The Bride Of Windermere. Margo Maguire

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      “Ah, Lady Kathryn awakens,” Nicholas announced as Kit moved restlessly. She was so angry, she was unable to pretend to sleep any longer. “Did you rest well, my lady?”

      “Tolerably.”

      “Your voice—it is difficult to tell much about you under that layer of dirt and those rags you wear—but your voice seems not to be that of a child. We thought we’d been sent to collect a child.” Nicholas looked at her more closely, trying to discern her features beyond the filth and bruises.

      “You are correct. I am not a child.” She couldn’t mask an irritable tone as she gazed at the handsome warrior who rode alongside.

      “And you expect us to believe you are fully grown?” Wolf asked in laughing disbelief.

      “I don’t expect anything from you,” Kit shot back angrily. “Except an unwanted trip to London.”

      “Ach, so the journey riles you?” Nicholas laughed.

      “How is Bridget? She must be near to collapsing. She is unused to riding.”

      “The old woman is weary,” Nicholas replied. “We’ll stop shortly for the night.”

      “How do you intend to keep us safe the night through? It is said to be dangerous traveling these roads—”

      “Please, my lady,” Wolfs tone mocked her, “nine of my men are here and would be loath to hear you malign their talents so.”

      “Nine! You have only nine?”

      “Our number will be sufficient. Now cease. Enough of this prattle.”

      Kit bristled with the resentment of having this crass brute in charge of her person. He had no right to order her about. And she didn’t care much for the way he scowled at her, either.

      A short time later, when they came over a grassy hill, they spotted the two men who had been sent ahead to seek a sheltered spot to camp for the night. They had already scouted out a likely area and a small fire was crackling merrily in the clearing.

      It was with great relief that Kit dismounted and went to help Bridget. The old woman was bone weary and though she was not usually particularly quiet about her aches and pains, she was more circumspect than usual tonight. The two women wandered off to the trees to take care of their personal needs and while there, found a stream with cool, fresh water. They stopped to drink their fill.

      “Ooch, yer eye, child,” Bridget said, taking a good look at Kit’s face. “Let me wash it for ye.”

      “Nay, Bridget. I prefer to remain filthy as a vagabond whilst we’re in the company of these clods of Henry’s.”

      “Clods ye say?”

      “Clods, Bridget. Boorish clods.”

      “Oh, of course. Ye, dearie, having been to France and to court and so many fashionable places, would recognize a boor instantly, I suppose.”

      “Don’t tease, Bridget. It takes little experience and less brains to know this man—”

      “Who? Sir Gerhart? The leader?”

      “What do you know of him?”

      “Well, Sir Clarence and Sir Alfred talked a wee bit,” Bridget said as she stretched her aching back, “to keep me awake and astride that beast, I think. They said a few things...”

      “For example?”

      “For example,” Bridget’s ire was up, and Kit knew she was testing the old woman’s patience, “Alfred said that Sir Gerhart and his cousin Sir Nicholas are the grandsons of some German prince—”

      “Ha!”

      “—though Gerhart also has some obscure English ties. The two of them have been invaluable to King Henry and ’tis rumored that they’ll be given titles and estates upon their return to London.”

      “I can guess just who started that rumor.”

      “’Tis not like ye to be so disrespectful, Kitty.”

      “’Tis not like you to swallow such a yam, Bridget.” Kit started walking back to camp. “They’re naught but common soldiers, come to take me to London, and the reason why is the only obscurity here. The rest is perfectly clear.”

      Bridget shook her head dubiously.

      “Also clear is the fact that Rupert will never be able to find me now, and I intend to remedy that situation as soon as possible.”

      “And how do ye propose to do it?”

      “I don’t know yet. Just promise not to worry about me,” Kit said.

      

      Darkness fell slowly, by degrees. They’d eaten a meal consisting entirely of dried meat and when through, the men scattered about the fire to find comfortable places to spend the night. Wolfram backed up to a tree, wrapped himself in his cloak and closed his eyes. He could hear the regular, even snores of the woman, and he knew the girl hadn’t moved in ages.

      As he was about to doze off, Wolf caught sight of a slight movement from the other side of the fire. It was the girl, and she had turned over. Now she was quiet. Too quiet. And her position didn’t seem to be an entirely comfortable one for sleep. Wolf could see that she was holding her breath. The idiot was going to make a move. He was completely alert instantaneously.

      She eased herself up in stages, looking around to see if her movements disturbed any of the men. If they did, none of them, not even those on watch, showed any signs of it. Finally, she was on her feet, crouched down, near to the ground. She backed away from the campsite until she was completely in the dark, then stood and ran.

      Wolf was up in a second. He couldn’t believe the girl’s foolishness. Where in blazes did she think she was going? He signaled to the men on watch to remain in place, then traced the girl’s path through the woods silently.

      Wolf increased his speed when he heard a loud thud and a muffled shriek. He had orders to get the girl to London in one piece, and she seemed intent on making that simple task a difficult one. It was so dark that Wolf had a hard time seeing down the shallow gorge into which she’d fallen, even though he knew he stood on the brink, towering over her. Kathryn was definitely down there, still unaware of his presence, and he listened to the disparaging sounds she made under her breath. He couldn’t help being vaguely amused by her cursing.

      “Ow!” She tried to stand, but her ankle wouldn’t bear her weight and she fell again. “Damnation!” the lady muttered. “By all the martyred saints, my eye, my lip and my bloody ankle are ruined. Now I’ll never—”

      “Let me see your ankle,” Wolfram said as he stooped down next to her. She squealed and jumped half out of her skin when he spoke. “Easy, now. It’s only me.”

      “Only you? You’re the last person I wanted to see,” she cried. He smiled at her blunt honesty. Not much like the ladies he’d known at court, he thought, but she was still young. She’d learn.

      “Probably СКАЧАТЬ