The Bride of Windermere by Margo Maguire Page B

the saddle pack draped over his shoulder. He looked dark and ominous as well as handsome and terribly masculine in the dim hall. Kit was sure that at the moment, she embodied everything he meant when he called her “Sprout.”
    â€œI wondered at the commotion on the stair,” he said, turning to face her. “You make quite an entrance, Lady Kit.”
    And he was quite a presence, she thought, with blood rushing to her cheeks. She let her skirts fall back to cover her ankles, then straightened her wimple as well as her spine. She doubted any of the ladies at court ever blundered quite so spectacularly before the mighty Sir Gerhart. “I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me again just now.”
    â€œThat’s thrice by my reckoning, my lady.”
    â€œThrice?”
    He merely inclined his head, content to let her figure it out.
    â€œWhen do we leave Windermere, Sir Gerhart?” she asked, ignoring the tally.
    â€œWeary of the place?”
    â€œâ€™Tis the company that tries my patience,” she replied with a sigh. “Windermere itself is a wonderful estate. And the town...it’s more impressive than any I’ve ever seen.”
    Satisfied by her answer, Wolf told her to be prepared to leave two mornings hence.
    Â 
    Bridget’s condition had worsened while she was gone. Kit sat on the. edge of the bed and felt the old woman’s brow. It was cool and damp.
    â€œI won’t be denyin’ it,” Bridget said to Kit, “I feel a mite worse...than just a cold on my chest.” The old woman was quite short of breath, and the words didn’t come easily.
    She was suddenly taken by a spasm of coughing, and Kit was alarmed to see that she was coughing up blood. Kit pulled the blanket away from Bridget’s feet and saw that they were swollen as were her ankles, and legs, halfway up her shinbone. She put her ear to Bridget’s chest and listened to her heart beat, just the way she had been taught by Brother Theodore.
    The symptoms indicated that Bridget’s heart was failing. It was beating erratically, and Kit could hardly feel the throb of it in the old woman’s wrists.
    â€œMaggie, go and fetch the gardener, Will Rose, for me. Quick!” Kit ordered. “If you can’t find him, try to find someone who can get some of his foxglove powder.”
    The old woman was lethargic and hard-pressed to stay awake. Kit experienced a sense of panic, knowing full well that only a miracle could save her old friend.
    â€œBridget, how long have your feet been swelling?”
    â€œOh...” The old woman tried to think of some evasion, but was unable to, not with her Kit looking her straight in the eye. “...some months now...Brother Theodore...he’s been giving me something to help it.” She seemed so frail now. Her eyelids were practically transparent, and Kit could even see thin blue veins running through them. “Did ye...enjoy the fair?”
    â€œYes, it was lovely.” Kit was so distracted, she hardly knew what she’d answered. How could she have gone away and spent the day at the stupid, frivolous fair while Bridget lay here—
    â€œAnd the earl...what...kind of man is he?”
    â€œYou must save your strength, Bridget,” Kit implored her friend. “I’ll tell you of the fair and the earl later, when your strength has returned.”
    Bridget nodded once, then drifted off to sleep again. Kit slid down to kneel on the floor next to the bed. She picked up Bridget’s cool hand and laid her head on the bed next to her. There she waited for Maggie to return.
    Will Rose himself returned with the maid. Kit hovered around him whilst he examined poor Bridget and agreed with Kit’s opinion that the foxglove was needed. He drew Kit away from the bed to talk quietly while they mixed the powdered leaves with water.
    â€œâ€™Tis poison, as ye well know, milady,” he admonished her. “Give her