“Where?” Miranda asked at the same time. Both women joined Kat at the window. All three leaned far out over the stone ledge and fixed their gaze upon the opposite hill where a large, colorful group of men paused on their horses. “Great wailing wolves, coz! We are about to be invaded!”
“Is all our company drawn near?” Brandon’s gaze swept over the group: two squires, his master huntsman, his falcon, several panting greyhounds, three grooms, a dozen men-at-arms and a grinning co-conspirator, Jack Stafford.
“Aye, my lord,” replied Jess, the huntsman. “Is that the lady’s home?”
Brandon swallowed down the knot that had formed in the base of his throat, Ridiculous! Ten years jousting in the lists of England and fighting on the fields of France had not made him feel half as nervous as he did at this moment.
“Bodiam Castle,” he snapped.
“A pleasant place to look upon,” Jack observed.
“Aye, I have seen worse prisons,” Brandon remarked, his brows furrowed above his eyes.
The men behind him guffawed. Brandon twisted the reins between his fingers. God’s death! Why did his stomach play havoc with his breakfast? ’Twas only an old woman. At least, her castle looked welcoming, he thought as he studied his new estate-to-be.
Situated comfortably in a gently rolling valley on the banks of the river Rother, Bodiam’s white limestone walls reflected the bright sunlight. Brandon guessed that the square fortress had been built several hundred years ago, but he could see it was well maintained. Stout barrel towers guarded each corner with square towers at the center of the north and south curtain walls. Above each tower, a colorful banner waved in the breeze.
The bright sun glinted off the diamond panes of glass that filled the wide arched windows on the second and third floors—as curious to the eye as lacy-cut paperwork. The open drawbridge lay snug against the near bank of the moat, and a bevy of white swans glided leisurely across the still green water. Above the open portcullis, a flag, larger than the others, snapped against its pole. A silver unicorn lay on a green silken field—the Lady Katherine’s personal device, Brandon presumed.
“Well?” Jack poked Brandon with his crop. “Do we ride to yon castle, or do we turn tail?”
Brandon glared at his best friend. Jack winked back at him. With a sigh of exasperation, Brandon turned his horse and faced his party. If only his men would stop grinning like monkeys! Thank all the saints that his brother Guy was safely five hundred miles away with his French wife and baby daughter! Guy would be hooting at him by now.
“Men,” Brandon began, then cleared his throat to banish the high-pitched frog that lurked therein. “From now on, you will render the service due me to Sir John. Until further notice, he is Lord Brandon Cavendish, and I am Jack Stafford. That goes double to you varlets.” Brandon glared at the squires, Mark and Christopher.
The two seventeen-year-olds nodded with wide smirks on their faces.
“One word of our disguising from any of you, and I will personally take a whip to your backs.” Brandon tried to sound as if he meant it. The trouble was, he didn’t—and the whole company knew it. “On the other hand, if this farce plays out well, there will be a golden angel in each of your pockets come Midsummer’s Day.”
“You can rely upon us, my Lord...ah...Stafford,” Jess answered for the company.
Jack adjusted his new blue velvet hat and straightened the red felt traveling cloak about his shoulders. “Do I look like the high-and-mighty Sir Brandon Cavendish, eldest son of the Earl of Thornbury, my Lord Stafford?” he asked with a merry gleam in his eye. “Do I look the part of the panting bridegroom?”
“You look like the very devil,” Brandon muttered. He glared at the castle again, then threw back his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Sound your hom, Jess. They know we are here. Let us make a brave charge and engage the enemy in her lair.”
Brandon urged Windchaser into a gallop down the hill, followed closely by Jack and the others. The greyhounds gave tongue, while Jess blew his horn like the angel Gabriel announcing the final judgment day. The halloo of the men and hounds, and the thudding of the great horses’ hooves on the soft greensward did much to relieve the tension of Brandon’s coiled nerves. If this was to be a battle of wits and hearts, he would attack bravely.
The two lords reined their horses into a sedate walk as they approached the drawbridge. A clear girlish giggle sang over their heads. Brandon and Jack glanced up just in time to see three women, two with reddish brown hair, and the other one with hair the color of ripe wheat, duck back from the tower window. The entire south battlements appeared to be filled with many smiling maidens and a few stern-looking men-at-arms.
“Methinks the enemy has spied us, and has appraised our strength,” Jack remarked with a chuckle. “Comely wenches. This little holiday in the country may prove quite diverting for me.”
“Your eyes are only for the Lady Katherine, until I say otherwise,” Brandon growled as he walked his horse across the wooden planks of the drawbridge. “Best remember that, my friend.”
Jack feigned a sigh. “I shall woo up storms of tears and swoons. I shall give my very best performance to date. Too bad ’twill be wasted on a lady of advanced years,” he added, arching his eyebrow. “And one reputed to be a witch.”
“Bite your tongue, Stafford,” Brandon rumbled under his breath. He did not like to be reminded of that uncomfortable possibility. Having to marry her was bad enough.
With a grin, Jack shook his head. “Nay, not so. I am Sir Brandon, and you are his boon companion, Jack Stafford.” They passed through the double gateways into the castle courtyard. “And now, let our play begin.”
Chapter Three
Running her fingers along the round, whitewashed wall of the tower’s stairwell, Kat descended the spiral stone steps that led into the hall. The cool stone under her fingertips gave her a welcome reassurance. The dulcet tones of Columbine’s music told Kat that everything was proceeding according to plan—so far. At the base of the steps, she straightened her coif, fluffed out its white veil over her shoulders, then took a deep breath. Let us see what manner of schoolboy has come to call. Lifting the trailing hem of her skirts, she swept into the lofty central chamber.
At the sound of her entrance, two blond giants turned in her direction. Halting abruptly, Kat nearly fell over a small footstool. Sweet angels! Who were these men, and where was Sir Brandon?
“Good day, fair lady,” said the first. Doffing his blue cap, he swept her a low courtly bow. His mellow baritone voice sang pleasantly in her ears. “Do I have the honor of addressing Lady Katherine Fitzhugh?”
“I...that is...” To cover her confusion, as well as to give her time to think, Kat dipped into a graceful curtsy. Her knees wobbled under her skirts. Had she mistaken the identity of her visitors? Were these gentlemen emissaries from the king, and not her betrothed at all? If that was the case, she should reveal herself immediately. And yet...
Rising slowly, Kat smiled with a false brightness. “Pray, forgive me, my lords. We do not often entertain such noble gentlemen as yourselves here at Bodiam. I fear you must think me a ninny.”
She advanced closer to them, praying that one or the other might introduce himself. Kat caught her breath. What a handsome pair! The one in the velvet hat easily stood six feet in height. His blue eyes reminded her of a summer sky reflected in a pool of clear spring water. He held his lean body gracefully, perhaps a little too gracefully for her taste.
The second man cleared his throat, then bowed in turn. though he did not sweep so low to the floor as the first. “Forgive us, my lady. Methought your usher had announced our arrival. In truth, it seems your whole castle saw us ride in. Permit me to introduce Sir Brandon Cavendish of Wolf Hall.” He pointed to his companion.