The Bride Of Windermere. Margo Maguire

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      “What did you expect?” She was certain she heard irritation in his voice. He slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, then picked her up. She was a bit surprised that he didn’t just throw her over his shoulder like a sack of rags. “You can’t tear through the woods at breakneck speed in the dark and not expect disaster. Especially a woman, and one as obviously inexperienced as you.”

      “Oh, really?” she remarked disdainfully, refusing to allow him to gloat.

      Wolf felt the girl tighten her grip around his neck as he moved quickly through the woods. He realized he was intentionally showing her up, demonstrating how perfectly he could move in the dark without mishap. The girl had grit, and he admitted to a grudging admiration of her spunk in spite of the fact that, but for her, he would still be wrapped up warmly in his cloak, asleep. As her fingers moved around the back of his neck, the bizarre thought occurred to him that her scent was every bit as fresh and appealing as it had been earlier in the day as she rode with him. The thought nearly made him drop her.

      “Slow down, Gerhart!” Kit commanded harshly. “I have no wish to sprain the other ankle.”

      “As you command, my lady.” She was damned confident. And impudent.

      

      No one spoke as Gerhart sat down where he’d been before, with his back against a tree, pulling Lady Kathryn into his lap. She turned to move away, but found his grip on her wrists like iron manacles. His silvery eyes bored through her, allowing for no further mischief.

      “You will remain close to me for the night.”

      Kit gasped, but kept her voice low. “You cannot be serious! It is entirely improper!”

      “No less proper than allowing you to run off and kill yourself falling into a ditch somewhere.”

      He gathered his cloak around them both and lay his head back. He pulled Kit’s head against his chest and let her bottom slide to the ground between his thighs. She was much softer than she had seemed before. Perhaps she really was full-grown as she’d implied, and not some hell-bent adolescent.

      “By all the bloody saints, I’ll not stay here!” She tried to get up, but Wolf pulled her down by the waist until she was nose to nose and breast to breast with him.

      “You will.” His teeth were clenched tightly.

      Wolf forced his attention on her dirty, bruised, misshapen face because a pair of unmistakably, disturbingly mature breasts were pressing into the soft wool of his tunic. He could actually feel her nipples harden against his chest. His body threatened to mutiny against his better judgment, so he forced himself to concentrate on her obstinate, unpleasant temperament.

      He was a man of discipline and discerning tastes. He was certainly not in need of this unruly, undisciplined, unappealing, filthy urchin. He had never been one to take a woman just for the sake of having one, and he knew he could do much better when he returned to find the woman of the lake. And soon, he supposed, there would be Annegret. Certainly, he had no need of this overdeveloped adolescent who was determined to cause herself harm.

      Kit slid back into place. Her face hurt, her shoulder and hip throbbed from her fall and now her ankle felt as though it was on fire. She lost all interest in having it out with King Henry’s knight. Besides, the damnable brute wouldn’t loosen his grip. In spite of him, and to his surprise, Lady Kathryn pulled her hood over her ragged hat and fell asleep.

      Chapter Three

      

      

      Wolfram slept little. Lady Kathryn managed to curl herself up like a kitten and sleep soundly through the night. However, her movements, her little sighs and groans and the way she pulled at his cloak all night prevented him from sleeping much. What was it the old woman had called her? “Kitty?” It suited her. He could almost hear her purr in comfort as she tangled herself up on his lap. No, he hadn’t slept much at all.

      It started raining around noon and Wolf’s mood, which was already foul, didn’t improve any. Wolf paced the troop so the old woman could easily keep up, but he saw that she was having difficulty nonetheless. “Nicholas.”

      Wolfs cousin was drawn out of his own sodden thoughts and looked up.

      “See to her.” Wolfram gave a nod of his head indicating the rear of the train.

      Kit moved so she could peer around Wolfs back and saw Nicholas take Bridget up with him on his mount. He settled her in front and pulled his cloak over them both, so she could ride as comfortably as possible. Kit would have thanked Wolf for his kindness toward Bridget except for the fierce look in his deep gray eyes. The man certainly was moody, and she didn’t want to set him off. As it was, she was grateful to be securely situated in front of him with his thick cloak covering them and enough heat generated from his body to warm them both. The all-pervading smell of wet horse, wet wool and wet leather was strangely quieting.

      The light drizzle turned to rain and still they went on through the hills towards Cumbria. Kit had difficulty understanding why they were veering west since she knew the direction to London was to the south and a bit east.

      “You realize you’ve been taking us in the wrong direction for hours, Gerhart?” She used the name all the men called him and not “Wolf.”

      His reply was merely a rude grunt

      “I thought you were taking me to London,” she said. “Had my stepfather known of this detour, I doubt he would have permitted me to come traipsing around the entire countryside with you and your soldiers.”

      “He’s a good one for seeing to your welfare, isn’t he?” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Kit. However, she had her pride and refused to allow him to think that she had been raised as anything less than a lady.

      “He promised my mother he would care for me like his own daughter. He has provided well for me—”

      “He beats his own offspring as well, then?”

      Kit refused to allow him to humiliate her, so she shrugged and did not answer.

      “How old are you?”

      Kit hesitated before replying. She was somewhat advanced in age to be unmarried, and it was embarrassing. She wanted to lie but couldn’t bring herself to sin outright.

      “Twenty,” she finally admitted.

      “Why aren’t you wed? Or at least betrothed?” He had no doubt that Baron Somers would have difficulty finding anyone willing to take on this unkempt urchin who probably had no feminine skills at all. Nonetheless, he couldn’t see the sense in keeping her around Somerton manor when she obviously irritated the baron to the point of violence.

      “I am betrothed! Well, nearly so, I mean.”

      “What, some local swain has begged for your hand?” The incredulous sound to his voice angered her. He acted as if she were completely unmarriageable! What did the big oaf know of it?

      “It just so happens that he is one of King Henry’s guard!” she snapped angrily.

      “Who?” СКАЧАТЬ