The Bride of Windermere Page 10

  What was it Agatha had said about the “rightful earl”? Kit couldn’t remember for certain. Anyway, it didn’t matter now. Philip was earl, and the old woman was obviously not in full possession of her senses.

  “Tell me...who else at the castle has been imparting information to you?” They walked back toward the tall grass where their horses were grazing.

  “Just Lord Philip,” Kit told him. “He said he’s going to petition Baron Somers or perhaps even the king for my hand.”

  “What?”

  “You may find it difficult to believe, Gerhart,” she said, stopping to face him to emphasize her point, “I may be plain, but I am not as unmarriageable as you seem to think.”

  “Why, I’ve never said you were not a marriageable—”

  She laughed. “‘Twas not what you said, exactly.”

  “I implied it?” Well, first impressions were not always accurate. Wolf thought of Kit’s regal entrance into the great hall of Windermere the first night and again of the masterful diplomacy she’d used in handling the earl during the incident with young Alfie. He thought of how well she fit with him on Janus, and now, the way her bare feet had gracefully, even seductively, swept the chilly waters of the lake. Her lips were full, sensuous. Her eyes were an incredibly wicked shade of green framed by the longest lashes he’d ever seen on a woman. She was anything but plain or unmarriageable. “Impossible,” he said quietly.

  The heat in his dark gray eyes was disturbing. Kit experienced a vague sense of danger to her equilibrium in those eyes, and quickly turned away to walk on. “’Tis a shame about Windermere,” Kit said at length.

  “A shame?”

  “Windermere is Philip’s heritage, is it not?” she asked. “Yet he keeps a steward who has allowed the housekeeper to rule and the castle to fall into disrepair. His bailiff abuses his rights and the reeve abuses the villein. The lord’s demesne is—”

  “How do you know all this, Kit?” Wolf asked, astonished at her perceptions.

  “Well, I’ve eyes and ears, and the good sense I was born with,” she said. “It doesn’t take a great deal of intelligence to see what is going on here, or what needs to be done to repair matters.”

  “What would you do, Kit, if you were Lady Windermere?”

  “Well, I don’t know about being Lady Windermere,” she said with a snort, “but if I were Philip’s steward, I’d conduct hallmote and bring charges against the bailiff the people whisper about. The reeve, whatever his name is, would also answer to a few charges himself. Then I’d send the housekeeper packing—she had no business harassing Lady Clarisse—and hire tradesmen—”

  “What do you mean, harassing Lady Clarisse?”

  “Oh, some of the servants believe Mistress Hanchaw gave her no rest.”

  “Hmm,” Wolf mulled that over. “And what about tradesmen?”

  “I’d hire some. To begin repairs on the castle.”

  “And Philip?”

  “Oh, well. Philip... I was thinking about a Windermere without Philip in charge. I doubt he could ever be convinced to sack his housekeeper or the steward.”

  “Bridget told me there was no steward at Somerton.”

  “Bridget loved to talk.”

  He thought of the clean rushes, the flowers in the house, the baron’s productive fields and the neat little town and knew with a certainty that Kit was responsible. Neither the slovenly, drunken baron nor his wastrel wife would have the necessary skills to manage an estate the size of Somerton. No wonder the man wanted Kit back when she was finished in London.

  “What happened when you tried to run away from Somerton Manor? Your cousin said the baron would kill you if you ever tried to run away again.”

  “I... It was...nothing.” Kit shuddered. She didn’t want to think of Baron Thomas and the evil light that came into his eyes, the hateful grin he wore when he hurt her. Bridget had been right. It was best to have gotten away from him.

  “Surely there was some incident?” He had no idea why he wanted to press her for the knowledge. But for some reason, he felt compelled to know.

  “It was years ago. The baron was in a drunken rage...” she finally said. “There had been a visitor from the king, a knight whose name I don’t remember now. But he had already left the manor.

  “I...I’m still not exactly sure what my offense was, or what he thought it was, but he cuffed me and...and knocked me down the steps.” She felt dangerously close to tears again as she recounted the events of that day. The baron had been particularly vicious, and she had been more afraid than usual. “I m-must have been unconscious for some time, because the blood from the wound on my forehead was dry already...”

  “What happened?” Wolf seethed with anger as he recalled the long, wooden staircase at Somerton Manor and pictured Kit at the bottom of it.

  “My head hit something as I fell, and it gashed open,” she replied. “But when I could finally get up and move about, I realized the pain in my shoulder was more than just a bruise. My...my collarbone was cracked.” She inhaled a long, shuddering breath, remembering the shooting pain that had coursed through her shoulder and down her arm.

  “How old were you?” Wolf asked through clenched teeth, infuriated.

  “I was eleven...mayhap twelve years...” she replied. “I didn’t know where Bridget was, but I thought if I could just get to the village, I would make my way to the road and find that knight who had been to see Baron Somers. He had seemed a reasonable sort, and had even questioned me about my welfare at Somerton. I hid in one of the cotters’ huts. I thought I’d wait until dark, then...”

  “Then what?” Wolf asked, becoming angrier with every word. Baron Somers was fortunate that Wolf had been unaware of any of this when he was at Somerton.

  “He burned two cottages before I realized what was happening.”

  “He knew you were being hidden by the peasants?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “He j-just wanted someone to tell where they’d seen me, w-where I’d gone.”

  “So he threatened the people—his people—by burning down their dwellings?”

  Kit nodded.

  “What a fool,” Wolf muttered. “Go on.”

  “When I realized what the baron was doing, I came out and b-begged him to stop.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes. He dragged me back to the manor and told me he would kill me if I ever ran from him again,” she said. “He was furious that I’d run. He s-struck me again. A lot. I thought he would kill me right then, but his wife interfered. She screamed at him and pulled him off me.”

  “Lady Edith was fond of you, then?”

  “No. She was warning him about something—I think it was about the knight who had just left Somerton. I’m not sure. I’ve never understood it.”

  Wolf vowed that Kit would never be returned to Baron Somers. Even if he had to drag Rupert Aires to the church for his own wedding.

  “Why does he beat you?”

  “Please, Gerhart, I—”

  “Why? What drives him to hurt you so?”

  “I don’t know, Gerhart,” Kit answered. “But he never missed a chance at it.”

  They returned to Windermere’s great hall together.

  “Come,” Kit said, delaying him with her touch on his arm. “I want to show you something.” She drew him up the stairs, around the corner and down the corridor to her room.

  Kit took him inside and bolted the door behind them. Then she lit the candelabra and led him to the secret door behind the tapestry. Releasing the catch on the door, Kit led the way up the concealed staircase until they reached the chamber where she had found Agatha.

  It was empty. There were no furniture, no rugs, no little stool, nothing. It was a cold and empty tower room.

  “She was here!” Kit said, hardly believing her eyes. “I swear by all the saints, she was here!”

  “Your Agatha?”

  “Yes! There was a bed...there!” She pointed. “And a c
hest, a chair and stool... What could have happened?”

  “Are you certain—”

  “Of course I’m certain! How else would I have known this place was... Look here.” Kit opened the window and reached out. Her fingers finally found the loose rock, which she pulled out of place and handed to Wolf. “This is where she had the signet hiddcn.”

  He reached out and felt the gap in the stone, then searched the space with his fingers. Finding a leather pouch, he carefully drew it out, then fit the loose granite back into place.

  “She was here, Gerhart. Truly, it is not my imagination—”

  “I believe you,” he said, the look on his face darkening. “Look here.” Wolf opened the pouch and found a few loose coins inside along with a withered, yellowing piece of parchment. A seal had been imprinted on the paper, but Wolf did not recognize the pattern. Most of the written message was obscured by weather and time, but it was clearly enough addressed to Clarence Colston and dated 22 August, 1401.

  “What happened to Agatha? This pouch wasn’t here before. What do you suppose—”

  “Kit, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “Philip doesn’t want Lady Agatha’s presence known. He’s moved her out of this room, so he must have some idea that she spoke with you...” Wolf started to plan. “Perhaps if he thinks you believe she was a ghost...”

  “But she wasn’t a ghost, Gerhart, she was as real—”

  He took her by the shoulders. “Kit. we can’t trust Philip.”

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “I’ll explain later. For now, you’ll just have to believe me. I’m going to tell him you were visited by the ghost of some old countess and that experience, coupled with Bridget’s death makes you anxious to leave Windermere. That way—”

  “Anxious to leave Windermere?”

  “As soon as possible.” Wolf glanced outside to gauge the sun’s position in the sky. “We’ll be able to ride four or five hours yet if we leave straightaway.”

  “But we’re expected to stay until tomorrow. Won’t Philip suspect—”

  “Not if I tell him you’re upset by the ghost and demanding to be taken away from here,” Wolf replied. “If he suspects you’ve spoken with Agatha, and you’ve not mentioned the strangeness of meeting his stepmother—”

  “I understand. He’ll think I’m hiding something. But if I tell him I saw her and believed she was a ghost—”

  “Right,” he said. “It will keep us ahead of Philip for the moment.”

  “What about the signet? Whose is it? And what is this parchment? It wasn’t there when I found the ring. What does it mean?”

  Gerhart latched the window and drew Kit back to the secret door. “Let’s get you safely away from Windermere, and I’ll explain what I can.”

  While his men packed the horses and accepted supplies of additional food from the earl’s kitchens, Wolf spoke to Philip. He wanted to be the one to explain their reason for their precipitous departure and not leave it to Kit. She was always so forthright, he doubted her ability to lie effectively.

  “Lady Kathryn is most distraught over the death of her cousin, and anxious to move on,” he explained. “Disturbing as it was, the lady experienced yet another shock.”

  “Namely...?” Philip eyed Wolf menacingly.

  “Apparently, there is a ghost in the castle,” Wolf said most earnestly.

  “A ghost?”

  “Yes, some old Countess of Windermere appeared in the lady’s room...” Wolf left the sentence unfinished, giving his cousin an opening to explain.

  “...Ah, yes. That ghost.” The crease between Philip’s brows deepened slightly.

  “You know of this spirit?” Wolf spoke quite seriously. Though there were many who believed in haunts, Wolf did not. In spite of that, he hoped he’d be able to convince Philip that he and Lady Kathryn were both believers.

  “I have heard of this countess-ghost, but I have never seen her myself,” Philip said, stroking his beard. “They say she speaks...?”

  Wolf shook his head. He didn’t want Philip to know that Agatha had spoken to Kit. “Lady Kathryn said the ghost mumbled some gibberish. Nothing intelligible. Terrifying.”

  Philip let out a long, steady breath and picked at his beard.

  “The visitation has upset the lady considerably, and she cannot abide another night at Windermere.”

  “Perhaps I can persuade her to stay. She may have another chamber if—”

  “I’m afraid not,” Wolf said. He intended to keep Philip as far away as possible from Kit “I’ve already discussed the matter with her, and she is determined to go.”

  “Then I will bid the lady adieu,” Philip said. “I would be gratified if you would accept a Windermere escort. The roads are not the safest—”

  “Thank you, but no, Lord Philip. My men are quite capable—”

  “I insist,” Philip said.

  Wolf had no intention of taking any of Philip’s cronies with him. He did not care to be scrutinized by Philip’s men all the way to London and he felt particularly vulnerable, traveling with his father’s signet and the document he found in the niche outside the tower room.

  “His majesty appointed this troop of men himself,” Wolf argued. “It would not do to insult the king by adding to the escort without his consent.”

  “As you wish, Sir Gerhart,” the earl said peevishly. Wolf knew Philip was attempting to come up with another means of getting around him, but was interrupted by Kit’s appearance. “Lady Kathryn,” he addressed her, taking her hand and dismissing Wolf. Then Philip spoke to a page who stood nearby and sent him on an errand to the stables. “I hardly recognize you in these traveling clothes,” he said, referring to Kit’s rough costume.

  “They suit me well on the road, my lord.”

  Wolf went over to a chair near the fire and tightened a bootlace while his cousin made his farewell. “I hope this...ghost...hasn’t put you off Windermere entirely, my dear lady,” Philip said.

  “Of course not,” Kit replied. “Normally, I might have found the experience...er...fascinating, but not just now. My cousin’s death—”

  “I quite understand, my dear,” Philip walked Kit to the main entrance of the hall, putting his hand on the small of her back. “I am certain it will not be long before we meet again, and I anxiously look forward to that day.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She saw Wolf go out ahead of them to mount Janus. The train of men and packhorses were ready and waiting for her.

  “Allow me to present you with a small gift, a token of my admiration for you,” he said when they started down the steps. A stable boy had brought around the mare Kit had been riding that afternoon, fully saddled and ready to ride.

  “My lord, I cannot accept such a valuable gift. I—”

  “Of course you can,” Philip said. “She will bear you many miles in safety and comfort. I hope one day she will bring you back to Windermere. And soon. Come. Let me assist you—”

  Wolf rode up at that moment and reached down to sweep Kit up into the saddle in front of him. “Lady Kathryn will ride with me.”

  Philip opened his mouth to protest, but Wolf cut him off with a curt explanation.

  “We’ll cover more miles this way,” he said. Then he smiled. “But—allow me to offer his majesty’s thanks for the horseflesh. She’s a comely beast.”

  Their horses cantered at an easy pace, and Kit was comfortably situated with her back resting against Wolf’s iron chest. At first Kit had thought she’d have preferred riding the mare given to her by the earl, but quickly decided that she liked riding with Wolf. She wondered if she would ever ride this way with Rupert and if it would feel so secure and easy with his arms around her, and not Wolf’s.

  The afternoon was warm and sunny, and Wolf rode without gauntlets. Kit studied the backs of his roughened hands where the dark hairs grew thickly over tanned skin. There was strength in those hands, and a gentleness, too. A gentleness she d
oubted he even realized.

  ‘“Tis a long story,” Wolf began, “and one which I can only partially tell.”

  “Hmm,” Kit said sleepily. It was quite pleasant to ride along safely with Wolf on his huge horse. The last days had taken their toll, and Kit was more than willing to be lulled by Wolfs deep, melodic voice as he told the story of the mysterious signet. She was half dozing when he began the tale.

  “Philip’s father was Clarence Colston, the younger brother of Bartholomew Colston, who was Earl of Windermere before him. Bartholomew’s wife was Margrethe, a daughter of Margrave Rudolph of Bremen. Bartholomew and Margrethe had three sons.” Wolf was surprised at the ease with which he spoke to her of his family. He had never recounted this story to anyone before.

  “The people of Windermere town still hold Bartholomew Colston in high regard. They say he was a fair and just lord, reasonable and well-liked by townsmen and cotters alike, with a worthy steward, a fair reeve and a sensible bailiff. There was prosperity and contentment in his lands. They say that Windermere was never short of laborers or yeomen to work on new projects. The only difficulty came from Lord Bartholomew’s brother, Clarence, who liked to harass the farmers and townspeople. It is said he criticized Bartholomew for eliminating certain traditions like the merchet and heriot.”

  “But every worthy lord has dispensed with those archaic payments,” Kit said. “They caused such a strain between the landlords and peasants. Even Baron Somers, well...”

  “You’re right. Even the most backward lords had dispensed with them. And there were other unpopular traditions which Bartholomew eliminated as well, causing the people of Windermere to have an even greater loyalty to him.” Kit had never known Wolf to be so long-winded and his telling of the story surprised her. Soothed by his pleasing voice, she listened to his words as merely a story, and wrapped up as she was in her own worries, she didn’t realize the personal stake Wolf had in it.