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“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!
Chapter Four
“Fenton lied!” With a cry that mixed together anger, surprise and despair, Miranda fell backward onto the thick mattress of the ornate canopied bed she shared with Kat.
“That is old news, indeed.” Seating herself on the window seat, Kat watched the lengthening purple shadows of twilight steal across Sondra’s herb garden below. “Fenton would gag on his own tongue if he ever told a complete truth.” She traced the golden petals of the rose brooch still pinned to her bodice.
“Sir Brandon is a far cry from a schoolboy.” Miranda sighed.
“His maturity was obvious from the first moment,” Kat replied, musing upon Sir Brandon’s companion.
What a bold look Sir John Stafford had! Never in all her days had any man gazed at Kat in quite that way. The memory of his dark blue eyes and the manner in which they had appraised her all during dinner sent prickles of a nameless desire dancing up her thighs. She squeezed her legs together. Kat couldn’t decide if she should feel complimented or insulted. As Lady Katherine Fitzhugh, she would have chided Sir John for his lack of manners. After all, she was going to be married in three weeks to Sir Brandon.
Sir Brandon Cavendish. Aye, he was another breed all together, and one Kat did not find pleasing. Too much bowing and scraping. Too many flowery speeches. She mistrusted a man who sounded as if he both dined and supped upon almond sweetmeats. A honeyed tongue might well conceal a vicious temperament. Closing her eyes, Kat rested her head against the cool plastered wall behind her. No thank you! She had had her share—and more—of that sort of husband. May Fitzhugh the Furious rot in hell!
On the other hand, as Lady Katherine’s shy “cousin,” Kat had been thrilled by Lord Stafford’s obvious attentions. What woman would not? So tall, so fine looking, and what a delightful voice—especially when he chanced to murmur something softly into her ear, such as “Please pass the salt.” Kat sighed. How was that bold piece of brass to know that all during the savory course he was mentally undressing the wrong woman?
Kat ducked her head lest Miranda see the smile that played about her lips. Really! John Stafford was too deliciously wicked by half! Kat must be on her guard around him. Oh, yes! She would watch every move he made. Kat sighed again with pleasure at the thought.
“Kat! You have not heard one word that I have said!” Miranda hurled one of the stuffed bolsters at her cousin.
Kat pulled herself back to reality and caught the pillow before it sailed out the open window. “How now, coz?”
“Aye, that is the question indeed!” Miranda pulled off her headdress, then shook out her hair. “While you were woolgathering, I asked you—several times, in fact—what are we going to do now?”
Kat knotted her brows. “Aye, a good question.”
“’Tis no point in pursuing this counterfeit any longer, Kat.” Miranda carefully lifted off the swan necklace from around her neck. The last ray of the departing sun caught itself within one of the square-cut diamonds. The jewel flashed a rare light about the room. “Tomorrow, you must confess our little game to those fine lords, and pray that they see the mirthful side of it. Here.” She held out the costly betrothal gift to Kat.
Kat blinked. So soon? But she knew nothing of Sir Brandon, save that he had a somewhat handsome face, if only he didn’t look like a sick sheep about the eyes! She must have more time in which to judge the true measure of her husband-to-be. A few hours between the late dinner and the cold supper had not been sufficient. In fact, Kat could not remember a single sensible thing that Sir Brandon had said.
Sir John, on the other hand, had praised her well-laid table, the quality of her ale, the good manners of her servants, the furnishings and appointments of the hall, the cleanliness of the stables, the size of her tilled fields, and he spiced the conversation with a few well-chosen compliments to her person—that is, to “Miranda.” One would almost believe it was Sir John Stafford who had come to claim her manor and herself.
“Heigh-ho, Kat!” Miranda swung the necklace back and forth on her fingers. “A penny for your thoughts, or would a pearly swan suffice?”
Kat shook herself, then stood up. “Keep the bauble,” she tossed over her shoulder to her cousin. She withdrew a stick of waxed candlewick from a jug on the mantel, lighted one end from the low fire on the hearth, then applied the flame to several candles around the room. A warm, golden glow pushed back the night shadows creeping into the far corners of the chamber. “Sir Brandon gave the necklace to you. He would take it amiss if I appeared wearing it.”
“But he gave it to me only because he thinks I am the Lady Katherine.” Miranda fingered the delicate links of the gold chain. “’Tis truly a beautiful gift,” she breathed.
Kat touched Sir John’s rose brooch. “Aye, you speak the truth,” she murmured. I would have you wear this close to your heart, he had said. And surely her heart nearly burst from its accustomed cage to answer aye! Kat drew in a steadying breath. What devilment had gotten into her this evening?
“Aye, ’tis beautiful, and it looks far better upon your bosom than on mine. Keep it, I say, Miranda, and let the matter rest.”
