opened gate. The torrent sloshed against the banks as it rushed around the first corner of the castle. From the other side, Brandon heard Guy’s victory whoop. The people on that bank cheered and waved their hands.
Kat turned her lovely green eyes fully upon his face. “You are the miracle,” she whispered. A few tears streaked a clean path through the dirt on her cheeks.
He bent down and kissed her nose. “So are you, my lady.”
She blushed under the mud.
Jack joined them, shouting, “A race, Cavendish!” With that, he plunged into the cleanest water of the day.
Mark and Christopher grabbed Pip, Guy’s young squire, and tossed him into the moat. They followed with loud splashes and geysers of water.
Guy dashed around the corner. “By my troth, Jack just swam past me!” His eyes grew larger when he saw the squires splashing each other. A broad grin lit his face. Without checking his speed, he lunged for Brandon.
“Your pardon, Lady Katherine,” he shouted as he grabbed hold of his older brother.
Brandon put up his hands to protest, but Guy outweighed him. In the next instant, both Cavendishes were once again floundering in the moat, only this time looking a good deal cleaner.
Stable boys, potboys, serving men, guards and one or two of the hapless maids joined in the watery melee.
“Papa, Papa!” Belle’s shrill voice sang out over the general noise. “Papa, please! Catch me!” Belle tore away from Polly’s grasp. Lifting high her skirts, she flung herself at him.
Brandon caught her in the air, then ducked them both. They surfaced at the bank beside Kat.
“Can she swim?” Kat gasped.
“Like a blessed fish.” Francis, still in Jess’s arms, gave his sister a wry look. “She looks the very picture of a drowned rat.”
Brandon smiled up at his son and Kat beside him. What a beautiful sight they made! What a wonderful day this had been!
Wriggling in his arms, Belle stuck out her tongue at Francis. “Ha! You are just jealous because you have to stay quiet!” Then she squirmed and pointed at the wagons. “Oh, Papa! Stop them! They are taking my cow skull away! You promised I could keep it!”
“I’ll get it for you, poppet!” With that, Kat hoisted up her hems and raced across the grass toward the laden wagon.
Watching her run, Brandon expanded his chest with satisfaction. Standing chest deep in a castle moat with his dripping daughter in his arms, his son nearby, and watching the love of his life dash fleet as a deer, Brandon knew he had, at last, found his corner of paradise. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.
Montjoy picked his way over the wet bank to the edge of the moat. “My lords,” he intoned to the cavorting knights. “Your bathwater is ready in your chambers. I pray you take advantage of it before it turns cold. And, my young Lady Belle, Mistress Polly awaits you with a scrubbing brush. Supper will be served in an hour.”
Without waiting for a reply, Montjoy bowed and retired with his dignity intact.
Belle shook the water out of her eyes. “Great Jove!” she fumed. “Just who does he think he is?”
Brandon kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t tell anyone, Belle, but Montjoy is the true ruler of Bodiam Castle.”
Tod’s fingers dug into the leaves and rotten wood. He gripped them tightly as he lay facedown. breathing in the mold and dirt. No perfume of Arabia could have smelled as sweet. He still lived!
Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The spent arrow fell beside him. His left shoulde
r felt numb, though he knew it was only a matter of time before the pain would set in.
He closed his eyes and murmured a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving for his life. Then he looked up.
The sun still lit the sky, though Tod saw by its angle that it was late in the afternoon. Using the side of the trunk to steady himself, he inched his way to a standing position. The opening yawned a few inches above him.
Shaking his head to clear the ringing noise in his ears, Tod reached up to grab the rim of the cavity with his right hand. A wash of fiery pain rolled over him. He leaned against the side for support until the pain subsided.
If I stay in this trap until darkness, I will never see another dawn.
Gritting his teeth, Tod sprang up, grabbed the rim and hauled himself out, of his intended grave. He inched along a thick limb, where he rested. The ground shifted and swirled under him. ’Twas a long way down. Tod closed his eyes again.
God in heaven, I hate heights!
“You there!” an imperious voice shouted directly under him. “What the devil do you think you are doing up there?”
Tod gripped the branch, then opened his eyes again.
A horseman shielded his eyes as he looked up at Tod. His steel gray mustache fairly bristled. In one hand, the man held a bow with an arrow notched against the string.
“Did you think you were going to attack me, eh?” The rider took aim.
Tod gulped. “Nay, sir! I pray you, do not shoot!” He raised his good hand, lost his grip and fell out of the tree.
Tod hit the forest floor with a stunning thud. Pain engulfed him. He saw colored stars dancing before his eyes, and a rushing wind filled his ears.
“The devil take it!” The rider bellowed somewhere in the distance. “You’ve been shot already!”
“Aye,” Tod murmured.
Then a sweet, blessed blackness claimed him.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Mmm.” Brandon sighed with pleasure as Kat washed the clotted muck out of his hair. Lying back against the side of the wooden tub, he closed his eyes while she massaged his scalp. “By my troth, sweetheart, if I had known how good this felt, I would have rolled in the mud long before this.”
Tori Phillips Page 24