Margo Maguire - The Bride Of Windermere

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.