“Nothing.” Kit sat up and wiped her eyes. “I shouldn’t be out here crying like this.” She wiped her eyes on Rupert’s doublet. “If anyone should see us...”
“Don’t worry, Kit. No one at Westminster is ever up and about this early.”
Kit had a long, leisurely bath to calm her nerves. Afterward, Jane made some sort of poultice to lay across her eyes to reduce the redness and swelling from her incessant crying spells. Kit finally lay on a pallet in front of the fire and dozed as Meg dried her hair in the heat of the flame and Jane lay out her clothes for the evening.
The maids knew Lady Kathryn hadn’t slept much the night before, and their lady was out of sorts all day long. Rumor had it that her distress was due to the marriage arranged for her by the king. It hadn’t become common knowledge yet that she was actually Henry’s sister—his bastard sister.
When Kit finally awoke, the maids dressed her in the sleek white gown trimmed in gold thread that had belonged to Meghan, the one Kit had promised Bridget she’d wear when she was presented to the king. The golden bliaut had been altered to fit her form tightly, and additional fabric was added to the sleeves to make them fashionably long.
Jane brushed Kit’s hair until it was a mass of silken curls. Then she talked Lady Kathryn into leaving it unveiled and entwined it with thin, white velvet ribbons. Since Kit owned no jewelry, she was the epitome of simple, angelic elegance when she went to meet the king.
Queen Catherine was formal and reserved in her greeting, yet Kit sensed no lack of warmth in her. Her light brown eyes sparkled benevolently, and she seemed to have a genuine affection for Henry. Kit noticed that she often laid a bejeweled hand on her husband’s arm, and showed other signs of closeness. Her face was long and thin, almost gaunt, though not unpleasant. The style of her crimson gown was the same as that worn by the ladies at court and Kit knew at once whom the ladies emulated.
Looking at her brother, she was struck primarily by the differences in his facial features compared to her own. The only similarities were that Henry’s chin was cleft as was hers, and the shape of his eyes was vaguely similar, though his were hazel and hers green.
“At last we meet,” he said warmly as Kit curtsied. “I understand you’re called Kit.” Henry took Kit’s hand and led her to a seat.
“But how—”
“The Marquess of Kendal told me all he knew of you,” Henry said. “And of course Sir Gerhart’s report was quite complete.”
Kit blushed. She immediately thought of the incident with Wolf on the stairs at Kendal and wondered if he’d included it in his report.
“He was most descriptive when he told of the attack outside of Windermere,” Henry went on, amused by Kit’s reaction to Gerhart’s name. He poured wine into a goblet and handed it to his sister. “I understand the battle wouldn’t have gone so well if not for your leather sling and a few well-placed stones.”
“Gerhart said that?” She knew she sounded breathless and forced herself to correct it.
“Of course.” Henry sat down next to her. “It’s true enough, isn’t it?”
“Then why did he taunt me—?” She stopped, preferring not to speak of Gerhart now. It was upsetting enough to know she was the king’s bastard sister, about to marry some decrepit old duke. It would be disastrous to think of Gerhart now. “Excuse me, Sire,” she said, intending to close the subject, “but Gerhart didn’t seem to think my assistance was particularly valuable.”
“On the contrary, he made a special point of telling me of your prowess in the battle. He thought your actions worthy of the most seasoned soldier in his troop.”
“But—”
“In fact, it is one of the reasons why I decided to betroth you to the duke. Carlisle needs a woman with spirit, one who can see past his faults, his superficial shortcomings. He must wed an equal. Not some simpering, weak-kneed chit—”
“But Your Majesty, perhaps I am not...ready?” It was worth a try.
“Nonsense,” Henry laughed. “Our father stipulated that you were to wed a powerful peer, preferably before your seventeenth year. Unfortunately, our father did not see fit to inform me of your existence. I discovered you quite recently and entirely by accident.”
Kit took a gulp of her wine. “Couldn’t we just ignore our relationship for the time being and go on as before, Sire? No one knows, and I’d prefer to forget it as well if only—”
“On the contrary, dear sister,” Henry said, smiling, resigned to the truth. “There are many who do know. And soon there will be more.”
“No.” It was barely a whisper.
“As king, and as your brother, I have certain responsibilities toward you. We Lancasters—and I stress we—have more than our share of enemies. There are hostile factions who plan strategically to achieve their ends, and some are brazen and rash, like the Lollards, who have proven themselves quite unpredictable and dangerous,” Henry said. “I had hoped that Langston could make this easier for you, but I realize this sort of revelation must be disturbing, no matter how gently put.”
“Disturbing...yes...” Tears were welling up behind Kit’s eyes again, and she fought to maintain control. How could she tell the king that she had no wish to be his sister, that she spurned his efforts at making her secure? Let the Lollard fanatics come or whomever else—
“Let me remind you that there are many... illegitimate members of our family. Our grandfather, John of Gaunt, had sons by a mistress whom he later married.”
“The Beauforts,” Kit said. “Your uncles.”
“Our uncles.”
“Yet our father never married my mother.”
“He could not, Kit,” Henry said. “There were complications. Glendower of Wales, the situation in France, a possible political marriage—” He waved a hand expansively. “A king is not always free to choose.”
She drank the last of her wine in an effort to do something, anything to gain a moment to get control of herself.
Queen Catherine touched Kit’s shoulder. “Lord Langston told us that King Henry loved your mother,” she said gently. Her accent made her voice seem small and delicate to Kit. “He said the king mourned her death till the end of his life.”
“A small consolation.”
“But true, nonetheless,” the queen said. “Try not to begrudge your parents the small happiness they shared so many years ago.”
. “I will try,” Kit said earnestly, though she had no idea how she would ever come to understand the two who had created her. Two people whose love created her and yet could destroy her life.
“Come,” Henry said, standing. He took his wife’s hand and Kit’s in each of his. “Compose yourself and let us go to the banquet. It will be my pleasure to escort a lovely lady on each side.”
“Oh, hell’s fire,” Kit muttered under her breath.
Her brother smiled.
“Your Grace.” A man’s voice drew Wolfs attention from his cousin, who was enjoying the king’s ale. He turned to see the Earl of Langston. “May I be one of the first to congratulate you. Your betrothed seems to be a woman of spirit and substance, and a comely maid as well.”
“Let me offer my congratulations as well, Your Grace,” added Lord Kendal, who was attending the banquet with his son and daughter-in-law. “When do you wed the lady?”
“His majesty has planned for the ceremony to take place three days hence,” Wolf said absently, turning back to Nicholas, only to see his cousin amble away through the thick of the crowd. At least he was amiable while drinking, Wolf thought.
Wolf heard that the king had entered the hall, but he was so far away, he was unable to see the royal couple. He knew he was to be seated next to Queen Catherine, so he took his leave of Kendal and Langston to proceed towards the dais. When the king and queen were finally within view, it was not the two of them who caught his eye. His attention was riveted on Kit, standing next to Henry.
She was a vision, dressed in shimmering white and gold from her chin to her wrists and down to
her ankles. Wavy, flaxen hair was uncovered and unbound, cascading gloriously down Kit’s back and gently framing her face. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and his mind reeled at the thought of losing her to Rupert Aires. He thought of those long hours she had spent sharing his saddle, with her body so near. His hands recalled the softness of her skin, his lips remembered the way she’d kissed him at Kendal, and his heart pounded in response. She was all he desired in the world, both the fantasy and the reality. Perhaps the king would—
The truth of the situation suddenly crashed into his consciousness. Kit stood in a position of honor at the king’s left hand. Bloody hell! Kit was the king’s sister, the “Catherine” he was to wed.
Yet he had seen her crying this morning, obviously after receiving the order to marry him rather than her beloved Rupert.
King Henry caught Wolf’s eye and beckoned him forward. Kit turned to see Wolf approaching, and her heart fairly lurched in her breast. Wolf was so much more than Rupert could ever begin to be, she thought, thoroughly appreciating the way he moved his agile frame through the crowd to reach her. He wore a tunic of deep blue, a color which set off his dark hair and the silver in his eyes. If only...but it was impossible. Even if she weren’t betrothed to the old duke, what would Wolf want with King Henry’s bastard daughter?
As he came closer. Kit felt the color rise in her cheeks, embarrassed that Wolf was about to learn that she was the king’s bastard sister. She wanted to run from the room and lock herself away.
Even as she ruminated over her predicament, Kit distinctly heard Henry’s closest knights address Wolf as “Your Grace,” and saw them bow formally to him. She hadn’t realized that an earl was ever called “Your Grace,” and thought only a duke merited that title.
God’s blood! Could Wolf be a duke? she wondered. She’d been so certain that Windermere was an Earldom.
Why was everything so muddled now? Kit cast a puzzled glance toward the king who greeted Wolf with one word as Wolf bowed to him.
“Carlisle.”
Chapter Twelve
Kit recovered from the faint a few minutes later and found herself alone with Wolf in the gallery outside the banquet hall. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but his expression was forbidding. It was obvious he already knew of her parentage, and he was displeased with the prospect of having an illegitimate wife. She didn’t blame him for looking askance at her.
“Don’t expect me to believe you fainted dead away, Kathryn,” he said harshly. The anger was clear in his eyes. “Remember, I’ve seen you in worse circumstances than this.”
Was he serious? Could he possibly think she’d pretended shock, she who had never fainted before in her life? Damn if she would do it intentionally and damn if she would allow him to treat her like the bastard she was. “Ha!” she said, matching his anger. “There are no worse circumstances than this!”
“Agreed,” Wolf said. “But we’re stuck with each other by the king’s command. And I mean to see it through.”
“Really!” Kit was furious with him now. How dare he refer to marriage with her as being “stuck!” She stood on wobbly legs with the intention of leaving, but found that her legs were too weak to move. She sat down again but not before Wolf saw her eyes dart toward the door.
“Don’t think of bolting,” he warned coldly. He wondered if she was entertaining some notion of Rupert Aires coming to rescue her. “We’ll return to the banquet as soon as you can walk. Together.”
“I’ll return if and when I decide I’m ready,” she retorted, “and not with the likes of you.”
“But I’m your betrothed, no matter how distasteful that may be.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone.
Only Henry’s personal guards were aware of Lady Kathryn’s faint. When Wolf had seen the blood drain from her face, he had moved swiftly to catch her and get her out of the banquet hall before any of the guests could witness her distress. He was at first dismayed by her reaction to seeing him, then angered by her outright rejection. She could do worse than a duke for a husband, but apparently she had her heart set on Rupert.
Well, that was just too damn bad. Kathryn Somers would become the Duchess of Carlisle. And soon. King Henry had decreed that the marriage would take place in three days.
“You brood more than ever,” Nicholas said to his cousin on the evening before the wedding. “Did you prefer Annegret so much?” He goaded Wolf, in an attempt to draw him out. Nicholas knew Wolf had no affection for Annegret, yet his mood since the banquet had been black, and he had refused to say anything about it. It seemed to Nicholas that Wolf should have expressed some relief, if not sheer glee, at finding that Kathryn Somers was the king’s sister. Now that Wolf had been made duke, with Windermere restored and Kit as his wife, he should have been more than satisfied.
“Annegret...” Wolf muttered.
“I realize she would have been more a docile wife, more—”
“Christ’s crown, Nicholas! Kathryn prefers another man.”
“Absurd.”
“You saw her with Rupert Aires after being told she was betrothed to me.”
“You believe she prefers Rupert?”
“No. I’m certain she prefers Rupert.”
“She would choose one of Henry’s knights over you, a duke?” Nicholas scoffed. He finally understood that it was hurt pride that ate at his cousin. He obviously wanted her. “She is not a fool, Wolf.”
“No.”
“You must convince her, then.”
Wolfs eyebrow shot up. “Convince her?” He had never had to convince a woman before. Either she wanted him or she didn’t. That was all there was to it.
Nicholas nodded. “Ja. Convince her that the king chose well for his sister,” he said. “Demonstrate your superiority.”
It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be able to win her over. Wolf knew she’d been in love with Rupert forever. How was he supposed to change her mind, her heart? Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. He had always planned on a marriage of convenience, not sentiment. If Kit intended to remain aloof, he could do the same. In fact, he could manage to spend as much time away from her as possible.
Because if he stayed near, he knew he was lost.
She swore she would absolutely not weep again. But as Jane toweled Kit dry after her bath and helped her with all her layers of bridal clothing, the tears threatened again. The day was sunny and green, fresh and new. Perfect for her wedding, yet the circumstances were less than desirable. Wolf was a reluctant bridegroom.
Meg fastened the row of tiny buttons on the back of Kit’s gown—they had chosen a gown that shimmered blue-green, depending on the way the light caught it. The gown was one of the newly made ones, and Kit was still amazed by its richness and style. With long, draping sleeves and a tightly fitted bodice, the neckline left her shoulders bare and scooped low across her bosom and back, where the train was attached. A thin gold girdle hung low on her hips and the skirt flared out somewhat, having a tendency to cling to her legs as she walked. It was, without question, the most beautiful gown she’d ever worn.
Kit watched in the mirror as Jane brushed her hair into a thick, cascading mass of pale yellow curls down her back. She thought of Bridget, and wished her old nurse had been the one to help her prepare for her wedding. She had never dreamed she’d be alone this day, without friends, and about to wed a man who didn’t want her.
Meg answered a polite tap at the chamber door and admitted a footman carrying a small golden casket. “His majesty sent this gift, my lady,” he said as he handed the box to Kit. “He hopes to see you wear it at your nuptials.”
“The king will be there?”
“Yes, my lady,” the man replied. “Their majesties will both be present in the abbey. King Henry plans to attend your wedding feast later, as well.”
“Thank you,” Kit mumbled, accepting the box. “Please give my regards and my gratitude to the king.”
The man bowed as he left the room and Kit
opened the box containing a beautiful necklace of gold. When Meg fastened it on, both maids voiced their approval of the finishing touch. As Kit’s heart sank, she could only think that she’d have preferred some small token from her betrothed, rather than her brother.
Wolf watched Lady Kathryn walk regally down the long aisle of the abbey, carrying a single light pink rose, and he was struck again by her effect on him. She was ethereal yet earthy, beautiful but imperfect, sensuous though innocent. Several of the king’s guards were flanking her and Wolf was quick to notice, with some irritation, that one of them was Rupert Aires.
After the vows, High Mass was celebrated, and Wolf was sure Kit looked at him no more than twice during the entire ceremony. Both times she appeared shy and wary of him, even though she had been completely poised before all the onlookers and the archbishop when she approached the altar.
Apparently it was only her husband she was unable to face.
The first time she looked into his eyes was when he placed the ring on her finger. It was a delicate band set with four square-cut emeralds. Kit was surprised that it was anything more than a plain gold band. She had already accepted the fact that he didn’t owe her more, and she hadn’t expected him to honor her so. It was then that she felt moved to give him the single, perfect rose. Granted, it was not a priceless gem, but it symbolized her hope for understanding between them.
The second time she looked at Wolf was when he kissed her. It was a light, undemanding kiss, but it left his senses reeling. What had she done—bathed in fragrant spring flowers? Swallowed some sweet nectar to make him want her lips even more? He pulled away from her before it was too late, before he devoured her.
He had no idea how she wanted to cling to him, to tell him how sorry she was that he had to be bound to her, by the order of the king, and against his will. Kit wanted him to kiss her as he had at Kendal, or even at Somerton, when he hadn’t known who she was. Now that he knew, she saw that he wanted nothing to do with her and a lump the size of an apricot grew in her throat, though she managed to hold back the tears that threatened throughout the ceremony.
The Bride of Windermere Page 16