Three Dog Knight. Tori Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ betrothed!” Stokes yelled through the wooden panels. “And Sir Edward is in a great hurry to be off and away, he said.”

      Thomas opened his mouth to hurl another oath at the steward, but a distant memory stopped him. A tall, thin girl-child in a plain blue woolen gown with her red-gold hair barely covered by a wide blue ribbon and a thin white veil—the goldsmith’s daughter. William had teased Thomas to distraction over his unlikely betrothal. It had been the first time Thomas had ever knocked one of his older brothers unconscious. The earl had whipped Thomas raw for it, but the punishment had been worth the pain. His brothers had never dared to provoke Thomas again. As for the girl—he presumed that she had been married off to the son of another merchant. He had heard nothing of her since their only meeting years ago. Alicia—that was her name.

      “‘Tis some mistake, I’ll warrant,” Thomas told Vixen. “What would a high-and-mighty lord like this Brampton fellow be doing with the daughter of a goldsmith? Nay, the word has gotten out that the new Earl of Thornbury is a rich young bachelor.” He grinned at the terrier in his lap. “Oh, and I am somewhat scattered in my wits, as well. We must not forget that part. I wonder if my Lord Brampton is the vanguard of prospective fathers-in-law? God shield me!”

      “My lord?” Stokes whined through the keyhole. “What do you want me to do?”

      “Come in!” Thomas roared back at him.

      The brass latch turned, then Stokes poked his head around the door. “Aye, my lord?”

      “The wench. What does she look like?”

      A sheepish grin spread across the steward’s face. He reminded Thomas of a lovesick swain on a May Day morn. The sight was enough to put a man off his feed.

      Stokes sighed. “Sweet and young, my lord. Fair and tall. The face of an angel. The voice of a lark. The figure of a willow. The—”

      “Peace with your moon song, knave!” Thomas curled his lip.

      A plague upon it! The little witch had already enchanted his steward. She would have to stir up all the charms of hell to ensnare Thomas in her coils. Blasts and fogs! He did not need more woman trouble. He snapped his fingers to his three best friends.

      “Up, Georgie! Let us meet this…female who claims me.”

      

      Thomas found Lord Brampton pacing before the cold fireplace in the great hall. The heel plates of the visitor’s riding boots grated against the flagstones. Brampton had thrown one side of his thick black wool riding cape over his shoulder, revealing his brown velvet garb. Thomas noted that the clothing was well made.

      A lady, presumably the impatient lord’s wife, sat in a nearby chair. Her travel cloak showed mud-stained signs of a rough journey. Her pale face held an anxious expression. When she lifted her cup of wine, her hand trembled.

      Planting himself in front of his master, Taverstock bristled the fur on the back of his neck. He growled once or twice in challenge. Vixen leaned against Thomas’s left leg. Georgie halted, lifted his nose, quivered, then with a thundering bay, he bounded down the length of the hall toward the startled guests.

      The lady screamed as the great dog came closer. Her husband stepped in front of her, and drew his sword.

      “Georgie!” Thomas shouted, dashing after the dog. What had gotten into the old boy? Brampton’s sword looked sharp.

      “Georgie?” A tall young woman stepped into the band of sunlight cast from the window. Its golden beams caught the fire in her hair. With a delighted thrill of laughter, she sank to her knees and held out her arms to the great mastiff. “After all these years, is it really little Georgie?” She buried her face in his thick furry neck.

      Taverstock whined, and danced a few side steps on his short bandy legs. Vixen froze in place. Her dark expressive eyes remained fixed on her master.

      At the sound of the girl’s voice, Thomas skidded to a stop. He blinked. The goldsmith’s daughter of his youthful fantasies had returned as a beautiful woman. Her voice was lower, but still held the same tone of merriment. Stokes had not exaggerated. Her figure was indeed that of a graceful, supple willow. Her laughter reminded him of a clear, sweet spring on a hot summer’s day.

      “Hold very still, Alicia,” Brampton whispered as he advanced upon the pair on the floor. “I shall take—”

      “Nay!” Grabbing the man’s wrist, Thomas twisted it. The naked sword clattered to the floor. Taverstock barked with approval.

      “What foul knavery is this?” Brampton whirled on Thomas. “You would set your cur upon my child? Is this your idea of hospitality?”

      “Edward, peace!” His wife rose from her chair and came to his side. “’Tis no harm done. See? Alicia and the dog are in perfect friendship.” Turning to Thomas, she smiled at him. “Forgive my husband, Lord Cavendish. Our journey has been in haste, and with some danger. I fear we are much agitated.”

      Thomas took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie lie down, then roll over on his back while the girl cooed endearments to him, and rubbed his tummy. The great beast wriggled with pleasure. A sudden twinge of envy took Thomas by surprise. With reluctance, he returned his attention to the fuming man before him. Brampton looked familiar, yet Thomas could not place him.

      “You wished to see me?” he asked brusquely.

      Brampton patted his wife’s restraining hand, then straightened his cap that had been knocked askew. “I told that whey-faced servant that I wished to speak to the earl.” He glared down at Taverstock, who sniffed at his boots. “You are Thomas, as I recall?”

      “I am, and I am.”

      Brampton rolled his eyes to the heavens. “I am glad you are Thomas,” he said, drawing out his words. “Now, may I please speak with your father?”

      “You cannot,” Thomas snapped. Sweet Jesu! How he wished that Brampton could. He helped himself to a cup of wine from the table.

      Brampton sputtered. “By heaven, sir, we have come on a matter most urgent I have no time to talk in riddles.”

      “Nor have I.” Thomas drained his wine. Over the rim of his cup, he watched the girl try to entice Vixen into her charmed circle. Sweat popped out on his brow. Very warm for this season, he thought with discomfort.

      Brampton slammed his fist on the table, rattling the wine pitcher. “Where is the Earl of Thornbury?”

      Thomas replaced his cup with deliberate care. “You are speaking to him.”

      Brampton’s jaw sagged open. “You jest!” He appeared to deflate under his cloak.

      “Nay.” Thomas readjusted his sliding black band. “Gaol fever. My father, then my brothers. They caught it in June at the assizes in York.” Pausing, he pressed his lips together to hold back the pain that welled up inside of him. “I remained at home.”

      “May God have mercy on their souls,” Lady Brampton murmured, making the sign of the cross.

      “Amen,” Thomas muttered under his breath.

      “Amen,” СКАЧАТЬ