Читать книгу Midsummer's Knight - Tori Phillips - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Running her fingers along the round, whitewashed wall of the tower’s stairwell, Kat descended the spiral stone steps that led into the hall. The cool stone under her fingertips gave her a welcome reassurance. The dulcet tones of Columbine’s music told Kat that everything was proceeding according to plan—so far. At the base of the steps, she straightened her coif, fluffed out its white veil over her shoulders, then took a deep breath. Let us see what manner of schoolboy has come to call. Lifting the trailing hem of her skirts, she swept into the lofty central chamber.

At the sound of her entrance, two blond giants turned in her direction. Halting abruptly, Kat nearly fell over a small footstool. Sweet angels! Who were these men, and where was Sir Brandon?

“Good day, fair lady,” said the first. Doffing his blue cap, he swept her a low courtly bow. His mellow baritone voice sang pleasantly in her ears. “Do I have the honor of addressing Lady Katherine Fitzhugh?”

“I...that is...” To cover her confusion, as well as to give her time to think, Kat dipped into a graceful curtsy. Her knees wobbled under her skirts. Had she mistaken the identity of her visitors? Were these gentlemen emissaries from the king, and not her betrothed at all? If that was the case, she should reveal herself immediately. And yet...

Rising slowly, Kat smiled with a false brightness. “Pray, forgive me, my lords. We do not often entertain such noble gentlemen as yourselves here at Bodiam. I fear you must think me a ninny.”

She advanced closer to them, praying that one or the other might introduce himself. Kat caught her breath. What a handsome pair! The one in the velvet hat easily stood six feet in height. His blue eyes reminded her of a summer sky reflected in a pool of clear spring water. He held his lean body gracefully, perhaps a little too gracefully for her taste.

The second man cleared his throat, then bowed in turn. though he did not sweep so low to the floor as the first. “Forgive us, my lady. Methought your usher had announced our arrival. In truth, it seems your whole castle saw us ride in. Permit me to introduce Sir Brandon Cavendish of Wolf Hall.” He pointed to his companion.

Kat blinked at the smiling man, then dropped into another curtsy. Cavendish? This was no beardless youth—though his handsome face was clean shaven—but a man in his full prime. This was the bridegroom whom the king had chosen for her? Miranda will swoon on the spot when she claps an eye on him.

“And I am Sir John Stafford, come to bear witness of your joy to the king.” Stafford cleared his throat again.

Kat looked up fully into the second man’s face. This time her traitorous knees deserted her. She swayed. Moving swiftly, Stafford caught her before Kat collapsed into an undignified heap of petticoats and gowns. With a hint of a smile playing about the corners of his lips, he guided her to one of the high-backed armchairs.

“Are you well, my lady? Shall I call for your usher?”

“Nay,” Kat gasped. “My thanks, good sir. I slipped upon the floor. I...er...we take pride in keeping the floor tiles polished with beeswax. How very clumsy of mel” I sound like a complete fool!

Kat’s cheeks flamed. If Sir Brandon presented a picture of a Greek god come down to her hearth, he paled in comparison to Sir John. Slightly taller than his friend, Stafford’s shoulders filled—nay, strained—the seams of his forest green doublet, as if he would burst out of them at any moment. While Sir Brandon’s voice reminded her of warm honey dripping from the comb, Sir John’s deeper tones promised something more dangerous and exciting.

The room wavered before her eyes. Kat gripped the arms of the chair. She must get hold of herself. She was no giddy maiden on a May morning, but a woman of nearly thirty years. ’Twas almost the dinner hour. No doubt her dizziness stemmed from hunger.

Stafford knelt by her chair and took one of her ice-cold hands in his. “Clumsy is not a word I would use to describe you, my lady.” Stafford’s brilliant blue eyes twinkled with open amusement. He brushed his lips lightly across the back of her hand.

Angels in heaven! What magic is this stranger working upon me? And in full view of my betrothed—no, not my betrothed. Not yet. I am not Kat.

“I fear I am no lady...” she began, then stopped, realizing how scandalous that must sound.

Sir John’s smile widened as he continued to hold her clammy hand within his large warm ones. “No lady?” His gaze roved from her eyes, to her shoulders to the outline of her breasts under the plain bodice of her gown. “Your beauty gives the lie to that.”

Kat’s pulse skittered alarmingly. This man is seducing me in my own hall—before dinner, or even before proper introductions.

Kat sat up straighter. “I am Mistress Miranda Paige, cousin to the lady of the house.”

“My loss,” Sir John whispered under his breath.

Not sure what he meant by that, Kat plunged on with her part. “My Lady Katherine begs your patience, my lords. The suddenness of your arrival has put us all in a whirl. She is above, preparing herself to receive you, Sir Brandon.”

Poor Miranda! What a shock this handsome gallant was going to be to her! Kat prayed that her cousin would keep her wits about her upon first introduction.

“A masterpiece of perfection takes time to prepare. ’Tis made all the more desirable by the wait,” Sir Brandon replied, shooting a quick glance to his companion.

“Just so,” Sir John murmured. After pressing his lips on the sensitive skin of her palm, he released Kat’s hand.

Like a lark caught in a snare, her heart fluttered wildly within her breast. An uneasy silence settled over them. Kat thanked her foresight for having Columbine play her lute. The girl’s sweet music filled the gap in the conversation. Biting the inside of her lips, Kat struggled to think of something clever to say. Neither Lewknor nor Fitzhugh had bothered to pay her court. She had never set eyes on either of her husbands until they had met at the church door to take their wedding vows. During thirteen years of loveless marriages, the opportunity for witty conversation and harmless flirtation had never presented itself—until now. Sweet Saint Anne, help me!

“I must confess, Mistress Paige, I did not expect to find so agreeable an interior to your lady’s castle when we first rode through its gate.” Sir Brandon surveyed the room with approval in his expression. “A fortress on the outside, and a pleasant bower within.”

Kat released a pent-up breath. At least, the man—her betrothed, she had to remind herself—had given her a blessed opening. “Yes, I am...we are quite pleased with the result of the plaster and paint over the rough walls. The linen-fold carving on the paneling is my...cousin’s especial pride. Much work has been done since my...my lady’s husband died.” Careful—watch every word. Miranda! How long does it take to change your gown?

“Ah, yes, I had heard that the Lady Katherine was married before,” Sir John remarked with the suddenness of a duck snapping at a water beetle.

Kat wrinkled her nose. “Twice,” she answered shortly. Why spoil her appetite for dinner, or the good company of these worthy gentlemen, with wretched thoughts of Fitzhugh?

“And were they happy matches?” Sir John persisted.

“Nay, my lord, they were not. I pray you, for my lady’s sake, do not mention her past husbands.” Have done with them for once and all!

“Good day, my lords, and welcome to my...oh, squealing piglets!” Miranda stood transfixed in the doorway, staring at the guests. She flushed a charming rosy hue.

Miranda looks ten years younger!

Kat hastened to her side. She clasped her cousin’s cold hand. “My lords, I present to you the Lady Katherine Fitzhugh.”

A startled look passed between the men, then, as one, they swept off their caps and bowed low.

“Leaping trout!” Miranda moaned softly. She gripped Kat’s hand like grim death.

“Does heaven weep for loneliness since you flew down to earth, sweet lady?” Sir Brandon gushed.

“Your servant, my lady,” his companion added in a brisk tone.

“Say something!” Kat hissed at her cousin.

“Welcome to Bodiam,” Miranda chirruped.

“You have said that already,” Kat whispered, guiding her transfixed cousin closer to the men. Don’t bolt, Miranda , she silently begged. Please do not give the game away just yet.

“Wa-was your journey long?” Miranda looked from one man to the other. “Which one is Sir Brandon?” she whispered to Kat out of the side of her mouth.

Kat spied a ghostly smile flit across Sir John’s lips. He must have heard Miranda’s question.

Sir John poked Sir Brandon’s rib cage with his elbow.

“I—I... fair lady, I have the honor of being the eldest son of Sir Thomas Cavendish, Earl of Thornbury. I am Sir Brandon Cavendish. I bring you the greetings and good wishes of my family and of our great king, Henry, who has made my present happiness possible.” Sir Brandon bowed low for a fourth time.

Kat winced inwardly as she watched Cavendish dive toward the floor again. Hang it all, my betrothed is full of foppery!

“Oh!” Miranda squeaked. She turned a little pale.

“Do him courtesies,” Kat prompted in Miranda’s ear. “And for the love of all that is holy, don’t faint.”

“’Tis I who am honored, Sir Brandon.” Miranda sank into a full curtsy. She remained frozen in that position.

Sir Brandon dropped to one knee before her and took her hand in his. “The honor of your fair hand is a gift I shall cherish all my days. Believe me, sweetest lady, when I tell you that I shall ever remember this moment in my heart and in my dreams.” He kissed each of Miranda’s fingers in turn.

Kat happened to glance at Sir John and caught him rolling his eyes toward the vaulted ceiling. Aye, Sir Brandon’s greeting was a bit thick—like butter oozing on a slice of hot bread—but his words certainly had quite an effect upon Miranda. Kat wondered if the two of them were going to remain kneeling in the middle of the floor for the rest of the day. Kat shot another glance at Sir John.

He acknowledged her look with a slight lowering of his eyelids. Then he cleared his throat again. Kat wondered if he was coming down with a cough. Perhaps Sondra could prepare an elixir for his sore throat.

“Permit me to introduce myself, my Lady Katherine.” Sir John arched one golden brow at the couple before him. “I am Sir John Stafford, gentleman groom of the king’s bedchamber.”

“Aye,” Miranda replied, not glancing at the speaker. She seemed to have lost herself in the depths of Sir Brandon’s blue eyes.

Get up, coz, and behave yourself. That is supposed to be my husband. Kat looked across the couple to Sir John. He shrugged his shoulders in reply. Though his motion seemed outwardly simple, he radiated a vitality that drew her like a dancing moth to a candle flames. Her heart bounced. That one was a rogue, she decided. Such an attraction would be perilous. Why couldn’t her betrothed have been Sir John? At least he didn’t talk in sugared subtleties.

. “The lady may find the noor—polished though ’tis to an enviable shine—to be a bit chill,” Sir John suggested. His golden eyebrows arched with meaning.

Kat caught herself admiring Sir John’s clean, straight jawline. She swallowed with difficulty.

“Your pardon, my lady.” Sir Brandon rose in one fluid motion, bringing Miranda up with him. “I was enraptured.”

“Has my...my cousin offered you some refreshment after your journey?” Miranda gripped Sir Brandon’s hand.

“Nay.” Sir John gazed boldly at Kat, which made her feel hot and cold at the same time. “But I am willing to take whatever refreshment she may offer.”

The very air crackled around Kat like lightning come to earth. The implication of his softly spoken words sent tingling waves of forbidden excitement crashing through her. Sir John’s eyes appeared to turn bluer as his gaze caressed her. Though the day was warm for May, a cluster of goose bumps sprouted along her arms. Angels in heaven! What was this churl insinuating? What an utterly improper, utterly rude, utterly...delicious idea! Impossible! I am fast losing my wits!

“I need no other refreshment, now that I am bathed in my lady’s eyes,” Sir Brandon murmured, drawing closer to Miranda, who, for her part, stood rooted to the floor tiles.

Kat tittered—something she had not done for almost two decades—and twisted a knot within the folds of her gown. “We do not often hear such goodly speech, as we live so far from the court.”

“I fear my friend may have overstepped his bounds at this first meeting, Mistress Miranda.” Sir John glared daggers at Sir Brandon’s back, as if to remind him of his manners. “Jack...jackanapes; Brandon! Mayhap the Lady Katherine would like to see the gift you have brought her?”

Sir Brandon dropped Miranda’s hand. “Forgive me, I pray you. I find myself most marvelously at sixes and sevens.” He drew out a red velvet pouch from inside his gold-embroidered doublet. With a brilliant smile, he held out the gift to Miranda. “For you, sweet lady, as a pledge of our betrothal.”

“You are too kind,” Miranda murmured. She almost let the bag slip between her trembling fingers. Glancing at Kat, she raised her eyebrow in question.

“Pray seat yourself, coz.” Kat pushed her toward the chair.

Clutching the bag to her breast, Miranda melted into the safety between the chair’s carved wooden arms.

“’Tis all the excitement of meeting such noble gentlemen,” Kat babbled to their guests. “It has quite overcome my lady.”

“That feeling is shared by one who desires to draw closer to her heart,” Sir Brandon replied with a flourish.

“God’s teeth!” muttered Sir John.

With shaking fingers, Miranda managed to untie the red tasseled cord and spread open the pouch. She lifted out a golden chain made up of dainty rose-shaped links. A swan, fashioned from a large freshwater pearl, its wings tipped with square-cut diamonds, dangled from a gold-and-pearl clasp at the center.

“Crickets!” Miranda gasped, holding up the jewel to catch a sunbeam.

“Sweet Saint Anne!” Kat exclaimed at the same time.

In the minstrels’ gallery, Columbine missed a note. The lute clattered to the fioor, then lapsed into silence.

“But I cannot accept such a gift as this!” Miranda’s green eyes glistened with a watery sheen as she glanced from Kat to Sir Brandon, then back to Kat.

“The necklace does not please you?” Sir Brandon shot a puzzled expression to his friend, then looked at Miranda once again. “You do not care for pearls—or swans?”

“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!