Midsummer's Knight

by Tori Phillips

  Something was amiss with Kat, Brandon surmised, but what it might be, only she and the good Lord knew. She had presided over the supper table in her usual charming way, but they had barely exchanged words, even though they had shared their cup and trencher. After the board had been cleared and the trestles put away, he planned to speak with her alone. Instead, his father demanded a private conference. Once they had withdrawn into the alcove, Sir Thomas lost no time saying what was on his mind.

  “When the king comes day after tomorrow, I will ask him to dissolve your betrothal,” he announced.

  Brandon’s stomach tightened as if a fist had been jabbed in his gut. “But why, Father? ’Twas you who desired me to marry, and now, so do I. Has the Lady Katherine shown you any discourtesies?”

  His father waved away the question. “Nay, she is warmly hospitable. The fact of the matter is that she is too old for you.”

  Brandon could barely believe his ears. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Kat is a perfect age for me. She is no giggling girl, fresh out from behind her mother’s petticoats. She has wit, charm and an intelligence that I find most refreshing.”

  Hearing himself say these words, Brandon realized how true they were. For the first time in his life, he wanted to get married and he wanted Kat to be his wife. He loved her with all his heart.

  Sir Thomas shook his head. “She is too old to bear you an heir! I will seek to dissolve this match, then ask for a younger wench instead. You will see. By this time next year, you could be well on your way to becoming a father.” He beamed at the idea.

  Brandon gritted his teeth. “By this time next year, I could be dead of the plague. And, lest it has slipped your memory, I am already a father—twice over, in fact.”

  The older man set his face into a stubborn mask. Brandon had often seen this expression during his formative years. He knew that once his father had gotten an idea in his head, nothing short of a direct bolt of lightning could change it. “As much as I love them, both Belle and Francis were born on the wrong side of the blanket. They do not carry our family name.”

  Brandon gripped his hands behind his back. He felt like a stripling again. “When Francis is old enough to understand, I intend to recognize him as my son and heir. He will carry my name then.”

  Sir Thomas knotted his eyebrows. “The boy is still a bastard.”

  Anger licked at Brandon’s self-control. “If any man, other than you, Father, called Francis a bastard to my face, he would be lying cold on the floor now. I love the boy as my life. He is my heir. It does not matter to me if Kat cannot give me another.”

  “It matters to me—and to a court of law,” his father growled.

  “Then leave Wolf Hall to Guy’s children. He and Celeste seem most adept at producing offspring. Wolf Hall will be overrun with little Cavendishes for the next decade.” Brandon’s voice sank into a whisper. “But understand this, Father, I will have Katherine as my wife, and I will many her in two days, as God as my witness.”

  Sir Thomas returned his son’s glower. “And, in two days, I will speak to the king.”

  Afraid he might do something regrettably rash, Brandon turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove. He encountered Kat just outside. Her face had gone quite pale. When he started to speak to her, she lowered her eyes and fled up the stairs. God’s nightshirt! She must have overheard his father’s words, though Brandon had striven to keep their voices low. Had Sir Thomas already said something to her earlier today? Was that why she had hardly glanced at him during dinner?

  Brandon started up the stairs, but he heard her slam the door to her chamber. She drove the bolt home. Perdition take the woman! He must talk with her before the canker of his father’s threat festered within her. He bounded up the rest of the stairs, then knocked on her door.

  “Kat? I pray you, open up. I must speak with you.” He had to tell her how much he loved her.

  “Not tonight, Brandon,” she answered quietly, just on the other side of the latch. “I am tired, and have a headache.”

  “Nay, Kat, you enjoy uncommonly good health. Open to me.”

  She gasped softly, then asked, “Will you break the door down as my second husband sometimes did, Brandon? Is this what I have to look forward to? Another loveless marriage?”

  Brandon pounded the door. “Kat! Open this door so that we may discuss this matter like two reasonable adults. Please?”

  She did not answer him. Brandon pressed his ear against the wood and thought he detected a quiet sob or two. “Kat?” He spoke in a gentler tone. “My father is as set in his ways as I am set in mine. I fear I inherited his stubborn streak. Understand this, my lady. Come Midsummer’s Day, I will marry you!”

  Her answering laugh held a bitter note. “To defy your father? To prove you are a man of your word? I do not care to be a pawn in your family disputes. I bid you a good-night, my lord.”

  He heard her move away from the door. He considered hurling himself through it, but her earlier accusation stopped him. He would rather be racked in two than be the bully Fitzhugh had been to her.

  From down the corridor, Francis called to him. Curbing his frustration, Brandon answered his son. He found the boy propped up in bed, surrounded by pots of flowers and platters of half-eaten sweetmeats. When his father appeared in the doorway, Francis laid aside a cup-and-ball game.

  “How now, my boy. What’s amiss?” Brandon seated himself on the stool. “And are you supposed to be eating such rich food so soon?” Picking up a sugar comfit, he popped it into his mouth. Delicious!

  Francis eyed the bounty of sweets around him. “Some of the maids have been bringing them to me, my lord. First, Pansy came with a plate of marchpane. Then Rose brought the candied fruit. This evening, Violet presented me with the comfits. How can I say nay to them? They are all very sweet.”

  Brandon regarded his son. “The girls or the food?”

  Francis grinned. Jesu, the boy looked a lot like Guy when he did that! It occurred to Brandon that he had not seen Francis smile very often in the past. His page always seemed so earnest. Bodiam obviously agreed with him.

  “Both, my lord,” he replied.

  Brandon had difficulty swallowing his second comfit. Zounds! The boy was only nine! Too young for the sap to rise just yet, wasn’t it? On the other hand, perhaps the time had come for a certain man-to-man talk with the lad, before the boy got himself into real trouble.

  “Are you having a fight with Lady Kat?” Francis asked.

  “Not exactly. She has overheard my father’s opinions of our marriage, and it has distressed her.” Brandon pursed his lips at the idea of Kat crying herself to sleep.

  “Sir Thomas does not want you to get married, my lord?” The boy stared at him openmouthed. “’Twas all he spoke of, for over a month. He couldn’t wait to get here. He does not find Lady Kat pleasing?”

  Brandon drew in a breath. How could he explain the desire for an heir to his own unknowing heir, without jeopardizing the boy’s later opinion of the Cavendish family? How did such a simple thing as a country wedding get so complicated?

  “No one could know the lady and not love her,” Brandon told him. “My father feels that the lady is far too good for me.”

  “Is she?” Francis asked with alarming frankness.

  Brandon thought about it for a minute. “Aye, methinks she is.”

  “Then you must do something to prove yourself worthy of her, my lord,” Francis advised in a very matter-of-fact tone.

  Since when had the boy become so skilled at understanding women? Brandon was several decades older and years more experienced than his son, and he had yet to fathom the workings of a woman’s mind—Kat’s, least of all.

  “Aye,” Brandon agreed, reaching for a third comfit.

  But what? For two days, he had been unsuccessfully hunting for Scantling. Perchance Jack and Guy were right, and the knave had fled the environs. What else could Brandon do between now and his wedding day to prove his love and devotio
n to Kat, and to erase the sting of his father’s heedless tongue?

  Kat lay awake half the night, pondering what she should do. In the end, she fell into a dreamless sleep. The sun was halfway up in the sky when Laurel awakened her the next morning. Outside, whoops and shouts rang in the clear summer air.

  “What’s amiss?” Kat asked, pulling on her robe. “Pray, do not tell me that the king has come a day early?” Only half the meats had been prepared, and today was to be given over to baking. She was nowhere near ready to feed the renowned royal appetite.

  Laurel rolled her eyes merrily. “Oh, no, my lady You will never guess in two months of Sundays! ’Tis a wonder!”

  More yelling outside drew Kat’s attention. Just then, Miranda burst through the door. A becoming flush set off her complexion. “Leaping trout, Kat! You are a slugabed! Hurry! Get dressed! You must come and see!”

  “What is it?” Kat splashed water into her face from the basin.

  Laurel dropped several petticoats at once over her mistress’s head. “All the household is abuzz. Even Montjoy looks—happy. Young Master Francis insisted that he be carried out to watch. Master Jess carried him down, Lady Kat, so there is no fear that the boy has overexerted himself. He’s set up on a rug under the willow by the causeway, and holding court with six or seven of the girls.” The maid tied all the petticoat laces together into one bow.

  Miranda pushed Kat into a chair, than knelt and drew on her stockings while Laurel brushed her mistress’s hair. “They’ve been walking around since daybreak and looking ever so serious. You would think they were planning the conquest of France!

  “What are they doing, and who is doing it? By all the saints! What is happening in my own house?”

  Both women giggled at once. Then Miranda answered. “Sir Brandon has organized his brother, my Jack, and the three squires. They are going to clean the moat.”

  “Have they lost their minds?”

  Chapter Twenty

  A festival air enveloped Bodiam Castle. Colorful banners already flew at the four corner towers in preparation for the wedding on the following day. Mouthwatering smells of fresh-baked breads and pastries wafted from the kitchens. Under the trees on the far side of the causeway, Montjoydirected the placement of trestle tables for the wedding feast. By the time Kat arrived on the scene, practically every living soul in the castle had gathered on the greensward, as if waiting for a masque to begin. Only the cooks and maids in the kitchens, and Sir Thomas, who had gone off hunting at first light, were missing.

  Under a spreading oak tree, Lady Celeste and Lady Alicia sat amid a bevy of cushions. Both ladies worked on their embroidery hoops while they surveyed the noisy, lively scene. Maids, stable boys, grooms, potboys, men-at-arms, all the knights’ retinues and most of the castle dogs ran up and down along the banks of the stinking green moat, shouting, laughing, barking and generally tumbling about. Polly, Belle’s nursemaid, shadowed the little girl, who frolicked with her skirts hiked up to her knees. Montjoy appeared to be thriving amid the happy chaos. His step had a certain spring to it; his voice rang with a firmer tone as he ordered about every servant within range.

  “Hey ho, Kat!” Celeste waved, beckoning to the mistress of the house. “Pray join us and enjoy the spectacle of your lord and mine getting foully wet.” Her dark eyes flashed pure merriment.

  Kat sank down onto one of the cushions. Columbine handed her a mug of morning ale and a cold piece of pigeon pie left over from last night’s supper.

  “Why didn’t someone tell me what they were going to do? They can’t seriously consider jumping into that water! ’Tis unhealthy. Even Sondra says so.”

  Lady Alicia threaded her needle. “Aye, but Brandon has set his mind to it. And ’tis a beautiful day for a swim.”

  Kat could only gape at her betrothed’s mother. Just then, Brandon, Guy, Jack and their three squires came around the far corner of the moat. All of them were dressed in their shabbiest clothing. Brandon waved at Kat. Gathering her skirts, she ran to stop them. ’Twas madness!

  She grasped Brandon’s arm. “I pray you, my lord, you cannot be serious! The water is foul.”

  “Aye, so we have noticed, Lady Kat,” Guy agreed in good humor.

  “After due consideration, we think the problem is a blocked sluice gate.” Brandon grinned at her like a schoolboy. “Jack thinks ’tis a dead sheep, but I personally favor a horse carcass.”

  The rest laughed at his observation.

  Kat looked from one to the other of them. “Brandon! You can’t send one of the squires down to clear it!” She wrung her hands. “The boy will perish from the vapors alone.”

  Brandon nodded, though his eyes twinkled. “I agree. ’Tis why I am going down myself.”

  Kat clasped the rose brooch that had become so much a part of her attire. “Brandon, you can’t! ’Twill kill you!”

  He stroked her cheek with his knuckle. “I have given you so little since I came here to woo you, consider this a wedding present.”

  “Lackwit! I don’t need an unblocked moaL” Lord help me, but I do need you! Brandon’s eyes turned a dark, fathomless blue.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Your pardon, my lady, but you do.”

  Brandon leaned closer; his breath fanned her cheek. “A kiss for luck?” he whispered.

  “I...I, oh, Brandon!” Throwing her arms around his neck, she sought his lips.

  He pressed her to him, caressing her mouth more than kissing it. His touch was a delicious sensation that sent swirls of liquid fire down to her toes. How long had it been since she had last savored his kiss? She returned his salute with a fervor that took her by surprise. She tingled to the tips of her fingers.

  Guy chuckled behind Brandon. “We burn daylight, big brother. And you should see the surprised look on Mother’s face.”

  Brandon gently withdrew, leaving Kat’s mouth burring.

  “Remember where we left off, my sweet,” Brandon murmured. “Methinks I will be in need of much remedy later today.”

  “Aye,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “One boon, I beg of you, Brandon.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Do not drink the water.”

  “I have no intention of drinking it, sweetheart. But I thank you for your concern. You must give me something sweeter to taste anon.” Brandon winked at her, then turned to his companions. “On for England, Great Harry and Saint George, my friends. Into the dreaded moat!”

  Whistling, the six strode off with a jaunty swing to their steps. Not content to sit under a tree and watch from a distance, Kat followed them as they made their way along the bank to the near end of the moat, where the fetid water was supposed to flow back into the Rother River. Many of the household crowded after Kat, eager to see the most unusual spectacle of three great knights bathing in their odoriferous moat.

  Upon reaching the source of the blockage, Brandon began stripping off his doublet, then his shirt. The other five followed suit. In no time, all six stood bare to the waist. Only their high-waisted hose and codpieces kept them from complete exposure. Around her, Kat heard the squeals and giggles of her entire flock of young, impressionable maids.

  “Ooh! Look at his shoulders!”

  “Stars! I’ve never beheld such men as them!”

  “I’ve never seen a man with so little on!”

  “Look at his...oh, my!”

  Kat glanced over her shoulder at the entranced girls. Appreciation and longing shone in their collective eyes. By the book, Brandon! You will corrupt all my girls with such a wanton display. Kat sighed as she admired him. Such a manly display! Though Guy and Jack both possessed fine sets of shoulders and rippling chest muscles, it was Brandon on whom she gazed with a hunger that she could barely mask. How fine he looked as he flexed and stretched! What powerful arms! And how good they felt around her in the dark of the night! She colored at the thought.

  Brandon saw Kat watching him. He flashed her another wink, and then jumped into the brackish water. The sma
ll flock of swans, who ruled the moat, ruffled their feathers, arched their necks and swam away with an air of outraged dignity.

  Belle dashed up and down the bank. “Is the water cold, Papa? Can you touch bottom?”

  The slime rolled down Brandon’s shoulders as he stood up. The water level was as high as his chest. “Aye, precious, but ’tis slipperier than an oyster to stand upon.”

  Making a face at the smell, he worked his way over to the blocked sluice gate. The stench grew worse as he stirred up the water. Most of the assemblage backed farther up the bank. Kat held her nose but stayed where she was.

  At the point of the trouble, Brandon paused as he felt around the bottom with his foot. Taking a deep breath, he disappeared under the surface. Kat found herself holding her breath, as well. He seemed to stay under for an awfully long time. Longer than Kat could manage. Perchance he had been overcome by the filthy muck.

  “Jack!” She implored, never taking her eyes off the spot where the water thrashed against the sluice.

  Jack’s splash answered her plea. Miranda materialized at Kat’s side. She too held her nose. “I have never seen the like!” she murmured, watching her love with adoration.

  Kat gave her a sidelong glance. “They are the greatest fools in England, and if Brandon dies, I will never forgive him for this day!”

  Miranda blinked. “’Tis not Jack’s fault!”

  “I was not speaking of Jack, but Brandon. What is keeping him down there?”

  Just as Jack prepared to dive under, Brandon’s head, then his shoulders broke the surface. Gray mud slithered off his arms. His beautiful gold hair was plastered with gray mud.

  He whooped as he shook the water out of his eyes. “We are both wrong, Jackanapes! ’Tis an ancient cow down there!” He tossed a muddy skull up onto the bank.

  The maids squealed louder but did not retreat. Belle squatted down beside the filthy thing to inspect it at closer range.

  “Belle! Don’t touch that!” Kat called to her.

  The child merely regarded her with mild surprise. “’Tis a great marvel. Francis will be so envious, because I saw it first!” She sat down next to the loathsome object, though Kat noticed that the child minded her warning.