Tori Phillips (23 page)

“Leave Kat to me,” he snapped, cursing Francis’s promiscuous mother. “Let Lady Bardolph go to the devil.”

Jack shook his head. “Every man goes to the devil in his own way.” He grabbed Brandon by the shoulder. “If you persist in coming with me on the morrow, you could be killed.”

Brandon nodded. “Aye, that thought is uppermost in my mind at present I pray God to let me live till Midsummer’s Day. After that, I care not a whit what Lady Bardolph might say.”

That night, Brandon’s fierce lovemaking took Kat by surprise. When he kissed her, he could not taste enough of her, leaving her lips bruised by his ardor. He clasped her tightly against him, as if he could meld their bodies into one being. When they came together, the turbulence of their passion swirled around them, carrying them to greater heights than before. A hot tide of possession raged through Brandon. Afterward, he cradled Kat against him, whispering soothing endearments.

“Is something amiss?” she asked softly.

He answered in a ragged voice. “Now that I have found you, I fear to lose you.”

She snuggled against him. “Never, my love. Till death do we part.”

A small tremor shivered through him. “Let us not speak of death tonight, sweet Katherine. His grisly visage has no place in our bed.” He smothered his last words on her lips, as he took her mouth again with the hunger of a starving man.

The pewter gray light of early morning had barely broken when Brandon slid quietly out of bed. Moving with deliberate stealth, he pulled on his hose, shirt, doublet and soft leather boots. Before he left the chamber, he took a long moment to gaze at Kat while she slept. Her glorious hair flowed across the pillow like a river of copper. Her lush moist lips still showed signs of his passion.

He went down on one knee beside her. “Remember me always, my love,” he whispered in her ear. “I carry your love in my heart. You are my life.”

With infinite tenderness, he brushed his lips across her love-swollen ones. She stirred in her sleep. Wrenching himself away from her side, Brandon stole out the door.

Returning to his own chamber in the north tower, he found Christopher dressing Jack in a light hauberk of chain mail, over which he fastened a thick leather jerkin. Holding Brandon’s battle gear, Mark stood waiting.

“Methought I would have to ferret you out of Miranda’s arms this morning,” Brandon jested as he doused his face in cold water.

Jack snorted. “I have turned a new leaf, Cavendish. The lady is an innocent in the ways of the world. As a honest gentleman, I will wait until our wedding night before I sleep with her.”

Brandon winked at the squires. “’Tis a good thing we have witnesses to your words, Jack of Hearts, for I shall hold you to them. This is a day to remember, when you did not take advantage of a lady’s charms.”

Jack glowered. “Miranda has agreed to be my wife, and I will honor her with all due respect. I charge you to do the same.”

Brandon thought of Kat as Mark buckled on his leather thigh protectors. Since they were legally betrothed, and the lady not a virgin, ’twas no dishonor to lie with her before the wedding day. Though he admired Jack’s restraint, Brandon carried no guilt for his time with Kat. If, by chance, Scantling killed him, he had, at least, savored a few moments of supreme happiness with her. A man could not ask for more. The next few hours were in God’s hands.

Jack adjusted his mail cowl over his shoulders. “Ready to go a-hunting, Brandon?”

Brandon tightened his sword belt. “Aye,” he answered brusquely.
Kat, I love thee.
“To the stables, Jack. We burn daylight.”

The sun’s warm yellow rays peeked over the tops of the forest, promising another fine summer’s day. In a few terse sentences, Brandon outlined the search plan to the dozen men-at-arms. They would move in a wide swath through the wood, the men keeping each other in sight As the bait, Brandon would ride foremost in the center of the line. ’Twas like a boar hunt, he thought as he swung himself into Windchaser’s saddle. Nothing more. His heart thudded in a cadence with the charger’s hoofs as they trotted across the causeway.

On the far side of the tilled fields, Jack and Brandon deployed the men into a single wide line. The two squires took their positions in the rear where they could keep an eye on their masters, in case one of them was unhorsed or injured. Brandon pulled his mailed hood over his head. Then, standing in his stirrups, he saluted Jack. In like manner, Jack returned Brandon’s salute. Brandon signaled Jess to sound the hunting horn, in hopes that Scantling would hear it and think that Brandon was stalking a deer.

Unexpectedly, another horn answered from over the rise.

Wheeling his charger, Brandon held up his hand to halt the advance of the line. Who dared to hunt on Kat’s lands without her permission—unless the king had come early? Jack pulled Thunder to a stop beside Brandon.

“Who the devil is that?” he asked.

Standing in his stirrups, Brandon shaded his eyes. “I cannot see them. They are on the other side of the ridge.” He whistled to Mark.

“Aye, my lord?” The youth’s brown eyes blazed with excitement

Leaning across his saddle, Brandon gripped his squire by the shoulder. “Take Jess, and ride to the top of yon hill—to the top, only. If you disappear over that rise, I will flay you within an inch of your life this evening. Do you hear?”

Mark grinned with enthusiasm. “Aye, my lord.”

Brandon wished he had spent more time teaching Mark the value of patience and discretion. “See if you can determine who answered our call. Report back to me at once.”

Mark pulled on his reins. “I’ll race the wind, my lord.”

Brandon held him back for a moment. “If you cannot identify them, return immediately, and we will proceed as a group. Do not, under any circumstances, go over the rise.”

Mark nodded, then spurred his horse into a gallop. The chestnut gelding’s long tail streamed out behind him as they flew over the turf. Mark circled Jess, then the two sped up the ridge. Brandon watched them with a growing sense of unease.

The distant riders stopped on the crest of the low hill. Brandon held his breath. His hand closed around his sword’s hilt. Then Jess lifted his horn to his lips and blew the Cavendish call to arms. Mark rose up in his saddle, waved to Brandon then kicked his mount into action. Both riders disappeared over the crest and out of sight.

“God’s teeth! I’ll have both their hides!” Goading Windchaser into his mile-eating gallop, Brandon tore down the line of men after his squire and huntsman.

Jack fell in behind him. The rest of the company thundered after the knights. As they dashed over the ridge, Brandon summoned the Cavendish war cry from the depths of his throat.

Halfway down the other side of the hill, he jerked Windchaser’s reins. The warhorse reared, pawing the air. Brandon stayed astride. Below him on the road, a large group of horsemen surrounded several wagons. A red banner, bearing the likeness of a snarling wolf’s head, snapped in the morning breeze. Jack turned Thunder in a wide arc, until he drew abreast of the prancing, snorting Windchaser.

“What ho, Cavendish?” he panted, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.

A shadow of annoyance crossed Brandon’s features. “Sheathe your sword, Jack. ’Tis my parents who have arrived.”

Chapter Sixteen

A
tall, blond horseman broke away from the visitors and charged up the hill. Despite his ambivalent feelings at seeing his family come to Bodiam, a grin crossed Brandon’s face as his younger brother rode toward him.

“Good morrow, Brandon!” Guy Cavendish shouted. “We have come to see a great rarity—you as a bridegroom!”

As the huge charcoal gray horse drew alongside Brandon’s, Guy reached out and clasped his sibling’s arm with affection. “How did you know we were here? Mother wanted it to be a surprise.”

Brandon’s lips twitched with a rueful smile. “Believe me when I tell you, I have never been more surprised in my life than now, little brother. How long have you been on the road?”

“Ever since the king’s letter arrived telling of your betrothal. We began packing that very day, and here we are in good time.”

Jack joined the brothers, slapping Guy on the back. “Well met, Archangel! Welcome to midsummer madness!”

Guy curled his lip at the nickname. Brandon laughed at his brother’s discomfort. Guy, younger by eleven months, had a face so finely featured that he was often called “beautiful,” an adjective Guy particularly detested.

“I see that madness has already touched your knavish countenance, Jackanapes,” Guy retorted, delivering Jack a light blow to the shoulder. “You look more wicked than when we last met.”

Brandon quirked an eyebrow at Stafford. “And well he should. Jack has stolen a lady’s heart.”

Guy snorted. “What else is new?”

“Nay, Guy. ’Tis for real this time. Our Jack of Hearts intends to bind himself in lawful matrimony.”

“’Tis true?” Guy asked the grinning lover. When Jack nodded, he threw back his head, laughing loudly. “You speak aright, Brandon. There must be some madness in this southern air. I long to see Stafford’s wedding almost as much as yours.”

Turning their horses, the three rode down toward the wagons.

Guy tapped Brandon with his crop. “Be warned. Mother brought the children,” he said in an undertone.

Brandon’s heart slammed against his chest. Not having seen LaBelle and Francis in the three months since Easter, Brandon longed to hold them again. On the other hand, he had not told Kat of his offspring. Things were going to be very ticklish this afternoon at Bodiam Castle.

“Papa!” A bright blond sprite with flying braids stood up in one of the wagons and held out her arms to him. “Let me ride with you! Poor Windy! He looks full out of breath! Papa, here!”

Brandon’s face spread into a broad smile as he reined in his horse by the wagon’s side. Leaning over, he gathered his nine-year-old daughter into his arms. Her butterfly kisses covered his cheeks. She smelled of sunshine and lavender. “You’ve grown some more, Belle!” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Soon you will be too heavy for me to pick up!”

“Ha!” she replied, snapping her fingers under his nose. She draped her legs on either side of Brandon’s saddle. “Hello, Windy! Are you glad to see me?” She leaned over the pommel to pat the charger’s sleek neck. The horse perked up his ears at the familiar sound of her voice.

Brandon looked over his daughter’s head into his mother’s blue eyes. “Welcome, Mother,” he said softly. “I see you’ve come to do me in.”

Lady Alicia Cavendish dimpled in return. “You look fit, Brandon, but methinks a little discomfited. I gather you have not yet told your lady about the children?”

Leaning down into the wagon, he kissed his mother’s smooth brow. Lady Alicia may be near fifty in age, but she was twenty in her spirits. “Things have been... complicated of late,” he murmured.

“Bonjour, mon beau-frère!”
Lady Celeste Cavendish, Guy’s irrepressible French wife, tilted her face up to him. “Do I not get a kiss, as well. Eh? Or have I grown too fat for your notice?”

Brandon’s eyes sparkled as he regarded his petite sister-in-law. “Your girth promises more good fortune for my brother. But I am not sure I should be kissing a married woman, and a pregnant one at that!”

“Ma foi!”
she replied, grinning with a mischievous twinkle. “Methinks you have done such a scandalous thing before, Brandon,
non?”

“You know me too well,” he replied, kissing her. “I am surprised that Guy would let you travel so far. When is the baby due?”

Celeste shrugged one shoulder, then smiled at him. “Ha! Guy could not keep me away, and I am not due until the autumn—again. Besides, I intend to dance the night into dawn at your wedding,
beau-fiare.
Petit Francis has agreed to partner me, eh,
mon cher?”
she asked, putting her arm around a serious boy of nine, who was also blond and blue eyed.

“Oui,”
he replied, bowing as formally as the space in the wagon allowed.
“Avec plaisir.
’Twill be my pleasure,” he added.

Brandon nodded. “Your French accent has much improved, Francis. I am well pleased.”

The boy smiled, basking in Brandon’s approval. “I am glad to see you again, sir,” he said quietly.

“And I am likewise glad to see you, Francis,” Brandon gravely replied.

Brandon desperately wanted to call Francis “my son,” but the boy had no idea of the kinship, despite his obvious Cavendish looks. As far as Francis knew, he had been sent by his parents to Brandon to be fostered as a page. Later, when the boy was older, he would learn the duties of a knight by serving as Brandon’s squire. Brandon sighed inwardly. Perchance Kat could do what Lady Alicia and Celeste had been unable to accomplish in the past fifteen months—make Francis feel at home.

“Would you like to ride on Windchaser, as well?” he asked his son.

Belle wrinkled her nose. “Francis is the one who is getting too heavy. Windy won’t like it at all.” Belle had not taken well to Francis’s arrival at Wolf Hall. Since then, she had baffled the shy lad by alternately adoring him, then plaguing him to death.

Brandon gave her a little squeeze around her middle where he held her in place. “Windchaser has a strong, broad back. He could carry Francis easily. Of course, if you were truly concerned for my poor horse, you could get back into the wagon.”

Belle sighed dramatically, so that her shoulders went up and down. “Very well,” she conceded with a grand air. “You may join us, Francis. But watch that you don’t kick Windy.”

Extending a hand to the boy, Brandon pulled Francis up behind him. “I see you
have
grown much, Francis.”

Lady Alicia chuckled. “He has kept our village cobbler busy this spring.”

Sticking out one foot, Francis waggled it. “New shoes for your wedding, my lord,” he boasted with pride of ownership.

Belle flipped her braids over her shoulders. “Ha! His feet look like shovels. That is why Grandmama must cover them quickly. I have got a new dress.”