The Bride of Windermere

by Margo Maguire

  “I can’t imagine what the king wants with such a worthless, filthy ragamuffin,” Lady Edith remarked, loud enough for Kit to hear.

  Wolf felt her body stiffen, but the girl made no reply to her stepmother’s intentionally unkind remark.

  Baron Somers lumbered out in the bright sunlight and leaned against the door frame of the manor house next to his wife. He shrugged and squinted against the bright sunlight and watched the departure of the king’s party.

  “I want ’er back!” he called.

  Kit felt Wolf grunt a negative reply, obviously not intended for the Baron’s ears.

  “You hear me?” Somers slurred. “When the king’s through with ‘er I want ’er back! Need the brat to run the place.”

  It was well past the noon hour when they finally departed Somerton. Wolf hoped that when King Henry had finished his business with Lady Kathryn, he’d not be the one responsible for returning her to Baron Somers.

  Chapter Two

  “You may loosen your grip, sir knight,” Kit fumed. “Your mount’s back is as broad as a barge. I don’t see how you could possibly think I might fall.”

  Kit had never been wedged quite so intimately between a man’s thighs before. It was a disturbing experience but she ached so very badly and was so weary from the long, sleepless night in the cottage, that she actually leaned back against Wolfs hauberk. He loosened his grip nominally and grunted his displeasure.

  She knew she had to be wary of him. He was a man after all, and she’d had plenty of experience with the men of Baron Somers’ entourage. Besides, Wolf was the one who’d taken advantage of her the night before.

  It was reassuring to know that Wolf didn’t recognize her as the nymph at the lake. She decided it would be easy, as well as prudent to keep up her disguise all the way to London. She was aware of the value of being a filthy, unattractive urchin, as opposed to a clean, well-groomed young lady. Her stepfather and his ornery men had taught her that lesson one rainy afternoon several years before. By sheer luck, Lady Edith had arrived and inadvertently interrupted the incident. Kit had come out of it unscathed and far wiser.

  She hated to admit that it wasn’t unpleasant to have the knight’s strong arms around her now, even if he did hold her too tightly. She might even allow herself to believe he felt a bit protective of her—something no one had ever felt before. It was a strange sensation, imagining someone caring for her.

  As they rode, she wondered what King Henry wanted with her, a homely, countrified girl of Northumberland. The king had been so busy fighting the French and gaining a French wife, she couldn’t imagine how he would even know of her existence, much less have the time or inclination to think of her.

  All Kit knew of her own background was that her true father had died before her birth. Her mother was Meghan, daughter of Trevor Russell, the late Earl of Meath in Ireland. How her mother had come to be married to Thomas Somers was beyond Kathryn’s knowledge, but somehow it had happened and Kit had become the man’s daughter. She had vague recollections of Lord Somers before Meghan’s death, and the baron hadn’t seemed so slovenly or brutal then. In fact, it was only after the baron married Lady Edith and had daughters of his own, that the baron had started drinking overmuch. And Kit’s life had begun to deteriorate.

  In view of Kit’s existence up to now, she couldn’t understand the sovereign’s reason for having her brought to London. Bridget seemed particularly certain that the best course for Kit was to follow the king’s command and to put Rupert Aires and Somerton behind her. The old nurse desperately wished for a change of circumstances for her young charge.

  Kit hadn’t seen a mirror in years, and she was well aware she did not possess a comely face. Edith and her daughters made certain that Kit knew their opinion of each and every one of her features and flaws, from the miserable devil’s dent in her “too strong” chin to her hair—“lacking in color, just like the hay in the fields,” though it was curly and absolutely unruly. The rest of the Somers family towered over her, and they made it clear they thought her small stature inferior to their height. Her eyes were too green and her skin as pale as the thick cream they skimmed off the top of the bucket. Thanks to her stepfamily, she knew there was nothing right about her. No wonder Rupert hadn’t come for her yet. But he would, Kit reassured herself. He would.

  Homely as she was, the servants liked her and did her bidding easily. Kathryn became accustomed to running the household since her stepmother had no interest in it. Kit had a good memory and an even better head for figures, which served her well in handling her stepfather’s accounts. When the baron’s steward had died three years before, Kit stepped in to deal with the income from the demesne and to oversee the peasants’ workweeks. It became unnecessary for Lord Thomas to replace the steward, and Kit realized the value of being needed. She consciously worked to become essential to Baron Somers.

  She hoped that if he needed her badly enough, he wouldn’t kill her in a drunken rage.

  As well as her unusual academic skills, Kit also learned a great deal about healing plants and herbs from one of the monks who came to Somerton regularly to trade for the abbey. In fact, Kit maintained a garden of medicinal plants, right beside her precious rose arbor. She often went with Brother Theodore on his healing missions among the villein and townspeople at Somerton and developed considerable skill in the medicinal arts.

  Bridget decried Kit’s favorite pastimes. Kit loved to ride her horse astride, wearing breeches. Nothing was more invigorating than racing horseback through the meadows and feeling the wind on her face and in her hair. She enjoyed shooting her sling or her arrows and testing her skill against that of the huntsmen in Lord Thomas’ forest. To Bridget’s severe disapproval, Kit climbed the trees in the forest and sometimes lay across the branches high above the lake to watch the reflections of the clouds as they played across the surface of the water.

  Wolf guessed she was asleep. Her back was slumped into his chest, and he’d been supporting her for several miles to keep her from sliding off Janus. Wolf considered how old she might be. Sixteen perhaps? The damnable rags she wore made it impossible to discern whether her figure was that of a child or a woman. Certainly old enough to be married, though why wasn’t she? The situation with Baron Somers and his family was obviously not good for the girl, yet she’d remained at Somerton with her stepparents.

  The flaw must be her lack of feminine abilities. Her mode of dress was appalling for a maiden. Why, he’d never seen a lady gotten up in such rough woolen breeches and tunic before. Looking at her now, he couldn’t fathom whether Kathryn had been guilty of provoking Baron Somers into beating her, or if the man merely gained some perverse pleasure from mistreating the girl. Wolfram gave Kathryn the benefit of the doubt and faulted Lord Thomas with an overblown temper. Wolf never did hold with drunken men who beat women or children, and he couldn’t deny his satisfaction in removing young Kathryn from the baron’s vicious clutches. Let the man, and others of his ilk, come to blows with men their own size.

  Lady Kathryn, however, was obviously no saint. She was altogether too independent for a lass. How she’d managed to run away from him twice was impossible to understand. The girl was demanding, insisting on bringing her old nurse and giving orders to his men as though she were in charge. She was worse than filthy ... yet she didn’t smell like any wayward urchin he’d ever had the misfortune to be downwind of. In fact, she smelled like flowers. Roses, he thought, though he was no expert at horticulture. Her scent was fresh, he realized uncomfortably, perhaps it was even womanly.

  The girl moved slightly, causing her hips to press more closely, and his thoughts turned to his experience at the lake the previous night. Wolf shifted Kathryn’s weight as he recalled the beautiful golden woman he’d only just tasted.

  He reminded himself that he was a man with a mission. He had to concentrate fully in order to regain Windermere, as he’d set out to do. He’d been in Henry’s service for several years now, and gained the king’s res
pect and trust. Now, all that was left was to find hard, physical evidence of Philip Colston’s treachery. Henry would then be compelled to accept Wolf’s claim and restore Windermere and his good name to him.

  Even so resolved, Wolfram couldn’t deny that he’d been strongly affected by the woman at the lake. She was every dream he had ever suppressed, every yearning he had ever denied. But Wolf well knew the pain of loving and losing, and he vowed never to fall into that trap again. He’d lost his brother and his father to fate. And while those losses and Wolf’s drive for justice gave him a cold, reserved selfpossession, it was his mother’s apathy that had tormented his soul over the years.

  Wolf had survived the fatal attack, but Margrethe Colston hadn’t spoken to him in twenty years. She hadn’t even acknowledged his existence. It didn’t matter that she was beyond response, incapable of speaking to anyone—it was the fact that Wolf’s survival hadn’t given her even a glimmer of hope. Wolf’s life had meant nothing to her.

  “Gerhart.”

  Though she dozed comfortably as they rode, Kit heard a rough voice as one of the soldiers rode abreast of them. She saw no reason to make them aware that she was awake, which she barely was, anyway. She needed to think about getting away and returning to wait for Rupert somewhere near Somerton. Kit tried to keep track of their progress so she’d be able to find her direction when the time came. However, it was difficult to pay attention because she was so drowsy, her head ached and her eye socket throbbed abominably.

  “It will be dark soon,” the man said, speaking to the man she knew as “Wolf.” Kit wondered why the soldier called him “Gerhart.” “The old woman is nearly falling off her mount.” His words were strangely accented, though not unpleasant to Kit’s ear. He was a tall man, quite powerful in the saddle, and he was as blond as Wolf was dark.

  Kit repressed the urge to turn and see how Bridget fared. Wolf didn’t respond to the soldier immediately, and Kit wondered if he was trying to decide whether or not to let her old nurse fall by the wayside.

  “We’ll stop soon,” Wolf finally said. “Send two men ahead to scout a likely campsite.”

  Kit felt a long sigh escape the man. He must be in a terrible hurry to get to London to be so irritated by this slight delay. Didn’t knights need to rest, too? Weren’t they hungry as well? She felt his arms tighten securely around her. In contradiction to her thoughts, Wolf didn’t seem weary at all. She thought he must have the stamina of a workhorse. Kit was weary, though, and while her spirit was tenacious, she knew she couldn’t keep up with this Wolf. At least not now.

  It seemed so safe and secure in his arms that Kit snuggled back into him. Maybe later she would think about escaping to get back where Rupert could find her. She dozed off again until some time later when Wolf spoke.

  “There was a woman last night at Somerton.”

  At first, Kit was astonished, thinking he’d spoken to her. But before she could reply, she realized that the man who had addressed Wolf before was riding next to them again.

  “Ja?” the man replied. Kit wanted to get a better look at him. She continued to feign sleep instead.

  “After we get the girl to London and I settle with Philip, I’m going back to find her.”

  “Who is the woman?”

  “I don’t know. But she was...interesting. Intriguing.” Wolf seemed at a loss for words.

  The man laughed. “I’ve never seen you quite so...intrigued, Cousin.” He waited for Wolf to explain but got no response. “Ladies have fallen at your feet for years yet you—”

  “Not this time,” Wolf interrupted. “It was strange. She was... different.” Kit could hear puzzlement in his voice. She experienced an odd sense of satisfaction as a result of her effect on him. She couldn’t think of any man, other than Rupert, who had ever found her interesting, much less intriguing. On the other hand, the thought of Wolf coming back to Somerton for her was alarming. He was not a gentle or charming man like her Rupert.

  “What was her name?”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  “That’s promising.” Through her lashes, Kit saw the man’s eyebrow go up. “I’ll assume it wasn’t the charming and seductive Lady Edith.”

  “Hmph.” Kit felt the sound he emitted, more than heard it.

  “It’s likely to be months before we finish our business, Gerhart,” the man said with amusement. “Do you suppose she’ll be waiting for you?”

  “What difference whether she waits or not? She’ll be mine,” replied Wolf with utmost confidence, and Kit’s sense of satisfaction vanished. How dare he assume she would fall at his feet when he arrived?

  She gritted her teeth to master her irritation and refrained from speaking out. The conceit of the man was unsurpassed. Why, the man thought that because he’d kissed her once, he could begin to think of owning her. He didn’t even know her! And he wasn’t going to know her, either, she promised herself.

  “And you say you don’t know who she is?”

  “Nay, Nicholas, she would give me no name.”

  “Mayhap if you described the woman, your little Lady Kathryn could name her.”

  “Mayhap.”

  His Lady Kathryn! How many women was this wolf allowed? Kit reined in an urge to slam her elbow into the man’s gut. But she knew he wore an iron hauberk, and she would only bruise herself.

  “I think it best you keep your thoughts on Windermere and not on a prospective wife. Besides, there is Lady Annegret. When you wed her—”

  “Wife?” Wolf laughed coldly. “I made no mention of a wife.”

  Nicholas chuckled, and Kit was infuriated. When he found out she was the woman at the lake, he’d... Kit resolved never to give him half a bloody chance to discover who she was..

  “Ah, Lady Kathryn awakens,” Nicholas announced as Kit moved restlessly. She was so angry, she was unable to pretend to sleep any longer. “Did you rest well, my lady?”

  “Tolerably.”

  “Your voice—it is difficult to tell much about you under that layer of dirt and those rags you wear—but your voice seems not to be that of a child. We thought we’d been sent to collect a child.” Nicholas looked at her more closely, trying to discern her features beyond the filth and bruises.

  “You are correct. I am not a child.” She couldn’t mask an irritable tone as she gazed at the handsome warrior who rode alongside.

  “And you expect us to believe you are fully grown?” Wolf asked in laughing disbelief.

  “I don’t expect anything from you,” Kit shot back angrily. “Except an unwanted trip to London.”

  “Ach, so the journey riles you?” Nicholas laughed.

  “How is Bridget? She must be near to collapsing. She is unused to riding.”

  “The old woman is weary,” Nicholas replied. “We’ll stop shortly for the night.”

  “How do you intend to keep us safe the night through? It is said to be dangerous traveling these roads—”

  “Please, my lady,” Wolfs tone mocked her, “nine of my men are here and would be loath to hear you malign their talents so.”

  “Nine! You have only nine?”

  “Our number will be sufficient. Now cease. Enough of this prattle.”

  Kit bristled with the resentment of having this crass brute in charge of her person. He had no right to order her about. And she didn’t care much for the way he scowled at her, either.

  A short time later, when they came over a grassy hill, they spotted the two men who had been sent ahead to seek a sheltered spot to camp for the night. They had already scouted out a likely area and a small fire was crackling merrily in the clearing.

  It was with great relief that Kit dismounted and went to help Bridget. The old woman was bone weary and though she was not usually particularly quiet about her aches and pains, she was more circumspect than usual tonight. The two women wandered off to the trees to take care of their personal needs and while there, found a stream with cool, fresh water. They stopped to drink their fill.

 
; “Ooch, yer eye, child,” Bridget said, taking a good look at Kit’s face. “Let me wash it for ye.”

  “Nay, Bridget. I prefer to remain filthy as a vagabond whilst we’re in the company of these clods of Henry’s.”

  “Clods ye say?”

  “Clods, Bridget. Boorish clods.”

  “Oh, of course. Ye, dearie, having been to France and to court and so many fashionable places, would recognize a boor instantly, I suppose.”

  “Don’t tease, Bridget. It takes little experience and less brains to know this man—”

  “Who? Sir Gerhart? The leader?”

  “What do you know of him?”

  “Well, Sir Clarence and Sir Alfred talked a wee bit,” Bridget said as she stretched her aching back, “to keep me awake and astride that beast, I think. They said a few things...”

  “For example?”

  “For example,” Bridget’s ire was up, and Kit knew she was testing the old woman’s patience, “Alfred said that Sir Gerhart and his cousin Sir Nicholas are the grandsons of some German prince—”

  “Ha!”

  “—though Gerhart also has some obscure English ties. The two of them have been invaluable to King Henry and ’tis rumored that they’ll be given titles and estates upon their return to London.”

  “I can guess just who started that rumor.”

  “’Tis not like ye to be so disrespectful, Kitty.”

  “’Tis not like you to swallow such a yam, Bridget.” Kit started walking back to camp. “They’re naught but common soldiers, come to take me to London, and the reason why is the only obscurity here. The rest is perfectly clear.”

  Bridget shook her head dubiously.