The Bride of Windermere Read online

  “I’ll wager not half as glad as I was...” Kit muttered. She turned and walked back into her chamber with Christine following. “My maid has gone to fetch my supper, if you’d care to sit?”

  Pressing a hand to her breast, Christine said, “We can’t. Your husband sent me for you.”

  “Wolf?” Kit asked, puzzled. Why would Wolf have sent Christine Wellesley for her? That didn’t make any sense, but Kit came out the door and into the dim corridor. “Has he found Philip? Oh, Lord—is he hurt?”

  “No, no,” Christine said, following right behind. “He wants your help.”

  “My help?”

  “I can’t explain,” Christine said, with a shrug of her shoulders.

  Kit wondered why Wolf would want her in this distant wing of the castle. No one ever went as far as they were going.

  “Didn’t you see what it was he wanted help with?”

  “No,” Christine responded. “He just said to hurry.”

  “He must be hurt,” Kit said more to herself than to Christine. “I can’t imagine him needing—”

  “In here. Quickly.”

  Christine opened the door to a chamber lit by one meager, flickering taper, and stepped aside for Kit to go in. Wolf was nowhere in sight. “But—?” Before Kit could complete her question, Christine gave her a shove and left, closing the door behind her. “What the bloody hell...?”

  A movement in the far shadows caught Kit’s attention. It wasn’t Wolf, but there was definitely a man hidden there, and he was approaching.

  “Well, Kit,” Baron Somers slurred, coming out of the shadows. He smiled wickedly and staggered only slightly. Two black eyes and a nose bent and swollen out of proportion gave him an ominous appearance. “That’s no way to greet your loving father.”

  Kit gasped, backing up to the door. “I...I don’t understand.”

  “You thought your devoted husband would be here?” His hand lashed out and slapped her viciously. His other hand came around and grabbed a fistful of hair, near the scalp. He pulled her so that her face was inches from his. He reeked of drink. “You idiot! So gullible!”

  “Please...”

  “That’s right! Beg! Beg me for mercy!” he said, twisting the hair till tears welled up in Kit’s eyes. “Your husband will not be back to rescue you this time.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  Somers laughed drunkenly. “Philip Colston will destroy him.”

  “How?” Kit demanded, forgetting her fear. “How will Philip destroy Wolf?”

  “The duke’s gone alone to confront him—Philip has a tidy little nest under the bridge on the western end of town.” Somers laughed again. “He will slay your precious duke—”

  Kit turned immediately and tried the door, which would not budge. Locked, of course. He didn’t intend for her to escape this time.

  “And Lady Christine?” Kit tried to keep the trembling from her voice. “What has she to gain by all this?”

  Somers’ drunken laugh was even more evil now. “The high and mighty Lady Christine believes all that will happen is you’ll be out of her way. She intends to wed your husband when he is properly widowed.”

  “Wed my husband!” Kit cried. “She—”

  “She doesn’t know that even now, at this very moment—Wolf Colston is headed into Philip’s trap!”

  “I must go to him!” Kit snapped. “You must—”

  “I must do as I please!” He slapped her hard again, knocking her off her feet. “You will learn proper respect for your father!” he growled, losing his balance and staggering a little. “You and that damned husband of yours—ruining Somerton! Your fault. All your fault.”

  Kit got to her knees, a confused expression on her face.

  “I’ve had to punish them and burn some of them out!” Somers ranted. “The villein—they try to cheat me! There’s no respect anymore. They think I don’t know it, but I see them laughing up their sleeves. At me!”

  His speech was slurred, and he moved menacingly toward Kit again. She saw the cruel glint in his eye and knew that he was more vicious than ever. He’d always been at his worst when he’d been drinking.

  “I’ll show them.” He staggered toward her. “And you!”

  Kit got up to her knees, then her feet and backed away from him. There were no weapons of any sort to be seen, nor did the baron wear a sword or a knife. At least she had a fighting chance of escape. She knew she would have to get her own knife out of her dress somehow, and a plan to do so formed in her mind.

  Somers struck her again, and Kit went down hard. But this time, she rolled away from him and lay still. She wanted him to think she was grievously injured. Without making any outward movements, her hand slipped down quickly to retrieve the knife that was hidden in her bodice. And she waited, unsure of what Baron Somers would do. He might kill her with a vicious kick, but it seemed more likely that he’d want to prolong the punishment.

  Kit knew her knife would have to be accurate this time. No fumbling it like she had the night they were attacked on the road to London, no stabbing blindly the way she had with Philip Colston. She would have to be deadly sure this time. Wolf’s life was going to depend on her escape.

  He came for her then, yanked Kit onto her back and fell on her. Straddling her, he took her head in both his hands, but only had a chance to knock it into the floor once, stunning her, and causing a screaming pain to shoot through Kit’s skull. In spite of the haze, Kit rammed the knife under Somers’ rib cage. She pushed with all her strength, sickening when she felt the knife pierce through living flesh. She heard his grunt of pain and felt the flow of blood covering her hands and soaking her clothes.

  He fell heavily onto her, and Kit squirmed out from under his weight, pushing him away. Her head still hurt, but she was over the initial shock of pain and knew she had to move quickly. She went to the door and tried it again, even though she knew full well it was locked.

  Reluctant to even look at Thomas Somers and what she’d done to him, Kit forced herself to kneel down next to him. His breath was coming in short gasps, and his color was poor. He looked up at her with uncomprehending, glassy eyes, and she knew he was dying.

  “You gave me no choice!” she cried shakily.

  He turned his head away.

  “Where is the key?” Kit demanded.

  He made no reply.

  “I’ll find it, damn you!” Searching him ruthlessly, ignoring the blood which still flowed freely from his wound, Kit finally found the key tucked into a pocket of his doublet. She started to rise, but on second thought turned back to Somers and pulled her knife from his belly.

  A half-moon and a sky laden with stars lit her way down the unfamiliar path. Kit had only been in town once, and that seemed like a lifetime ago. As she made her way through the deserted, narrow streets, Kit fought tears and desperately tried to remember the bridge at the west end of town. She had to approach it without attracting unwanted attention, but Kit couldn’t remember the place well enough to make a plan. Were there buildings on either side? Was there merely a bank at the river’s edge? How would she be able to get to Wolf before Philip was aware of her presence? How would she be able to incapacitate Philip if he discovered her?

  It was hopeless, Kit thought with despair. She brushed her tears away and considered her situation. There was no way she would be able to outfox and outmaneuver Philip. Even if she could sneak into his hiding place, Philip would discover her before she could release Wolf. She had to have a better plan than just storming Philip’s hideout.

  Kit dismounted when she came to a familiar-looking lane and led the horse on foot while she considered her options. It wasn’t long before she recognized the cottage where young Alfie had taken her to clean her cloak after the incident at the fair in the springtime. The windows were not shuttered, and Kit could see that there was still light in the house. Maybe this was her solution. She dismounted and went up to tap on the door.

  Alfie answered. His eyes registered his se
cond shock of the night—the first having been his mother’s shaky return from the dungeons of Windermere Castle.

  “Da! It’s Lady Kit!” Alfie held the door open wide, allowing Kit to pass.

  “Gilbert.” There was an unmistakably urgent edge to her voice.

  “Your G-Grace!” Juvet stammered, coming in from the other room of the cottage. It was a shock not only to see the duchess in his cottage, but to see her covered with blood. “Dear God, what has happened?”

  “I need your help,” Kit cried, unable to keep her tears under control any longer. “Philip...my husband...”

  “Sit yourself down here, my lady,” Juvet said, guiding Kit to a kitchen stool. “Alfie, get a mug of ale. Be quick, boy!”

  “He may already have my husband!”

  “Now, tell me clear...Philip has the duke? Where?”

  “M-my stepfa-father—Baron S-Somers—”

  “Aye? He’s a bad one, he is... Go on...”

  “He said Philip l-laid a trap for W-Wolf,” Kit said, taking a gulp of ale. “He’s got him somehow under the bridge at the west end of town.”

  “The west bridge?”

  “I was going to go there myself,” Kit cried, “but I don’t know if I—”

  “No, my lady,” Gilbert said. “You done right. You’ll have help, and plenty of it.” He turned to Alfie. “Run, boy, and get Daniel Page and Robert Abovebrook. Have Robert send his son for William Smith and Kenneth Gamel. Be quick and be quiet about it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, Lady Kathryn,” Gilbert Juvet said, chewing his lower lip. “You might tell me what you had in mind. I doubt Philip can have more than three or four men in his favor. And I can get you any number to back your husband, the duke.”

  Kit rose from her seat. Every moment’s delay might mean Wolf’s death, yet undue haste meant certain failure. “Do you know the place under the bridge where Philip has my husband hidden?”

  “Nay. I can’t say as I’ve looked closely...the river widens and becomes quite shallow along there... I suppose a cunning devil might carve himself a cozy den under that bridge if he’d a mind to.”

  “Do you think we can draw out Philip’s men somehow?” Kit asked. “Can we get them to leave Philip unprotected so I can go in and free Wolf?”

  “Well...I’m not so sure as I’ll agree that you should—”

  “But I must!” Kit implored him. “You don’t know the things he’ll do! You didn’t see—”

  “Aye. I know,” Juvet swallowed hard. “Emma told me.”

  “So you understand the need for haste,” Kit felt the knife tucked securely at her waist. She spoke soberly and with a fierce determination. “I’ve killed one man already tonight. I’ve no compunctions about dealing Philip his death blow as well. I mean to free my husband—no matter what the risk.”

  They turned to the sound of men approaching Juvet’s cottage. The door was ajar, and two men let themselves in after a quick tap.

  “Daniel, Robert,” Juvet greeted them.

  “Alfie told us what’s afoot,” Daniel said. “The others will be here presently.”

  “Good,” Gilbert remarked. “Now, all we need is a plan. And a quick one, to boot.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was raining earnestly now, and Kit was glad of it for it washed away the odor of stale blood that she’d been carrying with her since her encounter with Thomas Somers. The townsmen, all twelve that they’d gathered, were in place now, near the bridge, waiting.

  Only a few minutes ago, Gilbert and the blacksmith had come down quietly and confirmed that there was a trapdoor in a hole at the base of the bridge. The whole thing was concealed by lilac bushes and small scrub brush. Kit and the men ran through their hasty plan and Kit, along with Tom Partridge, began to implement it.

  Tom chased after Kit as she came down toward the bank of the river. He caught up to her, grabbed her arm and swung her around.

  Kit screamed and punched at his chest, but the man only laughed at her puny efforts to escape his powerful grip.

  “Let me alone!” she cried. “Somebody help me! I can‘t—ugh!” She slipped in the mud and fell flat on her back.

  “Oh, milady,” Tom whispered in a panic. “Let me—”

  “Errah, ye bloody sod!” Kit yelped, kicking at him. “Get yer raunchy hands off me!” She made as much noise as possible, hoping to attract the attention of the men holed up under the bridge.

  Tom, realizing at once that Lady Kathryn was all right, made as if to slap her while she was down. Kit cried out and fought him fiercely. Poor Tom would have a number of bruises for his efforts.

  She got up and ran toward the underhang of the bridge where the lilacs grew abundantly, but couldn’t see any sort of passageway. Damn Philip Colston and his underground hovels! The man was a snake! A mole! A worm!

  Tom followed her up the incline, his eyes sharp for the opening under the bridge. The charade with Lady Kathryn was going well, but it couldn’t go on forever. At this point, Tom and Kit both realized they’d have to practically fall into the hideout to get any response from the occupants.

  “Oh, no ye don’t!” Kit screamed and shoved Tom into one of the bushes. Tom, a little stunned by Kit’s strength, moaned. He couldn’t bring himself to curse before a lady, though he sorely wanted to. Instead, he groaned even louder and turned to the side. Even in the dark, he could see the hidey-hole from where he was perched awkwardly among the sharp branches. “Think to maim me, do ye?”

  Tom clapped his hands once, making it sound like a slap. Kit let herself fall to the ground at the root of the large bush.

  “Ooh, yer a mean one, Tom Partridge!” Kit wailed. “Ye’ll not get away with this! I’ll see that ye—”

  “Here, here!” a man’s voice interrupted Kit’s tirade. “What goes on here?”

  “Who are you?” Tom wrestled himself out of the lilac bush and poked a finger into the intruder’s chest. “And where’d ye come from?”

  Kit backed away from Philip’s man, whom she knew full well had come out through the trapdoor. She’d seen him, and where he’d come from, but she was certainly not going to let him know that fact. Let him think she was afraid of him. Let him come after her—oh, please God, let him come.

  “Did ye think to share her?” Tom’s eyes gleamed with evil intent as he pushed the man back. He hoped his suggestion would be taken seriously, because then the plan might just work.

  Without warning, Philip’s man punched Tom square in the face, knocking him down and out cold. It was a maneuver Tom hadn’t bargained on.

  Kit ran up the embankment, her pursuer hot on her heels. She turned and continued running until she heard a crash and a curse behind her. Heart pounding, muscles sore, Kit turned to see Gilbert and two of the other townsmen holding Philip’s man down. The man struggled, only to be rewarded by a stiff blow to the jaw.

  She drew her knife and approached him.

  “I can do it, my lady,” Kenneth Gamel said. “I done some soldiering...”

  Kit nodded to him, relieved not to be responsible for any more bloodshed now. Contrary to what she’d thought before, she’d already had her fill.

  “Lady?” Philip’s man said, recovering, finally recognizing her dirt-crusted face. She had uncovered her hair, as well. “Bloody Christ, I should’ve known—”

  “Shut yer bloody mouth, Tuck,” the blacksmith said.

  “Her ladyship will be tellin’ you what you should or shouldn’t be doin’ now,” Kenneth said.

  “Who’s in that nest under the bridge?” Kit asked.

  “Ye mean, besides the earl and your husband?” Tuck said, smirking.

  Daniel Page kicked him in the side. “None o’ yer insolence!”

  “Answer the duchess, Tuck,” Kenneth almost whispered, but the knife he held at Tuck’s ear spoke loud and clear.

  “Or what?” Tuck rasped. “Yer all just a bunch o’ townsmen. None o’ ye could—”

&nbs
p; The knife began a slow slice.

  “All right! Stop!” Tuck cried, trying desperately to keep from moving his head. “I’ll tell ye! I’ve nothing to lose!”

  “Naught but body parts...” Kenneth had a determined look about him.

  “Speak!”

  “There’s only the earl and...and Saladin with him,” Tuck said, tears rolling out of the corners of his eyes.

  “And my husband?”

  “Aye! He’s there as well.”

  “Alive?” Gilbert Juvet asked the question Kit was unable to ask.

  Tuck grunted. “Philip plans to keep him alive like he did with Dryden. He knows how. He’ll be careful.”

  “What condition is the duke in now?”

  “He‘s—he’s—”

  Kenneth positioned the blade next to Tuck’s other ear. “I’m havin’ some trouble believin’ you, Master Tuck,” he said. “It seems a bit...imprudent...for Lord Philip to be down in his hole with only the two of you.”

  “No! No! That’s all!”

  The knife moved.

  “Stop! I beg you!” Tuck cried. “You’re right! Jack Hartford’s down there, too!”

  “Hartford!” Kit gasped. Jack Hartford was one of the Windermere liverymen. He must have lured Wolf into the trap.

  “We were going to let the earl do as he liked...there’s no stoppin’ him, anyway—Ouch!” Kenneth had moved the knife only to be sure Tuck bore it in mind as he spoke. “Be careful with that blade!”

  “Tell me more.”

  “We were going to get on a ship bound for Ireland—all of us—his lordship included,” Tuck said. Perspiration flowed freely now, and the man frequently squeezed his eyes to shut out the sight of his captors. “He only wanted to...wanted to... It’s just the duke! He hates the duke!”

  “Bind his hands,” Juvet said. “Quickly, lads.

  “Lady Kathryn.” He took her aside. “Are you up to this?”

  “Yes—I’ll continue, Gilbert,” she said. “I’m going in after my husband.”