The Bride Of Windermere. Margo Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ knight in Henry’s service, well known for his amorous adventures with the ladies of the court. He was always embroiled in one escapade or another. Surely Kathryn was mistaken about a future betrothal to him. His loyalty to Henry was unquestioned, but otherwise the fellow was a scoundrel. An unprincipled skirt chaser.

      “I don’t suppose you know him?”

      “Of course I know him.” His voice was irritable again.

      “Well...?”

      “He is a competent soldier.”

      “Is that all?” Kit’s voice rose with indignation. “A competent soldier? We’ve heard tales in Northumberland about Rupert’s bravery in battle, his prowess with—”

      “Has Sir Rupert ever seen your face?”

      “What has that to do with anything? Naturally he’s seen my face. We grew up together. We—”

      “I mean without that amusing coating of grime.”

      “What coating of—? Oh.” She raised her chin a notch. “Rupert knows me as well as he knows his sisters.”

      Another rude grunt.

      “Rupert told me that as soon as he’s given leave from court, he’ll come for me. Don’t you see, Gerhart?” she asked earnestly. “That’s the reason I had to try to get back to Somerton. Rupert won’t be able to find me if I’m away from home. He’s the only reason I had for staying.” She turned to look at him and found his face only inches from hers. He was scowling again, but Kit couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his gray eyes were, framed in thick black lashes. The realization was unsettling. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

      “We’re going to the king, Lady Kathryn. Don’t you suppose you’ll see Sir Rupert in London?” Gerhart’s voice was harsh. He didn’t like having her unwavering gaze trained on him. She was too direct for a woman and her eyes, at least the uninjured one, were altogether too distracting.

      Kit shook her head and looked away. “I don’t have any idea how to find him. By all accounts, London is huge and Rupert might even now be on his way to Somerton for me.”

      At least it was an explanation for the previous night’s misadventure, although it riled him unexplainably. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair that Lady Kathryn should be fretting and risking her neck over Rupert Aires, a man who had some of the most beautiful, as well as the most faithless women in England at his beck and call.

      If Aires had some commitment to Kathryn Somers, he had a fine way of showing it. Wolf knew that all of Henry’s guards had been given liberal leaves upon their return from France two months ago. Apparently Aires hadn’t seen fit to travel to Somerton to claim his bride. Perhaps if he had, Henry wouldn’t have deemed it necessary to send Wolf all the way to the north country to collect this naive chit of a girl.

      “None of Henry’s guard are on leave now,” he offered. He wasn’t certain that was true, but if it reassured Lady Kathryn so that she’d quit trying to run back to Somerton, the small lie was well worth it.

      “Are you sure?”

      “Relatively.”

      “That’s a relief,” she said. “Now I’ll just have to think of a way to find him when we reach London. If ever we reach London. You still haven’t told me why we are not heading south.”

      “We’re not going directly to London.”

      “We’re not? Where are you taking me?”

      He was not accustomed to being questioned by anyone, particularly a ragged, impertinent, insignificant girl. He let out an irritated sigh and gave her a curt response. “Windermere Castle.”

      “Windermere! But that’s in Cumbria! Miles out of our way!”

      “Thank you, my lady, I am very familiar with the location of Windermere—”

      “But that will take ages. And Rupert—”

      “I’m beginning to see merit in Baron Somers’ disciplinary methods.”

      “Why didn’t you go to Cumbria first and come for me last?” Kit’s exasperation, at the very least, matched Wolf’s.

      “Because that would have contradicted my orders.”

      “Why?”

      “The king was quite specific. He wanted you in my custody as soon as possible.”

      “But why?”

      “Take a nap.” Kit didn’t mistake his gruff tone nor his now-familiar scowl, and knew their discussion was at an end.

      “But, Sir Gerhart—” She persisted.

      His gaze hardened, and Kit realized she’d have to leave her questions for another time. She had no interest in testing whether Wolf really thought Baron Thomas was justified in beating her.

      

      Their timing was worse than Wolf thought. The group still hadn’t reached Windermere Castle and night was falling fast in the rain. It was easy to see that the old woman wouldn’t last much longer, so he sent a couple of the men ahead to search out a sheltered spot to camp for the night. The scouts rode quickly out of the soggy dale and over the hill, out of sight.

      It was completely dark when Wolf and his company caught up to the scouts who had found a small inn called the Crooked Ax, at the edge of a tiny village. There were three rooms available, and Wolf’s men engaged them. There was also a hot meal to be had in the common room, for which Kit was grateful, since the dried meat they’d been eating did little to satisfy her hunger pangs. She also hoped that the roast fowl as well as the bread and cheese would help to cheer poor Bridget, who was definitely the worse for wear.

      Kit’s ankle caused only minor discomfort when she walked, giving her to believe it was merely bruised, and not sprained as Wolf had said. The long day spent sitting in the saddle, off her feet, did much to speed the healing process. She was able to climb the stairs carefully after supper and get Bridget settled to bed. The old woman’s voice was raspy, and her breathing sounded congested as a result of the long hours exposed to the cold damp air.

      “Wash the mud off yer face,” Bridget said when they’d reached their room. “If only ye could see yerself, lass. It’s runnin’ down in streaks. ’Tis unseemly for a lady of quality to go about in such filth.”

      “I don’t want to look like a lady, Bridget.”

      “And why not, I’ll be askin’?”

      “The less everyone knows about me, the better.”

      “I suppose by that ye’ll be meanin’ the grandsons of the prince?”

      Kit rolled her eyes and turned away as the old woman washed her own face in the shallow basin provided.

      “Grandsons or no, Rupert’s waiting for me in London.” She turned back to Bridget just as the old woman was seized by a coughing attack. Kit immediately felt guilty for riling her.

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