Tori Phillips - Midsummer's Knight

“What do you mean?”

“The Lady Katherine. She is fair, she is fine, she is reasonably young.” He gave Jack a piercing look. “She may also be a witch.”

“Go, hang! If you were not nose deep in a crock of wine, I might take you seriously, and be forced to challenge you to combat for the lady’s honor,” Jack growled in a low, dangerous tone.

Brandon leveled his gaze at his friend. “Think, not with your lusting fancy, but with that brain God saw fit to give you, man. How do we know that who we saw today was the true lady?”

“You are horn-mad,” Jack observed. “And you speak with a voice soused in wine.”

Brandon leaned toward him. “Listen to me, clodpate. Perhaps Lady Katherine has conjured up an apparition, and she puts on this pleasing look of youth and innocence, as a woman would don a gown for a feast. Perhaps she fed you a love charm in your quince sauce, and thereby hangs the tale. In truth, I have known you to take many a woman merrily, but never have you taken one seriously.”

Jack stared at him for a moment, then grinned and shrugged. “Methinks you are the one who is charmed—by too much ale at supper, and too much wine in your cup now. On the morrow, all will be well when you reveal your true identity.”

Brandon cocked his head. “How now?”

Jack snorted. “Are you deaf, as well as thickheaded, my friend? Tomorrow, at the earliest convenience, we shall beg that sweet lady’s forgiveness for the foul trick we have played upon her. You will tell her the truth of your parentage. The game is up. ’Tis too cruel by half to deceive her any further.”

Brandon poured himself another cup, but this time he merely sipped the contents. Jack was right about one thing. By tomorrow morning, Brandon’s head would be thick and pounding from too much imbibing. But fall upon his knees in front of that whey-faced milksop who could barely stammer out two sentences together? Never! At least, not until he knew her better.

Fenton was a lying cur—of that, there was no doubt. But the flap-eared knave may have woven a warp of truth amid the woof of lies. Better to marry a dishcloth than a witch, if one had to get married at all. The devil take King Henry and his damnable matchmaking! The winsome face of Katherine’s fair cousin broke through the dark clouds of his musings. Ah, Miranda! Now there was a woman to cheer a man’s soul, and body. The Lady Katherine was watered-down ale compared to the zest of the strong brew he spied beneath Miranda’s plain garb. He had caught her secret appraisals behind her thick, lowered lashes. Thick enough to fan a man’s desires into a bonfire. ’Twas a shame Miranda was not his promised bride. He would not grow bored with her to warm him.

Getting up, Brandon stretched to his fullest height. “Tomorrow, you will still be Sir Brandon, and I shall attempt to do my best at aping the manners of his good friend, Jack Stafford.”

“But...what of the ladies?” Jack gabbled.

“’Tis the ladies I think upon every waking moment. Aye, they shall probably haunt me in my sleep, as well.” Especially the one who wears my poor cloak pin upon her creamy breast. Brandon shook himself. “Cheer up, Jack. I do not pronounce a sentence of execution, but one of merriment. You delight in talking. gibberish to the Lady Katherine, who—God only knows why—takes pleasure in your ramblings. And I...” Brandon grinned widely. “I shall pursue good Mistress Miranda.”

Jack punched his friend in the arm. “Oh, aye? And play a double false face upon your wife before you’ve even married her?”

Brandon massaged his arm. “Nay, not that. But to seek out what truth lies behind Kat’s smile. Do not look so strange at me, Jackanapes. While at supper, I heard her serving wenches call her that name under their breath.”

“Mind how you call the fair lady to her face, or you’ll have me to answer for her,” Jack rumbled.

Brandon took pleasure in returning his friend’s hamfisted punch in his sword arm. “I shall record that warning in my book of memory, Jack-of-all-trades. And I shall study that page every day for sweet friendship’s sake. My word upon it.”

Jack tottered toward the bed. “How long do you plan to continue this mummery?”

“No more than three weeks,” Brandon answered in a soft undertone. “I mean to enjoy my last moments of freedom until my wedding day. After that, my fate will be sealed, come rack or ruin.”

“And a sweet good-night to you, too,” Jack replied, just before he fell face first amid the bedclothes.

Chapter Five

The arrow flew across the green velvety lawn and embedded its shaft in the red heart of the straw-filled target. Its fletching of gold and red feathers vibrated with the shock of impact.

“Bull’s-eye, Sir John! I win yet again!” Kat regarded her missile with supreme satisfaction. “I am most amazed that Sir Brandon boasted of your skill at archery, my lord, for you have yet to come within an inch of me.”

A devilish look of some secret amusement stole into the depths of Sir John’s brilliant blue eyes. Kat’s heart turned over in response.

“I fear my prowess has been much overrated, Mistress Miranda,” he murmured, a sly smile curving his lips. “Methinks I have forgotten the wager. What do I owe you this time?”

“The golden ribbon from your left sleeve, Sir John, to match the others I have already won.” Kat smiled, though her lips trembled as he drew nearer to her.

“Faith, mistress, if we continue to shoot at yon target, I shall not have a lacing left to hold my apparel together. By the rood, all my clothes will fall to your feet.” Untying the satin ribbon, he held it out to her. “You would not wish to see me so...at one with nature, would you?” he murmured as he drew closer still.

His steady gaze bore into her, daring her to answer his scandalous suggestion. The idea of him standing stark naked before her both startled and fascinated Kat. She blinked her eyes, to banish the wanton thought, then she tugged the ribbon from his hold. As their fingers touched, a dizzying current raced through her as if her blood had suddenly begun to boil. She laughed to cover her nervousness as she fumbled to tie her latest prize around her wrist.

“Perish the thought, Sir John. Our weather here is most unpredictable. You might find you’d catch a sudden chill, if you were thus exposed to our varying winds.”

Sir John took the ribbon from her shaking fingers. He tied it in a love knot over her pulse point, then bent his head and sealed the knot with a featherlight kiss. “Perchance you might find it in your heart to keep me warm?” he whispered, the gleam in his eye turning to blue flames.

Kat’s heart danced a lively galliard as his lips softly grazed her tender flesh. A hot flush stole into her cheeks. She must not faint!

“Larks and sparks, Sir John!” Kat flicked a nonexistent piece of fluff from her peach-colored sleeve. “I am not used to such fine speech as yours. Please tell me, at King Henry’s court, what do the ladies wager, if not for some article of clothing?”

Sir John chuckled as he straightened up. “His Grace is most generous with all the ladies, Mistress Miranda. In the evening after the supper has been cleared away, he gives each lady a small bag of silver coins for gaming at cards.”

Kat’s eyes widened. “His Grace is very generous. And you? Do you also wager with the king’s bounty?”

Laughing, Sir John adjusted his green velvet cap over his sleek blond hair. “Nay, innocent Miranda, I must provide my own coins.”

“Ah,” Kat said thoughtfully. This turn of the conversation offered her the opportunity to test another part of her nephew’s vivid description of her betrothed.

“And my Lord Cavendish?” She glanced over her shoulder at the other couple farther down the archery range. Her eyes narrowed. Surely Sir Brandon need not hover so close behind Miranda, as he helped her draw back her bowstring! And why was her cousin giggling in such a wanton manner? What jest had the man whispered into her ear? Or was it more than a jest? Remember, coz. he is supposed to be marrying me. The thought did not cheer Kat.