The Bride of Windermere (25 page)

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Authors: Margo Maguire

BOOK: The Bride of Windermere
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They followed the narrow passage in hopes of finding another hidden door. Kit kept the candle raised as high as she dared, desperate to find a way out, but fearing that the faint wind currents would extinguish it.
“I wonder if there's more than one tunnel,” Kit said. “This breeze must come from somewhere... They proceeded cautiously and moved farther into the tunnel.
“Ooh, the smell is getting worse.” Emma covered her mouth and nose with her hand.
“It certainly is,” Kit replied with a grimace. “I wonder whatever—Why, this seems to be another chamber. Look, Emma, there's a torch up here in the wall. Thank God. I'll just light it—”
Emma's echoing scream broke the subterranean quiet. Kit whirled around, and in the full glare of the blazing torch, her shocked eyes lit on Lady Agatha, Countess of Windermere, sitting on the dirt floor, her wrists in manacles, chained to the wall.
Biting back a scream of her own, Kit's hand covered her mouth. Here was the source of the putrid odor. The countess had been dead for several weeks at least, and had Kit not recognized the old woman's shapeless black gown and her twist of gray hair, she would not have known Agatha.
“God in heaven, ‘twas Philip,” she whispered. “Philip did this.”
“Aye,” Emma's quivering voice assented, holding onto Kit's arm. “We must find our way out now. Quickly! Please, milady—”
“We will,” Kit said, distractedly, her eyes adjusting to the light. Covering her mouth and nose, she looked around the room and saw that there was more here in the gruesome chamber than just the pair of manacles that held Agatha's body dangling. There were three skeletons, one appallingly small. Small bundles of rags were scattered about on the floor, and Kit was wary of finding out what lay underneath them. A low, wooden table displayed several grotesque cutting instruments. Kit found herself letting her breath out slowly. “It's just a matter of—What was that? Did you hear that sound?”
“Let's go back, Your Grace. Please—”
Kit walked to the other side of the wooden table on the opposite side of the horrible chamber, with Emma hanging on to her from behind. Emma collided with Kit as she stopped abruptly.
“Holy mother!” Kit gasped, looking down at one of the bundles of rags. “It's a man! And he's alive!”
“Dear Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Emma whispered as Kit knelt next to the crumpled figure on the ground. “Who could it be?”
“Hugh! Oh, God, it's him! Hugh, can you hear me?” Kit swallowed hard and repeatedly to keep from vomiting. The injuries done to her husband's friend were atrocious, and it took every ounce of courage to look at him. She could hardly bear to face what had been done to him, and tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to focus on the dirt floor next to the man's head.
Hugh groaned weakly.
“I don't think he's aware.”
“Thank heaven for that,” Emma said. She clutched at Kit's sleeve, trying to bring her mistress away from the man.
“How will we get him out of here?”
“How will we get ourselves out?” Emma asked desperately. The man was obviously near death and dragging him back up those steps was clearly not feasible.
“Hugh, if you can hear me, it's Kit. Lady Kathryn,” she said through the lump in her throat. “We'll go for help. We'll get you out of here.”
“What now, milady?” Emma asked. “Do you suppose there's a passageway somewhere that leads out?”
“Oh, lord.”
“What?”
“Oh, my God.”
“What is it?”
“What a fool I am!” Kit swallowed hard. “Philip! He's probably hiding in here somewhere!”
Chapter Twenty
 
 
S
ir Alfred had been assigned to see to Lady Kathryn's security, but he had found there wasn't much to do, with the lady working among the servants, scrubbing the place like a common washerwoman. So he'd stayed at the huge table in the great hall, sharpening and polishing his various blades and paying little attention to his surroundings. If Philip Colston mounted an attack, the former earl would have to get past him, and Alfred was confident it couldn't be easily done.
At length, when servants began organizing tables in the hall for supper, it finally occurred to Alfred that he hadn't seen either the duchess or her companion in quite some time, and he became curious. He made a cursory search of the hall and the surrounding rooms, but Lady Kathryn was not to be found.
Then he became worried. The Duke would have his hide if anything happened to his lady. Alfred went to check the lady's chambers, but she was not there either, nor in the solar where the weavers were putting away their materials. The turrets were empty, and so were the living quarters nearby.
As a last resort, Alfred left the castle to search the courtyard and grounds, in hopes that Lady Kathryn and her maid had slipped out another door and were enjoying the early evening. It was even possible that they were waiting for Mistress Juvet's husband to come fetch her.
 
Wolf returned to Windermere just before dinner. Kit wasn't anywhere in sight, but that was not unusual since the day after their return to the castle. She worked at a furious pace, determined to whip Windermere into shape in the least possible length of time. He marveled at her ability to organize the work force and to pitch right in with them. He wasn't so sure it was appropriate for his wife, a king's daughter, to be on her hands and knees working her skin raw. But she was doing it for him.
She loved him. His beautiful, unpredictable, brash Kathryn loved him and his heart fairly twisted in his chest when he thought of her saying the words, “I love you, Wolf.”
“Hot water to my chamber,” he said to a servant as he walked through the hall. Workmen were climbing down scaffolds and putting away tools, making ready to return to their homes for the night. The great hall already seemed more habitable, Wolf thought as he mounted the stairs. Layers of grime were disappearing, and it was even possible to see clouds through some of the windows.
He wondered if he would find Kit in their rooms awaiting him. He fervently hoped so. There was nothing he'd like better than to share a hot, sensual bath with her. Not that she could get any hotter or more sensual if she tried.
Wolf had never felt such a burning desire for a woman in his life, such utter contentment. And it was entirely due to his sweet wife. The restlessness he'd always felt before was gone. Home now was wherever Kathryn was. She possessed strength and endurance, and Wolf knew with certainty he could rely on Kit's love no matter what happened.
The only imperfection in Wolf's world now was that Philip was still at large, though the threat of his presence was diminishing by the day. It was almost possible to believe his cousin had taken ship for Ireland and would never return, though Wolf was not so naive as to think his problems would be resolved so easily.
The bathwater arrived without Kit, so Wolf bathed alone. At length, when he was dressed again, and just lacing his boots, a knock sounded at the Duke's chamber door.
“Greetings, Your Grace,” Chester Morburn said as he entered Wolf's room
“Chester! You're back!”
“Aye,” Chester replied with a smile. “And we brought with us a very willing guest.”
“Where is he?” Wolf asked, grinning.
“Sir Stephen is in the hall, Your Grace, awaiting you.”
Stephen Prest was very much as Wolf remembered him. His formerly vivid red hair was now a duller shade, more like rusted iron, and there were plenty of white strands interspersed. Otherwise, he had hardly changed. His intelligent face was endowed with the same astute, piercing blue eyes, a long, dignified nose, and a mouth readily given to laughter. He was easily as tall as Wolf, though not as brawny, and his movements were confident and economic. Seeing Sir Stephen again brought back memories of the past. Of happier days at Windermere.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” Prest said as he placed a hand on Wolf's shoulder. His voice was full of emotion. “'Tis a day I thought I'd never see.”
“It pleases me greatly that you returned with my men.”
“Not half so much as it pleased me, Your Grace. And you a duke now...” he said with a laugh. “Your father would have been so proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Chester went to give orders for an early meal for Sir Stephen while Wolf questioned William Guys about their trip. “Problems on the road, William?” Wolf asked, concerned they might have been ambushed the way he and Kit had been.
“No, Your Grace—”
“No. No problems other than the fact that I am no longer a young man,” Prest said with a sigh. “It's been years since I've traveled much: Not since your father's day...” He looked up sadly at Wolf. “'Tis
good
to have you back at Windermere.”
A small table was laid for Stephen, and Wolf sat with him, drinking a mug of ale while the steward took his meal. They reminisced only a little, Wolf being anxious to bring Stephen up to date on the events since meeting Philip at Windermere in the spring.
Stephen shook his head sadly. “I suppose I should seem more surprised by what you say... Tales of some of Philip's evil doings even reached us at Elton. Clarence and Philip were two of a kind, you know. Ambitious. Greedy. Cruel. I tried more than once to have your father remove his brother's family from Windermere, but the earl wouldn't hear of it.”
“My father was too trusting.”
“Your father was a fair and just man,” Prest said, “and he assumed everyone possessed some degree of honor.”
Wolf brooded quietly over Stephen's remarks. Bartholomew had lost Windermere and gotten himself and John killed due to misplaced trust and loyalty.
“I'll not be making those same assumptions here, Stephen.”
Prest studied the new lord of Windermere for a moment before speaking. “I thought not,” he said quietly. He could see that Wolf's scars went deeper than the superficial ones that marred his face, though Stephen sensed a glimmer of hope in the silver-gray eyes.
“My wife met Lady Agatha last spring.”
“Oh? It was our understanding that the lady died some years ago. Soon after Clarence, in fact.”
“Kathryn assured me that the woman she met was flesh and blood,” Wolf replied. “A trifle mad, perhaps, but alive, nonetheless.”
“And might I ask where Lady Agatha is now?”
Wolf shrugged. “We've no more trace of her than we have of Philip. She's disappeared.”
“Philip was never on good terms with his stepmother,” Prest remarked. “I am somewhat astonished to learn she's been living here with him all these years.”
“Well, by the looks of things, their relations were strained,” Wolf said. “He was keeping her prisoner in a tower room at the west end. Apparently, Agatha was able to escape her room by means of a hidden staircase. That's how she made her presence known to my wife.”
Prest nodded. “Your parents were always worried about you boys getting into one of the secret passages, and becoming lost. Some of the hidden entrances were sealed permanently. Your mother was especially fearful...”
“I never knew of any passages.”
“They deliberately kept you ignorant of them.”
“You say there are other hidden passageways?”
“Oh, yes,” the steward replied. “I'll be happy to show you the ones I know tomorrow. In daylight.”
“Secret staircases?”
Stephen nodded.
“Hidden chambers?”
“Intriguing, isn't it? The first Earl of Windermere—your father's grandfather—was rather eccentric. Liked to have a handy means of escape wherever he was.”
“I suppose it has its advantages.”
“That it does, Your Grace,” Prest laughed. “Tell me about your plans here. It looks as though someone has taken a hand to making the place fit.”
“My wife.”
“Organized all this?” Prest asked, looking around at the scaffolding and the progress made thus far.
Wolf gave a nod.
“Your wife is an able woman,” Prest said. “It requires a good bit of experience and skill to organize a task of this magnitude.”
“Lady Kathryn is experienced, Stephen,” Wolf said. “In fact, she managed her father's estate before our marriage.”
One of Prest's thick eyebrows rose a notch. “How unusual. A woman...managing an estate?”
“You'll meet her soon,” Wolf said. He asked one of the servants to locate his wife and request that she join him in the great hall.
“And what of Philip's accounts?” Prest asked.
“My wife and I have both been through the ledgers and everything is in order,” Wolf replied. “But there are some obvious abuses.”
Nicholas came looking for Wolf and found him sitting with the old steward in the hall, near the hearth, where a space had been cleared of all the tools for cleaning and repair. He sat down with the two and Wolf made the introductions.
“Where's Kit?” Nicholas finally asked.
“Someone's gone to fetch her.”
“She's probably found some new little nook to repair or to scrub,” Nicholas said with a grin. “Or perhaps there's a chandelier that needs rehanging or—”
“Possibly,” Wolf laughed. “She might be doing any of those things. But at least she's occupied within the castle and not an easy target for Philip.”
“
Ja
. That's true, Wolf. And she's dedicated to renewing Windermere. I shouldn't make a jest of it.”
“My wife, when you meet her,” Wolf addressed Stephen, “will not appear as you would think a duchess ought.”
“So I gather, Your Grace.”
“She has taken it upon herself to organize—”
“Gerhart!”
The three men turned to face the voice.
“Wolf, sir...Your Grace!” It was Sir Alfred Dunning, approaching quickly. His dark visage boded ill and there was a sickly sheen of sweat across his brow. That he had been so rattled as to call Wolf by the pseudonym Gerhart—
A sense of dread exploded in Wolf. He stood so abruptly, his chair fell behind him. Nicholas and Stephen followed suit.
“What is it—?”
“Your lady, my lord—”
“What—?”
“I cannot find her.” Alfred looked ill.
“What do you mean—you can't find her?” Wolf demanded, already on the move.
“Lady Kathryn was working with Mistress Emma down toward the kitchens,” Alfred said almost breathlessly. “I was here—in the hall. She couldn't have gotten past me. Yet she's gone.”
Nicholas glanced up at the windows. “It's nearly dark, Wolf. I'll gather men and begin searching the grounds.”
“I've been through the courtyard and the west garden.”
“Tell me again,” Wolf said. “Where were you and where was my wife?”
Alfred led them to the huge table in the great hall where his sword and dagger still lay with the sharpening stone and polishing cloth. “I stood here,” he said, planting his feet exactly where he'd been working on his sword. “Workmen were all about, and Lady Kathryn was down through there—” he gestured down the hall towards the kitchens “—with Mistress Emma. I could see them verywell from here.” He was clearly puzzled by their disappearance.
“What were they doing?” Stephen Prest asked as he walked towards the area where the two women had last been seen.
“Mucking about with some old tapestries somewhere over there...”
Stephen approached a dark, scarred wooden door and tried the latch. It was locked. “Near here?” he asked.
Wolf walked over-to the old steward, his brows furrowed ferociously, his eyes betraying his fear. He raked his hand through his hair in frustration. All his thoughts and hopes of a future were quickly receding. There would be nothing without Kit.
“Who would have the key to this room, Your Grace?”
“The housekeeper, Stephen. Why? You don't suppose they're locked—”
“Your pardon, sir,” Stephen said. “If memory serves correctly, this is a small storage room—”
“Quite possibly. But the question is—”

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