Midsummer's Knight. Tori Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ crunched under their feet as they paced out the geometric design of the trimmed boxwood plantings.

      “You spoke of Fen...young Sir Scantling, my lord?” Kat prompted, after the archery range was out of sight and sound.

      “Aye, mistress. Pardon my bluntness, but he is an asshead.”

      Sir John’s muscles tightened a little under Kat’s fingertips. She wondered what the young fool had done to incur the wrath of so noble a lord as Sir John.

      “You may speak plainly with me, my lord. I am not being wooed for my wedding day.” Not yet, thank God!

      “You should be,” Sir John muttered under his breath. Then he cleared his throat and continued in a louder tone. “Scantling plays nightly at cards, dice or any other wager the courtiers might devise. Once he even bet upon the outcome of a louse race!”

      Kat missed a step. Sir John’s hand steadied her. “By the book! Do you speak of a race between bugs?” she gasped.

      Sir John’s lips twitched, and his eyes twinkled azure fire. “Aye, I do. And he lost even that one! He has the most rotten luck, and poorest judgment in the entire court. Your cousin is obviously not aware of it, Mistress Miranda, but she has been taken out of pocket for a great deal of money by that king of shreds and patches. Gambling is a sickness with him, and one that he will not throw off. He will beggar Lady Katherine’s entire estate within a twelvemonth, unless I can...” Sir John pressed his lips into a thin, hard line.

      Kat gripped his sleeve, bunching the rich material between her fingers. She found it extremely difficult to make disinterested conversation. God shield her! What a dithering fool she had been! How Fenton must have laughed each time she sent him yet another letter of credit to her goldsmith on London Bridge!

      “Mistress Miranda?” Sir John murmured in her ear. “You have turned quite pale. Forgive me for being the bearer of bad tidings.”

      Kat shook her head. “Nay, Sir John, have no fear on my account. You do not know it, but you have done me a good service. I am in your debt. ’Tis better that you tell me of Fenton’s perfidy, than to tell my cousin. She is a gentle creature, and would likely faint at the news.” Kat looked up into Sir John’s eyes, warmed by the depths of concern she saw there. “I am made of sterner stuff.”

      “So I perceive, sweet Miranda.” He leaned over her, blotting out the late afternoon sun. “And I salute you for it.”

      Brushing his lips against hers, he took her wholly by surprise. His kiss imparted a velvet warmth that left her mouth burning and her body quivering for more.

      “Sir John,” she murmured, standing on tiptoe.

      “Aye,” he growled. His lips nibbled her earlobe. “‘Tis a name I wear like a hat on a holiday, but ’twill suffice for now. Let me drink from you again, and we’ll take tomorrow when it comes.”

      “Aye.” She sighed as his large hand cupped her face, holding it gently. His touch was almost unbearable in its tenderness. Not once in thirteen years of marriage had she ever been caressed like this. Closing her eyes and parting her lips, she rose to meet him.

      His mouth recaptured hers, his kiss more demanding this time. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, then grew bolder as it explored the recesses of her mouth. Gathering her in his arms, he held her close, gently rocking her back and forth as he deepened his kiss. Kat drank in the sweetness of his mouth with a reckless abandon she had never known before. Bright colored stars danced behind her closed eyelids. She tried to remember to breathe.

      Brushing her lower lip, Sir John slowly released his hold upon her. Kat shivered as his warmth left her.

      “I am fortune’s biggest fool, sweet Miranda. Pray, pardon me.” Turning on his heel, he left her standing in the middle of the path.

      Squinting into the lowering sun, Kat watched his tall figure striding toward the stables. She touched the place his teeth had grazed her skin. By our larkin! What folly had she done? Her breathing slowly returned to normal, though she did not yet trust her knees to carry her back to her chambers. The memory of his kiss burned on her lips.

      “Nay, Sir John, you are not the greatest fool in Bodiam today,” she whispered. “I claim that title for myself alone.”

      Let tomorrow come! My betrothed may kiss like a candied carrot, but this moment with Sir John will remain mine forever.

      “On such an evening as this, one might spy Cupid disguised as a firefly, flitting among your flowers, fair Katherine.” Sir Brandon gave his lady’s hand a little squeeze as he helped her settle herself on one of the stone benches in the far corner of the garden.

      Miranda trembled at the sound of his rich, mellow voice. He smelled of mint, wood smoke and some other scent that was his alone. The combination made her feel quite giddy. “Perchance Cupid will attend the wedding day.” Placing her hand over her breast, she closed her fingers around the swan pendant. She clutched it as if it were a talisman.

      “I...I thank you again for this lovely gift, Sir Brandon. Ka...that is, my cousin teases me much, and says that she thinks I even sleep with it at night.”

      “Would that I could sleep with you at night.” Sir Brandon’s lips hovered dangerously close.

      Miranda licked her own lips, which felt as parched and cracked as empty wineskins. “In due time, my lord, in due time. I am an honest woman, and would wait until after the wedding vows are spoken before any bedding is done.”

      Sir Brandon pulled himself upright, though his arm still held her waist. “You speak the truth, dear lady, and remind me of my manners. I fear I have become too lax at court. Pray forgive me.”

      “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. I am glad to see that the bridegroom is so eager for the wedding day.”

      “He’d better be,” Sir Brandon growled under his breath.

      His changed tone jarred Miranda. “My lord?”

      “Nothing, my love. ’Tis but a vow I have made. On your wedding day, your bridegroom will be all that you deserve—and more.” He caressed her cheek with his forefinger, then brushed a stray tendril of her hair from her forehead.

      A light crunching sound on the shell path interrupted further conversation and action. Violet, one of the chambermaids, dashed up to them, and bobbed a curtsy.

      “Mistress...my Lady Kat,” she babbled. “My...your cousin suggests that the air has grown too cold for dallying in the garden, and she prays that you join her and my Lord Stafford by the fire in the hall.” The girl paused for breath. “Are you dallying, mistress?”

      Sir Brandon stood up and stretched. His height towered over the young maid. “Not anymore.” His teeth flashed white in the rising moon’s light. He offered Miranda his arm. “Shall we join your vigilant cousin, my lady?”

      Standing, Miranda brushed down her lavender skirts. “Aye, methinks ’twould be a good idea. Thank you, Violet. Tell my cousin that we are coming.”

      The girl curtsied again, winked at Miranda, then ran off into the shadows giggling like a magpie.

      Sir Brandon’s lips twitched. “Sweet Katherine, is there some malady that effects your servants?”

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