Tori Phillips - Midsummer's Knight

“Oh, aye, I love them both, but I...”

Kat gave Miranda’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “’Tis such a costly gift, my lord. We lead a very simple life here in the country. We do not often see the jeweler’s art at Bodiam. Indeed, I cannot recall when we last did see such a thing of beauty as your gift, Sir Brandon.”

Miranda ran a finger lightly over the pearl which made up the swan’s body. “Never,” she echoed.

“’Tis obvious. You have quite taken my lady’s breath—and her good sense—away.” Kat squeezed Miranda again.

Miranda gazed up at Sir Brandon. A warm glow bathed her face. “Trust me, my lord, when I tell you, that never before in my life has anyone given me such a gift as this. I thank you for it, and bless you for your kind thoughts. Truly, I will remember this day forever.”

“May I be so bold as to fasten it around your neck, my lady?” Sir Brandon drew near to the chair. “Such a jewel requires the proper setting, which only you can give it.”

Miranda shot a quick glance at Kat.

Say aye, Miranda, but pray, do not faint now. I do not think it wise that my betrothed should carry you up to our bedchamber.

“Do so, Sir Brandon,” Kat gushed. “I long to see it upon her.”

Sir Brandon made a great show of brushing back Miranda’s hair. Kat noticed that his fingers played across the back of Miranda’s neck as if he were strumming a lyre. Closing her eyes, Miranda sighed deeply. By the book! Her cousin was besotted already! Kat promised herself to have a lengthy and very specific talk with Miranda later on about the hazards of letting nature take its course.

“The bauble looks well upon her,” Sir John said loudly, very loudly. “Stand back, Brandon, my good friend, so that we may all enjoy the view. By my troth, my lady, I think your little musician will come near to falling over the gallery rail.”

Kat looked up to see Columbine leaning far over the side. “Columbine, attend to what you are about!”

“Your pardon, my lady,” the girl apologized, before disappearing from view once again. The lute resumed play. Kat noticed that Columbine now strummed a ballad of love.

“My thanks, Sir John. As you can see, a few pearls and a diamond or two are enough to make our world spin a giddy turn.”

Eyeing Miranda, Kat wondered if she was going to say anything more. Her cousin’s stunned silence didn’t seem to alarm Sir Brandon. He gazed upon Miranda with the most idiotic look on his face. Kat didn’t notice that Sir John had moved to her side until he spoke.

“I apologize to you, Mistress Miranda.” His voice washed over her like cooling waters on a hot day.

“Whatever for, my lord?” Kat stared very hard at the tip of her black satin slipper.

“We did not expect to find that two women of beauty and charm graced the hall of Bodiam Castle, or we would have thought to bring two such swans.”

Kat laughed nervously. She did not dare to look up into those searing blue eyes again. Sir John stood so close she could feel the heat from his body. His presence befuddled all her senses. “I...I have no need for such a fine gift as that, my Lord Stafford. As you can see, I dress plainly, and I know my station in life.” Please God forgive me for all these lies.

“As I know mine, mistress. Permit me to speak plainly. I have a brooch that I wear upon my cloak.” He opened his large hand and held out the ornament for her inspection. A flat golden rose of the familiar Tudor design nestled in his palm. “I would deem it a singular honor, if you would let it adorn your gown—in a place near to your heart.”

“Oh, Sir John!” Kat gazed up at him. He towered a full head taller than she. His teeth flashed a brilliant white, as he successfully disarmed her objections with his smile.

“Do not reject my request, Mistress Miranda. I am in no position to offer you more, though not for lack of desire,” he added, his voice dropping to a honey-warm whisper in her ear.

Her toes curled inside her slippers.

“Then I will accept your offering, my lord, and I shall wear it—as long as my name is Miranda Paige.” Kat smiled at him brightly. Unfamiliar tears pricked behind her eyelids. It must be the dust in the wainscoting.

“I fear the pin is sharp, and the clasp bent from wear,” he continued, caressing her with his seductive voice. “Shall I pin it on for you?”

Kat experienced a rushing of wind in her ears. She took a small step backward. “My thanks, Sir John, but I think I can manage the clasp myself. Perchance, one day you may do me that service—if ever I learn to know you better.” Stars above! How did that wanton suggestion pop out of her mouth? Kat bit her tongue, before it could utter anything else of a scandalous nature.

“My lady?” droned Montjoy, who had been standing at the doorway for who knew how long. “’Tis past the dinner hour, and Philippe swears that his soup will be ruined. May I have your leave to set the tables, and lay the cloth?”

“Aye!” chorused all four of the ladies and gentlemen in the hall. Afterward, each one looked at the others with astonishment. Then they burst into a wild, relieving round of laughter.

Sweet saints! Kat lamented. ’Twas only the first hour of this game, and already she was fast losing herself—to the wrong man!

Chapter Four

“Fenton lied!” With a cry that mixed together anger, surprise and despair, Miranda fell backward onto the thick mattress of the ornate canopied bed she shared with Kat.

“That is old news, indeed.” Seating herself on the window seat, Kat watched the lengthening purple shadows of twilight steal across Sondra’s herb garden below. “Fenton would gag on his own tongue if he ever told a complete truth.” She traced the golden petals of the rose brooch still pinned to her bodice.

“Sir Brandon is a far cry from a schoolboy.” Miranda sighed.

“His maturity was obvious from the first moment,” Kat replied, musing upon Sir Brandon’s companion.

What a bold look Sir John Stafford had! Never in all her days had any man gazed at Kat in quite that way. The memory of his dark blue eyes and the manner in which they had appraised her all during dinner sent prickles of a nameless desire dancing up her thighs. She squeezed her legs together. Kat couldn’t decide if she should feel complimented or insulted. As Lady Katherine Fitzhugh, she would have chided Sir John for his lack of manners. After all, she was going to be married in three weeks to Sir Brandon.

Sir Brandon Cavendish. Aye, he was another breed all together, and one Kat did not find pleasing. Too much bowing and scraping. Too many flowery speeches. She mistrusted a man who sounded as if he both dined and supped upon almond sweetmeats. A honeyed tongue might well conceal a vicious temperament. Closing her eyes, Kat rested her head against the cool plastered wall behind her. No thank you! She had had her share—and more—of that sort of husband. May Fitzhugh the Furious rot in hell!

On the other hand, as Lady Katherine’s shy “cousin,” Kat had been thrilled by Lord Stafford’s obvious attentions. What woman would not? So tall, so fine looking, and what a delightful voice—especially when he chanced to murmur something softly into her ear, such as “Please pass the salt.” Kat sighed. How was that bold piece of brass to know that all during the savory course he was mentally undressing the wrong woman?

Kat ducked her head lest Miranda see the smile that played about her lips. Really! John Stafford was too deliciously wicked by half! Kat must be on her guard around him. Oh, yes! She would watch every move he made. Kat sighed again with pleasure at the thought.

“Kat! You have not heard one word that I have said!” Miranda hurled one of the stuffed bolsters at her cousin.