The Bride of Windermere (22 page)

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Authors: Margo Maguire

BOOK: The Bride of Windermere
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“Don't fret, Kit,” he said, reading her thoughts. “I handpicked the few who understand the meaning of the word ‘privacy.'”
“I don't fret,” she said irritably. “I never fret. But you might have told me you had men all around us.”
“Not all around us,” he chuckled, amused by her perspective. “Seventy-three men ahead of us in three groups to clear the way, and twelve behind—a fair distance behind—to protect the rear.”
“Hmm.”
“Look. 'Tis Nicholas.” He gave her a quick kiss, took her hand and headed toward the road. “He's got Douglas, Alfred and Claude with him—three of the men who came in advance of us, days ago. Shall we see what devils they have biting at their heels?”
They ambled along, picking their way back toward the road, and the riders who were rapidly gaining on them. A gray dusk had fallen, and it was becoming quite dark in the woods, though Wolf led faultlessly through the damp underbrush and bramble. His surefooted stride reminded Kit of the time—it seemed so long ago—when she'd run away from him, and he'd carried her back to camp in the dark.
The riders slowed when Wolf and Kit appeared on foot with Janus following behind. The two walked north as the riders continued towards the hills on their southerly course. They finally met where the road became a rough track, near the edge of the woods. The eastern side of the road was bordered by high cliffs and as the sun dropped beneath the level of the trees to the west, the group was enshrouded in shadow.
All eight men dismounted.
“All is...ah...well...Your Grace?” Sir Edward asked, casting a sidelong glance at Nicholas. Kit suddenly realized that they had some idea where she and Wolf had been, and what they were doing, and she blushed.
Wolf looked them over. Every one of them was squirming.
“All is most definitely well,” Wolf finally said, good-naturedly. His smile unnerved some of the men—they were so unaccustomed to it. “What dire news do you bring that you travel at breakneck speed? Did I not bid you farewell just this morn, Nick? What tidings do you bring of Windermere?”
“There is a great deal to discuss, Wolf,” Nicholas replied, his manner now less embarrassed and more serious. “As dusk approached, some of us became concerned by your absence. To begin, no one has seen Hugh Dryden in three days.”
The men all looked grim, and Wolf lost his smile.
“Second, a couple of Philip's cronies have been seen about town, but they always manage to disappear before they can be apprehended,” Nicholas said. “I will not be at ease until you and your lady are safely behind the castle walls.”
“Tell me the rest as we ride,” Wolf said as he gave Kit a lift up to Janus' back.
Before mounting his horse, Nicholas said, “Baron Robert Wellesley and his daughter await you at Windermere, as well as Baron Thomas Somers and three of his men.”
“Somers!” Wolf exclaimed. “I should have known—”
“Wolf!” Kit screamed as an arrow shot past her, impaling the leather satchel on the saddle in front of her. Janus reared up and Kit leaned forward, into his thick mane, but couldn't manage to get a grip on the animal. In the instant before Wolf regained control of the massive horse, another arrow flew past, and Kit was thrown to the ground and knocked unconscious.
Fearful that she would be trampled in the fray, Wolf quickly threw Janus' reins to Nicholas and ran to pull Kit away from the horse's hooves. He picked her up from the ground, then carried her to the trees, shielding her with his body as the arrows continued to fly all around them. Most of the men made for cover as well, leading their horses swiftly to the woods. Three men circled around on foot to the east to pursue the archers concealed in the trees on the cliff. Some of Wolfs men were already returning arrows to the eastward heights, but there were no human targets visible. The trees and their long shadows covered their attackers quite adequately.
Wolf eased himself down to the ground, holding Kit. She came around quickly. “Kit, are you all right?” he asked. His big hands gently smoothed the hair away from her forehead.
“Yes.” She grimaced as she moved. “I'm just bruised a bit.” Her head ached where a lump had started. Her left ankle, hip and shoulder were sore, too, but Kit had suffered worse in her lifetime. She would manage to survive this little episode as she had all the others.
Wolf was not so philosophical. Unbidden visions of the ambush and slaughter of his family twenty years before came to mind. He wanted to bellow with rage that his men—possibly the best-trained unit in England—hadn't been able to protect Kit from injury. He vowed never to be in such a vulnerable position again.
“Where are you hurt, Kit?” he asked gently, probing the back of her skull.
“My head aches some, but the rest is nothing, Wolf. I'll be fine.”
“Show me.”
“No, Wolf. Not here—with your men all about.”
“No one is near, wife,” Wolf insisted. “Show me your bruises.”
Kit adjusted her bodice so her husband could inspect her shoulder blade. Then she rearranged her skirts to view the damage done to her hip and ankle.
“See? Not so bad. I've lived with worse than this,” she said brightly. “And I heal quickly.”
Wolf gritted his teeth, furious that Kit had been a victim—again.
“It will mend,” she said. “Even when Lord Somers broke my...”
Wolfs face darkened and Kit realized she shouldn't have mentioned her stepfather right then. She hesitated to go on.
“Broke your what?”
“Well, I just meant to reassure you that I will be fine. I heal quite easil—”
“Somers broke your
what?”
She hesitated before replying. “My two fingers,” she finally said quietly, holding up the first two fingers of her left hand. “It was
years
ago, Wolf.”
Kit saw a muscle tighten in Wolf's jaw and wished she'd said nothing. With Thomas Somers awaiting them at Windermere, it was not wise to have given Wolf further cause to hate him. No, the villain at hand was Philip Colston. Not Lord Somers. And Kit knew it was important to remember that.
“How is she?” Nicholas asked as he knelt next to Wolf, beside Kit. “A bit pale... Otherwise able to ride?”
Kathryn nodded as Wolf fumed.
“Then it's time to take your bride home, cousin.”
Chapter Seventeen
 
 
Windermere Castle
July 1, 1421
 
T
he twelve men who Wolf had assigned to bring up the rear pursued the attackers on the cliff while the men who'd come from Windermere escorted the duke and his bride to Windermere Castle. Wolf rode with Kit practically on his lap, going as slowly as he dared, conscious of her swelling bruises, but making as much haste as possible to stay ahead of further trouble. It galled him to run away from an attacker, but Kit's safety meant all to him.
Wolf seethed with anger that she could be hurt—especially in his presence, and he was plagued by the surprisingly clear childhood memories of the fatal attack on his family as they traveled to Bremen. He'd been in plenty of skirmishes and battles—massive, full-scale, bloody battles, yet the sight of his precious Kit, lying unconscious on the road beneath Janus' hooves was nearly his undoing.
When they reached Windermere, Nicholas led the way through the castle while the rest of Wolf's men saw to the horses. Wolf carried Kit and followed Nicholas up the huge stone staircase, through the great hall and up another flight of steps until they reached the master's chambers. Groups of curious servants assembled along his route, and Wolf called orders to them as he made his way.
Nicholas pulled back and tied the exquisite blue brocade curtains that surrounded what was now the duke's massive bed, then lit all the candelabra in the room. The chamber itself had been cleaned and stripped, then refurnished to the duke's tastes. There existed none of the dark, ominous corners of the chamber Kit had shared with Bridget when they'd visited Windermere before. The master's chamber was light, clean and sparingly furnished. Kit wondered how Wolf had managed to have a chamber so quickly prepared to his liking.
It was so unlike any other part of Windermere that she had seen before. There were no dank tapestries on the walls to conceal hidden doors or passageways. The rushes had been swept out and replaced with strange, thickly woven floor coverings such as Kit had seen only in the king's chambers at Westminster. A large vase of fresh, red roses stood on the trunk near the window and another was on the mantelpiece, reminding Kit of her rose garden at Somerton. One corner of her mouth turned up, and she glanced up suspiciously at her husband.
“The situation is not good, Wolf. No one at the castle remembers seeing Hugh Dryden,” Nicholas said, once they were in the privacy of the duke's chambers. “But a man answering Hugh's description was seen in town one week ago. I don't know where he was prior to that time, but we've verified that Hugh set himself up at Prudhomme's tavern—the man keeps a small inn as well—and spent several nights there. Then he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Wolf stopped where he stood, disbelieving. “How does a grown man
disappear?”
“Who can say?” Nicholas replied. “All we know is that his packs and horse are still at Prudhomme's place. And Hugh is no longer there. It's been three days now.”
“And what of Philip?” Wolf asked as he stepped up and lay Kit gently on the bed. He sat down next to her and took her hand, absently rubbing his thumb across her palm. Just that light touch sent shivers of pleasure through Kit's body, overshadowing her various aches and pains. She didn't want to think of Philip or Hugh or Windermere.
Nicholas shook his head. “Apparently, when John DuBois and his men arrived over a fortnight ago, Philip was here—at least the servants all believed he was on the premises.”
The king's men, under the command of Sir John DuBois, had arrived late one afternoon and were greeted by the earl's housekeeper, Blanche Hanchaw. The woman bid Sir John to wait in the hall while she located his lordship. A quarter of an hour later, the earl was still not to be found. The housekeeper gave her apologies to the knight, and said she was certain that, in his absence, the earl would want them to enjoy the hospitality of Windermere before their return to London in the morning. She hoped that—wherever he had gone—the earl would return to see them off by morning. However, she gave them to believe that the Earl of Windermere often left the castle without notice. Where he might be, Mistress Hanchaw could not venture to guess.
Sir John, not of a mind to return to the king without Philip Colston, and not entirely trusting of the housekeeper, produced a warrant and ordered his men to search the castle and all the grounds for the earl. Their search resulting in failure, John sent men to scour the town, but the earl still eluded them.
The commander posted men in strategic places on the roads, in the town and about the castle. They stayed several days, but Philip never turned up. Defeated, John DuBois finally returned to London with news that Philip Colston was still at large.
“Philip's possessions are still here,” Nicholas said. “When our men arrived to set Windermere in order for your coming, they cleared out this room—packed everything in trunks. However, Claude Montrose said that if Philip had actually been here when DuBois arrived, he must have left in haste. It appears that he left all his belongings here.”
Wolf glanced around for the first time and found the room to his liking. Nothing of Philip remained. The chamber had been cleared out and scrubbed, the rugs laid and pitchers of roses arranged the way he remembered the flowers in Kit's room at Somerton. He knew she was partial to roses.
“Post men all over the castle and in town,” Wolf said. “I want complete surveillance of the area. It is highly doubtful that Philip would be foolish enough to reveal himself. But we might catch sight of one of his henchmen. I want them followed if they're seen—not apprehended. And I want it done discreetly.”
“I will see to it,” Nicholas said. “What of Somers? He requested an audience as soon as you arrived.”
“He can wait. It may be days before I am ready to see him,” Wolf replied tersely.
“But Wolf—” Kit started.
“You're not to get anywhere near him, Kit,” Wolf interrupted her. “I don't trust him.”
Nicholas nodded, satisfied. Wolf was not the only one who abhorred Kit's treatment at the hands of her stepfather.
“Has Stephen Prest been located?” he asked Nicholas. Prest had been Bartholomew Colston's loyal steward years before and Wolf had given orders that the man was to be found. Wolf knew of no better candidate for the position of steward to the Duke of Carlisle.
“Not yet.” Nicholas answered a knock at the door and allowed two servants to carry in Walf's packs and Kit's satchels. “We've heard he's at Elton Manor, two days' ride from Windermere. Chester and William have ridden to Elton to see if they can find him.”
“Good. Hallmote will be held as soon as he returns,” Wolf said, “or after I name another steward, if that becomes necessary. I'll have my vassals swear fealty as soon as possible and we'll begin to repair the damage Philip has done over the years.”
“Ja,
cousin,” Nicholas said.
“And find a healer, Nick. Send her here—to Kit,” Wolf said.
“I believe the gardener is—” he replied.
“I don't need Will Rose,” Kit said. “These bruises are nothing. I just—”
“Find him and send him to us.”
“I'll do that,” Nick said with a broad smile as he headed toward the door. “Welcome home, Wolf.”
“Nicholas—” Kit said before the viscount left the room.
“Your Grace?” he said with a grin.
Her cheeks reddened at his use of her title. “Thank you. For everything.”
He responded with a tilt of his blond head. Then he was gone.
“How do you feel?” Wolf asked Kit when they were finally alone. He gently smoothed a stray curl back from her forehead.
“Like a sack of peaches—that have been tossed down a hill,” she replied, grimacing. But on seeing his worried look, she amended her words. “Oh, it's not so bad, Wolf, really.”
Kit pulled her skirt back above the thigh and twisted around to look at the damage to her hip. The bruise seemed to have increased in size since she'd last looked, and Kit wondered if the same was true of the one on her shoulder blade.
“Help me with this, will you, Wolf?” she asked, trying to unfasten her dress.
“Lie still, Kit, and rest until the healer comes.”
“There is nothing Will can do for this,” Kit retorted. “I just want to see how bad it is.”
 
Will Rose insisted on treating Kit's bruises with leeches. Kit had never seen Brother Theodore use leeches for bruises at Somerton, but Will assured her that the nasty little creatures were often able to draw off blood from the bruise, limiting its size as well as some of the pain. She wished she'd known about the practice years ago. There had been plenty of times she could have used it.
When the leeches were glutted, they fell off, and Will collected them in a small earthen pot. “Ye'll be fine in a couple o' days, Yer Grace,” he told her. “Best to stay off that ankle 'til the swellin' goes down a bit, though.”
“I'll do that,” she yawned as the man turned to leave. She was so tired, she didn't think she could keep her eyes open any longer. “Thank you, Will.” Kit sank back into the soft mattress of the bed, and Wolf pulled the coverlet over her.
“Rest now,” he said. Then he blew out most of the candles in the room.
A quiet knock brought Wolf to the door. It was Nicholas, along with Sir Edward, who had been out searching for the archer among the cliffs. A quick glance at Kit and Wolf knew she was asleep.
“Your Grace,” Edward said quietly after Wolf hushed him. “We lost the archer on the hillside. We believe there was only the one.”
“What!”
“We killed him, actually,” Edward amended. “Inadvertently. We had him surrounded on three sides, with only a high cliff behind him. There was absolutely no means of escape. He tried to run—the men closed in.”
“Go on.” Wolf clasped his hands behind his back and paced to the window and back.
“He started heading in the opposite direction, then all the men moved in. Cornered him. He was shouting at us as he backed up. He stumbled... a hell of a fall...”
“Who was he?” Wolf asked at length. “Do we know?”
“Turns out he was Philip's bailiff,” Nicholas said. “A man called Broderick Ramsey.”
“No clues on the body where we might find Philip?”
Nicholas shook his head.
“Have you any idea yet, how many men are still loyal to Philip?” Wolf asked. “And how many might still be in the vicinity of the castle or Windermere town?”
“Not yet, but our men are questioning everyone. Wc should have some ideas—”
A rap at the door interrupted them. Nicholas opened the door to a footman who carried a huge wreath made of fresh leaves and flowers, intricately woven onto a light birch frame.
“What's this?” Wolf asked.
“‘Twas brought by a young lad and his parents, my lord,” the footman replied. “Townsfolk.”
“Who are they? What are their names?”
“Why, ‘twas Master Juvet with his wife and their boy, Alfie, my lord.”
“Bid them to stay,” Wolf ordered. “Have them wait for me in the hall.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man replied. “Also, Your Grace, Baron Somers...er...
demands
to see you.”
“You can send
him
back wherever he came from,” Wolf replied angrily. “I'll not be seeing him tonight.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Come then,” Wolf said. “Let's go see the Juvets.” They left the room, and Wolf left a guard at Kit's door.
“Have you spoken to Somers?” Wolf asked Nicholas.
“Only briefly.”
“What does he want?”
“He doesn't say,” Nicholas replied. “Though he was sober before you returned. And civil enough.”
Wolf knew he would need to prepare himself before meeting with Kit's stepfather. It would take all his selfcontrol to avoid beating the man to a bloody pulp. Blackened eyes, split lips, broken collarbones and fingers...he hated to think what more the bastard had done.
“And what will you do about Baron Wellesley?” Nicholas asked.
Wolf paused on the stair. He had pushed the baron to the back of his mind. “I don't suppose he's said what he wants, either?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No. Though he appeared quite anxious to welcome you home.”
“It seems strange, does it not, that he should come to welcome me to my own home?” Wolf asked. “Is he trustworthy?”
“I don't know. He may wish only to cull your favor—”

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