The Bride of Windermere (4 page)

Read The Bride of Windermere Online

Authors: Margo Maguire

BOOK: The Bride of Windermere
5.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“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.
“Also clear is the fact that Rupert will never be able to find me now, and I intend to remedy that situation as soon as possible.”
“And how do ye propose to do it?”
“I don't know yet. Just promise not to worry about me,” Kit said.
 
Darkness fell slowly, by degrees. They'd eaten a meal consisting entirely of dried meat and when through, the men scattered about the fire to find comfortable places to spend the night. Wolfram backed up to a tree, wrapped himself in his cloak and closed his eyes. He could hear the regular, even snores of the woman, and he knew the girl hadn't moved in ages.
As he was about to doze off, Wolf caught sight of a slight movement from the other side of the fire. It was the girl, and she had turned over. Now she was quiet. Too quiet. And her position didn't seem to be an entirely comfortable one for sleep. Wolf could see that she was holding her breath. The idiot was going to make a move. He was completely alert instantaneously.
She eased herself up in stages, looking around to see if her movements disturbed any of the men. If they did, none of them, not even those on watch, showed any signs of it. Finally, she was on her feet, crouched down, near to the ground. She backed away from the campsite until she was completely in the dark, then stood and ran.
Wolf was up in a second. He couldn't believe the girl's foolishness. Where in blazes did she think she was going? He signaled to the men on watch to remain in place, then traced the girl's path through the woods silently.
Wolf increased his speed when he heard a loud thud and a muffled shriek. He had orders to get the girl to London in one piece, and she seemed intent on making that simple task a difficult one. It was so dark that Wolf had a hard time seeing down the shallow gorge into which she'd fallen, even though he knew he stood on the brink, towering over her. Kathryn was definitely down there, still unaware of his presence, and he listened to the disparaging sounds she made under her breath. He couldn't help being vaguely amused by her cursing.
“Ow!” She tried to stand, but her ankle wouldn't bear her weight and she fell again. “Damnation!” the lady muttered. “By all the martyred saints, my eye, my lip
and
my bloody ankle are ruined. Now I'll never—”
“Let me see your ankle,” Wolfram said as he stooped down next to her. She squealed and jumped half out of her skin when he spoke. “Easy, now. It's only me.”
“Only
you? You're the last person I wanted to see,” she cried. He smiled at her blunt honesty. Not much like the ladies he'd known at court, he thought, but she was still young. She'd learn.
“Probably a sprain,” he said gruffly as he pressed the ankle. She winced in pain. “It's already begun to swell.”
Kit groaned.
“What did you expect?” She was certain she heard irritation in his voice. He slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, then picked her up. She was a bit surprised that he didn't just throw her over his shoulder like a sack of rags. “You can't tear through the woods at breakneck speed in the dark and not expect disaster. Especially a
woman,
and one as obviously inexperienced as you.”
“Oh,
really?”
she remarked disdainfully, refusing to allow him to gloat.
Wolf felt the girl tighten her grip around his neck as he moved quickly through the woods. He realized he was intentionally showing her up, demonstrating how perfectly he could move in the dark without mishap. The girl had grit, and he admitted to a grudging admiration of her spunk in spite of the fact that, but for her, he would still be wrapped up warmly in his cloak, asleep. As her fingers moved around the back of his neck, the bizarre thought occurred to him that her scent was every bit as fresh and appealing as it had been earlier in the day as she rode with him. The thought nearly made him drop her.
“Slow down, Gerhart!” Kit commanded harshly. “I have no wish to sprain the other ankle.”
“As you command,
my lady.”
She was damned confident. And impudent.
 
No one spoke as Gerhart sat down where he'd been before, with his back against a tree, pulling Lady Kathryn into his lap. She turned to move away, but found his grip on her wrists like iron manacles. His silvery eyes bored through her, allowing for no further mischief.
“You will remain close to me for the night.”
Kit gasped, but kept her voice low. “You cannot be serious! It is entirely improper!”
“No less proper than allowing you to run off and kill yourself falling into a ditch somewhere.”
He gathered his cloak around them both and lay his head back. He pulled Kit's head against his chest and let her bottom slide to the ground between his thighs. She was much softer than she had seemed before. Perhaps she really was full-grown as she'd implied, and not some hell-bent adolescent.
“By all the bloody saints, I'll not stay here!” She tried to get up, but Wolf pulled her down by the waist until she was nose to nose and breast to breast with him.
“You will.” His teeth were clenched tightly.
Wolf forced his attention on her dirty, bruised, misshapen face because a pair of unmistakably, disturbingly mature breasts were pressing into the soft wool of his tunic. He could actually feel her nipples harden against his chest. His body threatened to mutiny against his better judgment, so he forced himself to concentrate on her obstinate, unpleasant temperament.
He was a man of discipline and discerning tastes. He was certainly not in need of this unruly, undisciplined, unappealing, filthy urchin. He had never been one to take a woman just for the sake of having one, and he knew he could do much better when he returned to find the woman of the lake. And soon, he supposed, there would be Annegret. Certainly, he had no need of this overdeveloped adolescent who was determined to cause herself harm.
Kit slid back into place. Her face hurt, her shoulder and hip throbbed from her fall and now her ankle felt as though it was on fire. She lost all interest in having it out with King Henry's knight. Besides, the damnable brute wouldn't loosen his grip. In spite of him, and to his surprise, Lady Kathryn pulled her hood over her ragged hat and fell asleep.
Chapter Three
 
 
W
olfram slept little. Lady Kathryn managed to curl herself up like a kitten and sleep soundly through the night. However, her movements, her little sighs and groans and the way she pulled at his cloak all night prevented him from sleeping much. What was it the old woman had called her? “Kitty?” It suited her. He could almost hear her purr in comfort as she tangled herself up on his lap. No, he hadn't slept much at all.
It started raining around noon and Wolf's mood, which was already foul, didn't improve any. Wolf paced the troop so the old woman could easily keep up, but he saw that she was having difficulty nonetheless. “Nicholas.”
Wolfs cousin was drawn out of his own sodden thoughts and looked up.
“See to her.” Wolfram gave a nod of his head indicating the rear of the train.
Kit moved so she could peer around Wolfs back and saw Nicholas take Bridget up with him on his mount. He settled her in front and pulled his cloak over them both, so she could ride as comfortably as possible. Kit would have thanked Wolf for his kindness toward Bridget except for the fierce look in his deep gray eyes. The man certainly was moody, and she didn't want to set him off. As it was, she was grateful to be securely situated in front of him with his thick cloak covering them and enough heat generated from his body to warm them both. The all-pervading smell of wet horse, wet wool and wet leather was strangely quieting.
The light drizzle turned to rain and still they went on through the hills towards Cumbria. Kit had difficulty understanding why they were veering west since she knew the direction to London was to the south and a bit east.
“You realize you've been taking us in the wrong direction for hours, Gerhart?” She used the name all the men called him and not “Wolf.”
His reply was merely a rude grunt
“I thought you were taking me to London,” she said. “Had my stepfather known of this detour, I doubt he would have permitted me to come traipsing around the entire countryside with you and your soldiers.”
“He's a good one for seeing to your welfare, isn't he?” The sarcasm wasn't lost on Kit. However, she had her pride and refused to allow him to think that she had been raised as anything less than a lady.
“He promised my mother he would care for me like his own daughter. He has provided well for me—”
“He beats his own offspring as well, then?”
Kit refused to allow him to humiliate her, so she shrugged and did not answer.
“How old are you?”
Kit hesitated before replying. She was somewhat advanced in age to be unmarried, and it was embarrassing. She wanted to lie but couldn't bring herself to sin outright.
“Twenty,” she finally admitted.
“Why aren't you wed? Or at least betrothed?” He had no doubt that Baron Somers would have difficulty finding anyone willing to take on this unkempt urchin who probably had no feminine skills at all. Nonetheless, he couldn't see the sense in keeping her around Somerton manor when she obviously irritated the baron to the point of violence.
“I am betrothed! Well, nearly so, I mean.”
“What, some local swain has begged for your hand?” The incredulous sound to his voice angered her. He acted as if she were completely unmarriageable! What did the big oaf know of it?
“It just so happens that he is one of King Henry's guard!” she snapped angrily.
“Who?” Wolf demanded. He knew all of them.
“Rupert Aires.”
Wolf laughed out loud. Rupert Aires was a young, handsome knight in Henry's service, well known for his amorous adventures with the ladies of the court. He was always embroiled in one escapade or another. Surely Kathryn was mistaken about a future betrothal to him. His loyalty to Henry was unquestioned, but otherwise the fellow was a scoundrel. An unprincipled skirt chaser.
“I don't suppose you know him?”
“Of course I know him.” His voice was irritable again.
“Well...?”
“He is a competent soldier.”
“Is that all?” Kit's voice rose with indignation. “A competent soldier? We've heard tales in Northumberland about Rupert's bravery in battle, his prowess with—”
“Has Sir Rupert ever seen your face?”
“What has that to do with anything? Naturally he's seen my face. We grew up together. We—”
“I mean without that amusing coating of grime.”
“What coating of—? Oh.” She raised her chin a notch. “Rupert knows me as well as he knows his sisters.”
Another rude grunt.
“Rupert told me that as soon as he's given leave from court, he'll come for me. Don't you see, Gerhart?” she asked earnestly. “That's the reason I had to try to get back to Somerton. Rupert won't be able to find me if I'm away from home. He's the only reason I had for staying.” She turned to look at him and found his face only inches from hers. He was scowling again, but Kit couldn't help but notice how beautiful his gray eyes were, framed in thick black lashes. The realization was unsettling. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
“We're going to the king, Lady Kathryn. Don't you suppose you'll see Sir Rupert in London?” Gerhart's voice was harsh. He didn't like having her unwavering gaze trained on him. She was too direct for a woman and her eyes, at least the uninjured one, were altogether too distracting.
Kit shook her head and looked away. “I don't have any idea how to find him. By all accounts, London is huge and Rupert might even now be on his way to Somerton for me.”
At least it was an explanation for the previous night's misadventure, although it riled him unexplainably. Somehow, it didn't seem fair that Lady Kathryn should be fretting and risking her neck over Rupert Aires, a man who had some of the most beautiful, as well as the most faithless women in England at his beck and call.
If Aires had some commitment to Kathryn Somers, he had a fine way of showing it. Wolf knew that all of Henry's guards had been given liberal leaves upon their return from France two months ago. Apparently Aires hadn't seen fit to travel to Somerton to claim his bride. Perhaps if he had, Henry wouldn't have deemed it necessary to send Wolf all the way to the north country to collect this naive chit of a girl.
“None of Henry's guard are on leave now,” he offered. He wasn't certain that was true, but if it reassured Lady Kathryn so that she'd quit trying to run back to Somerton, the small lie was well worth it.
“Are you sure?”
“Relatively.”
“That's a relief,” she said. “Now I'll just have to think of a way to find him when we reach London.
If
ever we reach London. You still haven't told me why we are not heading south.”
“We're not going directly to London.”
“We're not? Where are you taking me?”
He was not accustomed to being questioned by anyone, particularly a ragged, impertinent, insignificant girl. He let out an irritated sigh and gave her a curt response. “Windermere Castle.”
“Windermere! But that's in Cumbria!
Miles
out of our way!”
“Thank you, my lady, I am very familiar with the location of Windermere—”
“But that will take ages. And Rupert—”
“I'm beginning to see merit in Baron Somers' disciplinary methods.”
“Why didn't you go to Cumbria first and come for me last?” Kit's exasperation, at the very least, matched Wolf's.
“Because that would have contradicted my orders.”
“Why?”
“The king was quite specific. He wanted you in my custody as soon as possible.”
“But why?”
“Take a nap.” Kit didn't mistake his gruff tone nor his now-familiar scowl, and knew their discussion was at an end.
“But, Sir Gerhart—” She persisted.
His gaze hardened, and Kit realized she'd have to leave her questions for another time. She had no interest in testing whether Wolf really thought Baron Thomas was justified in beating her.
 
Their timing was worse than Wolf thought. The group still hadn't reached Windermere Castle and night was falling fast in the rain. It was easy to see that the old woman wouldn't last much longer, so he sent a couple of the men ahead to search out a sheltered spot to camp for the night. The scouts rode quickly out of the soggy dale and over the hill, out of sight.
It was completely dark when Wolf and his company caught up to the scouts who had found a small inn called the Crooked Ax, at the edge of a tiny village. There were three rooms available, and Wolf's men engaged them. There was also a hot meal to be had in the common room, for which Kit was grateful, since the dried meat they'd been eating did little to satisfy her hunger pangs. She also hoped that the roast fowl as well as the bread and cheese would help to cheer poor Bridget, who was definitely the worse for wear.
Kit's ankle caused only minor discomfort when she walked, giving her to believe it was merely bruised, and not sprained as Wolf had said. The long day spent sitting in the saddle, off her feet, did much to speed the healing process. She was able to climb the stairs carefully after supper and get Bridget settled to bed. The old woman's voice was raspy, and her breathing sounded congested as a result of the long hours exposed to the cold damp air.
“Wash the mud off yer face,” Bridget said when they'd reached their room. “If only ye could see yerself, lass. It's runnin' down in streaks. 'Tis unseemly for a lady of quality to go about in such filth.”
“I don't want to look like a lady, Bridget.”
“And why not, I'll be askin'?”
“The less everyone knows about me, the better.”
“I suppose by that ye'll be meanin' the grandsons of the prince?”
Kit rolled her eyes and turned away as the old woman washed her own face in the shallow basin provided.
“Grandsons or no, Rupert's waiting for me in London.” She turned back to Bridget just as the old woman was seized by a coughing attack. Kit immediately felt guilty for riling her.
“I won't be askin' ye to put on any o' the gowns I brought for ye, but would ye mind just cleanin' up a bit and lettin' me have a look at yer eye and yer lip? It'll do ye no good to have either one festerin' under all that filth.”
Kit gave up and gingerly washed her face. The gash at her mouth hardly bothered her at all but the eye still hurt dreadfully. It wasn't swollen so much anymore, but the bruise had turned to a deep purple with an outer perimeter of green.
“Sure and it matches the color of yer eyes,” Bridget joked about the discoloration. She gave Kit a brief hug about the shoulders. “Ye don't know how glad I am that we're away from Baron Thomas and his wife. That man—”
“Yes, we're away,” Kit started, returning the old woman's brief hug. She wanted to talk about this trip to London and somehow sensed that her kinswoman might have an answer to her question. “Bridget, dear old mother, why do you think King Henry sent for me?”
Bridget looked directly at Kit and was about to answer, then turned away. “I...I'm not sure as I know, Kitty. Mayhap he knew yer parents, one or t‘other.”
“Why do I have a suspicion that you know more than you're telling?”
“Ye've a suspicious nature is all, I suppose.” Bridget turned away, seemingly peeved with her young charge.
Kit had asked plenty of questions about her parents before, yet hadn't ever received a satisfactory answer. She knew she wouldn't get one now.
 
By morning, the rain had let up to a steady drizzle and Kit decided, with a shiver, that she would not proceed another mile until Bridget was better able to travel. The old woman had been up coughing most of the night, and Kit knew she didn't feel at all well. Kit braided her hair tightly and pulled the old brown hat down low on her forehead, covering her hair completely. She ordered Bridget to stay abed, then she wrapped herself up in her short cloak and went out in search of breakfast.
Though she knew the men had split up between two of the three rooms they'd let, Kit saw none of them about now. The only person in sight was the innkeeper's wife, who greeted Kit stiffly, obviously unimpressed with her rough appearance.
It mattered not. All Kit wanted was a bit of porridge for herself and Bridget and to find out where Wolf had gone. She needed to talk to him before he decided on his course for the day.
“Sir Gerhart is in the stables,” the woman informed her curtly. Her manner clearly indicated that if it had been her place, she would have advised the powerful knight to leave the ragged girl somewhere.

Other books

Dead and Kicking by Lisa Emme
A Sheetcake Named Desire by Jacklyn Brady
Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids by Pip Baker, Jane Baker
Dark Tempest by Manda Benson
More Than a Carpenter by Josh McDowell, Sean McDowell
Magic on the Storm by Devon Monk
Duplicity (Spellbound #2) by Jefford, Nikki
Tied Up (Sizzling Erotica) by Laina Charleston