Midsummer's Knight

Drawing closer to the men, Fenton lowered his voice. “’Tis Lady Katherine, Sir Brandon. I feel it best you know about her before—”

Gripping Fenton’s shoulder, Cavendish shook him like a wet rag. His fingers bit painfully through the thickness of Fenton’s padded brocade. The young man chewed his lower lip to keep from swearing a loud oath in Cavendish’s face. Best not to annoy a wounded bear.

“Out with it, man! Is she poxed?” Brandon shook him again.

“Nay!” Fenton winced. “As far as I know, she is pure as snow. ’Tis her age I speak of.”

Brandon released his grip on Fenton’s shoulder. “You babble riddles to me, and I am not in the mood for games.” He lowered his face to Fenton’s. “I am more in mind to stab something—soft. Be plain and quick. My dagger itches to be free of its sheath.”

Fenton swallowed. Cavendish’s forthcoming marriage had certainly soured his usual good humor. “’Tis this, my lord. My Aunt Katherine is...er...quite old. Indeed, I am much surprised that the king chose her for you. She is past the time of childbearing. And she has always been barren—at least, with her first two husbands.”

“How old?” Brandon exploded the words out of his mouth.

Fenton allowed himself a small laugh. “Ah, you of all people should know the ladies, Sir Brandon. They are forever changing the dates of their births to suit their purposes. I cannot say my aunt’s exact age. But I think she is closer to your lady mother than to you.” He coughed behind his hand to hide his grin.

Cavendish said nothing, but stared out across the courtyard at the chapel windows gleaming in the midafternoon sunlight.

“Two husbands, you say?” Lord Stafford whistled through his teeth. “Pray, what happened to them?”

Fenton controlled his glee. Like massive trout, these mighty lords were rising to his colorful bait. “I am surprised ! Did no one tell you that my aunt had been married before?”

Brandon threaded his fingers through Fenton’s chain. He tightened his hold on it, pulling the younger man closer. Fenton prayed the golden links would not break. The chain had cost him several months’ allowance.

Icy danger lurked within the depths of Cavendish’s startling blue eyes. “Tell me now,” Brandon murmured in a warning tone.

Fenton inhaled a deep breath. “Aunt Kat was first married to my Lord Thomas Lewknor. They say he took sick on their wedding night, and then spent eighteen painful months in bed. Nursed, of course, by my good aunt. He died finally—foaming at the mouth,” Fenton added for good measure.

A look of horror crossed Cavendish’s face.

“And her second husband?” prompted Stafford.

“’Twas Sir Edward Fitzhugh.”

“I knew of him.” Brandon narrowed his eyes. “He was a brawler of the first order, as I recall, and had a temper like wildfire. I knew he often beat his servants. I felt sorry for the lady who was married to him.”

The softened tone in Brandon’s voice did not suit Fenton’s purpose at all. “Aye, you speak the truth. My step. uncle was the devil’s own spawn. ’Tis no wonder that my aunt grew weary of him. Even an angel would have lost patience with Fitzhugh the Furious.” Fenton lowered his voice. “They say he died of a sudden stroke in his brain.”

He allowed the implied accusation to hang unspoken in the air before he continued. “I had just come up to court at the time, so I cannot speak from personal knowledge as to the exact manner of his death. Fitzhugh was buried under the chapel stones by the time I had returned to Bodiam Castle.” He did not mention that it was six months after Fitzhugh’s death before he had found time to visit his widowed aunt. No need to muddle the tale with petty details.

“I see.” Cavendish’s blue eyes took on a cloudy aspect.

Fenton had no idea if this change boded good or bad for his intent. Licking his lips again, he plunged on. “I thought to warn you, my lord. After all, two husbands have met with dubious endings while in Aunt Katherine’s care.”

Brandon turned his full attention back to Fenton. “You have done well to speak to me. I am in your debt, my lord.”

“Once the king understands your concerns of marriage with my aunt, I am sure he will change his mind, and match you with another, more agreeable lady,” Fenton suggested smoothly.

“Who knows what the king will do, save God and the Lady Anne Boleyn? But I shall pursue the matter.” Brandon bowed. “Your servant, sir.”

Fenton returned the courtesy. “God give you a pleasant day, my lords.” He left the two golden giants with the thoughts he had planted. Now to pen a loving note to dear Aunt Kat, and warn her of the lecherous fortune hunter coming her way. If Sir Brandon failed to move the king against this marriage, Lady Katherine Fitzhugh would surely do the task.

Brandon watched Scantling’s thin figure retreat down the colonnade. He curled his lips with distaste.

Stafford whistled again. “An old crone who is a husband killer? Zounds, Brandon! You have landed in a fine pickle barrel this time.”

Brandon rubbed his chin. “Perchance, but consider the source of this news.” He hated to admit that Scantling’s wasp tongue had stung him.

Jack met Brandon’s gaze. “I heard that Scantling’s creditors grow daily in number, especially since your forthcoming marriage has been broadcast.”

“Aye.” Brandon nodded. “Scantling’s resources are very slender, and his waste is great. Methinks the devoted nephew speaks with his own interest in mind.”

“The boy has a peacock’s air about him,” Jack agreed. “’Twould be no surprise to find the print of his lips upon his own looking glass.”

Brandon merely grunted in reply. If only there was a way he could meet this elderly widow without her knowing who he was. A good soldier always scouted the lay of the land before engaging in battle.

Jack grinned. “As to his aunt, if I were you, I’d hie down to Sussex and see this lady for myself. If she is withered, or a witch stirring a poisonous brew, then I’d—”

Brandon’s laughter cut off Jack’s further speech. Good old Jack! Brandon clapped him around the shoulders.

“You have struck the bull’s-eye, my friend! Aye, let us be off for Bodiam Castle at first light tomorrow. ’Tis time you went a-courting.”

Jack’s eyes widened, and his skin took on a paler hue. “I, a-courting? What do you mean?”

Brandon laughed again as the intriguing idea continued to take shape in his mind. “’Tis called a midsummer’s madness. Jackanapes. And we have much work to do twixt now and then.”

“Meihinks you have already been touched by the moon,” Jack muttered, shaking his head.

Chapter Two

Miranda looked up from her embroidery hoop as Kat entered their chambers on the second floor of the central square tower. Sunlight streamed pleasantly through the open casement window, and a light breeze carried the scent of fresh-mown hay and hot mint into the room. Kat waved another letter in her hand.

“More news, coz?” Miranda tried to keep the note of disappointment from her voice. She had been looking forward to enacting Kat’s bold masque, especially since she had the starring role. She prayed the letter’s contents wouldn’t scotch the plan. “Has...has the king changed his mind?”

“Nay, no such luck as that!” Kat settled herself amid the plump woolen cushions on the window seat. She slit the wax seal with her fingernail. “’Tis from Fenton,”

“Ah, I should have guessed.” Probably another plea for more money, Miranda thought as Kat unfolded the thick paper. “What does he say now?” She paused, then changed her voice to mimic Fenton’s whine. “‘Dearest Aunt Katherine, how I miss you, and I pray daily for your continued good health!”’

Kat smiled over the top of the paper. “His opening words are something like that. Go on, soothsayer. Tell me what else does my loving nephew write?”

Miranda threaded her needle with buttercup yellow silk. “Let me think. Ah! ‘The court is ever busy here, and all turn upon the king’s fancy. We are to enact a new masque, and the costumes are quite elaborate. I am to take the part of...”’ Miranda considered a moment as she knotted one end of the floss, then she continued, “‘Of Apollo, a high honor indeed. But, dearest Aunt, the costume requires a great deal of golden thread and cloth-of-gold material. Alas, I fear my allowance, generous as it .is from you, cannot cover this unforeseen expenditure...’ And so on, and so on. How much does the little beggar want now?”

Kat shook her head. “Not this time!”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “May the clouds rain cats and dogs!”

Kat frowned as she perused the letter. “He writes of my marriage, and wishes me joy in it.”

“Ha! There is something else between the lines. I can feel it.”