Tori Phillips (30 page)

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 small 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.

Brandon slicked back his hair. “Mark! Pip! Get some ropes, and buckets. There is a lot down here that needs to be cleared.” Glancing at Kat, Brandon grinned. “My compliments, Lady Kat! You have provided us with excellent sport this day!”

Before she could tell him to leave the rest of the cow’s skeleton alone, Brandon dived again. Jack followed after. With a tremendous shout, Guy jumped into the muck, practically on top of the other two.

“’Tis too bad we cannot lower the water level, so they could work better,” Miranda observed.

Kat hugged her startled cousin. “You have hit upon the very idea, Miranda! Oh, what a clever one you are!”

Miranda gave her a lopsided grin. “I did?”

“Aye! Quickly, we must hurry! Columbine, Laurel, you others, come with me!” Lifting up her skirts, Kat dashed around to the corner of the moat where Montjoy commanded his small army of potboys.

“Montjoy! We must take the water out of the moat!”

Montjoy slowly raised his thinning brows. “Of course, my lady,” he intoned. “My very thought, indeed. Do you have a magic spell?”

“Buckets!” Kat gasped, arriving at his side. “Tubs! Pitchers! Basins! Bowls! Anything that will hold water. We will form two lines of people—one at the sluice where Sir Brandon is working and one at the other end where the river gate is.”

“Very good, my lady,” replied Montjoy with a puzzled frown.

“Oh, don’t you see, Montjoy? ’Twill be a line of brimming buckets from the moat to the river, and then empty ones back again. I should have thought of this a year ago when the problem first became noticeable.”

A beatific smiled wreathed Montjoy’s lined face. Kat could not remember when the old man had looked so overjoyed. “An excellent device, my lady!”

With that, Montjoy moved faster than Kat had thought possible. The old steward literally shocked the troops of men, boys and maids into action. With more shouts and yells, everyone dashed off at once—some to fetch the items needed, others to form the lines under Montjoy’s direction. Belle, seeing the increased activity around her, left the decayed skull on the grass and promptly joined the bucket line by the sluice.

Kat approached Francis and his little band of young admirers under his willow. “How are you?” she asked.

Rolling his eyes, he answered with a wide grin. “Feeling much better, Lady Katherine, though I wish I could help my lord. I am a dull sluggard lying here.”

How the boy reminded her of Brandon! Kat resisted the urge to swoop down and give him a big hug and kiss. ’Twould not be proper to shower such familiar attentions upon a mere page, especially not in front of his impressionable audience.

Instead, Kat asked, “I wonder if you could organize your company here to bring out food and casks of ale for everyone? ’Twill be a long day’s toil, but the sun is shining in a friendly sky, and merry hearts make the work lighter.”

Francis inclined his head gravely. “’Twill be an honor to serve you, my lady,” he replied.

Kat’s lips twitched. “Good, Francis! With Montjoy otherwise engaged, you are in charge of our picnic.”

“Aye, my lady.” He turned his bright blue gaze upon his three admirers. “Now, Pansy, you and Rose here...”

With a grin, Kat left him. It made her heart swell with love to watch him. No wonder Brandon was so proud of the boy! A small dart of pain struck her heart. How she wished she could give Brandon another son like Francis! Or any child for that matter! She pushed away the idea. She did not care what the king might say tomorrow, when Sir Thomas voiced his displeasure at the match. For today, Brandon was still hers, and she would savor that possession to the fullest, even if her lord currently was covered in slime.

“Oh, la, la, Kat! You are a wonder-worker!” Celeste complimented her, when Kat rejoined the ladies in the comparative quiet under their tree. “I do not think I have seen Guy in such a motley state in all my life!
Quel amusement!”

Lady Alicia smiled with maternal satisfaction. “My boys have always enjoyed playing in the mud. Indeed, as children, they were happiest when dirtiest.”

“Ah! But ’tis the bathing afterward that I think I like better!” Celeste gave a wicked grin. “Oh, la, la! Guy will be in
my
power then!”

Interesting idea! Kat made a mental note to start kettles heating bathwater after the noon dinner break.

Lady Alicia tapped Celeste with her fan. “You are a shameless creature, my dear!” she teased. “And you, a dignified mother!”

“
Oui!
” Celeste agreed, not looking the least bit ashamed. “How do you think I became a mother in the first place?”

Kat joined in their laughter, but it had a bitter taste in her mouth. More than ever she wanted to become a member of this loving family—a far cry from anything she had ever known. If only Sir Thomas weren’t so fixated on an heir! If only Brandon could love her for herself!

Quit sighing for the moon! Make merry today and let tomorrow take care of itself. You still have this night.

Fenton observed Wormsley through slitted eyelids. The slug had become a millstone around his neck. No one knew they were back on Bodiam’s lands, unless Wormsley escaped from Fenton and babbled his master’s intent.

The churl must disappear permanently. His usefulness was long over. Fenton wrinkled his nose. The boy stank in his foul clothing, and he positively reeked of fear. Fenton had grown quite weary of his whining company. He cast another malevolent glare at the youth, who dozed fitfully within arm’s reach. No witnesses to point an accusing finger at Sir Fenton Scantling, Lady Katherine’s most loving nephew, when Sir Brandon Cavendish was mysteriously cut down on his wedding day.

Marriage! The very word conjured up a reddish haze before Fenton’s eyes. A month ago it had seemed entirely possible to nip this impending disaster in the bud. A poisonous word here and there, a suggestion of foul character whispered in the right ears, and the match would be annulled by the parties involved. Except the biggest party involved in this match was the king, and he was a very determined one. A pox on that tub of royal lard! Fenton ground his teeth.

Tomorrow was the wedding day, and Cavendish’s last upon this earth. Fenton idly wondered how the man was passing his few remaining hours. He snickered to himself.

Wormsley yawned. “My lord? You spoke?”

Why not do it now and be done with it?

Wormsley rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Is it day?” He squinted up toward the hole above them. “Are they out again to look for us? My lord? Are you well?”

Fenton stood. “Aye, Tod, my friend, I have never felt fitter.”

The youth pulled himself up to his feet. His knees knocked against Fenton as he did so. Fenton recoiled. ’Twas bad luck to touch a condemned man.

“Can we leave now, my lord? I perish with hunger and thirst.”

Fenton slipped the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder. “My very thought indeed.”

So saying, he pulled himself out of their hiding place. Once in the open air, Fenton inhaled deeply, enjoying the freshness of the morning.

“My lord?” Standing at the bottom of the hollow, Wormsley extended his hand to Fenton.

How disgusting the boy looked! Fenton unstrapped his crossbow. From his quiver, he selected a bolt. Taking his time, he slid the arrow into the shaft of the weapon.

Wormsley’s eyes grew rounder. “My...my lord? Do you see an enemy?” Tod asked in a strangled voice.

A smile curled Fenton’s lips. “Aye, Tod, I do.”

The youth swallowed. “Is it Cavendish?” he whispered.

Fenton’s smile widened. “Nay, Tod. I am looking at him even as we speak.”

Wormsley backed up against the side of the trunk. “But...but you look at m-me, sir,” he stammered.

Fenton nodded. “How observant, my lad!” He drew back the bowstring and notched it into place. Lifting the weapon, he sighted it down into the hiding place. “You have my complete attention.”

Wormsley dropped to his knees. “M-mean you me, my lord? I...I have d-done you no wrong. You cannot mean to k-kill me, sir!”

A thrilling sensation of supreme power washed over Fenton. ’Twas much better than drinking the best cask of Canary wine. His finger touched the trigger. Wormsley’s shaking body filled his sight.

Wormsley buried his face in his arms. “Sweet Jesu, save me.”

The idiot presented his entire back to Fenton’s arrow.

“I shall see you in hell, Tod!” Fenton squeezed the trigger. The bolt barely had time to sing its death song before it struck home.

Without a whimper, Wormsley crumpled to the ground. A dark stain immediately spread across his back. The dry leaves soaked up the blood. At this close distance, the bolt had probably shot straight through the vermin’s body.

Fenton shouldered his bow, then swung to the opposite tree and from there to the ground. Great Jove, it felt good to be able to stand up and move unfettered again. A lovely morning! Humming a little tune to himself, he made his way through the tangled briars. The great oak and its grisly secret were quickly out of sight and mind.

“’Tis clear, my lord!” From his position at the closed river gate, Mark called to Brandon.

Brandon’s mud-caked face literally split with his grin. He swept his gaze around the busy scene. For the first time in several hundred years, the silted bottom of the moat lay exposed to the waning rays of the late afternoon sun. The dispossessed swans had been forced to seek comfort on the bank. There, most of them had gone to sleep, tucking their heads under their wings, leaving one cantankerous male on guard. He hissed every time Belle crept close to the flock.

The household servants lay in tired heaps on the greensward, exhausted by their successful labors to drain the watercourse. Several wagons drew up next to the pile of debris: bones, pieces of rusted plate armor, oddments of kitchen pots and utensils, a rotten heap of mud-preserved leaves, broken crockery and lumps of indistinguishable metal. Within the hour, the debris would be trundled away to the castle’s refuse pit.

Brandon’s grin widened as he spied Kat running toward him. Her hair, like a burnished copper cloud, billowed unbound and free about her face. The hem of her plain green gown was soaked with the muck. Her feet were bare like his. Mud splotches decorated her bodice, her sleeves, and speckled her fair face. All in all, Brandon didn’t think he had ever seen her looking more beautiful than she was this minute.

“’Tis done?” she asked breathlessly.

“Give the word, and Mark will open the gate. Then we shall see if the river will do its part.” He chuckled. “On such a grand occasion, there should be music and fireworks.”

Kat tossed her head. Her eyes sparkled. “I do not care for the trappings, so long as our labors have not been in vain.”