Tori Phillips (26 page)

Her slow, secret smile told him that she understood.

Francis struggled to sit up. “My...my lady, I am your obedient servant,” he gasped with effort.

Kat knelt at his bedside. “I am delighted to meet you, Francis,” she said, smoothing his blond hair across his forehead. How like Brandon’s! “Tis an honor to have a hero at Bodiam Castle.”

Francis blinked, then glanced up at Brandon.

“I believe the lady means you, Francis, for you did indeed save my life.” Brandon coughed to clear the huskiness from his voice. “I am in your eternal debt.”

Kat kissed Francis on his pale cheek. “And I already like you very much, Francis. You must promise me that you will get well quickly. I would deem it an honor for you to escort me to my wedding to your...your lord.” Kat glanced up at Brandon. His eyes glistened.

“’Tis my honor, Lady Katherine,” the boy murmured. His eyelids fluttered. The next moment he lapsed into a healing sleep.

Brandon helped Kat to her feet. “I fear you came too late for Francis to drink that,” he remarked, indicating the cup still in her hand.

With a sly smile, Kat shook her head. “Sondra made this for you, and she made me promise to see that you drink every drop.”

Lifting the cover, Brandon sniffed its spicy scent “Will this potion induce forgetfulness, Kat? I wish I could blot out what happened this morning.” He looked down at the sleeping boy. “When I saw him lying on the ground, with that arrow sticking out of him, the arrow meant for me...”

Lacing her fingers within his, she offered him the cup. “Drink, my love. ’Twill ease your soul for a time.”

Closing his eyes, he quaffed the posset in one long swallow. His tongue sought out a stray drop on his lip. When he looked at her again, a timorous smile ruffled the lines of his mouth. “They say that confession is good for the soul, and will ease it better than any drink.” Putting the cup down on the side table, he offered her his arm. “Will you walk with me, sweet Katherine?”

She threaded her arm through his. “Aye.”

Brandon and Kat made their way through the corridors and past the hall, where milling servants wrestled with a great many chests, bags, boxes and baskets. Kat wondered how long the Cavendish clan planned to stay. From the look of it, Lady Celeste would be giving birth to her babe at Bodiam five months hence.

Leading Kat out of the bustling castle, Brandon found a private spot in the rose garden. On the archery range on the far side of the hedge, they heard a child laughing. Kat drank in the unusual sound. How odd! In all her years there, first as Lewknor’s wife, then Fitzhugh’s, she could never remember hearing a child’s laughter echo on the walls of Bodiam Castle! Fenton had never laughed.

“’Tis my daughter, Belle,” Brandon’s voice broke into Kat’s thoughts. “I know I owe you an explanation.” He seated her on the stone bench.

Kat folded her hands to keep them from shaking. She forced her lips to part in a small stiff smile. “Were you planning to tell me about your children before or after the honeymoon?”

Brandon studied her face with an enigmatic gaze for a moment before answering. “I hadn’t decided when to tell you about Belle and Francis. At first, when I pretended to be Stafford, just remembering who I was supposed to be took all my thought. Then, when we discovered each other, I fear I turned coward. I didn’t want to spoil our time together by telling you about my children. I was afraid that you would not take the news kindly. I still have that fear.”

Kat clenched her hands tightly within the folds of her skirt. “Because that would bring your other...women into our life?”

Brandon’s gaze never left her face. “Aye. I make no apologies, except to say that I was young. Flattery turned my head, and shut out my better sense.”

“Your mother told me about Francis.” As Brandon sat down next to her, Kat heard him release his breath. She continued, “He is charming, like his father—either of them. I am glad to welcome the boy into my house.”

Lifting her hand, Brandon pressed it to his lips.

Kat continued. “Your mother also said that you must tell me about Belle.” She regarded him with a speculative look.

He sighed. “Belle’s mother was a girl from Calais. Her father provided wine to the tent village where our Henry and King Francis strove to outglitter each other. Yvette accompanied her father on his daily rounds. Within days, she became a common gamester to the whole camp.” Brandon arched one brow. “Do you understand?”

An unwelcome blush crept into Kat’s cheeks. “Aye, she was a whore,” she said quietly.

“Not exactly.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Yvette did not charge for her favors. She gave them away. And I took them often. I think back on it now, and wonder how I could have been so foolish.”

“Oh?” It cheered Kat to think he felt contrition.

“I could have caught the pox,” he responded.

“Oh.” She sighed.

Catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he turned her face to look at him. “I loved Yvette with my body, but not with my heart. Do you believe me?”

His blue gaze clung to her, watching for her reaction. Kat’s lower lip quivered. She wanted to trust him. “How did you find out about Belle?” she asked.

He stroked her lip with his thumb, sending little flames licking through her. “At the end of two weeks of revelry, we returned to England, and I promptly forgot all about Yvette. You see, there was Lady Olivia Bardolph—my mother told you about her?”

“Aye.” So there was more to that story. Kat’s heart grew heavy.

“She made fools out of Guy and me—aye, and Jack Stafford, too. If you will forgive me for saying so, that woman was an easy glove, and she didn’t care who tried her on, so long as he was young, handsome and amusing.”

The blood began to pound in Kat’s temples, but she refused to acknowledge how much Brandon’s words had shocked her.

“Olivia was finished with me long before she started to show with Francis. A year and a half later, two nuns arrived at Henry’s court. We were at Greenwich at the time. ’Tis a day I will never forget.”

Kat thought she detected a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

“The nuns carried a little girl with them, and they asked for me. You can imagine the jests and quips that bounced off the walls of Greenwich. A bastard had come seeking its father in the arms of the church—literally! Ha! It seems that, when Yvette’s family discovered she was with child, they sent her to a convent near Rheims, where she bore the little girl. As soon as Yvette had recovered from childbirth, she left.”

Brandon’s eyes darkened into a wintry blue at the remembrance. “She abandoned her daughter without a backward glance. She had told the nuns my name as the father, and that I was one of King Henry’s courtiers. The nuns kept the child. They named her LaBelle, the beautiful one. When some of their order chanced to make a journey to London, the mother superior sent Belle with them to find me. After all, I was the son of a wealthy man and could care for her.”

Kat cleared her tight throat. “You knew the child was yours?”

Brandon nodded. “From the moment I first beheld her. You have just met my family, but I am sure you have already noticed how alike we are in face and feature.”

“Aye.” Kat replied, remembering how much Francis looked like Brandon.

“And the strangest thing was, when I saw Belle, I loved her immediately.” He shook his head with amazement. “I had not expected fatherhood would so ensnare me. I took Belle home to Wolf Hall. ’Twas a bit difficult to explain things to my mother.” He paused, then smiled at Kat. “But I think that was nothing compared to explaining it all over again to you. In truth, I feel like a schoolboy caught with a wench and his hose around his ankles.” He gave her a wobbly grin.

Kat squeezed his hand. “Go on, my love.”

Brandon relaxed at her touch. “Mother was delighted to take Belle under her wing. She said she had nothing but men and boys to bring up, and she was glad of a little girl to spoil. And spoil her, she has. My daughter rides roughshod over us all. I fear you will have your hands full, if you will accept her.”

Kat nodded. “She is yours. Of course, I accept her.”

Brandon smothered her last words with his kiss, his lips warm and sweet on hers. Though they had loved the night before, the events of the morning made the time seem like forever ago. When he drew away, her lips savored the imprint of his tenderness.

“Thank you, Kat, though I warn you’ll be taking on a little hellion.” He pressed another kiss into the palm of her hand.

A shiver of pleasure rippled through her. “I am glad of your children, Brandon.” She looked down at his hand holding hers. How large and strong it was, yet how gentle! She took a deep breath. Now was the time to tell him that she may not be able to give him a child of their own. She gazed into his dark blue eyes.

“Brandon, I—”

Stopping further talk, he kissed her with a fierceness that took her breath away. When their lips met, Kat felt buffeted by the tempest of their passion for each other. She clung to Brandon as if, in letting go, she would be separated from him forever. Drinking in his fever, she returned it in full measure. The time and the place spun out of her consciousness. Only Brandon mattered now.

“Papa!” A little girl’s voice shattered the moment, bringing the world to a standstill. “Papa, what are you doing to that woman?”

Chapter Eighteen

B
reaking off his kiss, Brandon spun around. Belle, her hands planted firmly on her little hips, glared at the pair. Kat covered her mouth with her hand, while her green eyes twinkled with amusement. A rush of heat suffused Brandon’s face.

“Papa?” Belle caught his displeasure. Nevertheless she jutted out her little chin and stared back at him.

Mark and the nursemaid appeared around the corner of the high yew hedge.

“My lord, my lady, forgive us!” Mark’s words tumbled out like a spring torrent. “One minute she was with us, and the next—”

Belle wheeled on the flustered squire. “Ha!” She snapped her fingers. “You were too busy telling Polly all manner of lies. ’Tis
you
who should seek my forgiveness, Mark. I could have shot you both with an arrow before you realized that something was amiss!”

Brandon managed to find his voice. “Belle! Enough! First, there will be no more talk of shooting arrows at people. There has been enough of that today for a year of Sundays.”

Belle’s eyes, blue as cornflowers, wavered a little. “Aye, Papa. I didn’t really mean that I would shoot Mark and Polly, only that they weren’t paying any attention to me.” She stuck out her lower lip.

Brandon swallowed his discomfort. Belle’s behavior was a very poor introduction to her new mother. What would Kat think of his child’s bad manners? “Belle, you know you should not have run off from Polly. At the moment, you are a guest here. Please remember that.” Turning to Kat, Brandon took her hand in his. She squeezed his fingers, which gave him a little reassurance. At least, Kat hadn’t stomped off at the first taste of Belle’s sour words. “Katherine, may I present my daughter, LaBelle Maria Cavendish?”

Kat bestowed a warm smile on the child. “What a beautiful name! I am very pleased to meet you, Belle.”

Belle stared at Kat as if the lady were an exotic creature come from the Americas. Brandon had the urge to shake his daughter. How could Belle embarrass him in this manner? Usually she was such a charming. loving child.

He plunged on with the ritual of introductions. “Belle, this is Lady Katherine Fitzhugh.”

Belle wrinkled her button nose. Catching her father’s eye, she bobbed a small curtsy. Brandon relaxed a little.

“I am honored,” Belle mumbled, looking at her shoes.

Brandon decided to ignore her misbehavior for the moment. First impressions were so important. He really wanted Kat and Belle to become friends. Kat squeezed his hand again before she let go. When he glanced at her, he saw a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.

Kat bent down to the little girl. “Welcome to Bodiam Castle, Belle. I hope you like it here.”

Belle rubbed the side of her nose, then shot her father a quick glance. “The moat stinks. It smells like something died in it,” she remarked. A spark of challenge lit up her eye.

Brandon curled his fingers into a fist. By the rood, what had gotten into her? “Belle!” he growled.

Kat touched his sleeve, then returned her attention to his daughter. The little minx looked extremely pleased with herself.

“Aye, you have cleverly discovered our problem,” Kat remarked smoothly. “And, I wonder, can you suggest a solution?”

Belle rubbed her nose again. Brandon’s mouth twitched. Clearly Belle had not expected Kat to take her insult so calmly. He could only imagine how some of the other ladies of the court might have reacted when faced with his offspring. Thank the Fates King Henry had betrothed him to Kat!

“My papa can take care of it,” Belle replied, fixing him with a pointed look. “Papa knows everything.”

Brandon groaned inwardly.

Kat’s copper brows swept up. “Does he? I am very glad you told me of that, Belle. Brandon, I leave the moat, and its odors, in your capable hands.”

Brandon glared at both of them. At the moment, he had a lot more on his mind than Kat’s grreen-slimed cesspool. Now, thanks to the prattling of a nine-year-old vixen, he faced a very unpleasant task in the near future.

He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “’Twill be a pleasure, ladies. Kat, I beg your leave to speak to my daughter in private?”

The twinkle in her eyes increased in merriment, though she inclined her head gravely. “I must attend to our dinner. ’Twill be served soon. I look forward to seeing you again, Belle.” With that, Kat retired from the garden.

Sweeping up Belle in his arms, Brandon carried her to the other side of the sundial, away from Mark and Polly. No matter. Polly had ears only for whatever drivel Mark told her, and his squire had eyes only for Polly, whom he had not seen in several months.

Once out of earshot, Brandon put Belle back on her feet, then he hunkered down to her level so that he could look her directly in the eye. “How now, Mistress Lack-manners? What is all this about?”