Page 59 of Whiskers and Wiles

“Take us back to shore,” Kat ordered Waldorf in a rasping voice, so done with everything about the activity, the day, and all of Oxwick Park that she could not get away from the place fast enough.

Nineteen

Waldorf never would have thoughthe’d see the day when he would either say or think it, but as far as he was concerned, the damnable cat was the hero of the day.

“Quit whining,” he growled at Headland, who continued to bellow and writhe in the bilge filling the bottom of the boat as he rowed quickly to the lakeside. “It’s only a cat scratch.”

Headland ignored him, choosing to carry on like a child. “It’s taken my eye out!” he insisted. “That blasted creature will pay for this. I’ll drown it myself!”

Waldorf sent a look to Kat, mostly to make certain she was still well. She had been traumatized by her brush with death, that much was certain, even though she would likely be loath to admit it. The way she huddled quietly in the back of the boat, hugging and stroking her equally traumatized familiar said more than Waldorf thought someone as brave and stalwart as his beloved Kat would want to say.

Of course, Headland did not know when to keep his mouth closed.

“This an outrage,” the bastard continued to shout, wriggling until he righted himself a bit. He faced Kat, one hand stillclamped over his eye as the scratches on his face burned red in the sunshine. “Youwilllearn your place,” he raged at her. “I swear to God, if it is the last thing I ever do, Iwillsilence and subdue you once and for all!”

Waldorf frowned, his rowing faltering for a moment, though he was close enough to the shore now that the water was only knee-deep. Two of the footmen had waded into the water and grabbed the boat to haul it the rest of the way to the grassy bank. Waldorf barely noted them, however. Something in Headland’s words did not sit right with him.

“Kat wants no part of you,” he told Headland, more like a statement of fact than any argument. He did not need to argue as to whom Kat would choose between the two of them, because he already had complete trust in that outcome. “Leave her alone, man.”

“I will not,” Headland shouted, beyond reason. “I will marry you one way or another,” he told Kat, “and once you are my wife, you will not set foot outside our estate. You will not travel to London, you will not keep company with your scandalous friends, and you most definitely will not continue to serve Queen Matilda and her dangerous ideas of unity.”

Waldorf’s brow shot up, as did Kat’s. He was not entirely certain, but his back itched and his heart sped up, as if Headland had just revealed something of importance that he should not have.

Kat stared at him incredulously for a moment. “You know of my employment with—” She stopped and gasped. “My God!You’rethe wolf at the door!”

Waldorf was not entirely certain what that meant. Those words tickled a memory from a few days ago, but so very much had happened to him and to Kat in the last few days that whatever it was, it had become lost in the pile.

They’d been hauled all the way onto the lakeside at that point anyhow, so rather than bothering with Headland and his stubbornness, or with Kat’s cryptic realizations, he stood and stepped over to offer Kat a hand.

Kat juggled Napoleon carefully in her arms, but as soon as the creature noticed they were close to land, he broke away from her grip and dashed out over the grass, dodging Lady Walsingham and several others who were rushing toward the boat, as if all he wanted was to get away where he could recover from the ordeal in peace.

Waldorf knew very much how the feline felt.

“Come on,” he told Kat, bending towards her in the still unstable boat to half offer his hand and half lift her to her feet entirely. “Let’s be done with this mess once and for all.”

“I am well,” Kat insisted, though she was breathless and distracted as Waldorf helped her to the grass. “We should go after Napoleon.”

Waldorf shook his head, sliding his arm around Kat’s waist once they were on solid ground. “He’ll find his way back. Stray cats always find their way back to the ones they adore, even if they are spitting mad in the interim.”

He managed a warm smile for her as he spoke, keeping her close in his arms, even though there was no reason for him to indulge in such intimate contact anymore. Kat lifted her gaze to him. The stunned confusion her eyes held softened, then vanished altogether, and she smiled.

She looked as though she would say something in reply, and it would likely have been devilishly witty, but Lady Walsingham rushed to interrupt with, “My, what an exciting turn to our exercise!”

Waldorf dragged his eyes away from Kat to stare flatly at Lady Walsingham. He wanted nothing more than to tell the woman precisely what he thought of her foolish games, but thelook of genuine concern and hope that Kat was well stopped him. As her husband had said, Lady Walsingham might have been unconventional and misunderstood, but she was a good woman with a pure heart, and Waldorf found he could not stay angry with her for long.

“Are you well, Lady Katherine? Please tell me you are well,” Lady Walsingham said, moving in to take Kat’s hands, as if the two of them had been bosom friends their entire lives. “I could not bear it if you were drowned and if I were responsible.”

“I am well now,” Kat said, smiling at the woman, then sending that smile sideways to Waldorf. “My greatest hero and champion and the love of my life has rescued me.”

“Yes, we all witnessed Lord Waldorf’s gallantry,” Lady Walsingham said.

“I believe Lady Katherine was referring to her cat, Napoleon,” Waldorf said with pretend gravity.

Lady Walsingham laughed, pressing a hand to her chest, as if she’d had a fright, but all was well now. “He is a brave cat, that is certain. But why was he attacking my poor brother in such a way?”

“Yes, I should like to know that as well,” Lord Walsingham said, stepping forward from the group crowding in around the scene.

Waldorf had not seen the man join his wife at the lakeside. He had no idea that Walsingham was participating in the morning’s activity. If he were honest, he did not like the look of bottled anger in Walsingham’s expression as he gently rested a hand on the small of his wife’s back.

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