The Bride of Windermere

Wolf’s thigh injury was no more than an angry red slash, but the chest wound still needed to be bound, especially when they rode. An army of men accompanied them on the journey, as well as Wolfs core group of soldiers who’d been together as a troop for several years. Most of these had been well rewarded with lands and estates by the king for their service in France, but they were loyal to Wolf and wanted to see him established at Windermere before going off to claim their various prizes. None of them could rest easy with Philip Colston on the loose.

Kit wondered at first if her husband would bother taking her with him to Windermere. He had so obviously wanted to be away from her. She was amazed on the day before they left, when he asked if her things were packed. He told her to purchase whatever she thought she’d need from the London shops, reminding her that there would be no such luxuries in Cumbria as were available in London.

With mixed feelings, Kit prepared to leave Westminster. There was nothing more she wished to purchase in London. She had already enlisted Rupert’s help in finding the craftsman in town who could create the one item she wished to buy—her wedding gift to Wolf. And while Wolf was in the throes of delirium, she almost believed she’d never have the opportunity to give the precious package to him.

By the day of their departure, Wolf walked without a noticeable limp, but Kit could see that when he moved his upper torso, he was not without some discomfort, and she was concerned whether it was wise for him to sit in the saddle all day. She had ordered her mare from Windermere to be saddled but before she was able to mount, Wolf called to her.

“Nicholas will lift you, Kit,” he said as he rode towards her. “You ride with me.”

“But your wound—”

“Doesn’t trouble me enough to be slowed by your pretty mare.” His tone was gruff. “Our journey to Windermere will take six days as it is. I’ll not be delayed.”

And so Kit was settled in front of her husband, and they were off.

Kit enjoyed her closeness to Wolf all day as they rode, even though he rarely spoke. There were things she wished to say to him, but found she didn’t know how to breach the gap between them. So she said nothing, and they traveled over the miles together in silence. His arms felt just as secure and comfortable around her as they had on the trip from Somerton. Kit tried to make herself believe that he wasn’t as dissatisfied with her as he seemed. Perhaps in time, he would accept her, though Kit began to think she’d need to implement some kind of plan to win him over.

Wolf relished her nearness. Her scent, as always, reminded him of fresh flowers. She was soft and sweet and he gathered her close as they rode, thankful that Henry had not agreed to his request to return to France. It was before his marriage that he had asked to go along in Henry’s retinue, unwilling to remain close to a wife who was so clearly displeased with her marriage. Yet he knew now that he couldn’t have stayed away from her. Kathryn Somers would be a wife to him as soon as they reached Windermere. And she would learn to accept it.

The weather was fine every night, so they camped outdoors, without bothering to set up the small tents and tarps they’d brought in case of rain. Kit always fell asleep looking at the black sky, gazing at stars and plotting ways to make her husband notice her. Wolf managed never to lay his blanket next to hers until she was sound asleep, and he was always gone before she opened her eyes in the morning. Kit was sure it was intentional.

By the fourth night, Kit was discouraged and frustrated. They rode together as they had from Windermere to Kendal, with hardly any words between them. Kit sensed an asperity in Wolf that she doubted she’d ever be able to overcome, no matter how she tried to win him over. She couldn’t imagine why he had ever agreed to Henry’s demand that he wed her. He had never seemed to be a man who’d easily do another’s bidding, not even the king’s.

They finally stopped at the crest of a small ravine. It was a likely place to camp and Wolf lowered Kit down from Janus’ back to Nicholas, who waited to assist her. When she glanced back up at Wolf, Kit was dismayed by his grimace of pain. His wound was obviously troubling him, and she meant to have a look at it as soon as he dismounted. Wolf rode Janus over to the area where the rest of the horses were to be tethered and dropped down to his feet.

Kit was right behind him carrying a water bag and her satchel of medicines and bandages, much of which had been provided by Lord Blackmore.

“Let me dress your wound while there is still some light, Wolf,” she said.

“This dressing will do,” he said, wary of removing his tunic, unwilling to suffer the touch of her gentle hands. She had ministered to him daily at the palace and on the road, nursing him carefully. But the more she touched him, the more he wanted her, and this was not the time or place to show her to whom she belonged.

“The dressing will not do,” she asserted. “You’re in pain, and I would see why.”

Had he been in better spirits, Wolf would have thought it comical the way Kit—nearly half his size—seemed to think she was actually dragging him by the arm to the clearing.

She led him to a spot out in the open, away from the thicket of trees where the men were making camp, a place where the fading light was in its greatest abundance. She insisted that he sit on the trunk of an ancient tree which had been torn from its roots in some long forgotten storm. As he removed his tunic, Kit opened her bag to get the salve and the clean bandages she would need. She was amazed that he came along with her so docilely and decided that his improved temperament was because he’d been in the saddle all day, an occupation he seemed to enjoy.

Kit stepped between his thighs, trying to remain unaffected by his half-naked presence, and unwrapped the long linen outer dressing from his chest. She reached around him, coming close with every turn made by the long cloth.

Just at the point when Wolf thought he couldn’t bear her nearness any longer, she gasped.

“You’ve been bleeding!” Her look of dismay surprised him more than the bleeding itself. He had felt the warm ooze some time ago, but had no idea she would react so. Kit pulled off the saturated inner dressing and looked at the injury. “I should never have let you leave Westminster so soon!”

“You? Should never have let...?” Kit was so distraught that she didn’t notice the signs of mirth in his eyes.

“That is correct, Your Grace,” she avowed as she washed the wound and examined the extent of the damage. Only a small area at one end of the injury had bled, and Kit was relieved. She felt that the salve, liberally applied, would control the bleeding if he were careful. “As it is, we will not turn back since we have already come so far and—”

He laughed. Though it was a pleasant sound which she hadn’t heard in weeks, Kit did not appreciate her husband making sport of her. True, they were bound together by the king’s order, but she did not feel it was her duty to become the brunt of his humor. As it was, she didn’t know how she would be able to live with the knowledge that she was not Wolf’s first choice—that he cared for another, that he had wanted to leave her at the first opportunity.

“—we will reach Windermere soon so it is pointless—”

“I’ve always thought you had a talent for giving orders like a duchess,” he chuckled, then winced as she slapped the medicinal paste into the sensitive torn area.

“You needn’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“I am a duchess, in case you’ve forgotten.” Her voice had become very quiet.

The laughter faded from Wolf’s face when he saw traces of moisture beginning to gather and glisten along the lower lashes of her eyes and that telltale tightening of her lips. Oh, how it wrenched his heart to see her cry. He didn’t blame her for it at all. By all the saints, it was bad enough for her to have been ordered to marry against her wishes and now, she was being dragged across the country again to a dank and dreary old castle with an ominous history with a man whom she had never in a thousand years intended to wed.

Damn Henry! It was obvious that Kit couldn’t abide being his duchess, and Wolf thought the least Henry could have done was to ascertain his sister’s opinion on the subject of matrimony before making an irrevocable decision on it. Wolf didn’t know how to make things easier for Kit, but he realized it was up to him to try.

“Yes, you are a duchess. But a princess first,” he said as Kit wound the bandage around his chest. She stopped abruptly and left the bandage dangling.

“You mean a bastard princess,” Kit said as she whirled around and stalked away from him.

Bastard princess? Bastard? What did he care who her parents were? Why should she, for that matter? But it obviously upset her tremendously. He hadn’t missed seeing the quivering of her chin just before she’d stormed away from him. Was this the reason for her behavior? That she was ashamed her father never wed her mother?

Impossible. He quickly cast the notion aside. It was ridiculous.

He moved quickly and caught her before she got to the thicket of trees.

“Kit.”

She shrugged his hand off her upper arm and kept on walking.

“Wait, Kit.” He took hold of her arm again and turned her. He saw that her eyes were shimmering emerald pools about to overflow, though she seemed determined not to weep. He touched her cheek with one hand, then brought up his other hand to caress her hair away from her face.

Wolf hesitated for only a moment, then his mouth brushed hers gently. She trembled at the light touch. He moved his head to caress the notch below her ear with his lips, then pressed a soft kiss on her temple. He felt warm tears course down her face and rubbed them gently away with his thumbs.

“Is it me, Kit?”

She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and couldn’t fathom his reasons for it. She’d expected his scorn perhaps, or even complete rejection, but not hesitancy and doubt. Not gentle caresses and tender kisses.

“No,” she cried. “Not you. Never you.”

Both his arms dropped to her waist, and he pulled her close. His mouth came down on hers hungrily. Insistently this time. It was a hot, demanding kiss, a sensuous blending of lips and tongues. Kit sighed with a growing wonder as she parted her lips, meeting the thrusts of his tongue with her own. She felt his heat now, his incredible, exciting fire and wanted him to consume her, yet she knew he would end it. He always did.

Nevertheless, Kit slid her hands up his bare chest, past the bandages, then higher to thread her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. Wolf pulled her ever closer, tightening the contact between them, fitting his length to hers.

She recognized the expanding knot of desire as she moved against him. He moaned, and the sound inflamed her even more. Jolts of pleasure shot through her, and Kit realized she wanted his hands all over her. She wanted him to touch her as he had at Somerton Lake and on the road to Kendal.

Wolf felt the tips of her breasts harden as they pressed through the cloth of her gown against his naked skin and knew she was as aroused as he was. He trailed hot kisses down her throat and cupped her breasts with his hands, gently raising the nipples with his thumbs.

God, how he wanted her, but not here, not among his men in this rough camp. He would make her his wife in nothing less than the duke’s bed.

Wolf wrapped her in his arms and kissed her ear, his warm breath causing her to shiver. “Do you know how desirable you are?” His voice was low and harsh with wanting. Kit barely squeaked a reply. There was confusion in her eyes, and her lips were swollen and yearning to be kissed again. But Wolf restrained himself. “Our first time together must be special...”

Wolf pulled her hands away from his shoulders, held them against his chest and looked at her. He was surprised by the raw desire he saw in her eyes, and his heart soared. God, she wanted him! But she was too inexperienced to understand his hesitancy.

“Kathryn, I would bed you properly,” he said gently. “Not here, not with all my men about.”

She looked down, embarrassed by her wantonness. What could he possibly think of her? What did she know of how a wife should act?

He lifted her chin, and she looked into his eyes. She saw not only desire there, but tenderness, too, and she realized that what he said was for her benefit. “We must wait ‘til we reach Windermere. Only then will I make you my wife.”

Kit leaned forward and kissed the notch where his neck met his breastbone, and it was nearly his undoing. Then she stunned him, her words nearly breathless. “I think I’ve waited nearly all my life for you, my lord. Two more days should hardly matter.”

When he finally lay down next to her that night, he was certain they would be two of the longest days of his life.

Kit was determined to make the marriage work. They had already taken a giant leap forward, but Kit realized they still had a long distance to go before they had a marriage between them. She didn’t expect Wolf to fall in love with her right away, but she intended to make him forget Annalise and every other woman in his past. She knew he’d been enamored of the woman at Somerton Lake, a fact which bolstered her courage, giving her the nerve to attempt to seduce her husband, scant as her seductive skills were.

That night was clear and pleasantly cool after the sun set. Kit lay on her blanket and looked up at the star-filled sky. She watched as the smoke from the small cook fire dispersed in the air and wished that Wolf would come and lie down soon. She fully intended to remain awake until he came to her. When Wolf finally finished speaking with the guards and came to take his place next to her, he settled down on his blanket without a word and turned his back to her.

Wolf would have liked to hold Kit as she slept, as he had every other night, but he didn’t dare, not after her passionate response to him when he kissed her in the clearing. Chester and Alfred were not more than five feet away. Alex, Claude and Nicholas weren’t far, either, and Wolf did not care to be tempted by his sweet wife beyond his endurance. Just being this close was trial enough, without even touching.

Kit, undaunted by her husband’s lack of consideration and unaware of his reasons for turning away, turned to him instead. She put her arm around his waist and fit her length to him, pressing soft parts against the very solid, but sensitive wall of his back.

He was certain he could feel every detail of her flesh.

“Sleep well, husband,” she breathed in his ear.

The heat of the sun still burned when they stopped the last night on the road. It was terribly humid, with the threat of a storm in the air and Kit couldn’t wait to peel off her sticky clothes and bathe in the secluded lake they had seen nestled in the wooded dale on their approach to the valley. The men set up camp again while Kit hiked down the hill toward the water, carrying fresh clothes.

The small lake was situated in a thicket of willows and old, gnarled elm trees. Reeds grew up at the muddy banks and the beady eyes of little green frogs peered from their hiding places all along the edge. It was not much of a lake for swimming, and Kit knew it would be foolish to try it alone in unfamiliar water. She glanced around and verified that she was alone, then took off her shoes, tied her skirts up around her hips and stripped naked down to the waist. Then she waded into the water to wash. The cool water felt heavenly, though the muck at the bottom, oozing through her toes, was barely tolerable.

Wolf had seen Kit slip away a while before, and didn’t at first realize what she had in mind. He was setting up camp with the rest of the men, and it wasn’t unusual for Kit to find a few moments of privacy whenever they dismounted. But then he remembered seeing the lake, and it occurred to him that she’d been carrying a spare gown when she’d headed down the hill. He began to worry that she might try swimming in the strange lake alone, knowing she had a propensity for the water. He dropped what he was doing and followed her tracks through the long grass down the hill and entered the lonely little woods.

When he reached the water and saw Kit, his feet rooted in place. She was just as he remembered her at Somerton Lake. She was his golden lady, but this time only partially naked, alluringly so, and her face was clearly visible in the light of the brilliant pink sunset.

She lifted her hair and drizzled water from a cloth down the back of her neck, then the front. Wolf watched her nipples harden as the cool water made her shiver and felt himself hardening as well. There would be one more grueling night and another difficult day in the saddle until they reached Windermere. He’d already decided to wait until then, but...

The argument raged within him, and he knew he’d have to be patient. She’d be too tender to ride on the morrow if—

“Come and I’ll wash your back, husband,” she said, astonishing him with her awareness of his presence. Her voice was husky, inviting.

Wolf walked slowly towards her, watching her turn to face him fully. She continued sensuously rubbing her arms and breasts with the wet cloth, nearly driving him mad. He had never seen a woman move so erotically before. She was beautiful and seductive. And she was his. He was impatient to test her sensuality in his arms. God, how he wanted her.

Kit felt an urgency to touch him, to have him touch her. His eyes grazed her skin heatedly, and she knew he was just as anxious. Wolf moved toward her, and Kit began to tremble in anticipation. He pulled off his doublet and tunic as he walked, dislodging the bulky dressing that had served him well enough throughout the long day.

Bare to the waist, Wolf was an impressive man. Wide, powerful shoulders and an expansive chest tapered to a trim and narrow waist. Kit appreciated the play of his muscles under the mat of coarse, dark hair that covered his chest and trailed to a point where it slipped into his chausscs. He came to her slowly, purposefully, and when he reached her, Wolf turned to present his broad back for her ministrations.

His flesh rippled as she moved the cool, wet cloth across it, less affected by the motive of cleanliness than the sensations caused by her cool hands. Kit stretched up to apply the cloth to his shoulders, and Wolf clearly felt the brush of her breasts against his back. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he turned all at once and took her in his arms.

“What sweet torture is this?” he asked, pressing hot kisses to the column of her throat, his lips trailing down.

“Not torture, my lord,” Kit replied, shocked by the sensations caused by his mouth on one nipple, “only—ooh...”

His mouth found hers again, and a shudder ran through her as their tongues met. He lifted her up, ignoring the stab of pain from his wound, and carried her to a patch of soft, green moss near a stand of elms. The ground felt cool on her back, and Wolf’s lips were hot on her skin.

The sky was streaked with brilliant pink and wispy clouds raced past, presaging winds and storms to come. They barely sensed the change in the air. The vivid colors framed Wolfs face as he leaned over Kit, and she watched as his silver eyes turned to dark gray. His mane of hair was wilder now than ever and she tugged on it, drawing him down, willing him to take possession, to make her his wife.

“This is not what I intended—”

“How could a duke’s bed be more suitable,” she murmured into his hair, “or more stately?”

Without experience to guide her, Kit’s instincts ruled. She ran her hands slowly down his back and buttocks, then across to his chest and down. She loosened the cords at his waist, freeing him to her touch.

“I wanted to pamper you...” His hand cupped her breast, then toyed with the nipple. His lips nuzzled her throat.

“I only wanted you...”

Spurred on by her words, and the sensations of flesh meeting bare flesh, Wolfs hand moved down; caressing, raising Kit’s level of arousal. A tremendous tension grew in her, and the muscles in her legs flexed. He pushed her dampened gown off her hips and drew his hand back up her thighs, pausing to stroke her intimately at their junction. Kit shuddered once, then relaxed and opened herself to him.

A maelstrom grew around them. Leaves shot past, and Wolf was stung by more than one sharp twig as the wind drove dust and debris across the ground and through the air. Rosy skies turned vermilion. Dark, low-hanging clouds moved in. Hands, lips and tongues explored new territory.

“Touch here...”

“Don’t stop...”

“You’re so hot, so incredibly—”

“Please. Wolf...”

Her plea was dwarfed by a distant rumble of thunder. Neither Wolf nor Kit heard it, so completely absorbed were they by the overpowering sensations they shared. Every nerve, every fiber of her being was alive, and his touch ignited her to flame. Rational thought did not exist, only desire and an intensely mounting pleasure.

“Sweet Kit,” he rasped, “I fear I will hurt you.”

“You can hurt me only by holding back,” she said, her lips and tongue exquisitely torturing his ear. “Teach me. Show me how to give you pleasure...” He took one of her hands and showed her while his mouth and tongue ravished her, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

She moaned with need as he positioned himself over her. Kit laced her hands around his neck and met his fierce thrusts with a passion born of desire and love. The splendor of their joining burst like lightning, crackling electrically through loins and limbs, shuddering out of control.

“You are not too tender?” Wolf asked much later, caressing a flaxen lock near Kit’s ear, marveling at the wonder of her. Her head was nestled in the curve of his arm, and they were still curled around one another on the deep green moss. Lightning flashed in the distance, and Kit heard the low grow] of thunder in the still faraway storm. She raised herself up on her elbows and studied her husband.

“No. And you, milord? Have I bruised you?” she asked with a wicked grin.

“Aye.” He gave her a wolfish smile.

She caressed his nipple with her lips and felt him shudder in response. “Pray tell, how would you have me remedy the problem?” She teased the sensitive skin with her lips and teeth.

“I’ll leave that to you,” he said with a groan as her head moved. “I’m entirely at your mercy.”