Tori Phillips Read Online Free PDF

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
     
     
    R unning 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