The Bride of Windermere

by Margo Maguire

  “The ring Agatha gave you belonged to Bartholomew. It was stolen twenty or more years ago, never to be seen again—until now. There were rumors when the seal disappeared, that Clarence or Philip was responsible for the theft, but nothing was ever proven.”

  “Why would the earl’s brother want the seal?” Kit asked sleepily. “What would he be able to do with it?”

  “He should have been able to do nothing with it,” Wolf replied. “But I have a suspicion that Clarence—or Philip—used it illegally in order to implicate Bartholomew in a capital crime... Treason.”

  “Why do you think Agatha gave me the ring?” Kit asked. “What possible significance can it have now?”

  “It could shed light on the events surrounding the deaths of Bartholomew and his sons.”

  “Such as...?”

  “I don’t really know, Sprout,” he lied. “But I intend to look into it when we reach London.”

  “What do you think Agatha meant when she said to look for Tommy Tuttle in London?” she asked, yawning.

  “She said what?” Wolf was startled.

  “I didn’t think to tell you before. Agatha said to look for a man called Tommy Tuttle in London. That he could explain...” She shrugged.

  “What else did Agatha say? Try to remember everything, Kit.”

  “There was something about the rightful earl coming to claim his title,” Kit told him, “but the woman spoke in riddles. I couldn’t understand her meaning at all.”

  Silver eyes. Black thatch. Rightful earl. As Agatha’s words came back to her, Kit suddenly became more alert, more aware of the implications of Wolf’s story. Was it possible that Wolf was a son of Bartholomew Colston? Didn’t he say the sons had died twenty years ago?

  “Tell me, Gerhart, what were the names of Bartholomew Colston’s sons?” she asked, controlling her voice.

  “The elder two were John and Martin. The youngest was called Wolfram.”

  Chapter Seven

  At dusk, Wolf called a halt near a clump of trees which backed up to a rough rock formation, offering some protection from the wind. He wasn’t particularly concerned about highwaymen, since they were said to be scarce in the area.

  The men started a small fire and prepared a meal with some of the food that was sent along from Windermere. Kit ate only a few bites, then wrapped herself up in a blanket and settled down to sleep near the fire. Wolf’s men finished eating, then found comfortable places for themselves, though several remained on the alert.

  Kit couldn’t fall asleep. Vowing not to weep again and trying not to think about Bridget, she considered the story Wolf had told about Earl Bartholomew and his stolen signet ring. Even with her limited contact with Philip, she could easily believe that the present earl had had something to do with the seal’s disappearance. She wished she could recall whether old Agatha had said anything specific about Philip Colston. Her words were so confused, Kit wasn’t sure she could believe anything the old woman had said.

  Yet she had no doubt now that Wolf—Wolfram—was the rightful earl, a surviving son of Bartholomew Colston. And for some reason, he had to keep that fact hidden. It occurred to her that Philip might still pose some threat to Wolf, though that was difficult to understand. Wolf was perhaps the most powerful, most controlled man Kit had ever met. She couldn’t imagine any reason why he would allow Philip to continue holding the earldom.

  Kit wondered how many more estates they would visit before reaching London...and Rupert. It seemed so long since she’d seen him. Only three years and yet she could hardly remember his face. Of course she remembered that his hair was light brown and he had pleasing hazel eyes, but his features had faded in her memory over time. It crossed her mind that Rupert had never roused her senses the way Wolf had, just by his nearness. She almost wished for a prolongation of her journey to London, afraid that Rupert wouldn’t be—

  Everything was suddenly very quiet. Kit noticed that Wolf and his cousin were no longer talking with Hugh, but sitting quietly, looking at the fire. They didn’t appear relaxed at all, though. None of the other men seemed at ease, either. In fact, when she watched closely, she realized they were all readying their weapons, quietly, unobtrusively. A chill ran through her, and she sensed the same danger they did, though she didn’t know how or why.

  In an instant, men were moving all around her in the dark. Men she didn’t recognize, as well as Wolf’s men. Kit jumped to her feet and ran back to where the horses were tethered. The clanging of metal on metal was all around, and Kit watched as Wolf’s men fought desperately. By Kit’s count, the bandits outnumbered them by four—herself included, of course.

  She remembered that her sling and a packet of stones were in one of her satchels. If only she could find where Egbert and Claude had put them when they’d unpacked the horses, she might be able to even the odds. She hoped Wolf wouldn’t mind. Kit was certain that if he were here, Baron Somers would beat her for interfering, but she had to hope Wolf would appreciate her efforts to help his men.

  Forcing herself to remain calm, Kit slipped away from the fray. Locating her bags, she dug through her belongings to find her little weapon. It was really only useful for killing small animals—hares and squirrels, sometimes foxes—but could easily stun a larger animal if her aim was good. That was all she intended now—to stun a few of these outlaws.

  Kit slipped the packet of stones into her belt and climbed up on the gentle mare Philip had given her. From her elevated position, she’d have a clear shot at the attackers.

  The battle raged on, with Kit taking shots whenever she had a clear view of her target. Her concentration was focused so single-mindedly on her efforts, she didn’t realize that the brigands had discovered her. One of them circled around behind the horses to sneak up on her. He yanked her roughly off the horse and dragged her away from the fray.

  “There’s a knife at yer throat, yer ladyship, so’s I wouldn’t be callin’ out if I were ye,” the bandit said in a harsh whisper.

  Finally halting near a small river, Kit’s assailant shoved her down on the ground. A second later, he was on top of her, cutting her clothes away. She screamed when she felt the cold iron against her flesh.

  “Shut up!” He struck her in the jaw hard enough to make her see stars. “I promise I’ll cut ye first and have ye last!”

  Kit struggled with all her might. If the man intended to kill her anyway, what difference did it make whether she struggled or not? She was certainly not going to die without a fight. She got one hand loose and managed to get hold of her knife, but her attacker quickly knocked it out of her hand. When Kit felt him rip her clothes savagely away, she finally knew true panic. She kicked and struggled with a vengeance, desperate to get away from the foul man. She managed to get in a good kick, which only infuriated him. He struck her hard again, bringing tears of pain and desperation to her eyes.

  Then she heard Wolf’s voice in the distance, calling to her.

  “Damn the bastard!” her attacker muttered, gripping her even more savagely, pulling fiercely. Kit screamed again and struggled with all the force she could muster, trying to buy a few moments’ time.

  When Wolf finally reached her, it was over quickly. The hateful assailant was dead on the ground next to her, and then Wolf had her in his arms and was carrying her away from the site. He took her over to the little brook whose gurgling she had heard before, then sat down with her on a raised piece of flat rock, cradling her as she sobbed. It was the second time in less than a day that she’d sat thus, cuddled into Wolf’s arms, weeping like a child.

  Wolf dismissed Hugh Dryden, who had come to assist if necessary. The attack back at camp was over now, with none of Wolf’s men lost, and only two injured. Most of the assailants had been killed, though two ran off when they realized they stood no chance of victory against King Henry’s seasoned soldiers.

  The odds had turned to Wolf’s favor shortly after the battle began, and he got only a quick glimpse of Kit in action before his attention wa
s drawn by yet another swordsman. Unbelievably, it was Kit who was responsible for influencing the outcome of the exchange.

  Unsure of Kit and what she might do next, he waited for her sobbing to stop. When it finally did, only to turn into hiccups and sniffles, Wolf waited again. He’d seen his share of battles, but seeing Kathryn wield her small weapon was something entirely new. She had done it again. Taken him completely by surprise. He wondered when her little surprises had ceased to annoy him.

  He smiled, amazed at her spirit. And her skill with the little leather thong.

  “This must be four,” she said between sniffles.

  “Four...? Aye, it is,” he smiled, understanding her meaning. She was all right, he realized as a sense of tremendous relief rushed through him. “But we’ll call it even.” He brushed his lips across her forehead, marveling at her. For all her terrifying experience, she hadn’t even lost her hat. And she still smelled of roses.

  “We will?” She looked up at him with large, wet eyes, enough to make his heart lurch in his chest. The thought that she might have been harmed pierced him to the core. She was trembling now, and he hugged her tightly to his chest.

  “You’ll have to show me that little weapon of yours,” he said.

  She nodded against his chest

  “Do you think you can walk back now?”

  “Of course,” she replied shakily, sliding off his lap, holding her shredded tunic together. Her knees buckled almost immediately, and she would have hit the ground had Wolf not moved quickly to catch her. She slipped her arms around his neck when he lifted her and looked up at him. He wasn’t scowling at her now.

  “Kit.” His voice was a rasping whisper. He could only think how good it felt to have her safe and secure in his arms.

  He hesitated for a moment, but then his mouth found hers, and Kit trembled with a desperate sensual reaction to his touch. Her nails bit into the back of his neck and he intensified the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. Kit’s entire body responded, and she groaned as she melted in his arms. Oh, how could he affect her like this? How could she let this happen?

  Wolf sat back on the rock ledge and moved his lips down the delicate column of Kit’s throat. Her tunic was in tatters and Wolf’s fingers easily found the peak of one full breast which he caressed first with his thumb, then his tongue. Kit cried out in pleasure as one of his hands moved down her back to her buttocks, then her thigh. She squirmed and kissed the back of his neck while he teased her nipple and slid his fingers up between her knees.

  “Sweet Kit,” he whispered, moving his mouth back up to hers. “So incredibly beau—”

  His words brought her back to reality, and Kit pulled back abruptly. “Oh, no,” she whispered as she clamped her legs together. “Rupert,” she cried in dismay. “I’ve betrayed Rupert.” Kit slid away from Wolf and buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t bear to face him now, not after he’d touched her so intimately. And she’d let him.

  “You haven’t betrayed Rupert,” he said quietly, shakily. “This sort of thing is—is natural after what happened tonight. In the aftermath of a battle, it’s easy to lose control....”

  “Yes,” Kit said quietly, embarrassed. “I understand.” She still believed she’d broken faith with Rupert. God in heaven, it took only one of Wolf’s kisses to do it. Just the man’s touch set her trembling, wanting more.

  Yet Rupert awaited her in London. And Wolf, the son of an earl, grandson of a German prince, had his Annasomeone... waiting somewhere.

  “Have a look, cousin,” Nicholas said as Wolf and Kit approached the camp. He showed Wolf a leather purse taken from the body of one of the attackers.

  Kit was still shaky from her experiences by the brook. Both of them. She picked up her blanket and wrapped herself up in it, then followed Wolf to the fire. “There was a merchant at Windermere Fair selling those purses. Robert atte Cross was his name,” Kit said. “Look—even the cross in the heart is tooled into the back.”

  “You’re certain you saw these pouches at Windermere?”

  “Yes,” Kit replied. “I remember Baron Edward’s wife remarking on the device of the cross in the heart. I remember thinking it very clever that the man worked his name into his sign.”

  “These men carry too much gold to have been desperate for our coin,” Hugh said. “In fact, I don’t believe they wanted our coin at all.”

  “Good. It just adds one more nail to his coffin.”

  “Whose coffin, Gerhart?” Kit asked.

  “Philip Colston sent these cutthroats after us,” he said. “Do you remember he tried to send some men with us?”

  She nodded.

  “No doubt to eliminate us whilst we slept.”

  “But why?” Kit asked. “Because you have the signet ring? Or the paper? How could he know?”

  “He knows you’ve seen Agatha, and he can’t be sure of what she may have told you,” Wolf replied. “Agatha must have been party to Clarence and Philip’s conspiracy against Bartholomew. Philip can no longer trust her.”

  “Are you saying that he sent these men...to kill me?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  Nicholas nodded, while Wolf was loath to confirm her worst fears. Kit looked over to where the horses were tethered. Her brown canvas satchel still lay open on the ground with some of its contents spilling out. She started to tremble again.

  “The man who d-dragged me into the woods...he knew I was... He called me ‘milady’ or ‘your ladyship’. H-how could he have known I was anything but a lad, dressed as I was?”

  “But he did know, my lady,” Nicholas countered, voicing and verifying their suspicions. “Somehow, he did know.”

  Kit eventually curled up with her back toward the crumbling rock formation and tried to sleep again, but as before, it eluded her. Worse yet, she was shivering—probably from shock—and couldn’t seem to stop.

  Wolf, aware of the trembling mass under Kit’s blanket, went over to her and dropped down to the ground next to her. Without a word, he hauled her up against him, covered them both with his thick wool blanket and settled down to sleep. Her back curled easily into his warmth and he draped his arm across her waist, as though it belonged there. Before long, her shivering stopped, and she fell asleep.

  Somewhere deep in her unconscious mind, Kit was aware that the birds had already been singing for quite some time. Dragging herself to full wakefulness, she lay quietly, enjoying the peace of the moment and the heat and power of the man who lay entwined with her.

  Man? Entwined?

  She pulled her legs away and sat up abruptly to face Wolf, who was lying comfortably on his side with an elbow bent and his head resting on his hand.

  “Good morning, my lady,” he said quietly. “I trust you slept well?” His eyes strayed to her lips, then dipped down, unable to resist a glance at her softly curving form.

  Kit glanced down to see that her tunic was gaping wide from the gash that had been torn in the fabric, giving Wolf a glimpse of soft white skin and lush, pink-tipped breasts. She pulled the edges of the cloth together for modesty.

  Wolfram swallowed hard. He sat upright and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. “Find something decent to wear,” he said gruffly. “We’ll be on our way soon.”

  Kit wore women’s clothes for the next three days and kept well-covered in a wimple and her old mud-stained cloak. Wolf remained quiet as they traveled, barely answering Kit’s few questions. He was sullen and preoccupied, and Kit believed he frowned at her more since he’d kissed her than he had in the entire time she’d known him. She wondered why he was so dour, but all her attempts to draw him out were unsuccessful.

  Men! she thought. How was she ever to understand them?

  Wolf told her that they would make only one other stop before reaching London, at the estate of John Beauchamp, the Marquess of Kendal. He didn’t mention that the Marquess had been Bartholomew Colston’s closest friend and had made several attempts in the court of Henry IV to make inquiries into the de
aths of Bartholomew Colston and his sons, only to be thwarted at every turn. There had been a wary and suspicious climate at court at the time of Bart’s death, and Henry Hereford had been unwilling to entertain any reconsideration of the charges against the earl.

  Wolf intended to take the Marquess into his confidence and attempt to gain his support and assistance, which would be invaluable when he presented his case against Philip to King Henry V. Perhaps this Henry would reopen the case and Judge it for himself.

  Relegated to the back of Wolf’s mind was the awareness that they would soon reach Westminster and he would have to turn Kit over to King Henry. And to Rupert Aires. The idea did not sit well. The fact that she could have such an effect on him was acutely disturbing. No, it was downright impossible. No woman had ever dwelled so much in his thoughts, nor had he worried about anyone the way he had about Kit. It would have to stop.

  When she arrived in London, there was no telling what King Henry wanted with her. Perhaps he would allow her to wed Rupert, though it was possible that Lady Kathryn Somers had some obscure political connections. Perhaps Henry wanted her to marry for diplomatic reasons. Whatever happened, Kathryn would be on her own, at the mercy of the king’s benevolence, no matter how much Wolf wished otherwise.

  Wolf’s thoughts drifted to Annegret, the daughter of a German margrave with whom his grandfather sought an alliance. So far, Wolf had managed to avoid an actual betrothal to Annegret, a pale, meek girl who was quite a contrast to Kit, but both families were strongly in favor of the match. He knew he’d soon have to make a commitment.

  As they rode to Kendal Keep, Wolf laid his plans. He would ask John Beauchamp to come to London and make discreet inquiries into the existing evidence against Bartholomew Colston. Perhaps now; Henry Hereford’s son would consider investigating Bartholomew Colston’s role in the alleged assassination attempt on his father. Wolf believed he would be able to refute whatever spurious evidence existed against his father in the Curia files. After all, he now had the old signet ring, as well as Bartholomew’s remade signet, not to mention the withered parchment which bore Clarence’s name and a mysterious seal.