Free Tori Phillips by Midsummer's Knight Page B

northern battlements gave a startled nod as Brandon stalked past him. The half-moon hung in the dark bowl of the night, and an errant cloud teased about the diamond points of a thousand sparkling stars. Brandon drew to a halt at the center of the walkway, directly over the giant winches that raised and lowered the portcullis. Resting his arms on the chest-high wall, he stared unseeing at the black silhouette of the home park forest.
    I am a very knave and my lying tongue will double back upon itself, and choke me. Aye, and a good riddance too! Brandon gnawed his inner cheek. What a hell broth he had brewed by this simple-seeming deceit! Hadn’t his good mother told him that liars are always trapped within the web of their own making? Now he strangled in it.
    What was he going to do? Jack was not the only one who had lost his heart where he least expected. Jack still had an ounce of his wit about him. For himself, Brandon had refused to mark each passing day as one closer to his wedding. Instead, he pretended he was on a straw-hatted holiday in the company of too-fair a maiden.
    Kinswoman to my new wife! What a lack-witted dolt I am! I do not have half as much brains as earwax! And what will I do after I am married to Katherine, when I must face each new day with Miranda’s shining presence on my left hand? Come, hot tongs and cruel spikes, sear me for I am on the rack now.
    Miranda! Her image swam up in his mind’s eye. Just today he noted how the early June sunlight caught the many different shades of red and gold in her hair, creating a vision most pleasing to the eye. How could he bed the shyer cousin, and not dream that it was Miranda he held in his arms in the dark of night? His marriage vows would be a lie, even worse than the one he was living now.
    Nay, for the sake of his soul, and for the loyalty his honor compelled him to give to Katherine, he must send away the tempting cousin as soon as the wedding feast was over. Jack could take her back to Henry’s court. Miranda would have no dearth of suitors there within a fortnight. Brandon gritted his teeth. The court—where far too many hot-blooded men had far too much time on their hands. Where Miranda’s good virtue would not last a month. The bored nobles needed a good war to occupy their lusty minds.
    Send Miranda to a nunnery? Brandon grimaced in the dark. God help the abbess who had her for a novice! Nay, the lady was as unlikely for the nunnery as his brother was to become a monk—which, thanks to a French angel named Celeste, he hadn’t. But the nut and core of the argument still remained. Miranda must go. As her new kinsman, the most honorable thing he could do would be to set her up at court with a goodly dowry. ’Twould be for the best that she marry.
    Bowing his head, Brandon dug his knuckles into his closed eyelids. He didn’t want to think of anyone touching her except himself! Miranda had gotten under his skin, into his dreams, invaded his heart and befuddled what was left of his wits. ’Twas true what the wise old folk said: love turns scholars into madmen.
    Love! Brandon swallowed down the knot in his throat. Aye, he did love Miranda, and she must never, ever know it. ’Twas one truth he would never tell, come rack or ruin.
    Jack was right. Brandon needed to clean his slate of all falsehood. The wedding was a fortnight away. So be it, but let him be Jack Stafford for two more days to ease himself gently out of Miranda’s good graces. Then, with his honor frayed but intact, he would spend his last two weeks of freedom wooing the poor, hoodwinked Lady Katherine. Jack would have to take Miranda out of the castle daily to go hunting, or whatever, while Brandon mended his marital fences. Brandon knew he could never pay court to Katherine under Miranda’s beautiful, watchful eyes.
    Belle! The face of his love child rose in his mind. Great Jove! What would Katherine say when he told her she was going to be a mother as well as a wife? He prayed she