Midsummer's Knight by Phillips Tori

Author:Phillips, Tori [Phillips, Tori]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2011-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

Several hours later, Kat stretched out her feet before the fire in the hall. After giving her cousin a hot bath, a bowl of barley soup and a warm posset made of milk, spices and sack wine, she and Sondra had tucked Miranda into bed with a hot brick at her feet. Through it all, Miranda kept wailing that she was undone, that Jack would think her a simpleton, that he had ruined his good clothes on her account, that she could never look him in the face again for all the trouble she had caused him, and more drivel to that effect. No matter what Kat had said, Miranda wouldn’t listen.

“Leave her be, my lady,” Sondra had advised Kat as they closed the door of the darkened bedchamber. “Miranda will come to her senses in due time.”

Kat sipped some of her own posset, allowing its spicy sweetness to roll down her throat. In the window seat, Columbine played a gentle ballad on the lute while the sun sent its farewell rays through the high arched glass panes. Kat tried to decide what course she should pursue on the morrow. Was she going to be Lady Katherine, or was she still Miranda?

She luxuriated in a wide yawn. After all the excitement of the day, and the two weeks beforehand, exhaustion overtook her. She didn’t even have the energy to climb the stairs to her bed.

“A sixpence for your thoughts, sweet mistress,” Brandon remarked as he entered from the corridor. “May I join you?” He pointed at the other chair.

“Aye.” Kat waved him into the seat. “Care for a posset?”

Brandon lifted a golden brow. “A friend of mine recently hinted that I take too much wine,” he reminded her.

Kat made a face. “A posset brings blessed sleep.”

“In that case, I will have some, for I will need all the help I can get, if I am to have any sleep with my bedmate tonight.”

Tilting her head, Kat asked, “Oh? Does Sir Brandon snore?”

A pensive shimmer stole into the shadow of Brandon’s eyes. Then he replied, “My Lord Cavendish is wallowing in his misery with a jug of your ale for his only comfort. He blames himself for your cousin’s misadventure.”

“Ah, just so.” Kat poured out the milky posset from the pitcher, then passed her goblet to him. “I fear we must share the cup. I do not have the strength to search you out your own.”

Brandon toasted her. “Since your lips have touched this cup, ’twill make the brew all the sweeter.”

Kat crinkled her nose. “How now? Compliments? Methinks that sounds like Sir Brandon speaking.”

“Perchance he is,” Brandon replied.

Uncomfortable with the fact that he had spoken the truth, Kat returned her attention to the fire. The flames danced with a mesmerizing grace. Brandon sipped his drink in companionable silence, but Kat could feel him watching her and not the fire. Was he waiting for her to admit her true identity? Should she? Had she played the game long enough? If so,

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