Margo Maguire - The Bride Of Windermere

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.