The Bride Of Windermere

“Sir! You intrude!” Kit gasped as she turned and saw him. Letter to Reader Title Page MARGO MAGUIRE Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-three Copyright

“Sir! You intrude!” Kit gasped as she turned and saw him.

The man moved quickly, and Kit had no chance to grab the dagger hidden among her clothes. She did not wish to reveal the weapon’s existence yet. Better to be civil and await the opportunity to gain her knife without a struggle.

“I hesitate to apologize,” he said, still unable to see her face due to her cloak’s large hood. “I was unaware of your presence here until a moment ago, and I will not deny that I enjoyed the few glimpses you allowed me.”

“Unbeknownst to me!”

“You are cold.”

“The man is a scholar,” she muttered to herself as he came even closer.

Kit refused to be intimidated by his size. He was a big man at a distance and absolutely massive close at hand. She knew he could have her flat on her back in seconds....

Dear Reader,

Entertainment. Escape. Fantasy. These three words describe the heart of Harlequin Historicals. If you want compelling, emotional stories by some of the best writers in the field, look no further.

We think Margo Maguire is one of the best new writers in the field. Her debut book, The Bride of Windermere, is a captivating marriage of convenience tale set in medieval England. A knight, Wolfram “Wolf” Gerhart, has been sent by King Henry V to escort the beautiful Kit Somers to court. En route, Kit and Wolf waylay at his lost estate, where they begin to fall in love. Court intrigue, a surprise inheritance and passion abound from start to finish!

Silver Hearts is a charming new Western by Jackie Manning. Here, a doctor turned cowboy rescues a feisty Eastern miss on the trail, and their paths just keep crossing! Joe’s Wife, by the talented Cheryl St.John, is an emotional Americana story of a bad boy turned good and his longtime secret crush, now a widow, who proposes a marriage of convenience.

Rounding out the month is My Lord Protector by newcomer Deborah Hale. Set in 1742 England, a young woman forced to wed ends up marrying her fiancé’s uncle, who’ll “protect” her until his nephew returns. Unexpectedly the two fall madly in love!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical®.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to: Harlequin Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Bride of Windermere

Margo Maguire

MARGO MAGUIRE

lives in the Detroit area with her husband and three school-age children. She’s worked as a critical-care nurse for years, writes when she has time and is an active volunteer in her local schools and community. After returning to college to earn a degree in history, Margo came to realize that an awful lot of history was stranger than fiction. She decided it would be fun to put the two together.

To Mike and our three wild ones.

Everything is possible with you.

Chapter One

Northumberland, England

Late April, 1421

Damn the man! Damn that fool, Baron Somers!

Wolfram Gerhart Colston strode through the forest, toward the lake, away from his men. How could Somers possibly think he could defy the king’s orders? Who in kingdom come did he think he was? The monarch had sent Wolf to fetch the man’s stepdaughter and fetch her he would! He was damned if he’d go back empty-handed, and there was little time to waste. It didn’t matter how hard Somers tried to withhold the girl, Wolf would get her to London.

The huge knight deftly sidestepped a fallen branch in the dark and continued on his route to the lake, hoping for a few moments of peace near the dark water. It was near midnight and he’d been unable to sleep, so annoyed was he with the recalcitrant baron, a mean and lazy drunkard. Edith, his lady wife, was just as bad with her cloying ways and batting eyes.

Wolf had to admit he was more than a little exasperated by the entire situation. What in God’s name could King Henry V possibly want with little Kathryn Somers? Henry had only recently returned from France with his bride, Catherine of Valois; Wolf could not understand what was so important about this one girl in Northumberland. What’s more, Wolf resented the fact that he had been the one sent to this remote county to collect the child.

Wasn’t Wolf known for his cold precision, his prowess in battle and his immunity to all the superfluous nonsense that went on at court? There were so many more important duties for Henry’s lieutenants, who had just recently returned to England, that Wolf resented having his talents wasted this way.

Wolf hoped this wasn’t one of Henry’s ridiculous practical jokes. On second thought, that was doubtful. Since inheriting his father’s throne, Henry had become respectable and a whole hell of a lot more responsible than he’d been in his reckless youth. No...this was no joke.

The one and only consolation to this trip was that Wolf now traveled as the king’s emissary. Before delivering young Kathryn to London, Wolf intended to visit Winder-mere Castle and meet his cousin, Philip Colston, the current Earl of Windermere.

And Wolf would make every effort to see that the fraudulent earl was unseated.

The knight was certain that Philip was responsible for the violent deaths of Wolf’s father, Earl Bartholomew Colston, and of his older brother, John. It was twenty years since they’d been killed. Twenty long years, and Wolf intended to travel to Windermere in order to unearth whatever evidence was necessary to expose Philip’s treachery.

The only complication to Wolfs plan was Lady Kathryn. She was the reason why he’d been unable to travel to Windermere directly from London. And now, he’d have to take the child to Windermere with him, as well as to any other estates or manors he visited. There were hints and rumors that the Scots might try to steal the girl, and Henry said he wanted her safely in Wolfs hands.

It was still a bit too cold for swimming, but Kit Somers immersed herself in the chilly lake and washed quickly, before old Bridget could realize she was gone. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful for Bridget’s concern, but Kit was twenty years old now, well beyond the age of needing a nurse and Bridget did hover so.

The old woman, a distant cousin who had also been her mother’s nurse and companion, was her only ally against the loneliness and brutality of the last fifteen years since her mother’s death. But Bridget had become such an infernal worrier. Now she had taken to fretting about the smattering of King Henry’s soldiers camped out in the fields beyond her stepfather’s manor house.

A quarter moon hung over the lowest of the trees and a hazy mist hovered over the ground, giving the forest an otherworldly appearance. The lake was the perfect place to be alone and try to devise a plan of escape. It was a puzzle, though. She had no desire to comply with King Henry’s order to appear in London, but Kit knew she couldn’t openly defy him. However, if she happened to be away and never received the royal command, she couldn’t be accused of ignoring the king’s order. Unfortunately, she was certain the damnable escort would somehow manage to ferret her out of any hiding place. She had seen their leader at a distance, a huge, well-muscled knight with a head of dark, untamed hair, and he didn’t appear to be a man who would easily accept her refusal to accompany him.

Perhaps she could just keep him on the run, she thought. She was as good on horseback as any man in the vicinity, and her skill with a bow was better than most. There wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t stay in the forest and evade the king’s soldiers for weeks at a time. Yet thinking of the dark knight, she had to admit, she might not succeed.

And what of her stepfather? If he ordered her to go and she openly defied him... Kit shuddered. His reprisal would be swifter than that of the king. It was better not to think about those consequences just yet.

Kit left the deeper water and walked back towards the shore. She stood up in the shallows and unpinned her lightblond curls to let them fall where they may. How she loved the cold air hitting her naked body like this. She stretched her arms out, then overhead and reveled in the primitive pleasure she derived from the frigid air.

Perhaps a solution to her dilemma would come to her while she slept that night. Even better, maybe Rupert would return from his duties in London. After all, it was possible—all right, she admitted to herself, remotely possible—for him to arrive and rescue her from whatever fate King Henry had in mind for her. As one of Henry’s knights, Rupert might be able to intervene on her behalf.

Against her optimistic nature, Kit had to recognize the fact that few things had ever gone in her favor, and she had better quit hoping for a neat rescue. She was better off relying on her instincts and her unpredictable nature to see her through. She had managed to avoid countless beatings by her stepfather by keeping him off balance, doing the unexpected to divert his attention.

She wondered what the baron would expect her to do now.

Wolf sat on a fallen log at the edge of the wood facing the lake, lost in thought. He believed that Philip Colston had arranged for his family to be ambushed as they journeyed to Bremen to join Lady Margrethe, Wolfs mother. Earl Bartholomew and his son, John, were savagely killed before Wolfram’s eyes, along with all but one of their attendants. Of their entire party, only Wolf and a young squire, Hugh Dryden, had survived.

Furthermore, in case the ambush failed, Philip managed somehow to implicate Bartholomew in an assassination attempt against King Henry IV. Philip quite tidily ensured that his uncle’s name would be dishonored, and Bartholomew Colston would have been outlawed in England by some miracle if he or his sons had managed to survive the attack.

Philip and his coconspirator father, Clarence, had no idea that anyone had survived the ambush in Europe. To their knowledge, all of Bartholomew’s entourage had perished. However, not only had Wolf survived the attack in Germany, his identity was kept secret through the years to protect him, as well as to give him the advantage when he was ready to return and unseat Philip.

Wolf was so absorbed in his ruminations that he didn’t notice another presence nearby until he’d been sitting awhile. When he looked up toward the water, he thought the pale moonlight and mist were playing tricks on his eyes. Coming from the depths of the lake was a maiden, like one from the old tales he’d heard as a child. His feelings of annoyance and bitterness dissolved instantly, and he was intrigued.

The maid’s skin shimmered in the filmy light and her hair, as she loosed it around her, seemed made of the finest golden silk. The night was cool, and Wolfram thought he could almost see the goose bumps rise on her. The tips of her well-shaped breasts had certainly risen, and Wolf’s palms fairly itched with desire to touch her.

His eyes traversed her length, appreciating her shapely legs, her hips and slender waist as she came out of the water towards him, unaware of his presence. He was unable to draw a breath when she stopped and stretched herself in the ankle-deep water, throwing her head back, reaching for the moon. He almost expected her to give out a haunted call to whatever other spirits were lurking about this night.

Her face was averted from his gaze, but Wolf easily envisioned it. He rose up, as if in a trance and stood mesmerized by her, conjuring up images of her soft and gentle features. The fairy stepped out of the water and went over to a pile of clothes that lay just beyond the bank. She began to dry herself, but upon suddenly hearing steps behind her, the ethereal beauty yanked up a long cloak and hastily threw it on, covering herself as decently as possible under the circumstances.

“Sir! You intrude!” Kit gasped as she turned and saw him. The man moved quickly, and Kit had no chance to bend down for the dagger hidden among her clothes. She did not wish to alert the man to the fact that she had a weapon. Better to be civil and await the opportunity to gain her knife without a struggle, she thought.

“I hesitate to apologize,” he said, still unable to see her face due to the hood she’d pulled so far forward. “I was unaware of your presence here until a moment ago, and I will not deny that I enjoyed the few glimpses you allowed me.”

“Unbeknownst to me!”

“You’re cold.”

“The man’s a scholar,” she muttered to herself as he came even closer.

Kit refused to be intimidated by his size. He was a big man at a distance and absolutely massive close at hand. She knew he could have her flat on her back in seconds. If only she could get to her knife, she thought. She didn’t dare stoop down for it because he would surely knock her over, and she’d be defenseless.

She needed to get away, yet the dark giant was clearly not of a mind to let her leave. This would never do! Maybe she ought to try simply running. She was fast and knew the forest paths well. A man of his size would probably be slow, but what if she was wrong? What if he managed to catch up to her? What if he discovered the cottage, her only refuge in the woods? She couldn’t run all the way back to Lord Somers’ house wearing only her cloak. Her stepfather’s men would surely—

“Where do you live?” his voice was gentle. “It isn’t safe for a gentlewoman out here alone. My men are camped nearby and I couldn’t vouch for the manners of any of them, coming upon a maid alone in the dark.”

God’s blood, he was a gentleman. Kit breathed a sigh of relief and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. Chivalry demanded that he give her due respect. “Thank you for your concern, sir,” she said with relief. A change of tactics was needed. If she used a bit of honey, the way her stepsisters did so annoyingly, perhaps she could get him to go away. “I will just gather my things and be off—”

“Where is your home?”

“Not far.” Her voice was as sweet as she could make it.

“I cannot allow you to go unescorted. There are dangers in the night, my lady.”

Kit wanted to scream at the man but held her temper in check. A ladylike argument was more likely to win her cause than screeching like one of the banshees of Bridget’s tales. “Please sir, allow me to pick up my clothes, and you may escort me to my cottage,” she said sweetly.

Chivalry was all fine and good, but who could tell how a stranger would behave? Even Lord Somers, her own stepfather, was mean and brutal with her. Kit almost groaned aloud when the man swept down and picked up all of her belongings at once. Now she’d never get her dagger. And there was a good chance she wouldn’t be able to outrun him, especially without her boots. No, she could see he moved too well for a man his size, with grace and purpose.

“You mystify me, my lady,” the knight said.

“Oh?” Kit turned away and tried to calm herself as she walked towards the cottage.

“At first when I saw you I thought you were one of the nymphs of old.” Was there a hint of amusement in his voice? “Now I tend to believe that you are made of flesh and blood yet you have little fear of me. Why?”

If only he knew she was trying to figure a way to get hold of her knife so she could slip the blade between his ribs. “Naturally, I am wary, sir. I realize just how vulnerable I am. I’m ill at ease having to rely on your sense of propriety and chivalry. I would hope, by all the saints, that you intend me no harm.” She wanted to gag. If her stepsisters could only see her, they’d be on the ground, laughing.

The cottage was almost in sight now, though the soldier would be hard-pressed to see it, since the night was so black and the building lay within a thicket of trees. Her stepmother had had it built, ostensibly for the use of the family, but Kit knew she used it for other purposes. Fortunately, Lady Edith was not there tonight with any of her gentleman friends. Kit would be able to slip inside, bar the door and outwait the knight in warmth and comfort.

“Here we are, sir.” Kit stopped and turned to dismiss the soldier, but the man seemed incapable of taking the hint. “My...my mother awaits me,” she lied.

He moved towards her, and though Kit couldn’t actually see his face in the dark, she sensed that he was looking at her intently. She felt exceedingly uncomfortable to be so scrutinized, especially by the man who had just watched her as she bathed. It was absolutely indecent.

“Sh-she is ill, you see...er, and will worry overmuch if—”

“Who are you?” His voice was soft, a caress. He came closer.

His nearness was intoxicating. Kit’s mouth went dry. Though the knight was huge, she was suddenly no longer afraid. An alien curiosity filled her as she realized that no man had ever affected her in the way this man did. “I...er...”

Before she could answer, he dropped the clothing he carried and took her face in both of his hands. His mouth brushed hers, a gentle caress of lips that made her tremble. He groaned as his mouth touched hers again, gently at first, then gradually more demanding until his lips were slanting over hers, leaving her breathless and bewildered. His hands slipped under her cloak and moved onto her shoulders, then down her bare back until they reached her smoothly rounded bottom. He pressed her tightly against him. She felt his hard, clothed body against her naked flesh and a knot of pleasure wound itself up tightly in her pelvis. She had never experienced anything like this before. Not even Rupert had ever—

Kit broke away from him in shock. “Please!”

“Who are you?”

“Let me go!”

“My name is Wolf.” His hot breath seared her ear, and his lips brushed against her lips again.

Kit tried to pull away. She’d never been kissed this way before and was shaken to the core.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“No one! I am no one! Let me go!” At that, she pulled away and ran to the cottage, her cloak billowing out behind her. When she was inside, she dropped the heavy beam across the door and leaned against the rough wall until her breathing slowed, until her heart stopped its wild pounding.

Wolf knew with certainty that she didn’t want to be found with him, but he considered risking all to touch her and taste her again. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met. Beautiful, seductive, intriguing. He was shaken by his own reaction to her, and one taste of this goddess wasn’t enough. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone before.

But the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t risk offending the local nobility while on this errand of Henry’s. He’d have to put this woman, this delectable “no one” out of his thoughts for the time being.

Wolf finally turned and headed back into the thickest part of the forest towards camp. He was a patient man. He would come back for her when all was settled at Windermere.

Kit couldn’t sleep all night. She sat in the dark with a blanket around her and still she shivered, though she couldn’t really complain of the cold. It would have been nice to go out and retrieve her clothes, but she was afraid he would be out there waiting.

“Wolf.” It suited him, she thought. He was certainly big enough to lead a pack of wolves and though he’d been gentle with her, she sensed that he could be brutal as well as kind. In the moonlight, she’d been able to see his wild mane of shaggy dark hair and light gray eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark.

She really needed to try to consider a feasible way to evade King Henry’s army in the morning, but all she could think of was Wolf. His lips, the way his tongue slipped in and out of her mouth, his hands touching her shoulders, sliding down her back, her bottom...

Rupert had never even kissed her. He’d gone off with King Henry over three years before, without even the benefit of a betrothal, promising to return after the French territories were regained. But here it was, ages since the fall of Normandy and Rupert had not returned. How long did he expect her to wait?

Kit could practically feel herself growing older by the day. Her stepsister, Margery, would be betrothed soon and Eleanor was likely to follow in another year or so. Kit longed to be off with Rupert to become his wife and the mistress of his home. And she yearned for more now, too.

Feelings like the ones the knight aroused must surely be sinful. Just thinking about what had happened caused that hot, pulsing knot to tighten in her belly again, and she squirmed at the memory of Wolf’s touch. Rupert’s touch, she meant. It would be just the same with Rupert, even better, she told herself, when she was his wife.

Just before dawn, Kit climbed out the narrow window on the far side of the cottage. She sneaked around the corner, straining her eyes in the predawn light to see if anyone lurked about in the dark. Wolf was gone, so she grabbed her clothes and quickly ran back to what she considered to be the safe side of the cottage. She dressed quickly, then hastened back to her stepfather’s house.

Although Lord Thomas Somers’ house was large, Kit knew she would never be believed if she said she’d been inside all night. Not that her stepfather would care where she was all night; the only thing that mattered to him was that she keep his household running smoothly, and that she be there to take the blame when it did not. However, it would give him the excuse he needed to bring her to her knees, which seemed to be one of Lord Thomas’ favorite pastimes. Anyway, Bridget would have torn the whole house apart looking for her, and Kit experienced a pang of guilt for causing her cousin trouble and concern. Bridget hadn’t been in the best of health lately, though Kit was hard-pressed to put her finger on what was wrong.

She ran through the yard and into the stable. There were plenty of likely spots for a youth to sleep, and it wasn’t the first time Kit had spent the night there with the horses.

The sun was high when the ruckus in the yard woke her. It would be the man from King Henry, no doubt, and here she was with nary a plan. Her heart jumped to her throat when she recognized the angrily booming voice. It was the voice of Wolf, the man at the lake. “Explain yourself, Somers!” he demanded. “Where is she?” There was no gentleness to his voice now, she thought, though he had used it like a caress last night.

Her stepfather staggered into the yard. Kit looked up toward the sun to gauge the time. It was not yet noon, but Lord Thomas had already imbibed too much. His clothes were rumpled and soiled, and he wore the stubble of the night’s growth of beard. His face had taken on that look of meanness so familiar to Kit, and he could barely stand. No wonder the knight was impatient. He probably hadn’t received an intelligible response from the baron since he’d arrived.

“She was here, I tell you, and I will get the twit back.” Somers’ eyes narrowed, and Kit recognized the signs of drunken vengeance. She didn’t want to be caught by him while he was in this state.

“I will return in one hour,” the knight said, his annoyance matching the baron’s anger. “At that time, I will collect young Kathryn and depart immediately. Have her here and ready or suffer the consequences of Henry’s wrath.”