The Bride of Windermere Read online

  On the ninth morning at Westminster, Lord Kendal came to visit, bringing his daughter-in-law with him. Several times Wolf had spoken to Lord Kendal of his concern for Kit, alone in the palace. Kendal promised that he’d look in on her. Why Wolfram couldn’t do it himself was an additional puzzle that Lord Kendal intended to solve, though he had his suspicions.

  “This place can be a den of vipers, Lady Kathryn,” he said knowingly. “Thought you might like a friend.”

  Lady Charlotte Kendal was slightly older than Kit. She was a tall brunette, with soft brown eyes and a friendly, unpretentious smile. She was nothing like the ladies at court. “I’ve been anxious to meet you,” she told Kit. “Gerhart told us about your journey from Northumberland.”

  “You saw Gerhart?” Kit’s spirits rose at once, yet she felt depressed at the same time. He was so close...

  “Yes,” she laughed, “we’ve been overrun with guests, what with Lord Kendal and my husband’s brother visiting as well.”

  “You’ll be rid of all of us soon enough when we go to Arundel.” The Marquess didn’t mind his daughter-in-law’s good-natured teasing. She was good to his son and had presented him with an heir just a year ago.

  “You needn’t trouble yourself on my account,” Charlotte replied. “Your grandson thrives on all the attention you men have been giving him. We like having guests.”

  “When do you leave for Arundel, my lord?” Kit asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Does Gerhart go—”

  “Yes, Sir Gerhart rides with us,” Kendal said. “I’ll be certain to inform him of how you fare here at Westminster.”

  Kit’s face fell. Though she hadn’t seen Wolf since he’d left her at the palace, she had somehow thought of him as being close by. But now, he’d be far away in West Sussex. Too far away for her to be comforted by thoughts of him.

  Chapter Ten

  Arundel

  Late May, 1421

  King Henry V was pleased to see the Marquess of Kendal. The monarch was in high spirits. His recent marriage to Catherine of Valois was proving to be a satisfactory match, and his victories in France had done him a great deal of good at home. The king was well-disposed to be friendly and generous to old friends, and Lord Kendal was one of the most loyal. He had proved it by his fidelity during various difficulties early in the reign of Henry IV and his continued support.

  Sir Gerhart’s presence with Lord Kendal was appreciated, and the king welcomed the knight’s report on Kathryn Somers’ journey to London, though it was with some regret that he learned of Kathryn’s loss of her cousin at Windermere. Henry was given a full accounting of their journey, including the attack they repelled on the night they left Windermere.

  “How did the lady fare during the attack?” Henry asked, alarmed. “Was she harmed?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Wolf replied. “Though she involved herself in the fray.”

  “How so?” The king’s hazel eyes betrayed his curiosity.

  “She slipped away unseen,” Wolf explained with a grin, “and mounted her horse where she stood astride and shot stones at our attackers with a leather sling. And her aim was true.”

  Henry looked at Wolf in disbelief. He knew of no ladies who used weapons for any purpose. To become involved in a battle where their very lives hung in the balance...

  “Tell me more about Lady Kathryn,” he ordered, as intrigued by the story as he was by Gerhart’s tone of fascination when he spoke of the lady.

  Wolf was surprised at the king’s request, assuming that his majesty knew all he needed about Kit. However, given the fact that Wolf had been told so little about Kit when he’d been sent to fetch her, he quickly realized that King Henry knew very little about the lady himself. Why she had been summoned to London remained a mystery, too. Though they were close, Wolf could not breach protocol by asking the king his reasons.

  He had been worrying about Kit for days, trapped at the palace among Queen Catherine’s women and the Englishwomen who made the intrigues of court their lives. Wolf was grateful to the Marquess of Kendal for introducing Kit to Lady Charlotte. As desperately as he wanted to see to her welfare himself, he knew he’d be unwelcome, given the nature of their relationship during the last days of their journey. She had probably been happily reunited with Rupert Aires by now, anyway.

  Wolf recounted to Henry things about Kathryn that he remembered from their trip. He told the king about Somerton and what he knew of Kit’s management of the estates. He also mentioned her stepfather’s rough treatment of her. He described the care she gave Bridget and Kit’s reaction to the old woman’s death. Wolf spoke of Kit’s diplomatic handling of the situation at Windermere Fair, when she intervened to prevent Philip Colston from punishing young Alfie Juvet unjustly.

  Henry was intrigued, not only with the stories of the young woman, but with Sir Gerhart, the German nobleman who had always seemed so restrained and dispassionate, so coldly logical and reserved. They had become close during the French campaigns, and he had never seen Gerhart so fascinated by a woman before. Kathryn Somers had had a significant effect on the knight, and Henry wanted to know more.

  The king withheld a smile as he reconsidered some of his plans and options, especially with regard to Lady Kathryn Somers. There was much to do before his return to France, and he wanted matters secured in England before his departure.

  “Tell me of her appearance.”

  Wolf raked his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t ever really seen Lady Kathryn, sire,” he said, though he saw Henry’s puzzled expression and knew he’d have to explain himself. “When first we met, she was wearing peasants’ garb—filthy breeches and tunic, and a cape, I think. Her face and hands were covered with mud, and her eye was swollen and blackened. Lord Somers had also battered her lip, so it wasn’t possible to tell quite what she looked like.”

  “I imagine she eventually washed her face?”

  A strange heat arose around Wolf’s neck, under his tunic. Of course Kit washed her face. What was Henry getting at? What did he want to know? That she had eyes as green as the emerald Henry wore on his left hand? Or that her skin was the color of fresh cream and soft as the white satin of Henry’s tunic...that her blush was as gentle as a morning breeze? Perhaps he wanted to know exactly how high her cheekbones were or the way her delicately formed chin was dented—

  “Her chin is cleft similarly to yours, Your Majesty,” Wolf said abruptly. He wished they could get on to other subjects and stop talking about Kit.

  Henry seemed taken aback, and Wolf tried to smooth over his reply.

  “Her appearance is altogether pleasant, though I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her without a head covering,” he said, his sense of frustration increasing. “Her clothing never revealed anything of her shape, though she’s about this tall...” Wolf put a hand up to the level of his shoulder, “...and she fits with me in my saddle with room to spare....”

  And the knight was enthralled, Henry thought. It was very interesting. From their short conversation about her, the king could easily see that Lady Kathryn had twisted Gerhart into knots.

  Gerhart had done well, and Henry was pleased with him. Not just for getting Kathryn Somers to Westminster safely, but for his past years of service. It had long been the king’s intention to reward Gerhart for his exceptional service. In light of these new developments with Kathryn, it was entirely possible that Gerhart’s reward could serve more than one purpose. He would give it due consideration.

  “’Tis good to see you, Kendal,” the king said, turning to the Marquess who had remained quiet during Wolf’s report. He was as fascinated with the knight’s tale as Henry was. “We met your son at Catherine’s coronation.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Lord Kendal replied, “we spoke of it. He and his wife were most pleased to welcome Queen Catherine to England. We all wish you well, Sire.”

  The king nodded his approval.

  “As to my reasons for seeking an audience with you...” L
ord Kendal laid out the papers and scraps of evidence on the table for the king’s perusal and began his opening arguments on Wolf’s behalf.

  Westminster Palace

  Kit happened upon Rupert one sunny morning when she was walking through the west garden. Truth be told, she practically fell over him.

  Feeling particularly gloomy and lonely, she had taken one of the less used paths, hoping that the bright scenes would cheer her. A perky little stream ran through that end of the garden, and there were clusters of interesting rocks situated here and there, as well as a bench under a huge old oak.

  Kit noticed some herbs growing near the brook beside some wild grasses and she stooped to investigate, thinking she might possibly add to her store of medicinal plants. She made her way along the water’s edge, paying little attention to her surroundings, other than the small shoots and wild herbs that were hidden among the rocks.

  That was when she tripped over a pair of feet. Apparently, she had been so quiet, or Rupert and his companion had been so occupied, that they hadn’t been aware of Kit’s presence in the garden until the moment she tripped over them. Rupert sat up abruptly out of the tall grasses and was about to lambaste the intruder when he suddenly realized who she was.

  Just then, Lady Catheryn Hayward, whom Kit recognized from court, sat up and brushed bits of grass from her hair and gown. She blushed and donned an embarrassed smile, but couldn’t very well avoid facing Kit.

  “Well, Kit!” Rupert said, flustered. He got to his feet and gave her a sheepish grin.

  At least he appeared to feel contrite, Kit thought. “Rupert,” she nodded, acknowledging his greeting somewhat distantly.

  She was nearly devoid of emotion, which was surprising. Here he was, finally. And all wrapped up with Catheryn Hayward, a distasteful little idiot who was always whining about something whenever Kit saw her. And here Kit was, face-to-face with Rupert at last, and she had nothing to say. She had thought she’d throw herself into his arms when she finally saw him, that she would tell him all about Bridget and the king and get him to help her figure out why she’d been summoned to London—

  “I’d heard you were here.” His face had only become more handsome over the last three years, but Kit wasn’t moved by his fine features. Looking over at Catheryn’s flushed face and puffy lips, she now understood clearly the sly remarks of the women at court and realized that whatever she had known and felt about Rupert in the past was no longer true. He belonged more to them than to her and she cared not a whit.

  “How long have you been back?” she asked.

  “What? You mean in London?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh—well, months I suppose,” he replied. “Some of us came in advance of the king.”

  “You must have been busy here at the palace—”

  “Not at all,” Rupert said with a devilish grin. “His majesty gave us liberal leaves after our long months in France. It’s good to see you, Kit.”

  “I...we...supposed you’d come home to Northumberland...” It was strange. She should have been upset that he hadn’t come for her months ago yet she found herself somewhat relieved instead, that she was not officially betrothed to this handsome rascal.

  “No, I don’t intend to go north until I must. I prefer London.” He smiled rakishly.

  “I see,” Kit said, glancing over at Catheryn, who had stood and turned around to straighten the bodice of her gown. She thought the rumors among the women at court were that Rupert was pursuing Lady Alice. Yet here he was with Catheryn.

  How frivolous he was, she thought. He hadn’t taken their promise to each other seriously, nor did he behave responsibly toward his family. He should have at least visited them. Or sent word to his aging father. Thinking about the responsibilities he so easily shirked, Kit’s ire rose.

  “Kit—”

  “Rupert,” Catheryn whined his name. “I think it’s time you took me back. Mama will be wondering.”

  “In a minute, Kate,” he put her off, even though she’d taken his arm and was hanging on as though unable to support herself.

  “Why are you here, Kit?” he asked. “Why did King Henry summon you?”

  “I haven’t been told. I still await his return to Westminster.”

  “He’ll be here in four days, I’ve heard,” Rupert told her. Catheryn began tugging his arm in earnest. “Well, I suppose I must take the lady back....”

  “Goodbye, Rupert.”

  “Not goodbye,” he protested. “We’ll surely see each other....”

  Though she had turned her back to them and already started walking towards the brook, Kit couldn’t help but overhear Lady Catheryn’s seductive giggles.

  She should have felt sad, she supposed, or even indignant, but Rupert was just as he’d always been: carefree, thoughtless, lighthearted. Now that she thought about it, he’d never shown many signs of responsibility, fewer still of commitment. Why had she ever thought he’d take his betrothal promise seriously? As she walked away, she was immensely relieved.

  On the other hand, her one and only certainty in life had ceased to exist.

  Arundel Castle

  The Marquess of Kendal was beaming. As he traversed the long corridor beside Bartholomew Colston’s son, he could hardly contain his smile. Things couldn’t have gone better. The king had listened to the case against Philip of Windermere, studied the evidence presented to him and drawn his own conclusions.

  King Henry judged that Bartholomew Colston was innocent of involvement in the assassination attempt on his father, Henry IV, during the revolt of 1401. Furthermore, the evidence was irrefutable that Clarence and Philip Colston had been the ones involved not only in the conspiracy to assassinate Henry IV, but also in the plot which resulted in the deaths of Bartholomew and his son as they traveled to Bremen. The withered parchment, completely deciphered, attested to that.

  Philip and his father had cleverly contrived to blame Bartholomew for the assassination attempt on the king, thereby ensuring that the earl and his heirs would be discredited and lose all claim to Windermere—in case they happened to survive the attack on the road to Bremen. The king remarked that Wolf’s survival was a small miracle, and he graciously forgave the knight the deception involving his identity. He understood Wolf’s need to use his German name until he was able to clear Bartholomew Colston of treason.

  King Henry quickly dispatched a small army, under the command of Sir John DuBois, to take Philip Colston into custody. They were also charged with the task of finding Lady Agatha. Their instructions were to bring both of them to London where Agatha could be officially questioned, and Philip would be tried in the king’s court for his complicity in the deaths of Bartholomew and John Colston. There was also the question of treason, to which Philip would answer alone, Clarence having been dead these last eighteen years.

  Wolf took the liberty of sending Hugh Dryden to Windermere to quietly keep track of the doings there.

  “What has you scowling now, boy?” Lord John asked as they reached the courtyard. “Your lands are restored, your titles returned and more. You are now Duke of Carlisle. Windermere and a half-dozen other estates are yours. What more do—”

  “It was too easy,” Wolf replied, still trying to absorb all that had happened during his audience with the king. He frowned. “All these years, I thought I’d have to fight tooth and nail for Windermere. It never occurred to me that...” he shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Windermere is mine, and I’ll somehow pay the price for it.”

  “Windermere, Your Grace?” the Marquess used Wolf’s new title.

  “I didn’t expect anything more.”

  “But you are so much more now,” Lord Kendal said. “A duke of the realm, equal to any of Henry’s brothers.”

  Yes, he was gratified, even pleased to have been so amply rewarded. He could go to Windermere as master now and return the castle and his estates to their former grandeur.

  Henry knew that Wolf was anxious to return to Winder
mere. However, the king required that the new duke perform one last service before his departure.

  Lord Kendal returned to London the following day with his son, leaving Wolf at Arundel to assist the king. There were more plans to be made for Henry and Catherine’s return to France, as well as governmental business in England to see to before they would follow Kendal to London.

  “I would speak to you on a matter of some importance to me, Wolf,” Henry said as they finished work that afternoon. He was still adjusting to calling his friend “Wolf.” Somehow the name suited him, as had “Gerhart,” the name he’d used all those years in Germany. The king saw Wolfram as a man with strength of character as well as physical power, possessing nobility and a sense of justice as strong as his own. Wolf Colston was a man in whom he could entrust a delicate but necessary task.

  “I was recently informed that I have a sister,” the king said. “I don’t recall ever having met her mother, but I have it on greatest authority—a document among my father’s papers—that this sister was conceived some twenty years ago, soon after my father became king.”

  With a quick mental calculation, Wolf knew that old King Henry’s first wife had been dead more than twenty years, and he had not yet married Joanna of Navarre when he took the throne from Richard II in 1399. The sister had to have been born between wives.

  “Her existence has become known to various parties—the French, and unfortunately, some hostile Scots. She will become a liability unless I can get her situated safely. I cannot allow my half sister to be taken by some band of cowardly Scots, nor can I afford to pay any heavy ransoms for her safety. Even the damnable Lollards have threatened to breach the palace to do what they will. I cannot risk her safety.”