Three Dog Knight

by Tori Phillips

  They look well together, Brampton thought. A sunblessed giant and a golden princess. Then he noticed a fresh bruise on the boy’s left cheekbone. He must have tripped over his large feet.

  Sir Edward cleared his throat. “My daughter, Alicia Broom, my lords.”

  Once again, Alicia dropped a perfect curtsy while keeping a firm hold on the excited puppy. “I am most honored, my lord earl,” she said in bright, sunlit tones. Then she added in a whisper, “Prithee, my lord, will you be serving us supper?”

  Sir Edward coughed in warning. He should never have mentioned that possibility to the child. He prayed the earl would forgive her indiscretion. Being a simple merchant’s daughter, she had never met anyone from the upper levels of the nobility.

  Before Sir Giles could recover his surprise, Thomas turned to her. “Do you like apple tarts?”

  She closed her eyes in rapture. Her little pink tongue darted between her lips. “Aye, I do so adore them!”

  “And I, as well,” the young man confided. “Let us visit the kitchens now. I am famished.”

  Alicia giggled, and held up the puppy. “And so is Georgie, methinks.”

  Turning back to his father, Thomas inclined his head. “Father?” he asked.

  Sir Edward detected a flicker of fear in the boy’s remarkable blue eyes before he looked down to the stone floor. Brampton considered the bruise again, and wondered if Sir Giles beat his sons, Thomas in particular.

  The earl coughed, blew his nose, then waved away the children. “Take her to the kitchen. Give the lass all the tarts she can eat. Well, don’t just stand there like a hobbledehoy. Be off, Thomas!”

  For the first time since he had appeared, Thomas smiled. By all the saints! Sir Edward could scarcely believe the handsome change that came over the lad’s face. The boy threw a sidelong glance at Alicia, who grinned at him in return.

  “Let us away, before your papa changes his mind,” she whispered.

  Thomas nodded. With hasty bows, the young couple departed.

  “Do you like your tarts with cream?” he asked as they went out the far door.

  “With lots and lots,” Alicia replied.

  Thomas’s deeper voice echoed back into the hall. “Me, too.”

  The earl stared wide-eyed after them, then drained his ale. “God’s teeth! Did you hear that, my lord? Thomas has not spoken that many words in my hearing for years. What magic does your little changeling weave?”

  Love and acceptance, Sir Edward wanted to tell the amazed father. Instead, he replied, “I know not, my lord. Alicia has a way with folk—with animals, too.”

  Sir Giles struck the tabletop with the flat of his hand. “If you say aye to Thomas, then ‘tis a match. We can draw up the contract—after that supper your little minx requested. God’s sooth! She has her royal father’s charm.”

  Sir Edward exhaled, and found the experience a soothing one. “You have my word upon it, my lord. Come Alicia’s eighteenth birthday, I shall bring her to Wolf Hall to be wed to Thomas.”

  Sir Giles rose and extended his hand. “We are agreed, Brampton.” He regarded his guest with his piercing blue eyes. “You did say the lass gets along with animals?”

  “Aye, you saw as much, my lord.”

  The Earl of Thornbury smiled. “Good, for she will be living with a damnable kennel.”

  Chapter Two

  Wolf Hall

  Early August 1497

  “My lord, you have guests.” Dane Stokes pounded on the thick oaken door of the tiny library. “My lord?”

  Thomas Cavendish, the new Earl of Thornbury, hunched deeper in the chamber’s only chair. He pretended to read the Latin text in his hands. Perhaps if he ignored his steward’s battering long enough, Stokes would give up, and send away the unwanted visitors. A wide black mourning band slipped down Thomas’s arm to his elbow. Scowling, he hitched it back up.

  Blast the Fates! He had never wanted to be the earl. Had never even considered such a laughable idea. A little over a month ago, his father had been alive and healthy. William and his wife fought like cats, but that was not unusual for them. John’s wedding to a young, wealthy heiress was to be celebrated at the Harvest Festival in September. Meanwhile, Thomas had spent the bright sunlit days pursuing badgers.

  “Caught a fair lot of them, did we not?” he asked the undersize brown-and-white terrier of mixed pedigree who nestled on his lap.

  Lifting his head, Taverstock perked his ears and licked his lips in reply.

  Stokes pounded on the door again. “Sir Thomas, ‘tis some high-and-mighty lord who awaits your pleasure in the hall. Him and his ladies.”

  Thomas groaned softly. Not more women. He had one too many as it was. William’s ferret-faced wife, Isabel, refused to accept her widowhood with good grace. He wished that the witch would pack up her chests of clothes and return to her father.

  “And leave me in peace,” he added aloud as he scratched the sleek head of the fawn-colored miniature greyhound, who reclined beside his chair.

  Vixen looked up at her master with open affection in her deep brown eyes.

  “Aye, Vixen, you are the only lady in my life,” Thomas continued, massaging her velvet ears.

  Impatient with his master’s misdirected attention, Taverstock pushed his wet nose against the open page of Thomas’s expensive copy of The Comedies of Plautus. Clicking a reprimand with his tongue, Thomas closed the book, and placed it on the table beside him.

  Stokes knocked once more. “My Lord Cavendish, do you hear me?” he persisted. “What am I to do with them?”

  Send the high-and-mighty lord to the devil and dispatch the ladies after him. Thomas sighed. “Things are not the same as they were, eh, Tavie?”

  The terrier licked his lips again, then sneezed wetly.

  “Please, my lord. The company has come a long way to see you.”

  “Who?” Thomas thundered at his persistent steward.

  His loud tone woke the mastiff dozing in the nearby corner. The dog lifted his gray-flecked muzzle, then yawned, displaying two rows of large, sharp teeth.

  “’Tis Sir Edward Brampton and his lady wife. Sir Edward says he requests a most urgent conference with you.”

  “Never heard of him,” Thomas told his three canine companions. “What in blazes do you suppose he wants?” In a louder voice, he asked Stokes, “What for?”

  “I know not, my lord, save that the younger lady has brought all her baggage with her. Sir Edward said for me to tell you…” Stokes’s voice trailed away.

  “What?” Thomas bellowed.

  “That he has brought your…your…” Stokes’s voice quivered.

  “Spikes and thorns, man! What has he brought me?”

  “Your betrothed!” Stokes yelled through the wooden panels. “And Sir Edward is in a great hurry to be off and away, he said.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to hurl another oath at the steward, but a distant memory stopped him. A tall, thin girl-child in a plain blue woolen gown with her red-gold hair barely covered by a wide blue ribbon and a thin white veil—the goldsmith’s daughter. William had teased Thomas to distraction over his unlikely betrothal. It had been the first time Thomas had ever knocked one of his older brothers unconscious. The earl had whipped Thomas raw for it, but the punishment had been worth the pain. His brothers had never dared to provoke Thomas again. As for the girl—he presumed that she had been married off to the son of another merchant. He had heard nothing of her since their only meeting years ago. Alicia—that was her name.

  “‘Tis some mistake, I’ll warrant,” Thomas told Vixen. “What would a high-and-mighty lord like this Brampton fellow be doing with the daughter of a goldsmith? Nay, the word has gotten out that the new Earl of Thornbury is a rich young bachelor.” He grinned at the terrier in his lap. “Oh, and I am somewhat scattered in my wits, as well. We must not forget that part. I wonder if my Lord Brampton is the vanguard of prospective fathers-in-law? God shield me!”

  “My lord?” Stokes whined thro
ugh the keyhole. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Come in!” Thomas roared back at him.

  The brass latch turned, then Stokes poked his head around the door. “Aye, my lord?”

  “The wench. What does she look like?”

  A sheepish grin spread across the steward’s face. He reminded Thomas of a lovesick swain on a May Day morn. The sight was enough to put a man off his feed.

  Stokes sighed. “Sweet and young, my lord. Fair and tall. The face of an angel. The voice of a lark. The figure of a willow. The—”

  “Peace with your moon song, knave!” Thomas curled his lip.

  A plague upon it! The little witch had already enchanted his steward. She would have to stir up all the charms of hell to ensnare Thomas in her coils. Blasts and fogs! He did not need more woman trouble. He snapped his fingers to his three best friends.

  “Up, Georgie! Let us meet this…female who claims me.”

  Thomas found Lord Brampton pacing before the cold fireplace in the great hall. The heel plates of the visitor’s riding boots grated against the flagstones. Brampton had thrown one side of his thick black wool riding cape over his shoulder, revealing his brown velvet garb. Thomas noted that the clothing was well made.

  A lady, presumably the impatient lord’s wife, sat in a nearby chair. Her travel cloak showed mud-stained signs of a rough journey. Her pale face held an anxious expression. When she lifted her cup of wine, her hand trembled.

  Planting himself in front of his master, Taverstock bristled the fur on the back of his neck. He growled once or twice in challenge. Vixen leaned against Thomas’s left leg. Georgie halted, lifted his nose, quivered, then with a thundering bay, he bounded down the length of the hall toward the startled guests.

  The lady screamed as the great dog came closer. Her husband stepped in front of her, and drew his sword.

  “Georgie!” Thomas shouted, dashing after the dog. What had gotten into the old boy? Brampton’s sword looked sharp.

  “Georgie?” A tall young woman stepped into the band of sunlight cast from the window. Its golden beams caught the fire in her hair. With a delighted thrill of laughter, she sank to her knees and held out her arms to the great mastiff. “After all these years, is it really little Georgie?” She buried her face in his thick furry neck.

  Taverstock whined, and danced a few side steps on his short bandy legs. Vixen froze in place. Her dark expressive eyes remained fixed on her master.

  At the sound of the girl’s voice, Thomas skidded to a stop. He blinked. The goldsmith’s daughter of his youthful fantasies had returned as a beautiful woman. Her voice was lower, but still held the same tone of merriment. Stokes had not exaggerated. Her figure was indeed that of a graceful, supple willow. Her laughter reminded him of a clear, sweet spring on a hot summer’s day.

  “Hold very still, Alicia,” Brampton whispered as he advanced upon the pair on the floor. “I shall take—”

  “Nay!” Grabbing the man’s wrist, Thomas twisted it. The naked sword clattered to the floor. Taverstock barked with approval.

  “What foul knavery is this?” Brampton whirled on Thomas. “You would set your cur upon my child? Is this your idea of hospitality?”

  “Edward, peace!” His wife rose from her chair and came to his side. “’Tis no harm done. See? Alicia and the dog are in perfect friendship.” Turning to Thomas, she smiled at him. “Forgive my husband, Lord Cavendish. Our journey has been in haste, and with some danger. I fear we are much agitated.”

  Thomas took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie lie down, then roll over on his back while the girl cooed endearments to him, and rubbed his tummy. The great beast wriggled with pleasure. A sudden twinge of envy took Thomas by surprise. With reluctance, he returned his attention to the fuming man before him. Brampton looked familiar, yet Thomas could not place him.

  “You wished to see me?” he asked brusquely.

  Brampton patted his wife’s restraining hand, then straightened his cap that had been knocked askew. “I told that whey-faced servant that I wished to speak to the earl.” He glared down at Taverstock, who sniffed at his boots. “You are Thomas, as I recall?”

  “I am, and I am.”

  Brampton rolled his eyes to the heavens. “I am glad you are Thomas,” he said, drawing out his words. “Now, may I please speak with your father?”

  “You cannot,” Thomas snapped. Sweet Jesu! How he wished that Brampton could. He helped himself to a cup of wine from the table.

  Brampton sputtered. “By heaven, sir, we have come on a matter most urgent I have no time to talk in riddles.”

  “Nor have I.” Thomas drained his wine. Over the rim of his cup, he watched the girl try to entice Vixen into her charmed circle. Sweat popped out on his brow. Very warm for this season, he thought with discomfort.

  Brampton slammed his fist on the table, rattling the wine pitcher. “Where is the Earl of Thornbury?”

  Thomas replaced his cup with deliberate care. “You are speaking to him.”

  Brampton’s jaw sagged open. “You jest!” He appeared to deflate under his cloak.

  “Nay.” Thomas readjusted his sliding black band. “Gaol fever. My father, then my brothers. They caught it in June at the assizes in York.” Pausing, he pressed his lips together to hold back the pain that welled up inside of him. “I remained at home.”

  “May God have mercy on their souls,” Lady Brampton murmured, making the sign of the cross.

  “Amen,” Thomas muttered under his breath.

  “Amen,” echoed the girl in a soft voice. The heartfelt emotion in her simple word pierced Thomas to his heart. He couldn’t look at her.

  A stricken expression swept across Brampton’s face. “All dead?”

  Thomas nodded, not trusting his voice.

  The older man shot his wife a quick look, then asked, “Did your father ever chance to speak to you of your marriage?”

  The young earl grimaced. His father had rarely spoken to his third son except to find fault with him or one of his dogs. The old earl had never talked of gentler matters. Thomas shook his head.

  “God save us!” Brampton poured himself more wine, then downed it in one gulp.

  At this rate, Thomas wondered which of them would get drunk first. He held his tongue as he studied the older man. Long experience had taught him that people grew uncomfortable with silence, and would gabble anything to fill the void. By and by, he would learn Brampton’s innermost thoughts.

  Sir Edward drew himself to his full height. Even so, he was still half a head shorter than Thomas.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” his guest began in a firmer tone. “But my mission is still the same. Ten years ago, your father and I struck an agreement whereby you would marry my Alicia at the proper time.” He glanced fondly at the girl seated amid the dogs. “I had planned to keep her one more year. She is barely seventeen.”

  Suddenly Thomas remembered the man. “You are the goldsmith—Roger Broom.”

  Surprise widened Brampton’s dark brown eyes. “By the book! You have a better memory than I expected. Aye, ‘twas a disguise. Your father knew my true identity. But no more of this, the hour hurries past us. My wife and I must face for the coast before our ship sails for the Lowlands.”

  Thomas grunted in reply, though his mind whirled at this news. Why disguised? Now why the flight?

  “Alicia?” he asked aloud.

  “By written agreement, and the dowry I paid to your father, Alicia is contracted to marry you. And the sooner, the better for her sake,” Brampton added in almost a whisper.

  Thomas felt as if a lance had struck a blow against his chest. He glanced at the girl. She smiled back at him. He couldn’t breathe. She rose from the floor, then stepped over the sated Georgie. Hoy day! She stood nearly as tall as Brampton. She tossed her thick braid of hair over her shoulder as she advanced toward Thomas.

  His heart thudded against his chest. She must hear its pounding, he though
t. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye. He blinked. Her lush red lips parted. Her white teeth gleamed like little pearls. His hands grew clammy. A roaring filled his ears. He had never been this close to such perfection in his four-and-twenty years. His tongue seemed to swell two sizes larger, then it cleaved itself to the roof of his mouth.

  She looked directly at him with a sparkle of her laughter in her matchless blue eyes. “Tell me, Sir Thomas,” she asked in tones of purest crystal. “Does your cook still make the most wonderful apple tarts in the world?”

  Air! Thomas needed to breathe, or he would expire at her feet. He opened his mouth to answer that all the tarts in Wolf Hall were hers for the asking, but only a strangled gargle came out. Without attempting any more conversation, he wheeled around, and fled out of the hall. Taverstock and Vixen followed in hot pursuit. Georgie, that lumbering traitor, remained behind to enjoy more of Alicia’s caresses.

  In the corridor, Thomas barely paused when he encountered his startled squire. “See to my guests,” he snapped at Andrew.

  The slim boy lifted his eyebrows with surprise. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Put her in the royal suite,” Thomas tossed over his shoulder. Tavie scrambled in his wake.

  “Aye, my lord,” Andrew called after him. “I presume you are not referring to Vixen?”

  The little greyhound gave him a reproachful look as she limped by.

  “Go to the devil, Andrew.” Thomas shouted as he rounded the corner. “And take my Lord Brampton with you,” he added under his breath. He flung open the outer door. Fresh air! He drew in deep, cleansing draughts as he raced across the meadow to the safety of the sun-dappled forest.

  “I am the greatest fool in all England!” He consoled himself by banging his head against an unforgiving tree trunk. Tavie and Vixen lay down among the dry leaves to watch their master make a complete idiot of himself.

  Sir Edward threw his hat to the floor. “Bolts and shackles! A plague take him! I have half a mind to follow the jolthead, and bring him back to beg your forgiveness. What simpleton have I tied you to, Alicia?”