Brandon slammed his fist against the chimney flue in the guest chamber. The rough stone scored his flesh, but Brandon barely noticed the pain. “Aye, both of them, and often. Lady Katherine was loath to speak of it.” Jack poured his friend a cup of wine. “Drink some of this. ’Twill take the taste of gall from your tongue.” “That vile, creeping, venomous viper dared to lay his hand on that sweet lady?” Brandon snatched the cup, then tossed back the contents in a single loud gulp. The roughness of the unwatered wine made tears spring to the corners of his eyes. “On both ladies, my friend,” Jack reminded him in a chiding tone. He poured Brandon another drink. “I remember that villainous toad at court.” Brandon’s lips curled like a snarling dog’s. “And I, as well. A barrel-chested bruiser—blustery, shouting the rafters down, and always red in the face.” Jack yanked off one boot, then the other in preparation for bed. “A poor sport in the tiltyard, and hard on his squires.”
