The Bride of Windermere

by Margo Maguire

  “I thought you would,” he muttered. “Come on, let’s move!”

  Tuck cooperated nicely. Gilbert figured he was partial to keeping his ears. Kit figured nothing. She was just grateful things had gone so well this far. It still remained to be seen whether or not they’d be able to get Wolf safely away from Philip. She hoped he hadn’t had time to do much damage. Wolf had only left her—when?—two hours ago? Surely not enough time...

  Kit forced back visions of Hugh Dryden and moved on down the embankment. The rain let up to a steady drizzle, but no one noticed. Two men went to each side of the underground passage and waited.

  “Call them,” Kenneth said quietly. “Make it sound like you found something...like you need their help.”

  “Wh-what are—?”

  “Just do it!” Kenneth Gamel let Tuck feel the sharp tip of his knife at the base of his neck.

  “Saladin! Hartford!”

  “That was real nice,” Gamel said. “Now let’s get them out here.”

  “Come, help me with this!” Tuck cried. “The bloke’s too heavy for me!”

  Two men scurried out of the hole. “Damn yer eyes, Tuck,” one said, “will ye shut yer face? The earl don‘t—”

  His words were cut short as he was attacked and easily subdued by the two men to his left. Two men on the right took the second man out of the hole, and both Saladin and Hartford were silenced.

  William Smith motioned Kit to follow him. He was the biggest of the townsmen and likely the strongest, and it made perfect sense for him to lead the way. Kit had insisted on being the first one into Philip’s hideout, but was persuaded—by reason and common sense—to let the burly fellow lead them. With luck, Philip would be down there alone with only the duke, and there would be little or no danger to Lady Kathryn. William wasn’t counting on it, though.

  Kit drew her knife and followed the big man closely.

  Once Smith had crept a couple of feet past the door, he stopped abruptly, holding one arm back to keep Kit from falling over him. She peered past him and realized that the passage took a sharp right turn. They could stay indefinitely at the entrance without being detected. There was a dim light emanating from the right and they assumed there was some sort of chamber there, concealed within the structure of the bridge.

  William Smith got down to his knees and slowly, carefully, moved his head to peer around the corner. Kit was anxious to do the same, but William restrained her. She knew he was concerned about her reaction to what she might see, and if truth be known, Kit was worried, too. If Philip had done any of those terrible things to Wolf—well, Kit didn’t know what she would do. It was certain that she’d give them away, though, and there would be nothing either of them could do to prevent Philip from killing Wolf quickly.

  Smith moved back enough to give Kit a chance to look into the room. There was only the light from one torch, but it was a small compartment. Easy to see every corner. Water dripped down in several places, and the floor was a muddy mess. Kit’s eyes riveted on Wolf, slumped in a chair at the far end of the chamber. His hands were bound behind him.

  Blanche Hanchaw stood at the far left, wringing her hands while Philip went over to Wolf and grabbed him by the hair above his forehead, pulling his head up.

  “Look at me!” he crowed as he splashed a dipper of water in Wolf’s face. Blood poured cleanly from a diagonal slice across his cheek. His left eye was badly bruised and swollen shut. “I want you to see me! I want you to be...full aware of what happens here. It’s not the least amusing if you sleep—”

  “My lord,” Blanche said anxiously, “what can be keeping those fools?”

  “They’re probably all having a go at the wench,” he sneered. “Idiots. Blundering fools.”

  “I don’t like this, Philip,” Blanche said. “Anyone might see them.”

  “Don’t worry. You know perfectly well this little hidey-hole has served me time and time again.” Philip gritted his teeth and gave Wolfs hair a brutal yank. “And when I’m through here, it’s off to Ireland we go.” He picked up a long iron rod that had been worn to a sharp point at one end and studied Wolf. “’Tis a pity we can’t have a fire in here...”

  Kit could see that Philip was mad. He wasn’t merely twisted, as Wolf had called him, he was actually out of his senses. She thought of Hugh and knew no one in his right mind would set out intentionally to commit those horrors. Kit bit her hand to keep from crying out. Smith turned and whispered almost soundlessly in her ear.

  “We’ll have to move fast,” he said. “Especially ye, milady.”

  She tightened her grip on her knife and nodded.

  “I’ll go for the earl while ye keep the woman occupied. She’s likely to see ye before the earl is aware aught is amiss. Gilbert and the lads’ll be along any minute now.” William said. “Are ye able?”

  A quick nod of her head and a fierce look in Kit’s eyes were answer enough. Together they stormed the chamber, Kit wielding her knife, William brandishing a cudgel from his shop.

  Wolf was fully conscious, though brutally beaten, but he realized from the start that it was to his advantage to appear incapacitated. Philip might let down his guard—might even unbind his hands. And now that Wolf knew his cousin preferred a fully awake victim, he was not about to comply with his perverse wishes.

  However, it was time to make his move. Philip’s cronies, including that bastard Hartford, who had lured him into Philip’s trap, were gone. Wolf was well aware that the men could return at any second, so as Philip stood looking down at him, contemplating exactly how he was going to use the iron pike on him, Wolf swayed to the side and fell off his chair.

  It was exactly the diversion William and Kit needed as they sprang into the chamber. As Philip leaned over his fallen cousin, Wolf kicked savagely, catching Philip full in the chest with his heel, knocking him over. William quickly brained him with the cudgel, rendering the evil earl unconscious.

  Blanche screeched when she realized what was happening and tried to make a run for it. Kit tripped her, knocking her face-down onto the muddy floor, and sat on her. Blanche struggled to gain her feet, but Kit held her securely.

  “William!”

  “Aye, milady?”

  “Is Philip—?”

  “Out cold!”

  “Then come deal with this woman while I see to my husband!”

  Wolf lay in the mud on the floor, bruised and sore, still bound tightly and very uncomfortable. “Kit!” His voice was a thin rasp.

  “Aye, husband,” Kit replied tearfully, cutting the bindings at his wrists. “I’ve come for you.” She helped him to sit up, then wrapped her arms around him.

  “But how—?”

  “Baron Somers saved your life,” she said, looking up at him. “Oh, Wolf—your eye. And this cut—it needs stitching.”

  “’Tis nothing,” he said.

  “’Tis not,” Kit returned. “You forget I know firsthand of these things.”

  “Where is Somers?” Wolf growled as he got to his feet. “I swear by all the saints I’ll kick his weasly arse all the way across Cumbria—”

  Then Gilbert Juvet was there, along with three or four townsmen—as many as could fit in the small compartment.

  “Tom!” Kit cried as Tom Partridge made his way toward her. His nose was a bloody mess but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

  “Your Grace,” Tom said to Kit, “I...I ought to apologize—”

  “Apologize?”

  “For knocking you down out there...”

  Kit laughed. “‘Twas your job, was it not?” she asked, taking his arm. “We drew them out, didn’t we? Just as we intended.”

  “That was you?” Wolf asked. He’d heard some sort of commotion, of course, but it hadn’t meant anything to him other than the fact that it had drawn Philip’s cronies out of their murky nest, giving him his chance to overpower Philip.

  “We couldn’t figure any other way to get Lord Philip’s men out of here,” Gilbert said.

  “So we
created a disturbance,” Kit finished.

  “Where are Hartford and the other bastards?” Wolf asked.

  “We have them all, Your Grace,” Gilbert said. “More than half the town is out there waiting to see Philip dragged from this hovel.”

  “Disturbed the lot of them, did we?” Kit asked, laughing now through her tears.

  “Aye, ye did, milady,” Daniel Page remarked as he and another man doused Philip Colston with water and yanked him to his feet.

  Philip was quick to regain consciousness. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he spat and cursed everyone present, especially Wolf. The townsmen merely laughed at Philip, a comical figure now, covered in mud, foaming and spewing at the mouth. The men weren’t gentle with him as they led him away, each man cursing him in return and striking him as it pleased them.

  “Take charge here, will you Juvet?” Wolf requested, following the men and their prisoners out of the hovel. “I’d like to get my wife home...”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Juvet replied, clearly pleased at the authority given him by the duke. “By the way, John Carpenter went off in search of Lord Nicholas. If he’s found him, I’d imagine he’ll be here soon.”

  “My thanks, Gilbert,” Wolf said, “for helping my wife save my life...” He put his arm around Kit’s shoulders and squeezed. Gilbert shrugged and walked ahead of them out of the little room within the structure of the bridge.

  “I don’t suppose your Annalouise would have done as well?” Kit couldn’t resist making the remark, though she’d vowed never to mention the other woman to Wolf.

  “Who?”

  “I know you were betrothed before Henry ordered you to—”

  Wolf laughed out loud. “Annegret? I was never betrothed to Annegret...”

  “Annegret,” Kit muttered. “Whoever.”

  “And Henry didn’t order me to wed you,” Wolf told her. “He ordered me to wed his sister. If I’d known from the first that you were his sister, he’d never have had a chance to give the order.”

  “Are you certain, Wolf?”

  He kissed her soundly. “Annegret represented an alliance to my grandfather. She meant even less to me.”

  Kit sighed with relief. The last of her worries was resolved.

  “There could be no other wife for me, Sprout,” he said, holding her for a moment before they left the hovel.

  So many torches were lit that it seemed more like dawn than the dead of night. Giving truth to Gilbert’s words, at least half the town had turned out to see Philip brought low, so unpopular was the former Earl of Windermere. A huge crowd of people waited on the opposite side of the bridge, cackling and jeering at Philip, and throwing overripe fruit and vegetables at him, while Philip screamed back at them. Blanche merely cowered as she was pulled along ahead of her former master, unsure of what her fate was to be.

  Wolf and Kit stayed back, savoring a moment alone while the crowd at the other end feasted on Philip’s downfall. The emotions of the hour finally overcame her, and Kit was unable to restrain her tears any longer. Wolf held her until her weeping subsided.

  “I must get you home and see to these injuries,” Kit said, sniffling.

  “Aye,” Wolf smiled. “For the first time, I’ll be able to rest easy in our bed at Windermere. And time enough to tell me how—”

  “What’s going on up there?” Kit asked, looking up at the bridge, wiping the last of her tears away.

  There was no longer any commotion. The townspeople were quiet and Philip was raving madly. It was impossible to understand all of his words though Kit and Wolf were able to glimpse a scuffle taking place in the center of the bridge. Then there was a frantic shout and a man flung himself from the highest point, down into the shallow water beneath the bridge. Kit gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

  Philip. It had to be Philip.

  Wolf walked down the embankment into the darkness and waded into the knee-deep water. The crowd spread out along the bank of the river to watch silently as the duke pulled his hated cousin out of the water. Not a single person hoped for his survival, nor gave up a silent prayer for his salvation.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Windermere Castle

  October, 1421

  A fire blazed in the huge hearth of the great hall where a beautiful new banner hung from the high wooden beams over the duke’s table. Clean, herb-scented rushes were spread about the floor. In daylight hours, the sky was clearly visible through clean windows. All traces of soot and ash were gone, and the dust was kept at bay by a throng of well-directed, faithful servants. Dried flowers in pitchers adorned each table, and a huge wreath of them hung over the mantel of the largest fireplace.

  The tunnels beneath Windermere castle were still being filled in. It was a huge task, filling the barrows with earth and carting them down the dark passageways. But Wolf was determined to wipe out any trace of Philip and his depravity. He would keep no reminders of Philip’s hideous reign over Windermere.

  . Luckily, Maggie, the dark-haired maid who was so devoted to Kit, had only suffered a lump on the head the night Christine Wellesley had sought to trap Kit with Baron Somers. She was discovered the following morning locked in a garderobe near the duke’s chambers, suffering with a miserable headache and worried to death over Kit’s fate. She became Kit’s personal maid and companion as soon as her head mended.

  Lady Christine Wellesley left Windermere in disgrace.

  Baron Somers was returned to Somerton for burial.

  Blanche Hanchaw and the men known to have been Philip’s cohorts were taken to London to stand trial on several different charges. All were found guilty and hanged except for Blanche. The Hanchaw woman was bound and sentenced by the court to spend the rest of her wretched days in a dungeon in Wessex, under a moldy old castle never used anymore by its lord, the Duke of Carlisle.

  Hugh Dryden’s wounds began to heal with time and great care, though it would still be some time before he’d be able to claim his own estate.

  Kit stifled a yawn. It was late and though she was tremendously hungry, she could easily have returned to bed. In fact, Kit even considered asking Maggie to bring a tray to her chamber. Wolf had vetoed that notion, though. He wanted his duchess at the evening meal, for they were having guests and he said he had a few announcements to make.

  Maggie came to help her dress for dinner. Kit had just had a nap and couldn’t understand her continued fatigue. “I brought you a little snack,” Maggie said. “I’ve, er...noticed as how you’ve been especially hungry lately...”

  “’Tis strange, isn’t it?” Kit asked. “I don’t remember ever having such an appetite before.”

  “I don’t suppose...”

  “What?” Kit covered another yawn with her hand.

  “Well, I only wondered if...”

  A gentle tapping at the door interrupted their conversation. Maggie answered it and let in Emma Juvet.

  “Sleeping again, are you?” Emma asked, embracing Kit. Gilbert was now the reeve of Windermere, and his position brought the Juvets into frequent contact with Kit and Wolfram Colston.

  “I just don’t understand it,” Kit said as Maggie fastened up her gown. “I’ve already rested once this afternoon, and I’m ready to sleep even more.”

  Emma laughed. “You’d figure it out if you gave it the least little bit o’ thought.”

  “I’d figure...?”

  “Have you considered the possibility of a babe?”

  “For heaven’s sake, I...I’ve...”

  Emma and Maggie stood there smiling foolishly, waiting for Kit to draw her own conclusion.

  “I’m with child?” Kit asked, a bit bewildered by the prospect. She had never kept track of her menses, though she knew that their lack usually indicated pregnancy. It’s just that she and Wolf hadn’t ever discussed children. And with all the activity these last months since their coming to Windermere, she hadn’t given much thought to having babies. Though now, the idea was very appealing.

  They w
ould have a child. She and Wolf had made a child together.

  The two other women nodded. “Of course that’s it,” Emma said.

  “But I’m never sick,” Kit protested, worried that it might not be true, “and I remember quite distinctly hearing that—”

  “I was never sick with Alfie,” Emma interrupted. “Not a once.”

  “So you mean it’s possible?” Kit asked, her eyes gleaming. “Truly?”

  Emma nodded. Kit wondered what Wolf would say when she told him about the babe. She would plan the telling for a quiet, romantic time...perhaps first thing in the morning when the sun was bright and she would be able to see her husband’s face. He was usually in an amorous mood upon awakening...

  Kit was the last to arrive in the hall. Wolf was just about to leave his guests to go fetch her himself, but then she arrived, looking sleepy...and a little bit bewildered.

  “Kathryn,” Wolf said as she greeted him with a kiss. “Are you well?”

  “Of course I am well. What could be amiss?” Kit replied with a smile. She turned and nodded to Wolfs companions. They were dressed in their finest tunics. “Nicholas, Edward, how festive you look...”

  “Come. All is ready,” Wolf said, leading Kit to their table. The others followed and took their places as well. Musicians came into the hall and began entertaining as the servants brought in the first courses of the meal. Kit ate ravenously, happily aware that she was providing sustenance not only for herself, but her babe, too.

  When Wolf finished his meal, he stood and garnered everyone’s attention. His announcements began with awards of land to those of his men who would go. They were Kenneth, Egbert and Chester, all men who intended to marry and establish homes of their own.

  “I would not wish for these three to leave me now, but their estates are nearby and we will see them often,” Wolf said. “I can also say that I now understand the attractions of home and wife. Lady Kathryn and I wish you well.” He raised his glass and everyone toasted the knights who intended to leave Windermere.