Midsummer's Knight

Kat arched one eyebrow at her cousin. “Only too true, I fear. He then goes on to say that he knows Sir Brandon Cavendish well.”

“I do not like the sound of that!” Miranda jabbed her needle into the collar of the night shift she worked upon.

“Sweet Saint Anne!” Kat erupted. “Oh, Miranda, I must be the most unfortunate of women on this green earth!”

Miranda put down her sewing and regarded Kat more intently. “How now?”

Kat rattled the offending paper. “Fenton warns me that this Cavendish toad is far too young for me. ‘Barely dry behind his ears,’ he says. This...boy has only just won his spurs, and he is much given to...God shield me!”

“What?”

Kat read, “‘Cavendish is a ruffian who will swear, drink, dance and revel the night away. He commits the oldest sins in the newest fashion. In short, dear Aunt, Sir Brandon is as lecherous as a monkey. He will top anything in skirts between the ages of seven and seventy.”’ Balling up the paper, she hurled it toward the fireplace. “Alack! I am undone by the king’s whimsy. First, I nursed an old man on death’s door, and then tried to tame a devil, and now I am offered to a half-grown rooster to school! ’Tis enough to make me consider taking the veil!”

Miranda watched Kat pace the newly waxed floorboards for a few minutes, then she quietly asked, “Do you believe Fenton?”

Kat stopped in midstride. “Not as far as I can throw him. We both know from experience that Fenton says and does nothing that is not to his own advantage. ’Tis not my happiness he is concerned for, but my purse strings. With me married to a husband, no matter how young, Fenton will experience more of a money problem than he already has. And if, perchance, this...whoring, lusting fledgling manages to get me with child, Fenton will stand to lose a great deal more—in fact, my whole estate.” Kat stroked her chin with her forefinger.

Miranda sighed. “A babe would be sweet to have in the house. Do you think it is possible?”

“How do I know?” Kat snapped. “My first husband was too ill to breach me, and my second...” She shuddered at the thought. “Let us not dwell upon the second at all. A babe.” She considered the idea. “Hmm. I fear I am past my ripe years. A babe would be a gift from God that I would bear willingly even if I had to raise its father alongside of it.”

“Do we still go forward with our plan?” Miranda asked. She sent a silent prayer to heaven. ’Twould be such fun to be wooed, even if the bridegroom was just a few years out of leading strings. A lusty youth! Perhaps he still had all his teeth, unlike Kat’s first two husbands.

Kat smiled grimly. “Of course we will.”

“Do you truly think it will work?”

Taking Miranda by the hand, Kat led her to the gold-framed glass near the bed. “Look you, dearest coz. We are as much alike as sisters, which is not surprising considering that our dear mothers were exactly that. Even though you are a few years younger than I, we are of like stature, of like figure—though, I do confess with envy that your waist is an inch or two narrower. Our hair is the same shade of auburn, our eyes the same green.” Kat turned Miranda toward her and cradled her face between her hands. “Best of all, no one at court, other than Fenton, has ever seen Lady Katherine Fitzhugh. No one will know that we have exchanged places.”

“I will know,” announced a dirgelike masculine voice from the doorway. “And I like it not.”

Kat laughed, this time with a happier note. “Ah, Montjoy! You never like anything at all, but only delight in pointing out the dark side.”

Montjoy sniffed as if his nose ran with a cold. “What you propose is a lie, my lady.” Wagging his forefinger like a schoolmaster, the castle steward shuffled into the room. He regarded both women with a doleful mien. “Mark my words, Lady Katherine, a relationship begun with deceit will end in misery.” He dragged out the last word in three long syllables.

Laughing all the more, Kat draped herself around the old man’s shoulders. “Montjoy, my good conscience, what would we ever do without your joyful presence to gladden our days?”

Montjoy took out a large stained handkerchief, and blew his nose loudly before answering. “You’d be gone to the devil, my lady, and there is the beginning and end of it.” He sighed deeply.

“How now, Montjoy,” Miranda said, taking his hand in hers. “Have you told everyone in the household of Kat’s plan? Will they all play this game with us?”

Blowing his nose even louder, Montjoy managed to look sadder than before. “Aye, mistress, I have told them, much against my will. Even down to the potboys and stable lads. Scamps, every last one of them! They love you too much, my lady. They have all agreed to this...this folly of yours. When the king’s man comes to court you, we are all to call Mistress Miranda by Lady Katherine’s name, and Lady Katherine will become Mistress Miranda. What will the poor man do when he learns the truth? How long do you intend to keep him hoodwinked? ‘Tis against nature. I am sure ’tis a sin.”

Kat tickled him behind his ear. “No doubt, Montjoy, so storm heaven with your prayers for us. In the meantime, we shall make merry sport with this youthful bridegroom of mine. Only for a day or two, until I can spy out his true nature. He will not put on a false front with the poor cousin of Lady Katherine.”

“Only a day or two?” Miranda asked a little too brightly. She had hoped for a week, at least. A week of sweet love words whispered in her ear, of flowers and poetry, and perhaps even a song sung just for her.

Kat crossed around Montjoy’s spare form and hugged Miranda. “Mayhap a week then, if ’twill please you, Miranda. I am in no hurry. Midsummer’s Day lies three weeks away.”

“It does not please me—not one hour of it!” Montjoy moaned.

“But you will play the part, won’t you, dearest, sweet Montjoy?” Kat wheedled with a smile.

The older man sighed as if he balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Aye, my lady. You know that I will, as long as I do not have to tell the lie direct.”

“We will pray most earnestly that the occasion will never arise,” Kat soothed him, with a wink to Miranda over the steward’s gray head.

Miranda managed to smother her giggle. She would never offend Montjoy’s dignity for all the world, but he was such fun to gently tease.

Outside, the blare of a hunting horn trembled through the warm forenoon. For a moment, maid, mistress and man gaped at one another with wordless wonderment. Then all three rushed to the window and stared out across the moat toward the fields beyond.

“By our larkin! ’Tis the lusty youth come to woo at last, or else, I am much mistaken. That was Granger’s horn. I stationed him in the high meadow to give us fair warning.”

Miranda crumpled her embroidery in her hands. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat faster. Despite the sweet breeze coming through the open window she felt very light-headed. “Now? This minute?” Leaping trout! She was about to become the lady of the manor and she had yet to decide what to wear.

“’Tis the knell that summons us down the primrose path of perdition,” Montjoy predicted in an ominous tone.

Kat smiled, though Miranda saw the corners of her mouth tremble. Good! I am glad that Kat is as nervous as I.

“I am filled with much good cheer that you are so happy, Montjoy.” Kat clapped her hands. “Quickly! Let us be about our preparations. Montjoy, receive our guest, and conduct him to the hall. Have Columbine take her place in the minstrel’s box, and tell her to play something soft on her lute. Miranda, do not stand there like a goose—hurry! Put on my pale green silk at once!”

Miranda blinked. “Why your green? Mine is of the same material.”

“Aye, but mine is richer trimmed as befits a lady of my station. ’Tis only right and proper for the Lady Katherine to receive her betrothed in one of her best gowns. So be about it! Montjoy, send us Laurel to help my cousin dress. Oh, do hurry, everyone! They shall be upon us at any moment.” Kat shooed the reluctant steward out of the room, then started to unlace Miranda’s brown woolen day gown.

“M...my betrothed.” Miranda’s hand fluttered to her throat. Even if this masque lasted only a day, she would remember it for the rest of her life. All her dreams were coming true—a silken gown with gold lace and seed pearls—and a real live suitor to charm.

The horn sounded again. Miranda swallowed hard. Kat swore under her breath when she tore a nail on one of Miranda’s points. Laurel, a short, dimpled girl of sixteen, rushed into the room.

“My lady, they come! I saw them from the battlements. What a grand sight, to be sure! They are still far-off, but you can just spy their banners waving near the crest of the hill,” she informed her mistress with a great deal of giggling. She relieved Kat of Miranda’s knotted laces. “Aye, and a right colorful display they are, too. Mistress Miranda, how did you get yourself into such a tangle?”

Kat paused in smoothing the wrinkles out of her dove gray woolen gown. “Not Mistress Miranda this day, Laurel. She is now my Lady Katherine—and don’t you forget it.”

Laurel giggled again. “Oh, aye, my mind mistook. What a piece of tomfoolery this will be! Miss...your pardon, my Lady Katherine, would you kindly not wiggle so much? How can I dress you properly if you must dance a galliard while I do it?”

Standing on her tiptoes, Miranda tried to see out the window. “Are they in sight yet? What does he look like?”

Adjusting her plain gray coif, Kat glanced out the window again. “Stars! He has brought half the king’s army with him.”

“Goodly men?” Laurel’s voice sparkled with interest.

“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.