“Sir! You intrude!” Kit gasped as she turned and saw him. Letter to Reader Title Page MARGO MAGUIRE Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-three Copyright

“Sir! You intrude!” Kit gasped as she turned and saw him.

The man moved quickly, and Kit had no chance to grab the dagger hidden among her clothes. She did not wish to reveal the weapon’s existence yet. Better to be civil and await the opportunity to gain her knife without a struggle.

“I hesitate to apologize,” he said, still unable to see her face due to her cloak’s large hood. “I was unaware of your presence here until a moment ago, and I will not deny that I enjoyed the few glimpses you allowed me.”

“Unbeknownst to me!”

“You are cold.”

“The man is a scholar,” she muttered to herself as he came even closer.

Kit refused to be intimidated by his size. He was a big man at a distance and absolutely massive close at hand. She knew he could have her flat on her back in seconds....

Dear Reader,

Entertainment. Escape. Fantasy. These three words describe the heart of Harlequin Historicals. If you want compelling, emotional stories by some of the best writers in the field, look no further.

We think Margo Maguire is one of the best new writers in the field. Her debut book, The Bride of Windermere, is a captivating marriage of convenience tale set in medieval England. A knight, Wolfram “Wolf” Gerhart, has been sent by King Henry V to escort the beautiful Kit Somers to court. En route, Kit and Wolf waylay at his lost estate, where they begin to fall in love. Court intrigue, a surprise inheritance and passion abound from start to finish!

Silver Hearts is a charming new Western by Jackie Manning. Here, a doctor turned cowboy rescues a feisty Eastern miss on the trail, and their paths just keep crossing! Joe’s Wife, by the talented Cheryl St.John, is an emotional Americana story of a bad boy turned good and his longtime secret crush, now a widow, who proposes a marriage of convenience.

Rounding out the month is My Lord Protector by newcomer Deborah Hale. Set in 1742 England, a young woman forced to wed ends up marrying her fiancé’s uncle, who’ll “protect” her until his nephew returns. Unexpectedly the two fall madly in love!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical®.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to: Harlequin Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Bride of Windermere

Margo Maguire

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARGO MAGUIRE

lives in the Detroit area with her husband and three school-age children. She’s worked as a critical-care nurse for years, writes when she has time and is an active volunteer in her local schools and community. After returning to college to earn a degree in history, Margo came to realize that an awful lot of history was stranger than fiction. She decided it would be fun to put the two together.

To Mike and our three wild ones.

Everything is possible with you.

Chapter One

Northumberland, England

Late April, 1421

Damn the man! Damn that fool, Baron Somers!

Wolfram Gerhart Colston strode through the forest, toward the lake, away from his men. How could Somers possibly think he could defy the king’s orders? Who in kingdom come did he think he was? The monarch had sent Wolf to fetch the man’s stepdaughter and fetch her he would! He was damned if he’d go back empty-handed, and there was little time to waste. It didn’t matter how hard Somers tried to withhold the girl, Wolf would get her to London.

The huge knight deftly sidestepped a fallen branch in the dark and continued on his route to the lake, hoping for a few moments of peace near the dark water. It was near midnight and he’d been unable to sleep, so annoyed was he with the recalcitrant baron, a mean and lazy drunkard. Edith, his lady wife, was just as bad with her cloying ways and batting eyes.

Wolf had to admit he was more than a little exasperated by the entire situation. What in God’s name could King Henry V possibly want with little Kathryn Somers? Henry had only recently returned from France with his bride, Catherine of Valois; Wolf could not understand what was so important about this one girl in Northumberland. What’s more, Wolf resented the fact that he had been the one sent to this remote county to collect the child.

Wasn’t Wolf known for his cold precision, his prowess in battle and his immunity to all the superfluous nonsense that went on at court? There were so many more important duties for Henry’s lieutenants, who had just recently returned to England, that Wolf resented having his talents wasted this way.

Wolf hoped this wasn’t one of Henry’s ridiculous practical jokes. On second thought, that was doubtful. Since inheriting his father’s throne, Henry had become respectable and a whole hell of a lot more responsible than he’d been in his reckless youth. No...this was no joke.

The one and only consolation to this trip was that Wolf now traveled as the king’s emissary. Before delivering young Kathryn to London, Wolf intended to visit Winder-mere Castle and meet his cousin, Philip Colston, the current Earl of Windermere.

And Wolf would make every effort to see that the fraudulent earl was unseated.

The knight was certain that Philip was responsible for the violent deaths of Wolf’s father, Earl Bartholomew Colston, and of his older brother, John. It was twenty years since they’d been killed. Twenty long years, and Wolf intended to travel to Windermere in order to unearth whatever evidence was necessary to expose Philip’s treachery.

The only complication to Wolfs plan was Lady Kathryn. She was the reason why he’d been unable to travel to Windermere directly from London. And now, he’d have to take the child to Windermere with him, as well as to any other estates or manors he visited. There were hints and rumors that the Scots might try to steal the girl, and Henry said he wanted her safely in Wolfs hands.

It was still a bit too cold for swimming, but Kit Somers immersed herself in the chilly lake and washed quickly, before old Bridget could realize she was gone. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful for Bridget’s concern, but Kit was twenty years old now, well beyond the age of needing a nurse and Bridget did hover so.

The old woman, a distant cousin who had also been her mother’s nurse and companion, was her only ally against the loneliness and brutality of the last fifteen years since her mother’s death. But Bridget had become such an infernal worrier. Now she had taken to fretting about the smattering of King Henry’s soldiers camped out in the fields beyond her stepfather’s manor house.

A quarter moon hung over the lowest of the trees and a hazy mist hovered over the ground, giving the forest an otherworldly appearance. The lake was the perfect place to be alone and try to devise a plan of escape. It was a puzzle, though. She had no desire to comply with King Henry’s order to appear in London, but Kit knew she couldn’t openly defy him. However, if she happened to be away and never received the royal command, she couldn’t be accused of ignoring the king’s order. Unfortunately, she was certain the damnable escort would somehow manage to ferret her out of any hiding place. She had seen their leader at a distance, a huge, well-muscled knight with a head of dark, untamed hair, and he didn’t appear to be a man who would easily accept her refusal to accompany him.

Perhaps she could just keep him on the run, she thought. She was as good on horseback as any man in the vicinity, and her skill with a bow was better than most. There wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t stay in the forest and evade the king’s soldiers for weeks at a time. Yet thinking of the dark knight, she had to admit, she might not succeed.

And what of her stepfather? If he ordered her to go and she openly defied him... Kit shuddered. His reprisal would be swifter than that of the king. It was better not to think about those consequences just yet.

Kit left the deeper water and walked back towards the shore. She stood up in the shallows and unpinned her lightblond curls to let them fall where they may. How she loved the cold air hitting her naked body like this. She stretched her arms out, then overhead and reveled in the primitive pleasure she derived from the frigid air.

Perhaps a solution to her dilemma would come to her while she slept that night. Even better, maybe Rupert would return from his duties in London. After all, it was possible—all right, she admitted to herself, remotely possible—for him to arrive and rescue her from whatever fate King Henry had in mind for her. As one of Henry’s knights, Rupert might be able to intervene on her behalf.

Against her optimistic nature, Kit had to recognize the fact that few things had ever gone in her favor, and she had better quit hoping for a neat rescue. She was better off relying on her instincts and her unpredictable nature to see her through. She had managed to avoid countless beatings by her stepfather by keeping him off balance, doing the unexpected to divert his attention.

She wondered what the baron would expect her to do now.

Wolf sat on a fallen log at the edge of the wood facing the lake, lost in thought. He believed that Philip Colston had arranged for his family to be ambushed as they journeyed to Bremen to join Lady Margrethe, Wolfs mother. Earl Bartholomew and his son, John, were savagely killed before Wolfram’s eyes, along with all but one of their attendants. Of their entire party, only Wolf and a young squire, Hugh Dryden, had survived.

Furthermore, in case the ambush failed, Philip managed somehow to implicate Bartholomew in an assassination attempt against King Henry IV. Philip quite tidily ensured that his uncle’s name would be dishonored, and Bartholomew Colston would have been outlawed in England by some miracle if he or his sons had managed to survive the attack.

Philip and his coconspirator father, Clarence, had no idea that anyone had survived the ambush in Europe. To their knowledge, all of Bartholomew’s entourage had perished. However, not only had Wolf survived the attack in Germany, his identity was kept secret through the years to protect him, as well as to give him the advantage when he was ready to return and unseat Philip.

Wolf was so absorbed in his ruminations that he didn’t notice another presence nearby until he’d been sitting awhile. When he looked up toward the water, he thought the pale moonlight and mist were playing tricks on his eyes. Coming from the depths of the lake was a maiden, like one from the old tales he’d heard as a child. His feelings of annoyance and bitterness dissolved instantly, and he was intrigued.

The maid’s skin shimmered in the filmy light and her hair, as she loosed it around her, seemed made of the finest golden silk. The night was cool, and Wolfram thought he could almost see the goose bumps rise on her. The tips of her well-shaped breasts had certainly risen, and Wolf’s palms fairly itched with desire to touch her.

His eyes traversed her length, appreciating her shapely legs, her hips and slender waist as she came out of the water towards him, unaware of his presence. He was unable to draw a breath when she stopped and stretched herself in the ankle-deep water, throwing her head back, reaching for the moon. He almost expected her to give out a haunted call to whatever other spirits were lurking about this night.

Her face was averted from his gaze, but Wolf easily envisioned it. He rose up, as if in a trance and stood mesmerized by her, conjuring up images of her soft and gentle features. The fairy stepped out of the water and went over to a pile of clothes that lay just beyond the bank. She began to dry herself, but upon suddenly hearing steps behind her, the ethereal beauty yanked up a long cloak and hastily threw it on, covering herself as decently as possible under the circumstances.

“Sir! You intrude!” Kit gasped as she turned and saw him. The man moved quickly, and Kit had no chance to bend down for the dagger hidden among her clothes. She did not wish to alert the man to the fact that she had a weapon. Better to be civil and await the opportunity to gain her knife without a struggle, she thought.

“I hesitate to apologize,” he said, still unable to see her face due to the hood she’d pulled so far forward. “I was unaware of your presence here until a moment ago, and I will not deny that I enjoyed the few glimpses you allowed me.”

“Unbeknownst to me!”

“You’re cold.”

“The man’s a scholar,” she muttered to herself as he came even closer.

Kit refused to be intimidated by his size. He was a big man at a distance and absolutely massive close at hand. She knew he could have her flat on her back in seconds. If only she could get to her knife, she thought. She didn’t dare stoop down for it because he would surely knock her over, and she’d be defenseless.

She needed to get away, yet the dark giant was clearly not of a mind to let her leave. This would never do! Maybe she ought to try simply running. She was fast and knew the forest paths well. A man of his size would probably be slow, but what if she was wrong? What if he managed to catch up to her? What if he discovered the cottage, her only refuge in the woods? She couldn’t run all the way back to Lord Somers’ house wearing only her cloak. Her stepfather’s men would surely—

“Where do you live?” his voice was gentle. “It isn’t safe for a gentlewoman out here alone. My men are camped nearby and I couldn’t vouch for the manners of any of them, coming upon a maid alone in the dark.”

God’s blood, he was a gentleman. Kit breathed a sigh of relief and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. Chivalry demanded that he give her due respect. “Thank you for your concern, sir,” she said with relief. A change of tactics was needed. If she used a bit of honey, the way her stepsisters did so annoyingly, perhaps she could get him to go away. “I will just gather my things and be off—”

“Where is your home?”

“Not far.” Her voice was as sweet as she could make it.

“I cannot allow you to go unescorted. There are dangers in the night, my lady.”

Kit wanted to scream at the man but held her temper in check. A ladylike argument was more likely to win her cause than screeching like one of the banshees of Bridget’s tales. “Please sir, allow me to pick up my clothes, and you may escort me to my cottage,” she said sweetly.

Chivalry was all fine and good, but who could tell how a stranger would behave? Even Lord Somers, her own stepfather, was mean and brutal with her. Kit almost groaned aloud when the man swept down and picked up all of her belongings at once. Now she’d never get her dagger. And there was a good chance she wouldn’t be able to outrun him, especially without her boots. No, she could see he moved too well for a man his size, with grace and purpose.

“You mystify me, my lady,” the knight said.

“Oh?” Kit turned away and tried to calm herself as she walked towards the cottage.

“At first when I saw you I thought you were one of the nymphs of old.” Was there a hint of amusement in his voice? “Now I tend to believe that you are made of flesh and blood yet you have little fear of me. Why?”

If only he knew she was trying to figure a way to get hold of her knife so she could slip the blade between his ribs. “Naturally, I am wary, sir. I realize just how vulnerable I am. I’m ill at ease having to rely on your sense of propriety and chivalry. I would hope, by all the saints, that you intend me no harm.” She wanted to gag. If her stepsisters could only see her, they’d be on the ground, laughing.

The cottage was almost in sight now, though the soldier would be hard-pressed to see it, since the night was so black and the building lay within a thicket of trees. Her stepmother had had it built, ostensibly for the use of the family, but Kit knew she used it for other purposes. Fortunately, Lady Edith was not there tonight with any of her gentleman friends. Kit would be able to slip inside, bar the door and outwait the knight in warmth and comfort.

“Here we are, sir.” Kit stopped and turned to dismiss the soldier, but the man seemed incapable of taking the hint. “My...my mother awaits me,” she lied.

He moved towards her, and though Kit couldn’t actually see his face in the dark, she sensed that he was looking at her intently. She felt exceedingly uncomfortable to be so scrutinized, especially by the man who had just watched her as she bathed. It was absolutely indecent.

“Sh-she is ill, you see...er, and will worry overmuch if—”

“Who are you?” His voice was soft, a caress. He came closer.

His nearness was intoxicating. Kit’s mouth went dry. Though the knight was huge, she was suddenly no longer afraid. An alien curiosity filled her as she realized that no man had ever affected her in the way this man did. “I...er...”

Before she could answer, he dropped the clothing he carried and took her face in both of his hands. His mouth brushed hers, a gentle caress of lips that made her tremble. He groaned as his mouth touched hers again, gently at first, then gradually more demanding until his lips were slanting over hers, leaving her breathless and bewildered. His hands slipped under her cloak and moved onto her shoulders, then down her bare back until they reached her smoothly rounded bottom. He pressed her tightly against him. She felt his hard, clothed body against her naked flesh and a knot of pleasure wound itself up tightly in her pelvis. She had never experienced anything like this before. Not even Rupert had ever—

Kit broke away from him in shock. “Please!”

“Who are you?”

“Let me go!”

“My name is Wolf.” His hot breath seared her ear, and his lips brushed against her lips again.

Kit tried to pull away. She’d never been kissed this way before and was shaken to the core.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“No one! I am no one! Let me go!” At that, she pulled away and ran to the cottage, her cloak billowing out behind her. When she was inside, she dropped the heavy beam across the door and leaned against the rough wall until her breathing slowed, until her heart stopped its wild pounding.

Wolf knew with certainty that she didn’t want to be found with him, but he considered risking all to touch her and taste her again. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met. Beautiful, seductive, intriguing. He was shaken by his own reaction to her, and one taste of this goddess wasn’t enough. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone before.

But the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t risk offending the local nobility while on this errand of Henry’s. He’d have to put this woman, this delectable “no one” out of his thoughts for the time being.

Wolf finally turned and headed back into the thickest part of the forest towards camp. He was a patient man. He would come back for her when all was settled at Windermere.

Kit couldn’t sleep all night. She sat in the dark with a blanket around her and still she shivered, though she couldn’t really complain of the cold. It would have been nice to go out and retrieve her clothes, but she was afraid he would be out there waiting.

“Wolf.” It suited him, she thought. He was certainly big enough to lead a pack of wolves and though he’d been gentle with her, she sensed that he could be brutal as well as kind. In the moonlight, she’d been able to see his wild mane of shaggy dark hair and light gray eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark.

She really needed to try to consider a feasible way to evade King Henry’s army in the morning, but all she could think of was Wolf. His lips, the way his tongue slipped in and out of her mouth, his hands touching her shoulders, sliding down her back, her bottom...

Rupert had never even kissed her. He’d gone off with King Henry over three years before, without even the benefit of a betrothal, promising to return after the French territories were regained. But here it was, ages since the fall of Normandy and Rupert had not returned. How long did he expect her to wait?

Kit could practically feel herself growing older by the day. Her stepsister, Margery, would be betrothed soon and Eleanor was likely to follow in another year or so. Kit longed to be off with Rupert to become his wife and the mistress of his home. And she yearned for more now, too.

Feelings like the ones the knight aroused must surely be sinful. Just thinking about what had happened caused that hot, pulsing knot to tighten in her belly again, and she squirmed at the memory of Wolf’s touch. Rupert’s touch, she meant. It would be just the same with Rupert, even better, she told herself, when she was his wife.

Just before dawn, Kit climbed out the narrow window on the far side of the cottage. She sneaked around the corner, straining her eyes in the predawn light to see if anyone lurked about in the dark. Wolf was gone, so she grabbed her clothes and quickly ran back to what she considered to be the safe side of the cottage. She dressed quickly, then hastened back to her stepfather’s house.

Although Lord Thomas Somers’ house was large, Kit knew she would never be believed if she said she’d been inside all night. Not that her stepfather would care where she was all night; the only thing that mattered to him was that she keep his household running smoothly, and that she be there to take the blame when it did not. However, it would give him the excuse he needed to bring her to her knees, which seemed to be one of Lord Thomas’ favorite pastimes. Anyway, Bridget would have torn the whole house apart looking for her, and Kit experienced a pang of guilt for causing her cousin trouble and concern. Bridget hadn’t been in the best of health lately, though Kit was hard-pressed to put her finger on what was wrong.

She ran through the yard and into the stable. There were plenty of likely spots for a youth to sleep, and it wasn’t the first time Kit had spent the night there with the horses.

The sun was high when the ruckus in the yard woke her. It would be the man from King Henry, no doubt, and here she was with nary a plan. Her heart jumped to her throat when she recognized the angrily booming voice. It was the voice of Wolf, the man at the lake. “Explain yourself, Somers!” he demanded. “Where is she?” There was no gentleness to his voice now, she thought, though he had used it like a caress last night.

Her stepfather staggered into the yard. Kit looked up toward the sun to gauge the time. It was not yet noon, but Lord Thomas had already imbibed too much. His clothes were rumpled and soiled, and he wore the stubble of the night’s growth of beard. His face had taken on that look of meanness so familiar to Kit, and he could barely stand. No wonder the knight was impatient. He probably hadn’t received an intelligible response from the baron since he’d arrived.

“She was here, I tell you, and I will get the twit back.” Somers’ eyes narrowed, and Kit recognized the signs of drunken vengeance. She didn’t want to be caught by him while he was in this state.

“I will return in one hour,” the knight said, his annoyance matching the baron’s anger. “At that time, I will collect young Kathryn and depart immediately. Have her here and ready or suffer the consequences of Henry’s wrath.”

Wolf turned and moved away with a grace that belied his massive frame. He was every inch a soldier, and Kit had a quick opportunity to study his face and body before making her move. His features were sharply defined and altogether too pleasing. Even a ghastly scar which ran from the right upper corner of his forehead, slashing over his left eye and into his left cheek did nothing to diminish his powerful magnetism. His cool gray eyes were hooded by thick black brows, the thickness and darkness matching that of his unruly mane.

Kit watched the man rake his hand through the dark hair in frustration and knew she had to move quickly. She was not about to be caught by any of her stepfather’s men, nor was she going to allow herself to be vulnerable to this Wolf and his soldiers. She would hide and wait for Rupert, and after he’d claimed her, only then would she deign to travel to London to please the king. After all, if she left Baron Somers’ holding now, how would Rupert ever find her? For he must certainly be on his way north to claim her.

Kit slipped out the back of the stable leading Old Myra, a horse her stepfather had recently acquired from a neighboring estate. Kit hoped that with the proper encouragement, Old Myra would head for home, some seventeen miles east of Somerton, and Baron Somers’ men would follow the horse’s trail. In the meantime, Kit had no intention of accompanying the mare to her former home.

Undetected, she led the horse down the hillside to the cover of trees, pointed her eastwardly and gave her a good crack on the rump. Old Myra took off as though she had a bee under her bridle. And Kit ran as if she had one in her britches as well, but in the opposite direction.

When she got closer to the village, she stopped to scoop up a handful of dirt to smear on her arms and face. If any of the baron’s men happened by, she was certain she could pass for one of the villagers. If not, the baron’s retribution would affect not only her, but the people of Somerton as well. With a sigh and a prayer, Kit moved swiftly through the woods, hoping that her ruse with old Myra would keep the baron’s men off her track.

Unfortunately, Old Myra had plans of her own. After tearing away in the direction of her former home, she ran into an obstacle, a small creek which had swelled with the spring rains, and it caused her to turn back much sooner than Kit had hoped.

Without the diversion of Old Myra’s trail, the baron’s men found Kit easily. She thought she’d been so clever heading for Somerton village, never considering that the baron’s retainers would go there first. Why couldn’t Old Myra’s trail have fooled them? Why hadn’t she thought to climb into one of the trees and wait them out? They never would have looked for her in the high boughs that were so familiar to her.

Kit was outdone, but only for the moment. It was a long way to London, she thought as they dragged her roughly back to the house. Plenty could happen before she reached the city, and Kit vowed to work out some plan that would enable her to rendezvous with Rupert.

“Oh, my child, my wee girl,” Bridget wailed as Kit was dragged into the courtyard. The baron’s men were unduly rough with her, especially in view of the fact that she had acceded to them. “I’ve been so worried, not knowing—”

“Hush, woman!” Lady Edith admonished angrily. This business with her stepdaughter had disrupted her life enough without having to listen to the rantings of Kathryn’s deranged cousin. She turned to Kit. “I see you’ve outfitted yourself as becomes your station, Kathryn.”

Margery and Eleanor snickered behind their hands.

Kit gulped. She knew she was a mess, but she refused to improve upon her present appearance for the benefit of Lady Edith or anyone else, for that matter. She straightened her back and drew herself up proudly. Her pride and her sense of humor were about the only two things they hadn’t taken from her. She bolstered her courage by thinking of Rupert and how he would come to take her away. If only her true father had lived, he would have protected her, cherished—

“Where is the little wretch?” Lord Thomas drawled, coming into the yard. As he came around the corner and saw Kit, a cruel gleam entered his eye. The baron’s men recognized Lord Thomas’ mood at once and made no move to help or protect Kit. She had refused each of their attentions too many times to expect help from any of them.

Kit refused to cower, even when Baron Somers lashed out and backhanded her across the face. The blow split her lower lip and sent her to the ground, but she got to her feet immediately and began to run. It was disheartening to hear the cruel laughter behind her, then the footsteps following, gaining on her. They were going to play with her the way a cat teased its prey. It was not a new game, chasing her about the yard, letting her wear herself out, then dragging her back to the baron for whatever brutality he had in mind. Kit wouldn’t have played along willingly, but the instincts to escape, to protect herself were too strong.

This time, the baron only blackened her eye, though the blow knocked her senseless. Someone dragged her to her room and locked her in. It was several minutes before Kit regained her senses.

“Oh, darlin’ girl,” Bridget cooed, tears streaming down her face. “What has he done to ye this time? If my Meghan were livin’ none o’ this would be happenin’.”

Kit opened her right eye, the unswollen one, to see Bridget’s little face looming over her. “What happened?” she whispered. It hurt to move her lips and when she pressed her fingers to them, she knew why. Dark blood still oozed from the gash Thomas inflicted.

“Ye must go with the king’s men,” the old nurse said. “At least ye’ll be away from the devil baron. Ye’ll be safe from his infernal temper for once.”

“But Rupert—”

“Rupert won’t be comin’ back, don’t ye know? Can’t ye understand?” Bridget argued, exasperated. Frustrated. She’d tried to convince her young charge of this over and over again. “Sure and I love the lad, but he’s been gone too long. He can’t expect ye to be waitin’ for him still, with nary a word in three years. The only way we’ve heard about him has been from the few travelers who’ve—”

“Oh, Bridget, my head hurts.” She didn’t want to think about Rupert not returning for her. Nor did she want to think about Wolf coming to take her away.

“He knocked ye good this time. Come, lass. Ye must trust in Monmouth. King Henry Hereford’s son can’t mean ye any harm. The father was just, and ye’ve heard as well as I that the son is a righteous man.”

Bridget helped Meghan’s daughter to get up.

Kit looked askance at Bridget. Her reasoning was sound, but Kit’s heart leapt to her throat nonetheless, when she heard riders approach the manor house.

Wolfram ducked to clear the door frame and enter Baron Somers’ house. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth and Wolf spied the baron sitting on a large, comfortable chair nearby, drinking from a wooden goblet. Four cronies lounged about, also drinking. None of them rose in respect due an emissary from the King.

“Come in, sir,” Lady Edith said as she led Wolf and three of his men to the group.

“I trust you’ve found the girl.”

“She’s with her nurse and won’t come down.” The baron’s speech was much more slurred than it had been earlier in the day. He rubbed his sore knuckles conspicuously as he spoke.

“Then I suggest you get her.” He had no desire to drag a tearful child from the arms of her nurse. It would be much better for one of her stepparents to fetch her. Baron Thomas looked to his wife for assistance, but she backed away in protest.

“Ungrateful little witch—she won’t obey me,” Edith protested. “Never has. I won’t go.”

“Doubt she’d come with me...” the Baron remarked, smirking.

Wolfs patience snapped. He’d been going round in circles with these people long enough. By the almighty, if they wouldn’t get the girl, he’d fetch her himself, regardless of the consequences. He headed toward the stairs and took them two at a time. “Which room!” he called back angrily. One of them damned well better answer, he thought.

“Third on the right,” came the lazy reply from the baron. “But you might need...” But Wolf had already stormed down the passageway, “...the key.”

The bloody door was locked! He’d be damned if he’d go back there and ask anything else of that drunkard downstairs. He put his shoulder to the stout wooden door and crashed it into the room.

Wolf looked around, but all he saw was a skinny old woman cowering in a corner and a filthy lad whose lip was torn and bleeding. One of his eyes was blackened and swollen shut. There was no girl child here. The miserable baron had lied to him! He was going to have to go round again with that fool!

“Where is she?” he roared. He thought he heard laughter from below.

The battered boy moved towards Wolf. His worn, brown hat was pulled down low over his forehead, completely covering his hair. Wolf noticed that the undamaged eye was an uncommonly beautiful shade of moss green, fringed in thick dark-brown lashes, and threatening to run over with tears. The boy blinked several times to clear his vision, and Wolfram didn’t miss his slight wince of pain.

“I am Kathryn.”

Wolf glanced around the room, certain he had mistaken his own hearing. He could have sworn it was the lad who’d said he was Kathryn. His voice was pleasing, with a huskiness to it that could only be...a girl’s.

“’Tis true, sir,” the old woman said in a weak voice. “She is. I’ve packed her things into these two satchels.”

“You?” Wolfram was astonished. Henry hadn’t told him exactly what to expect when he arrived, but it certainly wasn’t this. A dainty little miss, perhaps, but not this. Not a grubby, battered urchin.

He looked around the room once again. It was bare of furniture, with only a mattress stuffed with straw in a corner of the room. Fresh rushes were on the floor, though and a pleasing, spicy scent emanated from them. Fresh flowers stood in a large clay pot underneath the window, and a wooden crucifix hung on the wall over the mattress. He wondered if this young...person was responsible for the appearance of the main hall. Wolf thought it likely since no one down there seemed to be minutely capable. Even in her stark surroundings, this young Kathryn had made a cozy haven for herself in what seemed to be otherwise hostile territory.

A vague understanding of the girl’s situation presented itself to his mind, and Wolf realized he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to lay the girl’s stepfather flat. For God’s sake, if the lousy drunkard couldn’t stand to have her about, why didn’t he marry her off?

“I have but one request, sir,” Kit said. She lifted her chin proudly, obviously having difficulty in asking a favor. “That my nurse accompany us. She has always been with me and since the death of my mother—”

“As you wish,” he said abruptly. He wanted to get away from Baron Somers’ holding as soon as possible, even if it meant having an additional burden. “Gather your things, woman. You have little time.”

“Patience, sir knight,” the girl said, looking him directly in the eyes. “A few moments more will hardly matter.”

He didn’t leave them alone for a minute. If the baron battered the girl any more, their trip would be delayed indefinitely. Besides, Wolf didn’t want her to disappear again. From the ragtag look about her, she might just manage to elude them the next time. He was unsure whether it was she or the baron who resisted answering Henry’s summons, but he was not about to take any chances. He would get her to London if he had to bind her to her horse.

As it happened, Baron Somers refused to release a horse for Kathryn’s use. Wolf was ill-disposed to beg and as he had intended to carry the child Kathryn before him on his mount anyway, he reverted to his original plan. She was a bit older than he’d assumed, but his warhorse, Janus, could bear both their weights and more. In due time, old Bridget was mounted on a packhorse and finally brought up the rear with two of Wolf’s knights flanking her.

“I can’t imagine what the king wants with such a worthless, filthy ragamuffin,” Lady Edith remarked, loud enough for Kit to hear.

Wolf felt her body stiffen, but the girl made no reply to her stepmother’s intentionally unkind remark.

Baron Somers lumbered out in the bright sunlight and leaned against the door frame of the manor house next to his wife. He shrugged and squinted against the bright sunlight and watched the departure of the king’s party.

“I want ’er back!” he called.

Kit felt Wolf grunt a negative reply, obviously not intended for the Baron’s ears.

“You hear me?” Somers slurred. “When the king’s through with ‘er I want ’er back! Need the brat to run the place.”

It was well past the noon hour when they finally departed Somerton. Wolf hoped that when King Henry had finished his business with Lady Kathryn, he’d not be the one responsible for returning her to Baron Somers.

Chapter Two

“You may loosen your grip, sir knight,” Kit fumed. “Your mount’s back is as broad as a barge. I don’t see how you could possibly think I might fall.”

Kit had never been wedged quite so intimately between a man’s thighs before. It was a disturbing experience but she ached so very badly and was so weary from the long, sleepless night in the cottage, that she actually leaned back against Wolfs hauberk. He loosened his grip nominally and grunted his displeasure.

She knew she had to be wary of him. He was a man after all, and she’d had plenty of experience with the men of Baron Somers’ entourage. Besides, Wolf was the one who’d taken advantage of her the night before.

It was reassuring to know that Wolf didn’t recognize her as the nymph at the lake. She decided it would be easy, as well as prudent to keep up her disguise all the way to London. She was aware of the value of being a filthy, unattractive urchin, as opposed to a clean, well-groomed young lady. Her stepfather and his ornery men had taught her that lesson one rainy afternoon several years before. By sheer luck, Lady Edith had arrived and inadvertently interrupted the incident. Kit had come out of it unscathed and far wiser.

She hated to admit that it wasn’t unpleasant to have the knight’s strong arms around her now, even if he did hold her too tightly. She might even allow herself to believe he felt a bit protective of her—something no one had ever felt before. It was a strange sensation, imagining someone caring for her.

As they rode, she wondered what King Henry wanted with her, a homely, countrified girl of Northumberland. The king had been so busy fighting the French and gaining a French wife, she couldn’t imagine how he would even know of her existence, much less have the time or inclination to think of her.

All Kit knew of her own background was that her true father had died before her birth. Her mother was Meghan, daughter of Trevor Russell, the late Earl of Meath in Ireland. How her mother had come to be married to Thomas Somers was beyond Kathryn’s knowledge, but somehow it had happened and Kit had become the man’s daughter. She had vague recollections of Lord Somers before Meghan’s death, and the baron hadn’t seemed so slovenly or brutal then. In fact, it was only after the baron married Lady Edith and had daughters of his own, that the baron had started drinking overmuch. And Kit’s life had begun to deteriorate.

In view of Kit’s existence up to now, she couldn’t understand the sovereign’s reason for having her brought to London. Bridget seemed particularly certain that the best course for Kit was to follow the king’s command and to put Rupert Aires and Somerton behind her. The old nurse desperately wished for a change of circumstances for her young charge.

Kit hadn’t seen a mirror in years, and she was well aware she did not possess a comely face. Edith and her daughters made certain that Kit knew their opinion of each and every one of her features and flaws, from the miserable devil’s dent in her “too strong” chin to her hair—“lacking in color, just like the hay in the fields,” though it was curly and absolutely unruly. The rest of the Somers family towered over her, and they made it clear they thought her small stature inferior to their height. Her eyes were too green and her skin as pale as the thick cream they skimmed off the top of the bucket. Thanks to her stepfamily, she knew there was nothing right about her. No wonder Rupert hadn’t come for her yet. But he would, Kit reassured herself. He would.

Homely as she was, the servants liked her and did her bidding easily. Kathryn became accustomed to running the household since her stepmother had no interest in it. Kit had a good memory and an even better head for figures, which served her well in handling her stepfather’s accounts. When the baron’s steward had died three years before, Kit stepped in to deal with the income from the demesne and to oversee the peasants’ workweeks. It became unnecessary for Lord Thomas to replace the steward, and Kit realized the value of being needed. She consciously worked to become essential to Baron Somers.

She hoped that if he needed her badly enough, he wouldn’t kill her in a drunken rage.

As well as her unusual academic skills, Kit also learned a great deal about healing plants and herbs from one of the monks who came to Somerton regularly to trade for the abbey. In fact, Kit maintained a garden of medicinal plants, right beside her precious rose arbor. She often went with Brother Theodore on his healing missions among the villein and townspeople at Somerton and developed considerable skill in the medicinal arts.

Bridget decried Kit’s favorite pastimes. Kit loved to ride her horse astride, wearing breeches. Nothing was more invigorating than racing horseback through the meadows and feeling the wind on her face and in her hair. She enjoyed shooting her sling or her arrows and testing her skill against that of the huntsmen in Lord Thomas’ forest. To Bridget’s severe disapproval, Kit climbed the trees in the forest and sometimes lay across the branches high above the lake to watch the reflections of the clouds as they played across the surface of the water.

Wolf guessed she was asleep. Her back was slumped into his chest, and he’d been supporting her for several miles to keep her from sliding off Janus. Wolf considered how old she might be. Sixteen perhaps? The damnable rags she wore made it impossible to discern whether her figure was that of a child or a woman. Certainly old enough to be married, though why wasn’t she? The situation with Baron Somers and his family was obviously not good for the girl, yet she’d remained at Somerton with her stepparents.

The flaw must be her lack of feminine abilities. Her mode of dress was appalling for a maiden. Why, he’d never seen a lady gotten up in such rough woolen breeches and tunic before. Looking at her now, he couldn’t fathom whether Kathryn had been guilty of provoking Baron Somers into beating her, or if the man merely gained some perverse pleasure from mistreating the girl. Wolfram gave Kathryn the benefit of the doubt and faulted Lord Thomas with an overblown temper. Wolf never did hold with drunken men who beat women or children, and he couldn’t deny his satisfaction in removing young Kathryn from the baron’s vicious clutches. Let the man, and others of his ilk, come to blows with men their own size.

Lady Kathryn, however, was obviously no saint. She was altogether too independent for a lass. How she’d managed to run away from him twice was impossible to understand. The girl was demanding, insisting on bringing her old nurse and giving orders to his men as though she were in charge. She was worse than filthy ... yet she didn’t smell like any wayward urchin he’d ever had the misfortune to be downwind of. In fact, she smelled like flowers. Roses, he thought, though he was no expert at horticulture. Her scent was fresh, he realized uncomfortably, perhaps it was even womanly.

The girl moved slightly, causing her hips to press more closely, and his thoughts turned to his experience at the lake the previous night. Wolf shifted Kathryn’s weight as he recalled the beautiful golden woman he’d only just tasted.

He reminded himself that he was a man with a mission. He had to concentrate fully in order to regain Windermere, as he’d set out to do. He’d been in Henry’s service for several years now, and gained the king’s respect and trust. Now, all that was left was to find hard, physical evidence of Philip Colston’s treachery. Henry would then be compelled to accept Wolf’s claim and restore Windermere and his good name to him.

Even so resolved, Wolfram couldn’t deny that he’d been strongly affected by the woman at the lake. She was every dream he had ever suppressed, every yearning he had ever denied. But Wolf well knew the pain of loving and losing, and he vowed never to fall into that trap again. He’d lost his brother and his father to fate. And while those losses and Wolf’s drive for justice gave him a cold, reserved selfpossession, it was his mother’s apathy that had tormented his soul over the years.

Wolf had survived the fatal attack, but Margrethe Colston hadn’t spoken to him in twenty years. She hadn’t even acknowledged his existence. It didn’t matter that she was beyond response, incapable of speaking to anyone—it was the fact that Wolf’s survival hadn’t given her even a glimmer of hope. Wolf’s life had meant nothing to her.

“Gerhart.”

Though she dozed comfortably as they rode, Kit heard a rough voice as one of the soldiers rode abreast of them. She saw no reason to make them aware that she was awake, which she barely was, anyway. She needed to think about getting away and returning to wait for Rupert somewhere near Somerton. Kit tried to keep track of their progress so she’d be able to find her direction when the time came. However, it was difficult to pay attention because she was so drowsy, her head ached and her eye socket throbbed abominably.

“It will be dark soon,” the man said, speaking to the man she knew as “Wolf.” Kit wondered why the soldier called him “Gerhart.” “The old woman is nearly falling off her mount.” His words were strangely accented, though not unpleasant to Kit’s ear. He was a tall man, quite powerful in the saddle, and he was as blond as Wolf was dark.

Kit repressed the urge to turn and see how Bridget fared. Wolf didn’t respond to the soldier immediately, and Kit wondered if he was trying to decide whether or not to let her old nurse fall by the wayside.

“We’ll stop soon,” Wolf finally said. “Send two men ahead to scout a likely campsite.”

Kit felt a long sigh escape the man. He must be in a terrible hurry to get to London to be so irritated by this slight delay. Didn’t knights need to rest, too? Weren’t they hungry as well? She felt his arms tighten securely around her. In contradiction to her thoughts, Wolf didn’t seem weary at all. She thought he must have the stamina of a workhorse. Kit was weary, though, and while her spirit was tenacious, she knew she couldn’t keep up with this Wolf. At least not now.

It seemed so safe and secure in his arms that Kit snuggled back into him. Maybe later she would think about escaping to get back where Rupert could find her. She dozed off again until some time later when Wolf spoke.

“There was a woman last night at Somerton.”

At first, Kit was astonished, thinking he’d spoken to her. But before she could reply, she realized that the man who had addressed Wolf before was riding next to them again.

“Ja?” the man replied. Kit wanted to get a better look at him. She continued to feign sleep instead.

“After we get the girl to London and I settle with Philip, I’m going back to find her.”

“Who is the woman?”

“I don’t know. But she was...interesting. Intriguing.” Wolf seemed at a loss for words.

The man laughed. “I’ve never seen you quite so...intrigued, Cousin.” He waited for Wolf to explain but got no response. “Ladies have fallen at your feet for years yet you—”

“Not this time,” Wolf interrupted. “It was strange. She was... different.” Kit could hear puzzlement in his voice. She experienced an odd sense of satisfaction as a result of her effect on him. She couldn’t think of any man, other than Rupert, who had ever found her interesting, much less intriguing. On the other hand, the thought of Wolf coming back to Somerton for her was alarming. He was not a gentle or charming man like her Rupert.

“What was her name?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“That’s promising.” Through her lashes, Kit saw the man’s eyebrow go up. “I’ll assume it wasn’t the charming and seductive Lady Edith.”

“Hmph.” Kit felt the sound he emitted, more than heard it.

“It’s likely to be months before we finish our business, Gerhart,” the man said with amusement. “Do you suppose she’ll be waiting for you?”

“What difference whether she waits or not? She’ll be mine,” replied Wolf with utmost confidence, and Kit’s sense of satisfaction vanished. How dare he assume she would fall at his feet when he arrived?

She gritted her teeth to master her irritation and refrained from speaking out. The conceit of the man was unsurpassed. Why, the man thought that because he’d kissed her once, he could begin to think of owning her. He didn’t even know her! And he wasn’t going to know her, either, she promised herself.

“And you say you don’t know who she is?”

“Nay, Nicholas, she would give me no name.”

“Mayhap if you described the woman, your little Lady Kathryn could name her.”

“Mayhap.”

His Lady Kathryn! How many women was this wolf allowed? Kit reined in an urge to slam her elbow into the man’s gut. But she knew he wore an iron hauberk, and she would only bruise herself.

“I think it best you keep your thoughts on Windermere and not on a prospective wife. Besides, there is Lady Annegret. When you wed her—”

“Wife?” Wolf laughed coldly. “I made no mention of a wife.”

Nicholas chuckled, and Kit was infuriated. When he found out she was the woman at the lake, he’d... Kit resolved never to give him half a bloody chance to discover who she was..

“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 a sprain,” he said gruffly as he pressed the ankle. She winced in pain. “It’s already begun to swell.”

Kit groaned.

“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?” Wolf demanded. He knew all of them.

“Rupert Aires.”

Wolf laughed out loud. Rupert Aires was a young, handsome knight in Henry’s service, well known for his amorous adventures with the ladies of the court. He was always embroiled in one escapade or another. Surely Kathryn was mistaken about a future betrothal to him. His loyalty to Henry was unquestioned, but otherwise the fellow was a scoundrel. An unprincipled skirt chaser.

“I don’t suppose you know him?”

“Of course I know him.” His voice was irritable again.

“Well...?”

“He is a competent soldier.”

“Is that all?” Kit’s voice rose with indignation. “A competent soldier? We’ve heard tales in Northumberland about Rupert’s bravery in battle, his prowess with—”

“Has Sir Rupert ever seen your face?”

“What has that to do with anything? Naturally he’s seen my face. We grew up together. We—”

“I mean without that amusing coating of grime.”

“What coating of—? Oh.” She raised her chin a notch. “Rupert knows me as well as he knows his sisters.”

Another rude grunt.

“Rupert told me that as soon as he’s given leave from court, he’ll come for me. Don’t you see, Gerhart?” she asked earnestly. “That’s the reason I had to try to get back to Somerton. Rupert won’t be able to find me if I’m away from home. He’s the only reason I had for staying.” She turned to look at him and found his face only inches from hers. He was scowling again, but Kit couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his gray eyes were, framed in thick black lashes. The realization was unsettling. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

“We’re going to the king, Lady Kathryn. Don’t you suppose you’ll see Sir Rupert in London?” Gerhart’s voice was harsh. He didn’t like having her unwavering gaze trained on him. She was too direct for a woman and her eyes, at least the uninjured one, were altogether too distracting.

Kit shook her head and looked away. “I don’t have any idea how to find him. By all accounts, London is huge and Rupert might even now be on his way to Somerton for me.”

At least it was an explanation for the previous night’s misadventure, although it riled him unexplainably. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair that Lady Kathryn should be fretting and risking her neck over Rupert Aires, a man who had some of the most beautiful, as well as the most faithless women in England at his beck and call.

If Aires had some commitment to Kathryn Somers, he had a fine way of showing it. Wolf knew that all of Henry’s guards had been given liberal leaves upon their return from France two months ago. Apparently Aires hadn’t seen fit to travel to Somerton to claim his bride. Perhaps if he had, Henry wouldn’t have deemed it necessary to send Wolf all the way to the north country to collect this naive chit of a girl.

“None of Henry’s guard are on leave now,” he offered. He wasn’t certain that was true, but if it reassured Lady Kathryn so that she’d quit trying to run back to Somerton, the small lie was well worth it.

“Are you sure?”

“Relatively.”

“That’s a relief,” she said. “Now I’ll just have to think of a way to find him when we reach London. If ever we reach London. You still haven’t told me why we are not heading south.”

“We’re not going directly to London.”

“We’re not? Where are you taking me?”

He was not accustomed to being questioned by anyone, particularly a ragged, impertinent, insignificant girl. He let out an irritated sigh and gave her a curt response. “Windermere Castle.”

“Windermere! But that’s in Cumbria! Miles out of our way!”

“Thank you, my lady, I am very familiar with the location of Windermere—”

“But that will take ages. And Rupert—”

“I’m beginning to see merit in Baron Somers’ disciplinary methods.”

“Why didn’t you go to Cumbria first and come for me last?” Kit’s exasperation, at the very least, matched Wolf’s.

“Because that would have contradicted my orders.”

“Why?”

“The king was quite specific. He wanted you in my custody as soon as possible.”

“But why?”

“Take a nap.” Kit didn’t mistake his gruff tone nor his now-familiar scowl, and knew their discussion was at an end.

“But, Sir Gerhart—” She persisted.

His gaze hardened, and Kit realized she’d have to leave her questions for another time. She had no interest in testing whether Wolf really thought Baron Thomas was justified in beating her.

Their timing was worse than Wolf thought. The group still hadn’t reached Windermere Castle and night was falling fast in the rain. It was easy to see that the old woman wouldn’t last much longer, so he sent a couple of the men ahead to search out a sheltered spot to camp for the night. The scouts rode quickly out of the soggy dale and over the hill, out of sight.

It was completely dark when Wolf and his company caught up to the scouts who had found a small inn called the Crooked Ax, at the edge of a tiny village. There were three rooms available, and Wolf’s men engaged them. There was also a hot meal to be had in the common room, for which Kit was grateful, since the dried meat they’d been eating did little to satisfy her hunger pangs. She also hoped that the roast fowl as well as the bread and cheese would help to cheer poor Bridget, who was definitely the worse for wear.

Kit’s ankle caused only minor discomfort when she walked, giving her to believe it was merely bruised, and not sprained as Wolf had said. The long day spent sitting in the saddle, off her feet, did much to speed the healing process. She was able to climb the stairs carefully after supper and get Bridget settled to bed. The old woman’s voice was raspy, and her breathing sounded congested as a result of the long hours exposed to the cold damp air.

“Wash the mud off yer face,” Bridget said when they’d reached their room. “If only ye could see yerself, lass. It’s runnin’ down in streaks. ’Tis unseemly for a lady of quality to go about in such filth.”

“I don’t want to look like a lady, Bridget.”

“And why not, I’ll be askin’?”

“The less everyone knows about me, the better.”

“I suppose by that ye’ll be meanin’ the grandsons of the prince?”

Kit rolled her eyes and turned away as the old woman washed her own face in the shallow basin provided.

“Grandsons or no, Rupert’s waiting for me in London.” She turned back to Bridget just as the old woman was seized by a coughing attack. Kit immediately felt guilty for riling her.

“I won’t be askin’ ye to put on any o’ the gowns I brought for ye, but would ye mind just cleanin’ up a bit and lettin’ me have a look at yer eye and yer lip? It’ll do ye no good to have either one festerin’ under all that filth.”

Kit gave up and gingerly washed her face. The gash at her mouth hardly bothered her at all but the eye still hurt dreadfully. It wasn’t swollen so much anymore, but the bruise had turned to a deep purple with an outer perimeter of green.

“Sure and it matches the color of yer eyes,” Bridget joked about the discoloration. She gave Kit a brief hug about the shoulders. “Ye don’t know how glad I am that we’re away from Baron Thomas and his wife. That man—”

“Yes, we’re away,” Kit started, returning the old woman’s brief hug. She wanted to talk about this trip to London and somehow sensed that her kinswoman might have an answer to her question. “Bridget, dear old mother, why do you think King Henry sent for me?”

Bridget looked directly at Kit and was about to answer, then turned away. “I...I’m not sure as I know, Kitty. Mayhap he knew yer parents, one or t‘other.”

“Why do I have a suspicion that you know more than you’re telling?”

“Ye’ve a suspicious nature is all, I suppose.” Bridget turned away, seemingly peeved with her young charge.

Kit had asked plenty of questions about her parents before, yet hadn’t ever received a satisfactory answer. She knew she wouldn’t get one now.

By morning, the rain had let up to a steady drizzle and Kit decided, with a shiver, that she would not proceed another mile until Bridget was better able to travel. The old woman had been up coughing most of the night, and Kit knew she didn’t feel at all well. Kit braided her hair tightly and pulled the old brown hat down low on her forehead, covering her hair completely. She ordered Bridget to stay abed, then she wrapped herself up in her short cloak and went out in search of breakfast.

Though she knew the men had split up between two of the three rooms they’d let, Kit saw none of them about now. The only person in sight was the innkeeper’s wife, who greeted Kit stiffly, obviously unimpressed with her rough appearance.

It mattered not. All Kit wanted was a bit of porridge for herself and Bridget and to find out where Wolf had gone. She needed to talk to him before he decided on his course for the day.

“Sir Gerhart is in the stables,” the woman informed her curtly. Her manner clearly indicated that if it had been her place, she would have advised the powerful knight to leave the ragged girl somewhere.

Kit paid no attention to the slight. She just wanted to talk to Wolf as soon as possible.

Wolf pulled Janus’ cinch tight and dropped the stirrup back over his steed’s side. When he looked up, he saw Lady Kathryn approaching. At least he thought it must be Kathryn, though he couldn’t be sure for her face was clean.

Except for an ugly bruise around her eye and a scab in the middle of her lower lip, it was an amazing face. Not a dainty or beautiful face by any means, but a fascinating face. A strong and willful face. Framed by rich, thick lashes, her bold green eyes, one blackened and more than a bit bloodshot, met his gaze with a directness that was unusual in a woman. Pale, shapely eyebrows arched gracefully over them. High cheekbones gave way to a well-formed nose and full lips. The slightest hint of a cleft dented her chin. When he realized he was staring, he turned back to Janus and let his breath out slowly. Where in hell was the ragged little urchin he’d left asleep at the inn?

Why couldn’t she have been the child he had expected to find, or more like the ladies he’d known at court? Either one would have been easier to deal with than this headstrong, disturbing girl they’d found at Somerton. She was too impulsive and unpredictable by half. He was never sure what to expect from her, and now with her face washed—

“Gerhart.” Her commanding voice was direct, as well as her gaze.

She was disturbing, all right, and annoying.

He wondered where the meek girl was who’d been beaten by her stepfather only two days before. He walked around Janus and picked up each of his hoofs to examine them in turn, trying to ignore her presence.

“We cannot go on today.” Her speech was direct and imperious, as usual.

“Oh?” He controlled his reaction, refusing to be riled by her. God knew she managed to have some effect on him every time she spoke. He had resolved to be immune to her as they approached Windermere Castle. He wouldn’t let her aggravate him, nor was he going to be taken in by any feminine wiles she may possess, scant though they may be.

“Bridget is ill. She cannot travel.”

“We leave in half an hour.” His voice was firm. “Several of my men have ridden on ahead. If you have not yet broken your fast, then I suggest you do so now, because you will not have another opportunity.”

The dolt obviously hadn’t heard her! “But Bridget is sick! She cannot go on in the rain!”

“She can and she will,” Wolf replied with controlled calm. “She will ride with Nicholas, as she did yesterday. The alternative is that she remain here at the Crooked Ax.”

“You do not understand! I am responsible for her. I—”

“You? I thought it was the reverse. I thought your nurse came along to see to you.”

“Of course not! Bridget hasn’t been able to do anything for me these last few years other than patch up my—”

Wolf’s fierce look stopped her.

“—well, that is to say, Bridget is getting old now and cannot possibly work like she used to. She has been with me since I was a baby and as my mother’s distant cou—”

Gerhart held up one hand to stop her. “Enough!”

“—cousin, I will not allow her to—”

“Halt!”

“—travel in her con—”

“According to the innkeeper, Windermere is a mere two hours’ ride from here.” His annoyance was clear in his voice. “I will see the woman myself and judge whether she is fit to travel.” He started to walk away, but hesitated long enough to chide her. Turning and raising one finger to punctuate his statement, he said, “You would do well to consider curbing your argumentative nature. It would make life a lot simpler.”

His remark was enough to make Kit want to give him a good kick as he walked past, but then the man did the unthinkable. He patted the top of her head as he would a dog and further remarked, “You ought to wash your face more often, too, Sprout. It isn’t such a bad one.”

“Why, you overbearing, black-hearted, thick-skulled—”

He didn’t stay to acknowledge her indignation at being so treated.

Wolf found Bridget in the room she’d shared with Lady Kathryn. The old nurse had a steaming bowl of porridge before her and Wolf paced the room, asking questions regarding the woman’s health. She did look pale and had a terrible, rattling cough. For a moment, Wolf considered giving in to the girl’s wishes. He did not want to cause the woman undue discomfort, nor did he wish to be responsible for the worsening of her condition. However, the old woman insisted she was fit enough to travel. That is, if she could ride with one of the soldiers.

Since it was to be a short ride, Wolf deemed her capable of making the distance. But he cursed the fate that made him responsible for two women. What did he know of the silly creatures? He was a man of war, not a nursemaid.

“Sir Gerhart,” Bridget said tentatively as the knight started for the door.

He stopped and turned, giving her the opportunity to continue whatever she wanted to say. He hoped she’d be quick about it so they could be on their way. Windermere was only hours away.

“About my Kit—she’s a good lass. Never meant to trouble nobody.”

“No,” Wolf replied, turning to leave. He found the old woman’s statement somewhat at odds with his experience.

“Ye don’t understand,” Bridget said. “She’s had to be strong. Independent. She’s, had no one to look after her and there’ve been times...”

“Somers?”

The old nurse nodded. “He’s come close to killin’ her twice. Only things stoppin’ him were the fact that he couldn’t run the estate without her. And the baron never knew when one of them knights would come from King Henry to check on her.”

“Knights?”

Bridget nodded.

“From Henry?”

“Baron Somers never could figure the reasons for those visits. Seemed to be just social calls but the baron was always suspectin’ they came to see Kit for some reason. Never failed to ask about her...”

“When was the last time Somerton was visited by one of these...knights?”

“Well, it’s been some years now. I don’t believe our new King Henry has sent anyone himself, though.”

“And what about the estates? You say Lady Kathryn helps Baron Somers run his estate?”

“No. She doesn’t help him,” Bridget replied.

Of course not. He had just misheard the old woman before. Wolf turned to leave, but stopped dead at Bridget’s next words.

“She does it all herself. She’s used to takin’ charge, like.”

There couldn’t be any doubt that Lady Kathryn was concerned about her nurse. During the entire two-hour journey; she looked back every few minutes to see how the woman was managing, and Wolf sensed her impatience with the time. Not once, however, did he anticipate the hellion who deftly slipped out of his grasp and off Janus the instant they reached the inner bailey of Windermere Castle. She went immediately to Nicholas, who was still mounted and supporting Bridget.

“Come, come now! I’ll need help with her. Just slide her down...” Kit took charge immediately. Nicholas glanced over at his cousin, who watched with puzzled amusement. The older woman came down, and Kit supported her. “Easy now...” She looked up at Nicholas, then at Gerhart. “Well?” she asked impatiently. “I don’t suppose one of you could lend a hand?”

Nicholas dismounted at once and helped Kit to support Bridget who was now wheezing audibly.

“All will be well now, old mother. Have no worry,” Kathryn cooed to her nurse, reversing their appointed roles. Bridget was quite obviously ill and needed warmth and rest. Kit was also of a mind to find the local healer or herbalist, but before she was able to inquire, two of the men sent ahead by Gerhart approached them. Hugh Dryden and Chester Morburn came from the yard, having waited for Gerhart and the others to arrive.

“Greetings, my lord,” Chester spoke. “The housekeeper informed us that the earl is away from the castle until this evening.” The small group began walking through the yard, toward the stone steps of the keep. Bridget’s weakness kept her from moving quickly, and Kit hovered protectively about her. She didn’t give a hoot for Chester’s report and only wanted to get Bridget to bed.

“In spite of the earl’s absence, Mistress Hanchaw has provided rooms and provisions. The men are well situated and you and Lord Nicholas have been given suitable chambers. I believe Lady Kathryn and Madam Bridget will be sharing chambers. There are other guests here, as well, due to Windermere Fair, which begins on the morrow.”

Gerhart seemed preoccupied and paid little attention to the man’s report. However, Kit noticed some unspoken communication go between the knight and his man, Hugh Dryden. The soldier gave his lord a nod and headed for the stables with Chester.

Kit stepped slowly and carefully, so as not to tire Bridget. But the mincing little steps annoyed Wolf and without conscious thought, he lifted Bridget with ease and carried her up the steps and into the hall.

Kit was grateful for his help, certain that Bridget would never have been able to make the grade on her own power. The stairs, the castle and all of its surroundings were massive.

Kit had never seen anything like it. If not for Bridget, she would have stayed outside gaping at the huge stone fortress which was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The stone walls had been more than imposing from a distance, but Kit’s preoccupation with Bridget had interfered with her appreciation of them. The drawbridge, portcullis and moat were also worthy of her consideration, and she determined to get a closer look at the first opportunity.

The great hall was decorated with magnificent tapestries adorning the walls and colorful banners hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Several long, narrow windows were cut into the stone walls and there was a stained glass window at the head of the arch. The late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the filmy windows, giving a warmth to the huge room.

Glancing a bit more closely at the banners and the rushes under her feet, Kit detected a shabbiness to the hall, as well as a stale odor, likely due to the refuse left under the tables and benches for the dogs.

Kit vowed that when she and Rupert were married and she was mistress of her own hall, she would never allow such slovenliness. The rushes would always be fresh and the hangings in good repair, just as she’d kept them at Somerton. And she’d have flowers. Vases and pots full of flowers. These conditions in such a magnificent fortress were unforgivable.

“Sir Gerhart, I presume?” They were approached by a woman somewhat older than Kit, dressed in a tidy gray gown and apron. Her hair was completely covered by a white linen wimple, so Kit couldn’t tell if it was yet touched by gray, but her face was lovely with only a few soft lines about the eyes.

Gerhart merely nodded in her direction. Kit sensed a hostility in his mood, but couldn’t reason why. So far, she thought they’d been treated well, except for the earl being away from the castle. She couldn’t believe Gerhart would take offense at the earl’s absence. After all, he’d had no advance warning of Gerhart’s arrival and was expected back by evening. Surely whatever business Gerhart had with the earl could wait until supper.

“Follow me. I am Mistress Hanchaw, housekeeper for Lord Windermere.” She wrinkled her nose most unpleasantly and looked Bridget over.

“Madam,” Kit said as they crossed to yet another staircase, “do you have a gardener about? Is there someone here familiar with healing plants and herbs?”

“What ails her?” the housekeeper asked, clearly disturbed at having to welcome a sick person to the castle, even if she was with a party of the king’s men. “Not the morbid sore throat or con—”

“Merely a cold in the chest. I’ll require—”

“Pray, who are you? I was told to expect the King’s emissary, escorting Lady Kathryn Somers and...” She narrowed her dark brown eyes as she looked Kit over more closely. Kit saw the woman grimace over her attire. She quietly thanked the saints that, at least for now, her face was clean.

“You are speaking to Lady Kathryn, Mistress.” Nicholas spoke for her.

“There’s no time for idle chatter now,” Kit said exasperated. “Please bring the gardener round, or just have him send me cowslip petals and leaves, and iris root if he has any. Whatever he has for fever would be good...”

The housekeeper looked more closely, and quite disapprovingly at Kit now. “But my lady—”

“Please do as I say. My cousin is very ill, and I must get her settled and see to her well-being.” Moving quickly down a dark hall, the group finally reached the chamber that Kit was to share with Bridget. Mistress Hanchaw pointed out the rooms across the corridor which Gerhart and Nicholas would share, then turned back to open the door to Kit’s chamber.

It was dark and gloomy, with shuttered windows, thus the only light in the room emanated from two candelabra on the chest, which Nicholas and the housekeeper proceeded to light. Gerhart lay Bridget gently on the thick velvet coverlet of the bed which was also heavily laden with dark velvet curtains. Her wheeze was worse now, between bouts of coughing spells, and Kit was anxious to do something for her. She placed cushions under Bridget’s back to prop her up and ease her breathing.

“I think she should have starwort and yarrow, myself,” the housekeeper announced after Bridget quieted for a moment.

“Madam, the request was clear, was it not?” The impatience and hostility in Gerhart’s tone was unmistakable now. Kit was thankful that he intervened again, since his intimidating tone had an immediate effect on the woman. The housekeeper turned and left quickly. When she was gone, Kit wondered anew what it was about the place that made Gerhart so antagonistic. While she had already noticed he didn’t possess the most affable of temperaments, she had yet to see him behave unjustly.

“My thanks, sir,” she said to him.

He barely nodded, acknowledging her thanks. There was a disturbing depth, an almost haunted look, in his eyes.

“The nurse is your cousin?” he asked, and Kit’s fleeting impression of a man tormented disintegrated with his words. In his place was a powerful man, coolly controlled.

“Well, yes. Distant, though. She is...a gentlewoman.” Her voice faltered as the full effect of his altered gaze slammed through her. She glanced down at his lips as he spoke and recalled the heat and taste of his mouth. His presence suddenly flustered her. He was so very appealing, and he had come to Bridget’s aid with such ease. “She is my...my mother’s second cousin. A Cochran of County Louth...”

“Hold,” he raised a hand to stop her. “I daresay I know more of your family than I could ever wish to.”

Nicholas saw the flash of anger in Kathryn’s eyes. “Can you manage on your own now, Lady Kathryn?” he quickly interjected.

Kit damned Wolf silently for making her feel like a child and turned to speak to Nicholas. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then until later, my lady...” Nicholas left her with Bridget to go seek out his own quarters. Wolf was already gone.

The gardener came up along with the local priest who dabbled in herbology. The two decided on a decoction of iris root and willow bark, which they gave Bridget along with several of Father Fowler’s best blessings and prayers for a speedy recovery. Since their prescription did not differ much from what Kit had planned to give Bridget, she allowed them to proceed without interference. Who could tell? Perhaps the priest’s prayers would do her more good than the medicinal powders.

The two men had scarcely left when servants arrived with buckets of hot water which they poured into a stout wooden tub. The younger one, a dark-haired girl, added wood to the fire and fanned it, bringing up a cozy flame.

“’Tis a mite cold,” she said, glancing over at Bridget, asleep in the big bed. “We’ll keep it nice ’n toasty for the lady there... get the damp out.”

“Thank you.” Kit took off her hat and began to loosen her hair from its long, confining braid.

“There’s a special banquet planned for this evenin‘, milady,” the dark-haired girl said. “I doubt Mistress Hanchaw could be bothered to tell—”

“Maggie!” the older girl cried. “‘Twill never do for ye to be tellin’ tales about the mistress. Of course she was goin’ to tell the lady.”

Maggie snorted.

“Well, she was, I tell ye.”

“Annie, you know as well as I, nothin’ that wily witch likes better than to watch a sweet lady squirm.” Maggie poured a pail of hot water into the tub. “Remember how she baited Lady Clarisse—”

“Hold yer tongue, ye fool! Or yer blathering’ll get you set out but good! And me as well!”

“As I was sayin‘, milady.” Maggie turned back to Kit with great dignity, ignoring the other girl. “There’s to be a grand celebration tonight for the beginning of the fair. It opens tomorrow in Windermere town, and all the barons and squires from hereabouts will be attending. All their ladies, too, so you’ll want to be at your best.”

Annie started to gather up the linens they were meant to deliver to the other Windermere guests. “Tall Lawrence will fetch ye for supper—”

“’Tis a shame about your eye,” Maggie said, lingering, studying Kit’s face. “All green and yellow now. No way to conceal it, I don’t suppose...”

Kit shook her head and sent the maids on their way with assurances that she could manage her bath alone. There were certainly more pressing matters for them to attend to, if there were guests at the castle.

Bridget was breathing easily and regularly, soundly asleep. Kit eased herself back into the hot water and washed away the grit and grime of her journey, thinking of the two maids and their argument.

Kit wondered who Lady Clarisse was, and why Maggie’s words had upset Annie so. This was a strange place, this Windermere Castle. Kit thought it even stranger than Somerton Manor where Lord Somers spent his days in a drunken haze while his wife bedded every neighbor and visitor who passed through. At least at Somerton, a person knew her status—or lack of it.

Even Wolf had seemed to quickly gain an understanding of the situation at Somerton. His distaste for Kit’s stepfather was quite clear, and his disgust at Lady Edith’s infernal flirting was obvious.

It should have been easy to relax in the tub after her days in the saddle, yet thoughts of the taciturn Wolf plagued her: the way he could make her melt with just a glance of those intent gray eyes, then turn around and use words that made her feel like a child, chastised, castigated, effectively put into place.

She wondered what would happen if he discovered she was the one at the lake. She’d wager her boots he wouldn’t call her “Sprout” again.

How could he do this to her? Gerhart made her so confused, she could just kick something. He was a tyrant who treated her like a child and even had the gall to call her “Sprout.” She had no use for such a man as Wolf. She had Rupert.

Rupert, who was never overbearing. He was easygoing and fun and always smiling. He never frowned or scowled the way this Gerhart-Wolf did. Rupert had known her for so many years, he’d be satisfied with her, even though she lacked the sophistication of court. Besides, Kit had loved Rupert for years and as soon as she arrived in London, she would find him and marry him. This marriage was what she’d planned, what had kept her sane while she waited for him to come for her at Somerton. And nothing could change that.

It was some time later, as she sat in front of the fire drying her hair, that Bridget awoke. “How do you feel, old friend?” Kit asked.

“As though Edmond Grindcob’s huge cow Mathilda had sat on my chest.”

Kit laughed. “And well you should. You have a terrible hack and a wheeze as well. But we shall have you cured before long.”

“What did those old goats give me?”

“Nothing I wouldn’t have given you myself.”

“Good. Don’t let ‘em near me without ye,” she wheezed.

“I wouldn’t, ever.”

“Sure and I know ye wouldn’t, Kitty. Come sit by me.” Bridget patted the mattress and coughed. “I fear it will be some time afore I’m cured.”

Kit got up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Nonsense. You’ll be fine soon enough. And ready to go on to London.”

“Ye must dress for dinner with the earl.”

“I suppose,” Kit replied. She knew Bridget was going to insist she wear something presentable and Kit didn’t have the heart to argue with her now, while her cousin was so pale and weak.

“Wear the deep green velvet, Kit,” the nurse said, “along with the cream wimple. It does suit ye so.”

“What? And not the white?” The white gown with its delicately embroidered bliaut had been her mother’s, saved all these years by faithful Bridget. Kit was surprised her cousin hadn’t suggested wearing her finest tonight.

“Ye must save the white and gold until ye are presented to King Henry. Promise me.”

“All right, old mother,” Kit laughed as she began to dress herself, “I pledge to you that I will wear the white and gold only as you wish.”

“And behave yerself,” Bridget exhorted.

“You know me, my dear,” Kit said in an attempt at reassurance.

Bridget merely rolled her eyes.

Wolf remembered Philip Colston well. Though his cousin was in his late thirties, Philip had not changed much over the years. The same mustache was thicker now, and neatly trimmed, as was the small pointed brown beard which covered the end of his chin. There were hints of gray at his temples and a deep crease between his brows.

He still had a cruel twist about his lips.

It was difficult for Wolf to sit peacefully in the great hall over which his father had presided so long ago. He remembered every detail, down to the last dingy pane of stained glass in the windows and the banners, now tattered, hanging from the huge oaken beams of the ceiling. He could almost envision his brothers, John and Martin, coming in with the earl after a hunt or a trip into the village, Wolf being too young yet to accompany them.

Most vivid in his memory was Martin’s coffin being carried out of the main doors, and his mother’s weeping form supported by his father as they followed the body of their middle son to the family crypt. It was the last time he saw his mother with any expression.

Wolf painfully recalled the summons from Germany in the fall of 1401. Margrethe, Wolf’s mother, had been on an extended visit to her parents after Martin’s death. The messenger informed Bartholomew that his wife was lying ill at Bremen, perhaps even dying, and that the Earl was to come at once and bring her two remaining sons to her.

En route to Bremen, highwaymen overtook them, viciously attacking, butchering, hacking; leaving them all for dead.

Wolfs injuries were massive, and he survived only because of his brother’s last heroic act to protect him—an act that cost John his life—and the quick thinking of a page not much older than Wolf.

The page was a youthful Hugh Dryden who managed to patch Wolf sufficiently after the attack and get him to a nearby abbey. There, the monks healed his wounds, all but the terrible one that left a scar across his forehead and eye. Weeks later, the two boys were taken to Bremen and reunited with Margrethe and her parents. But Margrethe Gerhart Colston, already in despair due to Martin’s death, never recovered from her losses. She sat in her solar, day after day, staring out into the courtyard, straining towards death. The fact that one son remained to her made no difference at all.

His father and elder brothers now dead, Wolfram was the new Earl of Windermere, though unable to claim his title. His family name had been completely discredited in England, and it was up to Wolf now to find the proof he needed to restore his family’s honor. It had been necessary for Wolf to assume his grandfather’s name in order to return to England. Only Nicholas Becker and the page, Hugh Dryden, knew his true identity. Wolf had no intention of allowing his identity to be discovered until the evidence he needed was safe in hand. Only then would he reveal himself to Philip and personally see to it that justice was served.

Wolf knew that Philip inherited his treacherous nature from his father, Clarence, but there was a perverse aspect to the cousin’s nature that the uncle had lacked. Wolf felt his bile rise as he recalled Philip’s acts of cruelty—always perpetrated on someone smaller and weaker than himself, and always in secret. Only the children knew, and a few of the smaller servant girls, and none of them ever dared tell their elders. Yes, Wolf well knew of Philip’s penchant for inflicting pain. He still bore faint marks from a few painful encounters—until he’d learned to stay clear of the older boy.

Tables were set up, and servants began to bring the food into the great hall under the direction of Mistress Hanchaw. All of Wolfram’s men were assembled in the hall, as well as Philip’s retainers and many local noblemen with their ladies. Wolf recalled hearing of the recent death of Philip’s young wife. It seemed a tasteless blunder for Philip to be hosting such a festive gathering so soon after young Clarisse’s death.

Yet Wolf knew Philip’s true character. The man and his father had been responsible for butchering his family. Philip was capable of any abomination, and Wolf girded himself against the surge of anger that threatened to disintegrate his calm facade.

“It is interesting—and unusual—for King Henry to send emissaries far and wide throughout the land, is it not?” Philip asked.

“You mean to say you have not been visited before?” Nicholas countered, answering for Wolf. He sensed his cousin’s seething anger and gave Wolf the opportunity to master it.

Philip looked suspiciously at the two huge men sent by the king. There was something vaguely familiar about the silvery-gray eyes of the one called Gerhart. “Should I have been?”

“Why, of course,” Nicholas replied. “It is merely a courtesy extended by our sovereign. His majesty has long been abroad. How can he know how you fare without—”

At this juncture, Lady Kathryn was escorted into the hall by a gangly footman. Nicholas finished whatever it was he was saying to Lord Philip, but Wolf didn’t hear him. He was stunned by her unexpected transformation. Though her head and hair were completely covered by a soft linen headpiece trimmed in green, she was clothed now in women’s garb. A deep green velvet gown draped her feminine form from her neck to her toes. The gown was elegant in its simplicity, though even Wolf could see that there was some stitchery of considerable skill embroidered along the deep sleeves.

The gown itself revealed little of Kathryn’s form, though the grace of her movements was undeniable. Her hands and wrists were now clean, and he saw that they were small and delicately shaped. The damage done to her face was healing, and he was strangely pleased to note that she did not alter the directness of her emerald-green gaze to suit her position as a guest of the earl in the great hall of Windermere.

There was a vague awareness, tugging at the edges of Wolf’s consciousness, that Lady Kathryn had the bearing of a duchess.

Chapter Four

Wolf’s powers of speech returned when he was forced to introduce Kathryn to Philip. She greeted the earl, tipping her head almost regally. She then took Philip’s arm when it was offered, leaving Wolfram and Nicholas to follow them to the dais. Several guests were milling about, waiting for the earl in order to be seated and begin the meal.

Kit noticed that though Wolf wasn’t exactly frowning at her, his expression left something to be desired. He appeared completely astonished to see that she was what she said.

A woman.

Fully grown.

The word “Sprout” popped into her mind, and her chin rose a notch.

“You grace my hall most delightfully, my lady,” Philip said as he seated her on his right. Wolf and his German cousin sat some distance from the earl and Kathryn, but they were still able to hear most of their conversation. Wolf thought Lady Kathryn appeared somewhat small and vulnerable with her bruised eye and the healing gash on her lip. His muscles clenched reflexively, knowing that she was exactly the kind of victim Philip relished.

“It has been many months since Windermere has been blessed with the charms of one so lovely,” Wolf heard Philip say to Kathryn.

“Our condolences on the loss of your lady,” one of the barons said.

“Oh, my,” Kit’s eyebrows came together in concern for the earl. “Your wife has recently...died?”

“Yes, Clarisse died last November, poor girl,” Philip muttered.

The name “Clarisse” shot through her like an arrow. What was it Maggie had said about her?

Wolf didn’t detect a bit of emotion from his cousin when he spoke of his dead wife. In fact, Philip seemed altogether too enthralled by Lady Kathryn, and Wolf didn’t care much for it. Any normal man would have been able to produce at least some outward sign of grief for the young wife who’d been dead a mere six months. Instead, Philip hung on Kathryn’s every word, and hadn’t yet let go of her hand.

“How dreadful for you, my lord,” Kathryn said, recovering herself. “Was it sudden?”

The trenchers were finally brought to table as well as trays of meat and fowl. Everyone started to eat, forcing Philip to stop touching Lady Kathryn. Wolf noticed the look of concern in Kathryn’s eyes over the bereavement of the earl. He knew she couldn’t possibly understand Philip’s true character on first meeting, but Wolf found her sympathy for Philip irritating, regardless.

“No,” Philip answered Kit. “My wife had been ill for some months... A stomach malady.” He waved the meaty rib of beef he was holding as if to dismiss the topic. Kit thought the earl’s attitude too callous. She knew little of the world beyond Somerton, but she felt certain that some expression of sorrow would have been appropriate. There was no doubt in her mind that the Earl of Windermere was a cold man, and his strangeness caused a slight furrowing of her brow. She could not know that her expression would be interpreted as sympathetic rather than simply puzzled.

Philip paid almost exclusive attention to Lady Kathryn and that fact was remarked upon by many of the guests at the tables nearby. Lady Kathryn’s bruised eye was duly noted, though it was said she’d suffered some mishap prior to setting out from her home in Northumberland. No one knew quite why she was traveling to London or exactly what her relationship was with King Henry, though speculation was rife that the king had made her his ward and she was under his protection. They also said he would likely choose a husband for her.

Wolf said nothing to quell any of the rumors regarding Kathryn, since he himself had no idea why she’d been summoned to court. Besides, Wolf decided the rumors and theories would be to her benefit. He suspected the less anyone knew for certain about her—especially Philip—the better.

Kit was exhausted when Philip finally walked her to her chambers. She wanted nothing more than for the clinging, lecherous nobleman to release her arm and let her enter her room. He had dogged her all evening and now, his face was close to hers and his breath reeked of old ale.

Because she was a guest in his home and since she’d promised Bridget to behave, Kit did not trounce on his foot or jab her knee into his groin when he slid a wayward arm around her waist and flattened his sweaty hand across her buttock. “Such a sweet little morsel...” he muttered, even though Kit tried to move away.

“My lord, release me. Now.”

“You please me, Kathryn,” Philip drawled. “Young, tempting. What ruse must I use to lure you—”

Kit slapped his hand away and was considering doing worse harm when Sir Gerhart suddenly appeared in the corridor, carrying one candle and staggering slightly, singing a bawdy little tune under his breath. He came toward them, lost his balance and knocked into the earl’s shoulder. Kit was surprised by his awkwardness, for though he was a large man, she’d noticed that he always moved with agility and purpose.

“So sorry, m’lord,” Gerhart slurred. “Wunnerful wine, marveloush party.”

“Back off, ungainly oaf!”

“Please, my lord,” Kit stepped between the two men before the earl was able to draw his dagger. It wouldn’t do to have the two fighting in the gallery outside her room. Nearly in a panic and hardly able to think what she should do next to appease the earl’s unreasonable temper, Kit spoke in her best conciliatory tone. “My escort has...has...merely overindulged in your good wine...and...your hospitality. Allow me to help him to his chambers... er... so he does not further embarrass our party.”

She took the candle from Gerhart and pulled at his arm, moving him away from the earl. “Come along, sir knight,” she said, then turned to Philip. “Good night, my lord.” With that, she put her arm around Gerhart’s waist to support his drunken frame and led him down the hall. A quick glance behind her verified, to her immense relief, that Philip was not following. “Pompous ass...” she muttered.

Wolf was really too large for her to support much longer. His chamber would have to be nearby or there would be no choice but to let him crash to the floor right there in the gallery. “Which is the door to your room, Gerhart?”

“This one... No, p’rhaps...down here a bit...” He was leaning too heavily on her. They were both going to fall. “You smell like roses again, Sprout,” he said, weaving slightly. Kit was surprised he’d noticed. She always bathed with

rose-scented soap, but thought it was too subtle to be noticed by anyone but herself.

“Here. This is it.” He staggered into a door which swung into the room under his weight. By some miracle, neither one of them fell. Kit now found herself with Gerhart’s arm around her rather than her arm around his waist where she distinctly remembered having placed it. In his drunken state, he had somehow succeeded in keeping her from falling. He was holding her quite closely now, and Kit’s breath quickened. His head moved down, bringing his lips precariously close to hers, nearly touching, and Kit had no control over her body’s traitorous response to him. She knew it was insane, but she yearned for the touch of his lips again, wanted to feel—

A drop of hot wax from the candle hit her hand, and Kit jumped. She came to her senses and pulled away from him at once.

“Can you manage now, or should I call for someone to help?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

“Why would I need help?” he asked, all traces of drunken speech remarkably absent.

“Why would...? You’re not drunk at all, are you?” she asked, seeing the amusement in his eyes and realizing that he had been toying with her.

“Of course not, Sprout. I never drink too much,” he said, puzzled by his own behavior. He had never feigned drunkenness before, nor any other condition. Wolf told himself that he’d felt compelled to follow when Philip had taken Kit from the hall only because it was his sworn duty to protect her. And after witnessing his cousin’s lecherous looks at supper, he didn’t trust that the lady would be safe with him alone in the dark gallery.

“Why, you... you... deceitful lout!” Kit cried. “Roses indeed!” She looked for something to throw at him, but seeing nothing readily at hand, Kit whirled about and tore out of his chamber, leaving him in darkness.

When she reached her room, Kit closed the door more gently than she would have liked, in deference to Bridget, who was sleeping. Her blood was pounding in her ears. Kit wasn’t sure if her upset was from anger, annoyance or fear of what might have happened if she’d let Wolf kiss her. Would he have recognized her as the woman at the lake from one kiss?

Standing there in the gloom, her distress simmered, but her worried lips gave way to a slow smile as she thought of Wolf feigning inebriation. The act had been contrived entirely for her benefit. If not for Wolfs interference in the corridor, Kit would either have had to submit to the earl or do something equally embarrassing. Neither option was acceptable, and Wolf had saved her from having to make the choice. She grinned. His method of rescue had been perfect Perhaps he wasn’t totally lacking a sense of humor.

Kit pulled off her concealing veil and wondered if he had merely played the diplomat, or had the sight of the earl pawing at her given him the impetus to intervene? The thought intrigued her as she sat down on the bed next to Bridget and felt her fevered forehead. No one had ever seen fit to rescue her before. Not even Rupert.

The fire in the grate had all but died as Kit undressed by candlelight and slipped into a thin white gown. Though the chamber was deep in shadows, Kit knew there was a small bed in the far corner. She intended to spend the night there so as not to disturb Bridget’s sleep. As she lifted the candle and turned, a strange sound came to her ears from the depths of the shadows. Kit stood still to listen for it again. Finally, she heard a voice speaking in a harsh, laughing whisper. It was an eerie sound.

“The rooster’s found another pretty little hen to decorate his roost!” Kit raised the candle a bit in order to better illuminate the room. A deeper shadow moved in front of the fire, and Kit knew the speaker was there. Too frightened to approach the apparition, she set down the candle and went back to the bed where Bridget lay. Her knife was concealed under the extra pillow. She didn’t know what the intruder wanted, but Kit planned to protect herself and Bridget.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Methinks the wolf this time will thwart our bird and serve him up for supper.”

Bridget moaned a little in her sleep, the sound startling Kit nearly out of her skin.

“You speak nonsense! Come into the light and let me see you.” The last thing she really wanted was to see whatever demon was speaking, but Kit bolstered her courage and demanded a confrontation.

The little bent-over figure moved slowly away from the fire and approached the chest where Kit had set the candle. When finally it stopped near the light, it turned. Kit saw it was nothing but an old woman, bent by a hump on her back, and cloaked in some coarse, dark cloth.

“Ahh! ’Twill be good to see him brought low!” the woman clapped her hands in glee.

“Who are you?” Kit whispered again.

“I?” She looked incredulously at Kit, unable to believe that anyone might not know her. “I am the Countess of Windermere.” She threw her head back and laughed silently. It was a bizarre laugh causing chills to move down Kit’s back as she watched the wretched old thing going through the motions of laughter with no sound.

“I...I thought the Countess...died last spring... You are not, you could not be her...her ghost? Could you?”

More infernal laughter. Kit trembled, certain she was poor Clarisse’s ghost.

“Agatha.”

“What?” Kit whispered, completely confused now.

“I! Me! I am Agatha. Wife of Clarence the Usurper.”

“Who is Clarence?” Kit asked, now totally confused.

“Clarence was the father of the peacock who now struts about Windermere Castle. Philip, he is called.”

The riddles were giving Kit a headache, and she was beginning to suspect that this Agatha was no more an apparition than Bridget.

“What do you want?”

“Take care. He needs a new hen to breed him some chicks. The last could give him no brood.”

“I don’t understand you! Can you not speak plainly?”

“Your wolf will find all he needs if he has the time and knows where to look.”

“My wolf—” She realized with a shock that the woman meant Gerhart, who was never called Wolf. “Who do you mean? What are you saying?”

“Silver eyes. Black thatch. Rightful earl.” Her words were said as though they were part of a song, an oftrepeated song.

“Do you mean Sir Gerhart?”

“Ahh, is that what he is called? Born of Bartholomew and Margrethe. Finally come for his birthright.” The strange silent laugh came over her again.

Finally, the old woman turned and hobbled back into the shadows. And then she was gone.

Kit stood still for a moment, afraid to move. It had been the oddest experience of her life, and she had no idea what to make of it. Had the woman just vanished into thin air? Where else could she have gone? The door hadn’t opened, and she couldn’t possibly have left through the window. Kit finally gathered her courage and went over to light a candelabra. With more light, she verified that the old woman was truly gone.

It was a long time before Kit fell asleep. Awakening early to the sounds of Bridget coughing and wheezing, she got up to administer more of the medicine to her old companion and was unable to go back to sleep. The room was chilly, so she added wood to the fire and then wandered about, puzzling over the events of the previous night.

Unfortunately, not much was clear about the old crow’s visit the night before. She’d said she was Agatha, that much Kit understood. The old earl was Clarence, and Agatha claimed she had been his countess. If that were true, why did the old lady bobble around in the night, appearing and disappearing out of thin air, and babbling riddles like a madwoman? What self-respecting earl would allow his mother to go about in coarse rags, pestering the castle guests?

Kit opened the shutters to see that it was just barely dawn. It seemed a pleasant spring day, the rain having let up sometime during the night. It was still overcast, but the haziness only made the tree trunks seem blacker and the leaves more green. Even the grasses in the distance were more vibrant than Kit remembered. It was a beautiful land with neatly tilled rows on the hills and a good-sized town in the distance.

She poured water into the basin and began washing, when she saw a tiny gray mouse skitter across the room and disappear under a huge tapestry which hung from ceiling to floor. Kit hadn’t paid much attention to it before, for the cloth was darkened and obscured with age, making the details unintelligible.

Wondering about the mouse hole, and thinking to block it up, Kit went over and pulled the tapestry aside enough to search for the crack. Instead, she found more than a mere crack. The tapestry covered a false stone wall, which concealed a door hanging on hidden hinges. A small round hole, just big enough for two fingers was carved into the stone door. Kit put her fingers in, and the catch turned noiselessly. The door swung in heavily.

It was too dark to see into the dank, musty passageway, so Kit lit the candelabra, threw a blanket around her shoulders and went through. She found that the passage was small, only large enough for a narrow spiral staircase, which she began to ascend. Just when Kit was certain the steps would go on forever, the stairs finally ended at a stone door identical to the one in her own chambers. She turned the catch and found herself standing behind a large tapestry. Peeking round it, careful to remain silent, Kit perused what was obviously the bedchamber of Lady Agatha.

The old woman was snoring loudly in her bed which was as heavily draped as the bed in Kit’s own chamber where Bridget now slept. The room was dark as well, with Kit’s candelabra casting long darting shadows along the floor and walls. As she moved into the room, Kit began to reconsider the prudence of breaching the chamber of a sleeping madwoman.

Before she was able to withdraw, however, Agatha’s dark eyes opened and focused on Kit. “Well, well.”

“Yes, well, I...I wondered how you got into my room...” Kit said awkwardly. She felt like an intruder yet the old woman had intruded into Kit’s room only the night before.

“I waited for you.”

“For me?”

Agatha sat up in the bed and crouched her head down into her shoulders. She smiled, displaying more pink gum line than teeth. “For you. Of course.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid down to the floor. Nodding her head, she hobbled over to the window. Drawing the shutters aside, Agatha looked down into the courtyard three stories below and satisfied herself that no one was about. While Kit stood watching, Lady Agatha went across the room to a little wooden footstool and carried it back to the window. She turned and winked at Kit, then stepped up, reached out of the window and struggled to pull a loose chunk of granite free of the outside wall.

“I can’t do it. You’ll have to get it out.”

“What?”

“The stone!” she cried impatiently. “The stone! What he needs to—ach! Here, reach thus.” She got Kit to stand on the footstool, and now the old woman was making her reach outside the window. “Pull and tug gently. Your fingers will find the prize.”

Agatha’s antics were beginning to annoy Kit, and she wished she had never come up to the old lady’s room. To humor the old woman, Kit played along, although she couldn’t help but wonder where this game would lead. Then, as she was about to pull her arm back inside, her hand happened upon the loose brick.

Carefully, Kit pulled the stone away and turned around to hand the heavy piece to Agatha.

“That’s it! That’s it! The rooster will broil for lunch!”

Kit reached back outside and put her fingers into the gap. There, she felt a canvas cloth holding something solid, heavy and metal, about the size of a large coin. She pulled it out to see that it was a large, ornate ring: a seal on which was engraved a peacock, its feathers fully extended.

“Whose signet is this?”

“’Tis the seal of Bartholomew Colston, once lost, once stolen, only to be made anew and different, too.”

“Your riddles baffle me, good woman. Can you not speak plainer?”

“Show it only to the wolf and no other, else harm will come to you.”

Exasperation finally overcame her efforts at good will. “Well, I think I’ll just leave this little treasure here,” Kit said as she returned the seal to the niche in the wall. Why the woman was hiding it from Philip was no concern of hers, and she didn’t want to get involved in their dispute.

“No!” Agatha hissed. “You must take it! Conceal it and show it to no one but the wolf.”

“Please, Lady Agatha,” Kit said even as she reluctantly retrieved the seal again. “I have no wish to enter into your personal affairs with your son. I—”

“Do not call that vulture my son! He is not of my blood!”

“Well, whoever he is, perhaps you ought to give him back his seal, if that’s what this is.” Kit tried to hand it to the woman, but she closed Kit’s fingers around it.

“Why do you refuse to understand?” Agatha demanded in frustration. “Take it! Hide it! The wolf will know what to do with it!”

Kit sighed. She took the iron seal, picked up the candelabra and wrapped herself again in the blanket. “All right, Lady Agatha,” Kit said reluctantly. “I’ll do it.” Returning to the hidden door, Kit turned back to Lady Agatha, who appeared satisfied.