Aye, she was weary. He’d kept her up most of the previous night, he recalled with a tender smile, then he’d kept her in front of him in his saddle all day. Even without the terrible fall she’d taken, it was no wonder that she slept.
Wolf shucked off his clothes and settled into the bath with a long sigh. He was home, though it felt like home only because she was with him. His Kathryn. He shuddered to think what his life would have become without her. He’d have gained Windermere and Carlisle and the rest, but what would have been the worth of all the holdings in England without her?
Wolf indulged in a long soak, then washed and got out of the tub. After drying himself and stoking the fire in the grate, he carried the bucket of hot water and a cloth to the bed.
Kit slept soundly, even as he removed her clothes and washed her gently, taking care of her various aches and bruises. Her only signs of life were an occasional sigh or moan.
When the water and cloth were discarded, Wolf finally extinguished all the candles in the room, then slid into bed next to Kathryn. He drew her in close, and she unconsciously fit herself into the curve of his stomach and chest.
“I’ll take care of you, love,” he whispered to her slumbering ears. He turned the new signet ring on his finger. “We’re home now...a wolf and his rose...”
Chapter Eighteen
Kit slept the night through, and the morning as well. Wolf hated to leave before she was awake, but two of the men who had been out scouring the hillsides with Claude Montrose returned with evidence of men living in rough camps south of the castle. It was the first lead they had on Philip, and Wolf was anxious to follow up.
He didn’t give a second thought to Baron Somers who had cleared out of Windermere before midnight.
“Be certain not to leave my wife alone, Madam Juvet, unless Sir Ranulf is nearby,” Wolf instructed quietly, speaking to the woman in the gallery outside his chambers. Ranulf was assigned to the castle for the day in order to be available in case Kit had any need. The tall knight gave Emma Juvet a nod of his head.
“Do you expect trouble, Your Grace?” Emma asked, frowning back at the duke.
“No,” Wolf replied. “Just a precaution—no doubt some of the servants are resentful of what happened to Philip...”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Emma said knowingly. “I take your meaning.”
“I won’t take any chances with my wife’s well-being.” Wolf said as they entered the bedroom quietly together. He bent over Kit and kissed her forehead as she slept, then smoothed a few wisps of hair back from her cheek. She turned over and sighed, but didn’t awaken.
Mistress Juvet sat next to the open window, mending her son’s long stockings by the early afternoon light. A soft breeze stirred the dark hair at the nape of her neck, and she glanced up at Lady Kathryn’s bed again.
The lady’s eyes were open this time. And lovely grassgreen eyes they were.
“Good day to you, Your Grace,” she said as soon as she saw that the duchess was able to focus.
Kit propped herself up and glanced around the room, looking for Wolf.
“Your husband left with his men this morning, I’m afraid,” the woman said. “He left orders that you weren’t to be disturbed. I’m Emma Juvet—from town,” she said. “Young Alfie’s my boy.”
“Ah...Alfie,” Kit remarked. Oh, how her body ached. But not nearly as much as her heart. Why had he left her? All had seemed well between them yesterday, but in the light of a new day, Kit felt anything but secure in his affections. There was no legitimate reason for him to keep a vigil over her, but she would like to have seen him when she awoke.
“Last night we came—my husband and the lad—to pay our respects,” Emma said. She set her mending aside and filled a basin of water from a clay pitcher on a wooden stand. She brought it over to Kit. “The duke asked me to spend the day with you—he seemed not to want you... left alone, Your Grace. Leastwise not until you get a maid of your own choosing.”
“I see,” Kit answered, finally gaining some understanding of Wolf’s reason for sending Alfie’s mother to her. Philip was still a threat.
“Did my husband say when he’d return, Madam Juvet?”
“Please call me Emma, Your Grace, and no,” Emma replied. “He didn’t say.”
“Was there any word about Philip?” Kit asked. “Any sign of him?”
“Only that it seems somebody’s been hiding out in those woods to the south of town,” Emma reported. “The duke went with some men to go see.”
“Oh.” Kit was disappointed. How she wished she had awakened with him. She didn’t even remember sleeping with him in their bed last night, though in her dreams, he held her close and she could feel his warm breath in her ear. She pushed that foolish fantasy to the back of her mind.
“The bowman who put his arrow in your saddle is dead.”
“They killed him?”
“Not as I hear,” Emma replied, after taking the water away and helping Kit to dress. “He fell from a cliff they say. Broke his neck in the fall.”
Kit shuddered.
“It was Broderick Ramsey, Lord Philip’s bailiff,” Emma said. “Never was much of an archer. That’s why the shaft pierced your saddle—and not your husband’s neck, I’d say.”
The duke had not mentioned any restrictions on Kit’s activities, so Emma didn’t protest when Kit asked to be helped down to the hall. Though she felt like an old woman, hobbling down the stone staircase with Emma’s help and some unexpected assistance from Sir Ranulf, Kit made her way gingerly into the great hall. Young Alfie was there, and he made much over “Lady Kit” and her return to Windermere.
Once she was ensconced in a large, comfortable chair, several of the servants came to Kit to ask after her comfort and also to introduce themselves.
“I imagine most are pleased to have a mistress about the place now,” Emma said after everyone had left, “and none too sorry to see the last of Philip Colston.”
“Windermere certainly needs work, doesn’t it?” Kit asked, looking around the hall. It truly was as shabby and gloomy as she remembered it.
“Aye, that it does.”
“Are there weavers in town, Emma?” Kit asked as an idea presented itself.
“That there are, Your Grace,” Emma replied.
“And how about carpenters and masons?”
“Aye, we’ve got the lot.”
Kit knew Wolf was preoccupied with locating Philip, and she didn’t know how much time that would take. The castle needed work, and Kit decided to begin the task herself. After all, she was perfectly capable of managing a household and felt confident that she could take on a task of this magnitude. Within the hour, Kit had Gilbert Juvet in the hall, helping her to decide how to go about procuring the goods and workmen to get the primary jobs done.
Philip hadn’t had a steward in residence for several years, and Kit took it upon herself to begin an examination of Windermere’s ledgers, which recorded the expenses and income from the lord’s demesne and the various fees and rents from the town. By the time the men filtered into the hall and took their places for the evening meal, Kit had a good grasp of Windermere’s financial state, and she had organized the initial phase of restoring order to Windermere Castle. In fact, several tradesmen from town were coming to meet with her after supper to discuss the specifics of her plan.
A small table was brought to Kit at the hearth both for her convenience and comfort, and the Juvet family joined her for the informal evening meal. Old Darby, a weatherworn soldier, came to serve them himself, and on Kit’s bidding, sat with the mistress for a spell while she ate and joined in the discussion of the needed renovations.
Kit and her group were so preoccupied with their discussion that when Baron Robert Wellesley and his daughter entered the hall, she didn’t notice them.
Mistress Hanchaw was aware of their presence, though, and guided the two to the main table on the dais, where the duke’s and duchess’ places were vacant.
“What? His
grace is still absent?” Baron Wellesley demanded.
“How very disagreeable of him to stay away so long,” Lady Christine remarked petulantly.
“His grace, the duke, was here until noon, my lady,” the housekeeper responded as the baron and his daughter took their seats.
“Yes, but we had to leave so early to visit Baron Edward at Brington,” she complained, casting a dark glance toward her father, “I was certain the duke would be here to sup with us.”
“Yes, well, let’s make the best of it, dau—”
“The best of it?” Christine demanded. “How is there to be any ‘best of it’ without Sir Gerhart—his grace—present?”
Kit overheard most of the conversation and she cringed, well aware of the faux pas that had been committed. Nicholas had mentioned that the Wellesleys were guests at Windermere, and Kit had completely forgotten it. She knew it was terribly discourteous of her not to have acknowledged them, yet she’d ignored them so long already, the Wellesleys could easily construe her hesitation as a deliberate slight.
“Mistress Hanchaw,” Kit called. “Please have places set for Baron Wellesley and his daughter over here, near me,” she said firmly, conscious that the housekeeper had been aware of, yet done nothing to correct the faux pas. “It will not do for our guests to dine there on the dais when I am unable to join them.”
Blanche Hanchaw pursed her lips almost imperceptibly and returned to the dais. She ordered servants about, then led Robert and Christine Wellesley to Kit’s table, not without some muttered protestations from Lady Christine who thought it suited her ill to be seated among servants and freemen from town.
“Please accept my apologies, I’m having some difficulty getting about...” Kit said warmly, inviting the castle guests to be seated. “I am Kathryn Colston—I believe we met here in spring...?”
“Ahem, ah...yes, Your Grace,” Baron Wellesley said, the first to recover from his surprise. He and his daughter had not been privy to the rumors that were rife among the servants, and weren’t certain that what little they’d heard was factual.
“So, it’s true, then?” Christine asked.
“Hush, Christine,” her father reprimanded, and Christine merely raised her chin stubbornly.
“Yes, it’s true,” Kit replied to the beautiful redheaded woman. “We were attacked yesterday on the road, and I took a fall—”
Christine started to laugh, and her father’s face reddened to the ears at his daughter’s inappropriate response. Kit looked from one to the other and suddenly realized that she and the Wellesleys were discussing two very different things.
“Please forgive my daughter, Your Grace. She—er—well—”
“Yes, I...I see,” Kit said quietly, understanding her error immediately. “The duke and I were wed last month in London.”
There was a long pause at the table which verged on becoming uncomfortable. Finally, Christine Wellesley broke the silence, having regained her poise and control. “Pray, tell me how it feels to be injured in battle, Your Grace,” she said as she focused her eyes at Kit. “I’ve always been jealous of the men and their adventures in war.”
“It’s vastly overrated,” Kit said with a wry smile. Though Lady Christine might never be a true friend, at least a truce had been called.
Nicholas pulled up a chair next to Kit and joined in the meal with her unusual group. She introduced him to her companions. “Nicholas, you may remember Baron Wellesley and his daughter, Christine, from our last visit to Windermere.”
He greeted them, then turned back to Kit. “Has Wolf not yet retumed?”
“No,” she replied, unnerved by his words. “I thought he was with you—only delayed—”
“No. Wolf headed east, I took the south.”
“Where could he be?” Kit asked as she clasped her hands in her lap, betraying the nervousness she had masked quite well up ‘til now. She’d thought of her husband at least a hundred times throughout the day and anxiously awaited his return.
“Don’t worry, Kit,” Nicholas tried to reassure her. “All will be well. Your husband is more than capable of routing his unsavory cousin. But I don’t expect they’ll meet just yet. My hunch is that Philip won’t be found very easily.”
“You can count on that,” Wellesley said. “I always had my suspicions about the earl. Struck me strange.”
“Strange, indeed,” Nicholas remarked. “Baron, you know this neighborhood better than we do. If you were Philip Colston, where would you hide?”
Robert Wellesley sat back in his chair and pondered the question. “Well,” he finally said. “Philip has always enjoyed hunting to the west of Windermere, near the caves along the coast. There is a lot of well-stocked woodland, and it is even rumored that one of the caves is arranged with lamps and furniture as well as a stocked larder for the earl’s comfort.”
“So you believe he’s hiding in his cave?”
“Not necessarily, but perhaps,” Wellesley said, frowning. “Philip is a secretive sort. I always sensed something about him when we stayed here at Windermere. That he was somehow skulking about even when he was said to be away...I don’t know exactly...”
There had definitely been men living out in the forests. Wolf found plenty of evidence of it. But none of the men.
It was well after the evening meal when Wolf returned to Windermere castle. He had worried about Kit ever since he’d left, wondering if her bruises pained her much, if the swelling in her ankle had gone down, how she tolerated staying abed...
He intended to go directly to their chamber to see how she fared. His own meal and all of Windermere’s other problems would have to wait until he could be sure Kit was safe and receiving the proper care. As he entered the great hall, Wolf vowed never to leave her side until all was well with her again. He chastised himself for leaving her all day so he could chase shadows in the forest. He should have let his men spend the day in the search without him—
Unbelievably, there Kit sat, near the fireplace, in the midst of several people, most of whom Wolf did not recognize. She had a long piece of parchment on her lap and was writing furiously, conferring with Gilbert Juvet. Two other men were nodding agreement, and a third pointed to the stained glass window at the far end of the hall. Emma Juvet sat at Kit’s side with young Alfie curled up on the bench next to his mother, sound asleep with his head in her lap.
Wolf approached the group, having difficulty believing his eyes. Kathryn appeared to be in good health and high spirits. Her cheeks were suffused with her usual soft pink tinge, and her brow was furrowed in concentration—not pain. The quill moved rapidly across the paper with Kit stopping only to ask a question here, or define a problem there. When she finally looked up and saw her husband, the smile she bestowed on him set the blood coursing like fire through his veins.
God, she was beautiful, he thought as he crossed over to her. He stood behind her chair and placed a kiss on the top of her head, then came around to her side. The men all got to their feet to greet the duke, but Wolf bade Emma to remain seated so as not to disturb her sleeping son.
Kit introduced Wolf, naming the tradesmen who had come from town on Gilbert’s summons to estimate the amount of time and the cost involved in cleaning up and repairing the great hall, the kitchen and the staircase.
Now that Wolf was here, Kit began to have second thoughts about her plans for restoring Windermere to its former glory. What if he didn’t approve as she’d supposed he would? What if he took it amiss that she’d initiated the plans on her own? His frown when he’d first appeared gave her some pause. She hoped he wouldn’t dismiss the Juvets and tradesmen out of hand until she had the opportunity to discuss the project with him.
“I’ve learned there is a solar in the north tower where some of the women from town can work on your new banner,” Kit told him.
“My new banner?”
“Y-yes,” she said. “And Edward the carpenter says work can begin here in the hall day after tomorrow.”
“W
ork in the hall...” He glanced around, as if seeing the place for the first time.
“Would you like to look over the estimates, Wolf?” Kit lifted the parchment for her husband’s edification, but he only glanced at it.
“That won’t be necessary. Whatever you decide will be acceptable, Kathryn,” Wolf said at length, putting one hand on her shoulder. “Windermere is in your capable hands.”
Kit exhaled, her relief nearly palpable. Not only had he come home safe to her, but he was entrusting her with making Windermere majestic again as it must have been in the old days. He may not love her yet, but at least he had confidence in her ability to get the work done. It was a start.
“I take it you were no more successful than me,” Nicholas said.
Wolf shook his head.
“Your duchess supped tonight with Lord Wellesley. The baron may be of assistance to us, Wolf,” Nick said. “The man knows the territory and I don’t think he was overfond of your cousin.”
“We’ll discuss the search on the morrow,” Wolf replied, then turned to Kit. “You’ve had a busy day, wife,” Wolf said, amused with Kit and pleased to find her so fit. “C I persuade you to leave this group and join me in our chambers?”
“You must be fatigued, my lord,” Kit said as she set her quill and parchment aside and started to rise from her chair. “Please excuse us now, gentlemen. It grows late, and I must see to my husband’s supper.”
Wolf wouldn’t allow her to stand on her own two feet, but swept her up into his arms. She blushed at being so treated before the townsmen, yet relished the sensation of being in his arms. She had missed him so much all day.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Emma?” Kit asked before Wolf had a chance to move away.
“Yes, milady,” Madam Juvet replied, smiling at the duke’s impetuous treatment of his wife. “Bright and early!”
Wolf crossed the hall carrying Kit. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closely, laying her head against his breast, enjoying his nearness.
The Bride of Windermere Page 23
