The Bride of Windermere (20 page)

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Authors: Margo Maguire

BOOK: The Bride of Windermere
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Kit was determined to make the marriage work. They had already taken a giant leap forward, but Kit realized they still had a long distance to go before they had a marriage between them. She didn't expect Wolf to fall in love with her right away, but she intended to make him forget
Annalise
and every other woman in his past. She knew he'd been enamored of the woman at Somerton Lake, a fact which bolstered her courage, giving her the nerve to attempt to seduce her husband, scant as her seductive skills were.
That night was clear and pleasantly cool after the sun set. Kit lay on her blanket and looked up at the star-filled sky. She watched as the smoke from the small cook fire dispersed in the air and wished that Wolf would come and lie down soon. She fully intended to remain awake until he came to her. When Wolf finally finished speaking with the guards and came to take his place next to her, he settled down on his blanket without a word and turned his back to her.
Wolf would have liked to hold Kit as she slept, as he had every other night, but he didn't dare, not after her passionate response to him when he kissed her in the clearing. Chester and Alfred were not more than five feet away. Alex, Claude and Nicholas weren't far, either, and Wolf did not care to be tempted by his sweet wife beyond his endurance. Just being this close was trial enough, without even touching.
Kit, undaunted by her husband's lack of consideration and unaware of his reasons for turning away, turned to him instead. She put her arm around his waist and fit her length to him, pressing soft parts against the very solid, but sensitive wall of his back.
He was certain he could feel every detail of her flesh.
“Sleep well, husband,” she breathed in his ear.
 
The heat of the sun still burned when they stopped the last night on the road. It was terribly humid, with the threat of a storm in the air and Kit couldn't wait to peel off her sticky clothes and bathe in the secluded lake they had seen nestled in the wooded dale on their approach to the valley. The men set up camp again while Kit hiked down the hill toward the water, carrying fresh clothes.
The small lake was situated in a thicket of willows and old, gnarled elm trees. Reeds grew up at the muddy banks and the beady eyes of little green frogs peered from their hiding places all along the edge. It was not much of a lake for swimming, and Kit knew it would be foolish to try it alone in unfamiliar water. She glanced around and verified that she was alone, then took off her shoes, tied her skirts up around her hips and stripped naked down to the waist. Then she waded into the water to wash. The cool water felt heavenly, though the muck at the bottom, oozing through her toes, was barely tolerable.
Wolf had seen Kit slip away a while before, and didn't at first realize what she had in mind. He was setting up camp with the rest of the men, and it wasn't unusual for Kit to find a few moments of privacy whenever they dismounted. But then he remembered seeing the lake, and it occurred to him that she'd been carrying a spare gown when she'd headed down the hill. He began to worry that she might try swimming in the strange lake alone, knowing she had a propensity for the water. He dropped what he was doing and followed her tracks through the long grass down the hill and entered the lonely little woods.
When he reached the water and saw Kit, his feet rooted in place. She was just as he remembered her at Somerton Lake. She was his golden lady, but this time only partially naked, alluringly so, and her face was clearly visible in the light of the brilliant pink sunset.
She lifted her hair and drizzled water from a cloth down the back of her neck, then the front. Wolf watched her nipples harden as the cool water made her shiver and felt himself hardening as well. There would be one more grueling night and another difficult day in the saddle until they reached Windermere. He'd already decided to wait until then, but...
The argument raged within him, and he knew he'd have to be patient. She'd be too tender to ride on the morrow if—
“Come and I'll wash your back, husband,” she said, astonishing him with her awareness of his presence. Her voice was husky, inviting.
Wolf walked slowly towards her, watching her turn to face him fully. She continued sensuously rubbing her arms and breasts with the wet cloth, nearly driving him mad. He had never seen a woman move so erotically before. She was beautiful and seductive. And she was his. He was impatient to test her sensuality in his arms. God, how he wanted her.
Kit felt an urgency to touch him, to have him touch her. His eyes grazed her skin heatedly, and she knew he was just as anxious. Wolf moved toward her, and Kit began to tremble in anticipation. He pulled off his doublet and tunic as he walked, dislodging the bulky dressing that had served him well enough throughout the long day.
Bare to the waist, Wolf was an impressive man. Wide, powerful shoulders and an expansive chest tapered to a trim and narrow waist. Kit appreciated the play of his muscles under the mat of coarse, dark hair that covered his chest and trailed to a point where it slipped into his chausscs. He came to her slowly, purposefully, and when he reached her, Wolf turned to present his broad back for her ministrations.
His flesh rippled as she moved the cool, wet cloth across it, less affected by the motive of cleanliness than the sensations caused by her cool hands. Kit stretched up to apply the cloth to his shoulders, and Wolf clearly felt the brush of her breasts against his back. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he turned all at once and took her in his arms.
“What sweet torture is this?” he asked, pressing hot kisses to the column of her throat, his lips trailing down.
“Not torture, my lord,” Kit replied, shocked by the sensations caused by his mouth on one nipple, “only—ooh...”
His mouth found hers again, and a shudder ran through her as their tongues met. He lifted her up, ignoring the stab of pain from his wound, and carried her to a patch of soft, green moss near a stand of elms. The ground felt cool on her back, and Wolf's lips were hot on her skin.
The sky was streaked with brilliant pink and wispy clouds raced past, presaging winds and storms to come. They barely sensed the change in the air. The vivid colors framed Wolfs face as he leaned over Kit, and she watched as his silver eyes turned to dark gray. His mane of hair was wilder now than ever and she tugged on it, drawing him down, willing him to take possession, to make her his wife.
“This is not what I intended—”
“How could a duke's bed be more suitable,” she murmured into his hair, “or more stately?”
Without experience to guide her, Kit's instincts ruled. She ran her hands slowly down his back and buttocks, then across to his chest and down. She loosened the cords at his waist, freeing him to her touch.
“I wanted to pamper you...” His hand cupped her breast, then toyed with the nipple. His lips nuzzled her throat.
“I only wanted
you...”
Spurred on by her words, and the sensations of flesh meeting bare flesh, Wolfs hand moved down; caressing, raising Kit's level of arousal. A tremendous tension grew in her, and the muscles in her legs flexed. He pushed her dampened gown off her hips and drew his hand back up her thighs, pausing to stroke her intimately at their junction. Kit shuddered once, then relaxed and opened herself to him.
A maelstrom grew around them. Leaves shot past, and Wolf was stung by more than one sharp twig as the wind drove dust and debris across the ground and through the air. Rosy skies turned vermilion. Dark, low-hanging clouds moved in. Hands, lips and tongues explored new territory.
“Touch here...”
“Don't stop...”
“You're so hot, so incredibly—”
“Please. Wolf...”
Her plea was dwarfed by a distant rumble of thunder. Neither Wolf nor Kit heard it, so completely absorbed were they by the overpowering sensations they shared. Every nerve, every fiber of her being was alive, and his touch ignited her to flame. Rational thought did not exist, only desire and an intensely mounting pleasure.
“Sweet Kit,” he rasped, “I fear I will hurt you.”
“You can hurt me only by holding back,” she said, her lips and tongue exquisitely torturing his ear. “Teach me. Show me how to give you pleasure...” He took one of her hands and showed her while his mouth and tongue ravished her, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.
She moaned with need as he positioned himself over her. Kit laced her hands around his neck and met his fierce thrusts with a passion born of desire and love. The splendor of their joining burst like lightning, crackling electrically through loins and limbs, shuddering out of control.
“You are not too tender?” Wolf asked much later, caressing a flaxen lock near Kit's ear, marveling at the wonder of her. Her head was nestled in the curve of his arm, and they were still curled around one another on the deep green moss. Lightning flashed in the distance, and Kit heard the low grow] of thunder in the still faraway storm. She raised herself up on her elbows and studied her husband.
“No. And you, milord? Have I bruised you?” she asked with a wicked grin.
“Aye.” He gave her a wolfish smile.
She caressed his nipple with her lips and felt him shudder in response. “Pray tell, how would you have me remedy the problem?” She teased the sensitive skin with her lips and teeth.
“I'll leave that to you,” he said with a groan as her head moved. “I'm entirely at your mercy.”
Chapter Fifteen
 
 
W
hen it became clear that the storm was headed their way, the men moved camp from the hill, down into the shelter of the woods. A tent was set up near the lake for Wolf and his bride, and several tarps were hung from the trees to shield the men from the worst of the rain. Wolf stayed out and helped see to the animals and the supplies before the storm broke, rejoining Kit in their tent only after everything was secure.
He found his wife dozing in the center of their little shelter, amid the furs they'd brought in case of such weather. A pale yellow candle in a.clay bowl flickered and sputtered, casting changing shadows on her face. Wolf shucked off his clothes and settled in under the furs, next to her bare skin. He wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her close.
Kit stirred at the gentle intrusion, then came awake hazily.
“It's started to rain,” he said. His voice seemed a caress in contrast to the harsh, irregular pattering on the fabric of the tent. She could feel his warm breath ruffling her hair.
“I hear it,” Kit replied, glancing around their dry nest. She felt as though they were alone in the world, nestled in a warm cocoon. There was a wonderful security in being wrapped together in fur pelts, with the sound of the rain pouring down all around them. The scent of the tallow candle and its flickering light in the tent added to the snug atmosphere. She could stay this way for days, as long as Wolf was with her.
He traced the line of her jaw with a finger, trailing it down her neck and across her collarbone. “Are you warm enough?”
“Um-hm.” She stretched her arms and legs. Warm and content.
The way she snuggled her soft curves into his side sent tremors of need down Wolfs entire length. He worried that everything was happening too quickly for Kit's good. Though he'd made love to her only an hour before, he wanted her again.
He bent his elbow and propped his head on his hand. Determined to get his mind off her very desirable body, he asked her about one of the statements King Henry had made before they left London.
“You haven't told me how you saved my life the night of the attack.”
“The king exaggerated.”
“I think not,” Wolf shook his head. “If anything, Henry's a master of understatement.”
“Yes, I suppose...”
“So, what happened, then?” he asked. “I remember it was dark when we went into the gallery, and they came at us from all quarters.” His finger traced back from her clavicle, then up to the curly wisps of hair at her ear. His eyes seemed almost black now, with lashes dark and thick as soot. His face was smooth too, Kit noticed with delight. She didn't recall any other occasion when he'd shaved in the evening.
“Henry was without a weapon,” Kit answered. “You defended him until he finally picked up a sword from one of those men. The Lollards.”
“But then I was hit.”
“In the chest—yes,” she said. “We were outnumbered. There were two of them going at you, and I couldn't see how you'd be able to defend yourself....” She shuddered, remembering the gush of blood from the wound. “...and I was afraid you'd be killed...”
“And...?”
Kit told Wolf how she'd managed to pull a sword out from under one of the dark-clad men and use it to defend herself until she could make her way to him.
“...then I whacked the man—”
“Whacked?”
“Yes, I
whacked
the one who cut your leg,” she said, emphasizing the silly word. “I swung the sword as hard as I could and hit him in the side, just under the ribs.”
“You whacked.” He was amused and impressed with her ingenuity and daring. He doubted there was another woman in all of England who would have come to his rescue with a sword she could barely lift.
“Really, Wolf,” her tone was that of a scolding mother. “My technique may have been lacking, but the end result was to my satisfaction.”
He grinned. “Mine, too.”
“My beautiful gown was ruined,” she said quietly. “You bled all over it.”
“I seem to remember someone crying...”
“You weren't meant to hear.”
“Why?” His hand moved absently back to her jaw, and his finger traced a featherlight line across her lower lip and down to the cleft in her chin.
“I always thought you shouldn't cry in front of a dying man,” she said with a smile. “Makes him give up hope.”
 
When Kit awoke, she was alone. Morning light edged through the tiny cracks of the tent as she dressed in a clean gown. She emerged from the shelter and stretched, glancing around among the trees to find no one about. Somehow, eighty men had disappeared without making a sound. At least not enough sounds to wake her.
One weathered tarp remained, strung between two stout trees, and a small fire burned underneath, shielded from the misty morning. Kit heard a sound in the distance and saw Janus, hitched to a tree. Snorting and prancing, the stallion was anxious to move.
She made her way down to the water's edge and washed quickly, all the while wondering where her husband was. Kit even had a moment's pause when she thought Wolf might have left her, but immediately knew how foolish that thought was. She would have liked to believe he couldn't leave her after the previous night's intimacy and passion, but knew that duty was his reason for staying. His pride and sense of duty wouldn't allow him to lose a wife, no matter how little——or how much—she meant to him.
She returned to the fire and sat on a soft, dry spot of grass to brush and plait her hair. And as she did, Kit prayed her thanks to God that the Duke of Carlisle hadn't turned out to be the decrepit old Duke of her premarital imaginings. Her conscience told her that she should be confessing her shame for her night of wild abandon with Wolf, yet her feelings for her husband canceled out any guilt she might have felt.
 
Wolf had sent most of the men on ahead, unwilling to awaken his sweet wife to face the saddle so early. He was aware that their progress might be slow and he wanted to savor this time alone with her, before they arrived at Windermere, before all his new responsibilities closed in.
While Kit still slept, Wolf stationed a troop of twelve men up on a ridge to their southeast, to await his departure from the lake area. The men were instructed to follow the duke and his wife at a discreet distance, providing protection at the rear while Kit and Wolf rode on at their leisure.
He returned to the lake and found Kit on the matted lawn near the fire, brushing the long wavy hair that he knew would smell like flowers when he pressed his face to it. Her skirts were spread about her, and Wolf read a look of amusement on her face. He patted Janus as he walked by and saw Kit look up. The smile she gave him warmed his soul.
“Are you hungry?” he asked when he reached her. He had left a bowl of food, covered and warming near the fire.
Kit blushed and looked down when he spoke to her, and he was chagrined to lose any of the unexpected intimacy they'd experienced during the night. Not allowing her embarrassment to come between them, he crouched down next to her and took the hairbrush, then laid a hand at her cheek and kissed her brow.
“Here's a bit of meat left from the night's meal. Old Darby, our cook, saved this for you.”
She broke her fast as Wolf resumed brushing her hair for her, sending shivers down her scalp and neck at the sheer pleasure of it.
“Don't bind it today, Kit,” he said. “Your hair pleases me. I prefer it loose.”
It seemed that she was still uneasy with him, and he had no intention of letting her continue so. Yet he was unsure how to proceed. Women were so different. What would help to put her at. ease? More touching? Conversation?
“What were you thinking of just now?”
“Thinking of?”
“Yes. When I came back, you were smiling as you brushed your hair. You seemed amused about something.”
She blushed again, remembering her thoughts. “It was nothing.”
“Come now. Surely not ‘nothing'?” He sat next to her and set the brush down, then caressed a curl behind her ear. “Kit, last night—”
“No, no,” she interjected, clearly not wanting him to think she'd been dissatisfied in some way. “It wasn't that at all.” Her brows settled back to a relaxed position and the look of vague amusement returned to her deep green eyes. She looked sweet and innocent, yet he remembered with fresh awareness, her sensual abandon during the night.
Wolf didn't think he'd ever get enough of her. He never knew it would be like this, with an insatiable hunger for her.
“I was remembering something...”
“Go on.”
“When the Earl of Langston told me that I was to marry the Duke of Carlisle, I assumed Carlisle would turn out to be a wrinkled-up, moldy old man.”
“You mean he didn't tell you
I
was Carlisle?” His hand stopped toying with the stray golden tendrils.
“No, Wolf,” she said. “No one told me. Why do you think I fainted when I saw you the night of the banquet?”
“Why, Kit? Why did you faint?”
“I...I don't really know,” Kit replied, embarrassed that she
had
fainted and taken aback at Wolf's sudden intensity. “I'd been upset ever since learning about King Henry. The old king, I mean—being my father. I'd always been led to believe my father was an honorable man...wed to my mother...that he'd died on the continent before my birth...” She shivered, having to face again the lie that had been her life and the truth that could ruin it forever.
Wolf moved closer and put his arm around her. Could it be true that she hadn't known he was the one to whom she was betrothed? That when he'd seen her crying on Rupert Aires' shoulder, it wasn't because she was distraught over the prospect of marrying him?
“I discovered in one day that I was...a bastard...
and
promised to some old duke—”
He interrupted by turning her face and kissing her gently.
“—and...so I was smiling this morning because I'm...I am well pleased that my husband turned out not to be a broken-down old tyrant of a duke—”
He kissed her a bit more fervently then.
“—but merely Sir Gerhart, a knight most pleasing to the eye—”
His lips moved down her throat as his hands unfastened her lacings and pushed the bodice of her gown down, over her shoulders to her waist.
“—considerate to a fault—”
Wolf's fingertips brushed over her nipples, causing an immediate response.
“—and immensely...talented...”
She never finished the thought.
 
Wolf situated her in front of him on Janus, sidesaddle, for the ride home—to Windermere. She was a bit tender, though not unbearably so, and they rode comfortably together, without a trace of shyness between them now.
“Tell me about Windermere, Wolf,” she said, nestled against his chest as they rode in the late morning mist. The ground seemed greener and the tree trunks blacker, and Kit felt content and secure encircled in her husband's strong arms.
“I was born at Windermere,” he said, his warm breath gently stirring the hair at the top of her head. Wolf never cared to speak of his past or his family, but he found that he wanted to tell Kit. In some undefined way, his past was now hers. And once he'd told her, he hoped they could close the door on it together. “I was the youngest son of Bartholomew and Margrethe Colston. John was my eldest brother, six years older than me, and there was Martin, who died of lung fever when he was around twelve. I must have been about seven or eight at the time.
“My mother left England after Martin died, to stay for a time with her parents. John and I were no comfort for her, and I don't suppose my father was, either, though I was too young at the time to understand much of what happened.”
For months, Margrethe's melancholy over Martin's death deepened to a degree that worried Bartholomew. Thinking she might benefit from a change, he had his wife taken to Bremen, to spend time with her parents, and hopefully to recover from the death of her young son.
The plan might have worked, but when Bartholomew and John were lured to Bremen and killed during their journey several months later, Margrethe's fate was sealed. She never recovered from her. grief, and spent the subsequent twenty years wasting away, bit by terrible bit.
“But she had you, didn't she?” Kit asked. “Didn't your survival give her a reason to—”
“No, Kit,” he said quietly. “It didn't.”
They rode on in silence for a while. Kit held in her mind an image of her husband as a boy, experiencing the loss of his father and brothers, needing to share his own grief with his mother. But Wolf's mother had withdrawn into herself and had no room for him. Kit vowed that she would always be there for Wolf. And their children.

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