The Bride Of Windermere

Wolf turned and moved away with a grace that belied his massive frame. He was every inch a soldier, and Kit had a quick opportunity to study his face and body before making her move. His features were sharply defined and altogether too pleasing. Even a ghastly scar which ran from the right upper corner of his forehead, slashing over his left eye and into his left cheek did nothing to diminish his powerful magnetism. His cool gray eyes were hooded by thick black brows, the thickness and darkness matching that of his unruly mane.

Kit watched the man rake his hand through the dark hair in frustration and knew she had to move quickly. She was not about to be caught by any of her stepfather’s men, nor was she going to allow herself to be vulnerable to this Wolf and his soldiers. She would hide and wait for Rupert, and after he’d claimed her, only then would she deign to travel to London to please the king. After all, if she left Baron Somers’ holding now, how would Rupert ever find her? For he must certainly be on his way north to claim her.

Kit slipped out the back of the stable leading Old Myra, a horse her stepfather had recently acquired from a neighboring estate. Kit hoped that with the proper encouragement, Old Myra would head for home, some seventeen miles east of Somerton, and Baron Somers’ men would follow the horse’s trail. In the meantime, Kit had no intention of accompanying the mare to her former home.

Undetected, she led the horse down the hillside to the cover of trees, pointed her eastwardly and gave her a good crack on the rump. Old Myra took off as though she had a bee under her bridle. And Kit ran as if she had one in her britches as well, but in the opposite direction.

When she got closer to the village, she stopped to scoop up a handful of dirt to smear on her arms and face. If any of the baron’s men happened by, she was certain she could pass for one of the villagers. If not, the baron’s retribution would affect not only her, but the people of Somerton as well. With a sigh and a prayer, Kit moved swiftly through the woods, hoping that her ruse with old Myra would keep the baron’s men off her track.

Unfortunately, Old Myra had plans of her own. After tearing away in the direction of her former home, she ran into an obstacle, a small creek which had swelled with the spring rains, and it caused her to turn back much sooner than Kit had hoped.

Without the diversion of Old Myra’s trail, the baron’s men found Kit easily. She thought she’d been so clever heading for Somerton village, never considering that the baron’s retainers would go there first. Why couldn’t Old Myra’s trail have fooled them? Why hadn’t she thought to climb into one of the trees and wait them out? They never would have looked for her in the high boughs that were so familiar to her.

Kit was outdone, but only for the moment. It was a long way to London, she thought as they dragged her roughly back to the house. Plenty could happen before she reached the city, and Kit vowed to work out some plan that would enable her to rendezvous with Rupert.

“Oh, my child, my wee girl,” Bridget wailed as Kit was dragged into the courtyard. The baron’s men were unduly rough with her, especially in view of the fact that she had acceded to them. “I’ve been so worried, not knowing—”

“Hush, woman!” Lady Edith admonished angrily. This business with her stepdaughter had disrupted her life enough without having to listen to the rantings of Kathryn’s deranged cousin. She turned to Kit. “I see you’ve outfitted yourself as becomes your station, Kathryn.”

Margery and Eleanor snickered behind their hands.

Kit gulped. She knew she was a mess, but she refused to improve upon her present appearance for the benefit of Lady Edith or anyone else, for that matter. She straightened her back and drew herself up proudly. Her pride and her sense of humor were about the only two things they hadn’t taken from her. She bolstered her courage by thinking of Rupert and how he would come to take her away. If only her true father had lived, he would have protected her, cherished—

“Where is the little wretch?” Lord Thomas drawled, coming into the yard. As he came around the corner and saw Kit, a cruel gleam entered his eye. The baron’s men recognized Lord Thomas’ mood at once and made no move to help or protect Kit. She had refused each of their attentions too many times to expect help from any of them.

Kit refused to cower, even when Baron Somers lashed out and backhanded her across the face. The blow split her lower lip and sent her to the ground, but she got to her feet immediately and began to run. It was disheartening to hear the cruel laughter behind her, then the footsteps following, gaining on her. They were going to play with her the way a cat teased its prey. It was not a new game, chasing her about the yard, letting her wear herself out, then dragging her back to the baron for whatever brutality he had in mind. Kit wouldn’t have played along willingly, but the instincts to escape, to protect herself were too strong.

This time, the baron only blackened her eye, though the blow knocked her senseless. Someone dragged her to her room and locked her in. It was several minutes before Kit regained her senses.

“Oh, darlin’ girl,” Bridget cooed, tears streaming down her face. “What has he done to ye this time? If my Meghan were livin’ none o’ this would be happenin’.”

Kit opened her right eye, the unswollen one, to see Bridget’s little face looming over her. “What happened?” she whispered. It hurt to move her lips and when she pressed her fingers to them, she knew why. Dark blood still oozed from the gash Thomas inflicted.

“Ye must go with the king’s men,” the old nurse said. “At least ye’ll be away from the devil baron. Ye’ll be safe from his infernal temper for once.”

“But Rupert—”

“Rupert won’t be comin’ back, don’t ye know? Can’t ye understand?” Bridget argued, exasperated. Frustrated. She’d tried to convince her young charge of this over and over again. “Sure and I love the lad, but he’s been gone too long. He can’t expect ye to be waitin’ for him still, with nary a word in three years. The only way we’ve heard about him has been from the few travelers who’ve—”

“Oh, Bridget, my head hurts.” She didn’t want to think about Rupert not returning for her. Nor did she want to think about Wolf coming to take her away.

“He knocked ye good this time. Come, lass. Ye must trust in Monmouth. King Henry Hereford’s son can’t mean ye any harm. The father was just, and ye’ve heard as well as I that the son is a righteous man.”

Bridget helped Meghan’s daughter to get up.

Kit looked askance at Bridget. Her reasoning was sound, but Kit’s heart leapt to her throat nonetheless, when she heard riders approach the manor house.

Wolfram ducked to clear the door frame and enter Baron Somers’ house. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth and Wolf spied the baron sitting on a large, comfortable chair nearby, drinking from a wooden goblet. Four cronies lounged about, also drinking. None of them rose in respect due an emissary from the King.

“Come in, sir,” Lady Edith said as she led Wolf and three of his men to the group.

“I trust you’ve found the girl.”

“She’s with her nurse and won’t come down.” The baron’s speech was much more slurred than it had been earlier in the day. He rubbed his sore knuckles conspicuously as he spoke.

“Then I suggest you get her.” He had no desire to drag a tearful child from the arms of her nurse. It would be much better for one of her stepparents to fetch her. Baron Thomas looked to his wife for assistance, but she backed away in protest.

“Ungrateful little witch—she won’t obey me,” Edith protested. “Never has. I won’t go.”

“Doubt she’d come with me...” the Baron remarked, smirking.

Wolfs patience snapped. He’d been going round in circles with these people long enough. By the almighty, if they wouldn’t get the girl, he’d fetch her himself, regardless of the consequences. He headed toward the stairs and took them two at a time. “Which room!” he called back angrily. One of them damned well better answer, he thought.

“Third on the right,” came the lazy reply from the baron. “But you might need...” But Wolf had already stormed down the passageway, “...the key.”

The bloody door was locked! He’d be damned if he’d go back there and ask anything else of that drunkard downstairs. He put his shoulder to the stout wooden door and crashed it into the room.

Wolf looked around, but all he saw was a skinny old woman cowering in a corner and a filthy lad whose lip was torn and bleeding. One of his eyes was blackened and swollen shut. There was no girl child here. The miserable baron had lied to him! He was going to have to go round again with that fool!

“Where is she?” he roared. He thought he heard laughter from below.

The battered boy moved towards Wolf. His worn, brown hat was pulled down low over his forehead, completely covering his hair. Wolf noticed that the undamaged eye was an uncommonly beautiful shade of moss green, fringed in thick dark-brown lashes, and threatening to run over with tears. The boy blinked several times to clear his vision, and Wolfram didn’t miss his slight wince of pain.

“I am Kathryn.”

Wolf glanced around the room, certain he had mistaken his own hearing. He could have sworn it was the lad who’d said he was Kathryn. His voice was pleasing, with a huskiness to it that could only be...a girl’s.

“’Tis true, sir,” the old woman said in a weak voice. “She is. I’ve packed her things into these two satchels.”

“You?” Wolfram was astonished. Henry hadn’t told him exactly what to expect when he arrived, but it certainly wasn’t this. A dainty little miss, perhaps, but not this. Not a grubby, battered urchin.

He looked around the room once again. It was bare of furniture, with only a mattress stuffed with straw in a corner of the room. Fresh rushes were on the floor, though and a pleasing, spicy scent emanated from them. Fresh flowers stood in a large clay pot underneath the window, and a wooden crucifix hung on the wall over the mattress. He wondered if this young...person was responsible for the appearance of the main hall. Wolf thought it likely since no one down there seemed to be minutely capable. Even in her stark surroundings, this young Kathryn had made a cozy haven for herself in what seemed to be otherwise hostile territory.

A vague understanding of the girl’s situation presented itself to his mind, and Wolf realized he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to lay the girl’s stepfather flat. For God’s sake, if the lousy drunkard couldn’t stand to have her about, why didn’t he marry her off?

“I have but one request, sir,” Kit said. She lifted her chin proudly, obviously having difficulty in asking a favor. “That my nurse accompany us. She has always been with me and since the death of my mother—”

“As you wish,” he said abruptly. He wanted to get away from Baron Somers’ holding as soon as possible, even if it meant having an additional burden. “Gather your things, woman. You have little time.”

“Patience, sir knight,” the girl said, looking him directly in the eyes. “A few moments more will hardly matter.”

He didn’t leave them alone for a minute. If the baron battered the girl any more, their trip would be delayed indefinitely. Besides, Wolf didn’t want her to disappear again. From the ragtag look about her, she might just manage to elude them the next time. He was unsure whether it was she or the baron who resisted answering Henry’s summons, but he was not about to take any chances. He would get her to London if he had to bind her to her horse.

As it happened, Baron Somers refused to release a horse for Kathryn’s use. Wolf was ill-disposed to beg and as he had intended to carry the child Kathryn before him on his mount anyway, he reverted to his original plan. She was a bit older than he’d assumed, but his warhorse, Janus, could bear both their weights and more. In due time, old Bridget was mounted on a packhorse and finally brought up the rear with two of Wolf’s knights flanking her.

“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 respect 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.