Tori Phillips (21 page)

Licking his lips, Wormsley looked over his shoulder into the woods. “I dare not say, my lord,” he replied hoarsely.

Jack grabbed him. “Methinks you would answer very well to a whipping,” he threatened, though he had no intention of doing so.

The boy blanched but held his ground. “’Tis no more than what I get now, my lord,” he muttered.

Jack relaxed his hold on the servant. “How now? Does Scantling beat you?”

Wormsley hung his head. “Aye, sir.” He licked his lips again.

Stepping back, Jack observed the boy closely. He detected a light greenish tint under one eye, the mark of a bruise almost healed. “Is this abuse your master’s custom?”

Wormsley scanned the deep-shadowed forest again. “Not until this past week, my lord. Ever since he discovered his aunt’s perfidy.”

Jack nodded. “You mean her trick with the nettles and pepper?”

Wormsley sighed. “Aye, my lord. Sir Fenton was much vexed by that, and flew into a rage.”

“And you became his convenient whipping post,” Jack added. “Why do you stay in his employ?”

The youth shrugged. “I’ve no place else to go, sir. And this new behavior of my master’s has come upon him like a sudden fit.” He lowered his voice. “Now there is more deviltry afoot.”

Jack drew closer. “What do you mean?”

Wormsley glanced around, then gulped. “Sir Fenton is much besieged by his creditors.”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “This is old news, and twice told.”

“My master tried to dissuade both his aunt and my Lord Cavendish from their marriage.”

“Aye, and he made a dog’s breakfast of that, as well. Sir Brandon and the lady have become most loving friends.” Jack allowed a small grin.
Even as we speak.

“When my master came to Bodiam, ’twas to persuade his aunt to give him the guardianship of the estate before the marriage could take place. He even had a paper for her to sign.”

Jack uttered a curse under his breath. “Shrewd knave! For a tuppence, I’d toss him into that reeking moat.”

Wormsley gripped Jack’s arm. “But now Sir Fenton grows worse and worse. Since Lady Katherine played that waggish trick upon us, his mind has become unhinged.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me all, and spare no details.”

Wormsley’s voice sank even lower. “He thinks upon nothing but murder, my lord.”

“God’s death!”

Wormsley crossed himself. “Amen to that, my lord. After we recovered from the nettles, he rode us hard back here. We now live in beggarly circumstances in a small abandoned woodcutter’s hut over yonder. My master says little, except to curse me. At night I hear him whisper ‘murder’ as he sits staring into the fire. ’Tis enough to make my blood run cold. Every day, he takes to the wood with his crossbow. And, my lord, he is a fair shot with it. Last night, I overheard him mumble something about Sir Brandon meeting with a hunting accident.”

“Jesu!” Jack stared at Wormsley. The servant’s eyes gave no lie to his words.

“I have not known what do, my lord,” the youth continued. “Indeed, I am afeard for my own skin. My master is much changed.”

Jack thought quickly. Fenton lurking in the woods with a crossbow was threat enough, but his evil intention would bear no weight in a court of law unless he acted upon it. Nor did Jack even know where he could find the vermin. Bodiam’s forest was Fenton’s home ground. He must know every nook and cranny of it. Jack scanned the silent trees as Wormsley had done earlier. The madman could be sitting on a limb within bow shot this minute. No wonder Wormsley looked like a frightened coney rabbit!

Jack patted him on the shoulder. Under his shirt and jerkin, the youth trembled. “Take heart, Wormsley, for you have found a friend in me. Keep a good eye on your master, and send me word at Bodiam if you learn more of his plans. I know ’twill require much courage, but, I swear, all will come out right in the end.”

Wormsley exhaled a sigh of relief. “I am your man, my lord.”

“Aye, and so will you be in truth, when this adventure is over. My word on it.”

The lad nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I would shake your hand, but we may be watched. Keep a good eye—and, Wormsley, sleep lightly with a knife under your pillow.”

He nodded. “I already do so, my lord.”

Jack gathered up Thunder’s reins, then swung himself into the saddle. “God be with you, lad,” he said quietly.

“Aye, my lord. And you.” Wormsley glanced again at the trees.

Jack urged Thunder into a trot, going in the same direction as before. If Scantling had observed the encounter, Jack didn’t want him to think that his servant had betrayed his evil intent. Best that he believe they had merely exchanged a few words on Wormsley’s health, and nothing more. A half mile later, Jack turned his horse into the wood where he spurred Thunder into a brisk canter back to the castle.

“’Tis harder to put you back together, than undoing you in the first place, Kat,” Brandon remarked as he fumbled with the laces of her bodice.

“Aye, my love,” she replied, still basking in the afterglow of his more intimate touch. “But ’twould shock my maids should I come down to supper with the back of my gown hanging open.”

“Aye, those sweet, innocent maids of yours.” He pulled the laces tighter, then tied them together. “Methinks we must see them married soon, so that we need not go tiptoeing around our own home.”

A warm smile danced on Kat’s lips. How she liked to hear him talk of “we” and “our home.” Aloud she changed the subject. “There is one thing that we must speak of before we leave this room.”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Brandon turned her around to face him. “And what is that, pray tell?” He kissed her on the nose. “Are you afraid that I have compromised your virtue? That my intentions are not honorable?”

“Nay,” she replied. She smoothed out the creases of his doublet over his shoulders. Such magnificent shoulders! she thought. “I trust your intentions to be the soul of honor.”
Even though you have not said you loved me.
She pushed that niggling thought away.

He took her hand in his. “My intentions are most honorable, and always have been.”

She tilted her head. “Even when you swore you were Sir John Stafford?”

The lines around his eyes crinkled with a smile. “I never
swore
to that, sweetheart. I merely introduced myself by that name.” He kissed her fingers. “Besides, Jack is an honorable man under all his posturing.”

“’Tis Jack, I speak of,” Kat continued, enjoying the attention his lips paid to her hand. “And Miranda.”

“Ah, the hidden lady. What of them?”

“When we leave this room, who are we, my lord? Kat and Brandon, or Sir John and Miranda?”

Brandon nodded. “I see your point Jack knows that your cousin is Miranda.”

“She is in love with him, I fear.”

Brandon gave her a wry smile. “So is half of Henry’s court.”

“Does Sir John merely dally with her affections in your name, or is there something deeper?” Brandon kissed her other hand. He made this serious conversation most difficult to continue.

“Methinks that Jack has met his match at long last. He swears he will wed the lady, if she’ll have him.”

Standing on tiptoe, Kat kissed his chin. “Do you think he speaks the truth? She has no dowry of her own, but what I will give her. No lands, no titles.”

Brandon grinned. “Jack is rich enough in everything but love. In that area, he has been sorely lacking ever since I have known him. He has played the lover well, but with a false face. Never, in fifteen years, have I seen him as he is with your gentle cousin. Aye, he speaks the truth this time.”

“Thank the sweet angels for that!” Kat rewarded Brandon with another kiss on his chin. “Then this is what I think we must do. Let us continue our sham before the household. If we do not, and Miranda learns the truth, I fear she will indeed enter a nunnery to hide her mortification. If I tell her that she
must
continue as me, she will do it, for she is a most loyal and loving kinswoman.”

“And Jack will have his chance to repair any damage he may have done to her. I like this plan, sweet Kat. To seal the bargain, give me a kiss.”

“Aye, my lord,” she said, and sighed with pleasure. “I was waiting for your invitation.”

“Miranda! Open this door! I am fast running out of patience; and clean clothes.” Kat rattled the latch. From the top of the stairs, Brandon waved at her before he descended to the hall. She heard his whistling echo down the stairwell.

The stout oak door opened a crack. Miranda’s pale face peeked out. “You are alone?” she asked, looking up and down the corridor.

“Aye, coz.” Kat pushed her way past Miranda.

The bedclothes looked as if her cousin had fought off a dozen demons in the middle of the night. Kat knelt by the cold fireplace. “The evening draws near. You will catch a chill,” she observed as she laid a few logs on the iron grate.

Miranda sank into the window seat. “I care not,” she replied listlessly.

This mooning about has gone on long enough. Tis time I shake Miranda up a bit—for her own good.

While she considered what she should say, Kat struck a flint to the kindling under the logs, then blew on the smoking twist of straw until it burst into flame. Standing, she brushed the soot from her hands.

Kat took a deep breath. “Fie upon you, Miranda! I am most amazed, and do not know what to say!”

Miranda blinked. Intense astonishment touched her pale face. “How now, coz? Why do you speak so sharply to me?”

Kat summoned a withering glare. She put her hands on her hips. “And so I should! You have sat here the whole day, sighing and weeping for love—
over my betrothed husband!”

“Oh!” Miranda covered her mouth with her hand. Two bright red patches spotted her white cheeks.

Kat continued as she paced the floor with long strides. “Aye, you should blush for shame! ‘Tis six days and a bit until my wedding, yet you have acted as if ’twas you who had been wronged by Sir Brandon, and not me! What care will he have for you come Midsummer’s Day?”

Miranda’s face crumpled as she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands.

“Sweet Kat, I had forgot! Forgive me, I beg you. ’Twas a wicked madness that overtook me yesterday. Truly, I meant no harm.”

Kat sat down beside her and drew her weeping cousin into her arms. “There, there, dear Miranda. No harm is done, save to your pride. Sir...Brandon has been at sixes and sevens all day, thinking that he has offended you—meaning me, of course.”

Miranda lifted her tearstained face. “Truly?” she whispered.

Kat pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to her cousin. “As true as fire burns. Here, blow! Indeed, Sir...John only just told me that his friend felt so badly over you—meaning me—that he punished himself by drinking himself into a dead stupor. Now his head is paying the price.”

“Poor Brandon!” Miranda murmured. “He should bathe it with witch hazel.”

“I believe he went for a ride.” Kat bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Sweet, gentle Miranda! “But he will return for supper, and there he hopes that you—meaning me—will forgive him, and make him merry again.”

Miranda shook her head. “Nay, Kat, I cannot.”

“Why?” What foolish idea had Miranda taken now, Kat wondered.

“‘Tis time to confess ourselves, Kat. Indeed, methinks ’tis past time and a half. We should have done it weeks ago.”

Kat brushed back Miranda’s hair from her face. “Before you fell in love with my Lord Cavendish?” she asked gently.

Miranda’s lip quivered. “Aye. I cannot help it, Kat. He has spoken so sweetly to me, and paid me more attention than I have ever dreamed possible.”

Kat hugged her again. “’Tis all my fault, I agree. I should have sought a husband for you years ago. Yet I selfishly craved the comfort of your company.”

“And willingly I gave it, Kat.” Miranda blew her nose again.

“Aye, and I was so at peace, that I thought you were, too. Since marriage was so hateful to me, I forgot how much you wanted that blessed state. Forgive my blindness.”

Miranda sighed. “Nay, you gave me your friendship and a good home. I have been content.”

Kat arched an eyebrow. “Until two handsome blond knights rode through our gateway?”

Miranda nodded. “Aye,” she replied mournfully. A fresh storm of tears threatened.

Kat wiped Miranda’s face. “Be of good cheer, coz. Have I not promised you a husband yet?”

“Aye, but...but, Kat, I want yours!” she wailed.

Kat rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Should she tell Miranda the truth now, or—?

The pounding of hooves over the causeway bridge stopped further conversation. Miranda raised her eyes to meet Kat’s. Both women leaned out of the window. Below, Jack dismounted before his huge horse had come to a complete halt. After tossing the reins to a startled stable boy, he bounded up the stairway toward the hall.

“’Tis my Lord Cavendish,” Miranda gasped. “Look at his stern expression!”

“God shield us! There must be something amiss!” Kat jumped up, pulling Miranda along with her. “Quickly! Let us get you washed and dressed. As mistress of the house, ’tis your duty to find out.”

“But, Kat,” Miranda pleaded as her cousin pulled off her dressing robe. “Shouldn’t we—?”

“Nay!” Kat pushed her toward the washstand. “’Tis not the right time. Later, perchance. Stars, Miranda! Start dressing!”

With that, Kat raced out of the door.
Sweet angels! Have the French invaded the country? They can’t! Not when I finally want to get married!

“I thought you took a ride to clear your mind, not to lose it,” Brandon bantered as Jack grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the alcove. “Speak plain.”

“Aye,” Jack panted, out of breath. “Listen to me, and you’ll see what happened to my wits. There is a mad dog lurking in yon forest, armed with a crossbow, who seeks your blood. His name is Scantling, and he has murder in his heart. Is that plain enough?”

Jack’s words wiped the smile from Brandon’s face. “Is this God’s truth?” he rasped, his fingers closing over the small dagger he wore on his belt.