Wolf also hoped to locate Tommy Tuttle whom Agatha had mentioned to Kit. He wondered how common that name was in London, and if he would ever be able to find him, a man with an obscure connection to a twenty-year-old crime. He vowed he’d go back and find Agatha herself and take her to testify before Henry if need be.
Lastly, Wolf knew he had to get away from Kit. She was a threat to his controlled, well-ordered life, and the last thing he needed was to fall any further under her impudent spell.
They reached Kendal Keep just before nightfall and were greeted on the stair by a round little woman, richly dressed in a blue gown and head covering. Wolf recognized her as the Marchioness, Lady Mary Beauchamp.
“Welcome to Kendal,” Lady Mary greeted them warmly, her words bubbling over one another. “’Tis lovely to have guests, and we so rarely do. You look weary, my dear. You must have traveled all day. You’re likely hungry and thirsty and wish to rest. We will see what we can—Oh my, here I go off again,” she said, putting a conscious stop to her rambling. “How do you do?” she took Kathryn by the arm and steered her away from the knights. “I am Lady Mary, Kendal’s wife. Oh, it is so good to have you here. If only Charlotte, my daughter-in-law, were here.” Kit smiled at Lady Kendal’s effusiveness and went along with her. It was pleasant to escape Wolfs sour company for the moment, though she wondered if Lady Mary would ever give her the chance to speak. “Lady Kathryn, are you not? The man-at-arms informed me...”
Wolf hardly listened to the woman’s chatter as he followed Kathryn and Lady Kendal into the hall. Kit seemed at ease, and Wolf knew Lady Mary would see to her comfort while recounting every event in the lives of the Beauchamp family for the last three generations.
Nicholas and Wolf crossed the hall and followed one of the Marquess’ knights who took them to a curving stairwell at the rear of the castle. They climbed one flight of the stone steps to reach a small room in the tower, John Beauchamp’s office. It was a circular room with long narrow windows cut into the stonework. The lighting, which would be more than adequate in full daylight, was augmented by a low-hanging chandelier.
The Marquess of Kendal was not a very tall man, but he was solidly built, obviously a man of action in his younger days. His hair was gray at the temples, though it was a sandy brown over the rest of his head, just as Wolf remembered. He had a friendly gleam in his penetrating blue eyes and was as reticent as his wife was outspoken. Wolf was wondering how to broach his true reason for visiting Kendal Keep when the Marquess finally spoke.
Looking directly at Wolf, he said quietly, “Did you take me for a doddering old fool, boy, not to recognize the name Gerhart?”
Chapter Eight
Never had Wolf considered the possibility that Lord Kendal would remember the name of his German grandfather, and he was chagrined to think that the Marquess was offended by the deception. He wanted the man on his side, not alienated from him.
“Would you be John or Wolfram?” the Marquess asked. “Obviously, at least one of you survived the attack. My guess is that you’re Wolf, though all three of you boys had your father’s look about you.” Lord Kendal sat back in his chair and studied Wolf. “If memory serves, you’re a bit young to be John.”
“John died with my father,” Wolf said quietly.
Though he had to have known and accepted it as fact for twenty years, the Marquess was clearly disturbed by Wolf’s words. “Why are you here now? What are your intentions?” Lord Kendal asked.
“I hoped to convince you to help me regain Windermere and clear my father’s name,” Wolf replied carefully. “I wasn’t sure how—”
“I’ll help you,” the Marquess said without hesitation. He braced his hands on the arms of his chair and stood up. “I’ve always believed there was foul play involved, and not just bandits on the road, as we were led to believe. There is no doubt in my mind that your uncle Clarence contrived to have your family eliminated in Europe. I am also certain that he, or perhaps Philip, was responsible for that business of trying to kill King Henry Hereford during the Glendower uprising.”
“Do you have any evidence of this?” Wolf asked, astonished by Lord Kendal’s revelation.
“No,” Kendal shook his head, “but I knew your father and his brother very well in our youth. Clarence coveted the Windermere lands and the titles. Couldn’t stomach the idea that none of it would be his. I never doubted that Clarence was capable of betrayal—worse, murder—to take what he wanted. And he wanted Windermere.”
“We’ve just come from Windermere,” Wolf said.
“Have you, now?” the old man raised an eyebrow. “You ought to be very cautious around your cousin Philip. He is as twisted as his father was, you know, though Clarence’s deeds were usually motivated by jealousy. He hated your father.”
Wolf knew.
“Philip is a different beast altogether,” the Marquess remarked as he came around to the front of his desk. “There were some nasty incidents, all hushed up, of course.”
“My lord, Agatha Colston is still alive,” Wolf said.
The Marquess was intrigued. “We heard she’d died years ago.”
“She gave this to Lady Kathryn Somers,” Wolf said, taking the leather pouch containing the signet and the letter from his hauberk. “Agatha told her to see that I got it. Then she disappeared.”
“How so?”
Wolf explained the manner in which Kit met Lady Agatha. “She must have been involved in the plot against my father from the start,” he concluded. “But I don’t understand why she’s willing to betray Philip now.”
“I wonder,” the Marquess mused aloud. “I would venture to say that she must be a virtual prisoner in the castle. I don’t believe her relationship with Philip was ever a particularly good one. So when she saw you at Windermere, she probably took her chance.”
“But how did she know me?”
“You couldn’t possibly realize it, of course,” Kendal remarked thoughtfully, “but you’re the very image of your father.”
“Why didn’t Philip recognize him, then?” Nicholas asked as Wolf placed the signet ring on Lord Kendal’s desk.
Lord Kendal shrugged. “It’s been twenty years. I doubt it would ever cross his mind that one of Bart Colston’s sons would return from the dead.” He studied the image carved into the ring. “’Tis Bartholomew’s stolen seal,” he said, looking up. “Agatha had it?”
Wolf nodded. “Agatha had this hidden as well.” Kendal sat down at the desk and frowned at the crumpled, faded parchment laid before him.
After studying the ancient paper for a moment, he sat back in his chair. “This will be ridiculously simple,” Kendal said, grinning. “When do you leave for London?”
Kit hadn’t seen Wolf or any of the men since they’d arrived, and she wondered where they were. She missed her sullen escort and wished for the opportunity to chide him for his poor company the last two days. She wasn’t going to allow him to ignore her any longer.
It was terribly unfair—just when he’d started to behave civilly towards her, he had to kiss her. Now, not only did their budding friendship suffer, her heart twisted within a tangle of confusing emotions.
The circumstances were difficult at best. Words couldn’t describe how she felt about losing Bridget, and her grief overwhelmed Kit at times. She frequently felt on the verge of tears but did her best to squelch them, knowing full well that they had no place on the road with a bunch of insensitive soldiers for company. And their leader was the worst of them. Dark and brooding, he put up a formidable wall between them and she couldn’t bear it any longer.
Wolf hadn’t even mentioned her skill with the sling, either, not since his initial curiosity about her “little weapon”, as he called it. It was as if their kiss had driven a wedge between them.
Kit dressed for supper and went down to the great hall. There, she saw Wolf standing near the huge fireplace with another man.
“Well now, Gerhart,” the man said as he leveled his full attention on Kit,
“neither you nor my father bothered to remark on the lady’s considerable attributes.” He took Kit’s hand and bowed gallantly over it.
“I don’t believe your father has met the lady yet,” Wolf replied tersely. He set his jaw and introduced her to William Beauchamp, Lord Kendal’s son. “Allow me to present Lady Kathryn Somers, ward of King Henry, betrothed to Sir Rupert of the king’s guard.” He barely glanced at Kit as he spoke, but he was very much aware that William continued to hold Kit’s hand.
“Sir Rupert?...Aires?”
“Yes, my lord,” Kit replied curtly. How dare Wolf bring up Rupert’s name now, if not to remind her of her duplicity?
“I know him. A fine soldier,” William remarked. “I wish you well.”
“Thank you,” Kit replied, glowering at Wolf.
“My brother, Robert, is in London with his wife and son. Perhaps you will—”
“Ah! There you are!” It was Lady Mary, making her entrance into the hall with her husband. “I see you’ve met William—where are the others?” She took barely a breath and looked about the hall. “Sir Gerhart, your cousin will sup with us, will he not? Cook has prepared a special meal that—”
“Wife! Will you see to the goblets? William has been remiss.”
“Of course,” Mary replied. “Wonderful cask of wine decanted just for this evening. We...” her chatter continued, but only for her own benefit since the sound was lost in the tremendous expanse of the hall.
Kit had planned to speak to Wolf during dinner about his shabby treatment of her, but between her conversations with William and his father, and the fact that Lady Mary never released Wolfs ear, the opportunity did not arise. They finished the meal, and the men left the hall without even a parting word. Kit’s frustration with the situation mounted.
“Where did they go?” Kit asked Lady Mary as they walked up the stairs to retire. It was late, and Lady Mary stifled a yawn before she replied. Kit noticed, with some relief, that fatigue decreased the woman’s ability to chatter.
“Oh, you know. Men like to go around and see for themselves that all is secure. My husband likes to walk the battlements and see that his guards are alert and prepared.”
They reached Kit’s chamber door, and the hostess bid her good-night. “If you find yourself unable to sleep,” she added as an afterthought, “Cook has some mulled wine in a tureen belowstairs. It helps to soothe the nerves after a long day of travel and excitement.”
“Thank you, Lady Mary,” Kit said, “I’ll bear it in mind.”
Kit had barely put her candle on the chest in her chamber when she decided to leave the confines of her room to go in search of a cup of the warm, spiced wine. Though it was late, her restlessness had not abated, and she knew it would be a long time before she was able to sleep.
Having found the wine, Kit poured herself a generous portion, then made her way to the fireplace in the great hall where a fire still smoldered. She sat in one of the big chairs that faced the fire and curled herself up into it like a cat. She sipped her cup of wine and was swallowed up by the long, wavering shadows in the hall.
Kit was determined to inform Wolf on the morrow that she resented being ignored. She wasn’t a child after all, and the very least he owed her was common courtesy. They would both do well to forget the incident near the brook, and he could very well quit taunting her with Rupert’s name. Didn’t he understand how confusing it was to be betrothed to one man yet still have strange, unwanted feelings for another? How could he be so callous?
Finally satisfied with the content of the lecture she would give the errant knight, Kit drank a second cup of wine and relaxed. The fire warmed her skin as the wine worked on her blood, and soon she was dozing comfortably in her chair. She wasn’t at all aware of the men returning to the hall and taking their leave of Wolf, who was not yet ready for sleep.
He went over to the fire and stood looking into the flames, considering his good fortune as well as the prudent planning which brought him to Kendal.
Kendal’s magnifying glass helped them determine that the parchment contained nearly irrefutable evidence against Philip and Clarence. Lord Kendal insisted on accompanying Wolf to London, and Wolf knew the Marquess’ advocacy in King Henry’s court would prove invaluable. Wolf would soon win back his title and see Philip punished for his part in the conspiracy against his father.
For a man without a future, Wolf suddenly had more of a future than he’d ever really anticipated. As they walked the battlements, the Marquess made a few remarks that caused Wolf to consider what lay ahead when he regained Windermere.
There was a multitude of problems that would have to be corrected. The castle itself was in need of repair, and from what he saw in town, Kit was correct about the reeve and bailiff. The people were neither prosperous nor content with their situation. Who knew how many atrocities had been quietly committed over the years under Philip’s lordship?
Wolf wondered if Stephen Prest, his father’s steward, could be found. If so, the man would be a tremendous help in setting things to rights and returning to the precedents set by his father. Wolf would have to name a new reeve and bailiff, and he would choose just men, such as those employed by Bartholomew. Aye, there would be a great deal of work to do when he returned to Windermere.
He wondered again whether his grandfather would press for his marriage to Annegret now. Wolf tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t matter one way or another. He needed a countess for Windermere, and heirs, and he tried to make himself believe that one woman would suit as well as another. But it was impossible not to think of Kit’s touch, her soft lips, and her sighs when she was in his arms...
Not until Kit had he considered developing an emotional attachment to his future wife. He knew it was a foolish thought, making a man vulnerable. Annegret was a likely candidate for his countess. Even though she was so painfully shy and quiet around him, once she became accustomed to him, she would undoubtedly make a good wife, a pliable and obedient wife. One who would be predictable—
A gentle sigh interrupted his thoughts, and Wolf turned to see Kit asleep in the chair behind him, with her feet pulled up under her and her head resting on her arm. She was so beguilingly childlike, so spirited. He knew she was angry with him, and she had every right to be. Though she had tried to get him to converse with her numerous times, he had rebuffed every attempt she’d made to draw him out. He’d even thrown Rupert in her face when he knew very well that she thought she’d betrayed him.
He knew he had been treating her abominably these last couple of days, but he saw no alternative. She was fast becoming his weakness and after the night they were attacked on the road, he vowed not to let that happen. He would get her to London and into King Henry’s care. Then he could go about the business of retrieving Windermere without any distractions. Once Windermere belonged to him again, he would begin to repair the damage done over the last twenty years. When the time was right, he would wed Annegret or some other likely maid. One who was calm and sedate and predictable.
Kit stirred in her chair and opened her eyes slightly, only to close them again. Suddenly aware of Wolfs presence, she opened her eyes again, came more fully awake and stretched, covering a yawn.
“You should be abed,” Wolf remarked quietly.
“I wasn’t tired,” she retorted saucily.
“So I see,” he said.
“At least you’re speaking to me for a change,” she said sarcastically, her green eyes flashing.
He did not reply and was more than a little amused by the fact that she was not in the least intimidated by him.
“You realize you haven’t said more than twenty words to me in the last three days?”
Wolf picked up her empty cup and sniffed. He suspected she’d had more than enough wine.
“It is very unkind of you to ignore me the way you have, Gerhart,” she chastised. “Even Baron Somers acknowledged my existence.”
Wolf was taken aback to be unfavorably compared to that s
coundrel, Somers, and his shock must have showed on his face.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked on seeing his changed expression. All notions of giving him a piece of her mind fled. She was afraid she had unknowingly offended him and the thought worried her. Willing her voice not to crack, she quietly asked, “Have I done something—”
“No, Kit,” Wolf replied gently, unwilling to wound her any further with his unkindness. “Come. I’ll help you to your chamber.”
“Perhaps I’m not in need of your help.” She was back to being defiant.
He smiled. He could deal with an audacious, insolent Lady Kathryn, but not a hurt little sparrow.
Kit stood, a bit unsteadily, and started to walk towards the stairs. If he was going to be curt with her, she saw no need to observe the courtesies which dictated that he escort her and assist if necessary. She didn’t need him, nor want him, nor—
“Well then. I’ll just walk along with you since I’m going this way anyway.”
“Don’t bother seeing to me, Gerhart,” she said as she staggered up the steps. “I’m perfectly capable of—”
She stumbled, and he caught her around the waist to prevent her from falling down the stairs.
Frustration welled up in her and hot tears were about to spill over when Wolf turned her roughly in his arms and crushed her mouth with his own, never giving her a chance to pull away. He moved his lips on hers until they fit perfectly, then opened them, silently demanding that she do the same. Kit obeyed and when his tongue met hers, she was caught up in a fiery heat so intense her knees buckled. She would certainly have fallen if not for his rough hold on her.
He pressed her closer, fitting her softness to his hard length as she raised her hands and encircled his neck. She opened her mouth to him with a fervor and eagerness that frightened her, yet she had no power to hold back. Twice before had he kissed her, though Wolf’s effect on her was even more devastating this time. She shuddered. She was burning with a need she couldn’t understand and the need was growing and bursting within her. Wolf’s mouth consumed hers and as their tongues mated, Kit understood that she wanted him. She wanted his hands all over her.
The Bride of Windermere Page 12
