Mara paused by the gate. Against her better judgment, she felt herself softening and she let go the latch, half-open, as she gazed at the knight. His back was to her as he lowered himself on the bench, staring over the waters of the pond.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said softly. She did not know what else to say. “How did she die?”
He tore a leaf from a dead foxglove, picking at it distractedly. “Some strange female ailment. Her mother would not tell me everything, only that she bled to death somehow.” He could hear Mara’s footfalls as she came up behind him and he repressed the urge to look over his shoulder. As long as she was listening to him, he intended to keep her occupied. Even with a story that brought tears to his eyes. “She was a lovely girl. Tiny, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. And she could sing like an angel.”
Mara knew she shouldn’t be listening to him; he had been trying to confuse and intimidate her all evening and she had no reason to believe that this was anything other than a ploy. But because he sounded so sincere, she could not help but listen.
“I cannot sing,” she said, still standing behind him. “My sister can, a little.”
Spencer tossed the leaf he had been toying with into the pond. “I miss my Genevieve. I miss her laughter, her smile. And I suppose when I saw you… well, the attraction was instant. And I saw a chance for happiness again.”
Mara was feeling rather torn; he sounded so pathetic. But the fact remained that she wasn’t interested in him no matter how sorrowful his past. No matter how much he was attempting to draw her to him. Impulsively, she plopped onto the bench beside him.
“I feel for you, Sir Spencer, truly,” she said. “But the fact remains that I am not Genevieve and I am not interested in marrying you. When I flirted with you earlier today, it was for no other reason than to make Kirk jealous. I am truly sorry if I gave you false hope, but you must understand that I love Kirk and I shall be his wife. There will be another woman to heal your heart, I am sure. But that woman is not me.”
Spencer turned to her, studying the beauty of her face. “You say that with such certainty. How can you know?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “And I ask you, how can you know that I am the woman to replace your Genevieve? If, in fact, she truly existed at all.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “I would not lie to you, my lady.”
“Not even to entice my pity and, mayhap, even my comfort?”
“Nay,” he shook his head slowly. “Is that what you thought?”
She shrugged. “You have spent the evening truly to dissuade me from Kirk. What else am I to think?”
“I was simply trying to help you think clearly, but I will admit it was for purely selfish reasons.” His gaze raked her. “But Genevieve… she was very, very real. And the woman who was casting you the evil eye all night is Genevieve’s older sister.”
Mara’s eyebrows rose in mild astonishment. “Lady Lily’s woman? But you said you had rejected her suit.”
He turned away, his eyes lingering on the pond. “I did. When Geni died, Juliet took it upon herself to marry me. Only I wanted nothing to do with her and she resents me for it.”
Mara shook her head, rubbing her arms against the chill of the night. “How terrible for all of you,” she said. After a moment, she cast Spencer a long glance. “Then surely you of all people should see the reality of what I am telling you. As you rejected Juliet’s suit, I am rejecting yours. I am simply not interested.”
He refused to look at her, instead, tearing off another dried twig and tossing the pieces into the pond. “I can change that.”
“I do not want you to change it,” she said firmly. But her tone was kind. “Spencer, I love Kirk. If you loved Genevieve, then you can understand my position. Please do not make this difficult.”
His jaw ticked, his face ghostly beneath the haunting moon. “It was not my intention to be difficult,” he said softly. “But I know I can make you happy if you will only give me a chance. Kirk is the only beau you have ever known; how do you know he is the man to love and cherish you for the rest of your life? He guards The Darkland, for Heaven’s sake. The man has allowed several murders to happen, overlooking the fact that his liege is a vicious monster simply because he is afraid to confront the truth. Is that the kind of man you wish to marry? Loyal to his oath to the point of injustice?”
Mara never had the chance to reply. A soft hum filled the air and Spencer bolted to his feet, his hand moving to the sword strapped to his thigh. Mara gasped, stumbling away from the bench as flashes of moonlight against metal blinded her. And she knew, even before she saw the face, who had come upon them.
Stone-gray eyes that were as cold as the blade of his broadsword.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kirk faced off against Spencer beneath the silver moon, blade upon blade, will against will. And from the look in Spencer’ eyes, Kirk knew it would not be an easy fight.
“So you bring her into the night to feed her lies against me.” Kirk shook his head slowly. “I once considered you my friend, Spencer. I can see that I was mistaken.”
Spencer did not waver. His hand was steady, his broadsword against Kirk’s. “You were not mistaken, my lord. But there are times when friendship pales in comparison to desire. And in response to your accusation, I did not feed the lady lies against you. Nothing I have said has been untrue.”
Kirk regarded him carefully, his words directed at Mara. “Has he been bold against you, lass?”
Terrified of what was to come, Mara shook her head. “Nay, Kirk. He never touched me.”
“But he has tried to turn you against me.”
Tension filled the air. And Mara knew, once the battle started, it would only end when death claimed one of the combatants. And the thought that Kirk might fall victim scared her to death.
Quickly, she moved to his side, a gentle hand on the arm that held the sword. “He could never turn me against you,” she said softly. “Please come back to the hall with me. I want to dance.”
“In good time, lass,” he said steadily. “After I take care of your suitor.”
“I do not want you to ‘take care’ of him.” She tugged on his arm. “I want you to come with me, now. Please?”
Kirk moved away from her, placing her out of the line of fire. “Return to the hall and find Niles,” he told her. “Tell him that I have need of him.”
Mara watched the men tense, preparing for the first strike. “Nay!” she cried. “Kirk, please do not! I promise I shall…!”
“There will be rules established, my lord.” Spencer interrupted Mara’s pleas. He sounded so terribly cold. “To the death.”
“As expected.”
“No mercy.”
“None given.”
“And the lady belongs to the winner.”
“The lady belongs to me.”
Spencer cocked an eyebrow, watching Kirk as the man circled around, bringing them further and further away from Mara. When the blows started, they would be hard and furious and if she happened to be in the way, the results could be deadly.
“If I win, my lord, she will belong to me.”
Kirk continued to move back, away from the wall lest he be trapped against it. Spencer’ blade was still poised against Kirk’s as he followed the man’s movements, his young face determined and fearless.
“You shall not win.”
The first blow came heavy, sparks flying into the damp night air. Mara screamed with fear as Kirk plowed into Spencer with an unearthly strength. Knowing she had been forgotten, she did not try to stop the battle. She suspected there was only one man who had a chance of bringing about a bloodless cessation. Turning on her heel, she raced for the keep as fast as her legs could carry her.
The men locked in combat never saw her leave. Spencer was meeting Kirk’s onslaught admirably, but in truth he was having a difficult time. Kirk was larger, stronger, and had the advantage. But Spencer was young and quick, providing a reluctant target for Kir
k’s rage. Sparks from the broadswords burst against the backdrop of the dead garden as the battle raged.
Kirk backed Spencer against the small bench overlooking the pond. But the young knight deftly leapt over the seat, sloshing through the water with Kirk in pursuit. The noise was deafening as broadswords met with each other, the old bench, and in one case several stalks of dead foxgloves.
A few servants had heard the commotion and came to watch, joined by several soldiers. It wasn’t often that they were treated to a true swordfight, with the grace and skill that made the spectacle exciting to watch. But it was also apparent that the stakes of this match were high, higher still when Kirk landed a heavy blow to Spencer’ armorless forearm. Blood streamed from the wound, sprinkling the ground with every move.
“Why do not…” Spencer grunted as he countered Kirk’s thrust. “… you simply leave the lady to a younger man. Do you truly think you can…” he grunted again as he narrowly avoided being gored. “… make her happy?”
Kirk would not be distracted with chatter. With a growl, he lunged for Spencer, anticipating the man’s reaction and thereby countering. The result saw Spencer stabbed in the shoulder.
“You have no idea what you’re saying,” he breathed, taking a step back as a wounded Spencer took the offensive. “We are very happy. More so after I marry her. Why couldn’t you have simply left her alone?”
“Because I want her.” Spencer backed Kirk against a cluster of dead daisy bushes. Kirk simply plowed through the bramble, fending off the younger knight’s energetic blows. “When you saw her for the first time, did you not feel the same?”
“I did.”
“And if she had been involved with another man but not yet betrothed, would you have still pursued her?”
The vicious thrusts slowed, coming to an unsteady halt. Panting and sweating, the men stared at one another.
“Mayhap,” Kirk said quietly. In truth, he would have done exactly what Spencer had done. “But tell me; if it were you she was involved with and I attempted to woo her away from you, would you not react as I have?”
Spencer’ expression tightened. “I would have killed you.”
There was nothing more to be said. The swords came up again.
The great hall was warm and smoky, smelling of meat and dogs. Mara raced into the hall, searching frantically for Lord le Vay. But the only familiar face she saw was that of Lady Lily, seated at the head table with her relatives. All jealousy for the woman aside, Mara pushed her way through the crowd of people and servants.
“Where is your father?” she demanded breathlessly.
Lily looked shocked. “I… I believe he has gone to his solar with my uncle. Is something wrong, Lady Mara?”
Mara realized she was very close to tears. And Lady Lily’s kind eyes somehow intensified her anguish. “Kirk… he and… oh, I must find your father!”
Lily did not question her further. It was apparent that something was very, very wrong. “Then I shall take you to him immediately.”
They ran from the hall. Lily led her through the tall, narrow foyer and into a smaller corridor. To their left a warm room beckoned, scented of hides and liquor. Lionel was seated before the fire, laughing softly with an older man as his daughter and Mara stumbled into the room.
“Father!” Lily said. “Something is…!”
“It’s Kirk, my lord,” Mara gasped. “He has challenged Spencer and even now they are battling in the garden. You must stop them!”
Lionel leapt from his chair, his bushy eyebrows aloft. “They are battling?” he boomed. “Great Gods! I told Kirk to leave Spencer alone!”
He propelled his girth from the room, leaving Lily and Mara to follow. Lionel took the long route to the garden, not wanting to enter the great hall and create havoc for his guests with his brusque manner. Skirting the perimeter of the keep, he passed through a small fortified door and emerged into the bailey. He could hear the clash of broadswords almost immediately.
Mara hadn’t realized that Lily was holding her hand as they reached the entrance to the garden. Lionel burst through the gate with the fearful ladies in tow, watching in horror as Kirk backed a bloodied Spencer against the wall with merciless strikes.
“Kirk!” he roared. “Enough!”
Kirk immediately came to a halt, breathing heavily as he turned to the source of the shout. Spencer, seeing that Kirk was distracted, brought up his sword. But Kirk caught the movement, turning away before the man could spear him deep in the belly. Instead, the broadsword passed cleanly though the muscle of his torso, just below the ribs. Had Spencer’ aim been an inch to the right, he would have missed altogether.
Mara screamed as Kirk whirled away from Spencer, bleeding profusely. Lionel rushed forward, putting his rotund body between the two knights.
“Enough, both of you!” he bellowed, his hard gaze on Spencer. “An unfair move, Spencer. You’re too good a knight to indulge in such unethical tactics!”
Spencer pushed himself off the wall, trembling as a result of his blood loss. “It was perfectly legal. My opponent was distracted and, as we know, distraction can be deadly.”
Lionel glared at him. “When I called a halt to this battle, I meant the both of you.” He glanced at Kirk, standing tall and strong in spite of the fact that blood was streaming from his wound. “And you. I told you not to kill Spencer, did I not?”
“He gave me little choice, my lord,” Kirk replied steadily. “I warned him against pursuing the lady and he chose to ignore me.”
Le Vay sighed heavily, looking to his blond-haired captain. “You knew the lady was spoken for and still you pursued her? I find this difficult to comprehend, Spencer.”
Spencer emitted a ragged sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow and gingerly touching the wound in his shoulder. “Some things in the world are worth fighting for, my lord,” he said quietly. “She is one of them.”
Le Vay did not reply for a moment, waiting for Kirk to erupt. But the knight remained silent and Lionel maintained his gaze on the young knight.
“No more, Spencer,” he said, more gently. “It is obvious that you are not meant to have the lady. I would demand you leave her, and Kirk, in peace.”
Spencer eyed his liege before gazing at Kirk. The reluctance, the defiance, was obvious. But the young knight said nothing as he turned away, wearily moving for the gate.
Le Vay watched him stagger his way through the garden, a genuine sadness filling him. Spencer had been devastated by Genevieve’s death two years prior and this was the first occasion the man had shown interest in another woman. An interest that had been proven tumultuous. Still, it showed that the death of his lady had not permanently damaged him; indeed, he was capable of feeling again.
“Lily,” le Vay indicated his daughter, “assist Spencer if you would.”
Lily obeyed, helping the weary knight from the shadowed garden. Mara was left standing alone, her eyes wide, as Kirk and Lionel faced one another.
“This does not please me.” Le Vay’s voice was quiet. “You knew better than to challenge him.”
Kirk’s stance was unwavering. “I explained my reasons, my lord. I was given little choice.”
Le Vay sighed heavily, pondering the situation as Kirk’s wound continued to ooze. The knight had broken out in a cold sweat, indicative of his pain and exhaustion. After a moment, Lionel simply shook his head.
“You will understand when I withdraw my permission for Spencer to accompany you to Ireland,” he said. “And I would suspect you will have little objection.”
Kirk’s stone-gray gaze was even. “I plan to leave before the end of the week. Spencer’s shoulder wound will take longer than that to heal.”
Le Vay cocked an eyebrow. “That is not what I meant and well you know it. I shall not have you two battling each other when it’s the bloody Irish you should be focused on.” He turned away, glancing at Mara as he moved for the gate. “Tend your knight, lady. And I would suggest you keep him out of my sight for
the remainder of the eve.”
Mara nodded obediently, watching the old man leave the garden. Slowly, she turned to Kirk.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Please forgive me for causing all of this.”
He stood there, staring at her. After a moment, he sighed heavily and attempted to sheathe his sword. “You are not responsible, lass. There is no one to blame but myself and Spencer.”
He was struggling wearily with the sword, his left side soaked with a growing red stain and Mara moved forward, practically yanking the weapon from his grip. “Give this to me,” she demanded quietly. “Let us go inside where I can tend your wound.”
He let her take the sword, although it was a struggle for her to simply hold the thing. He continued to gaze at her as she put his great arm around her shoulder, his blood staining her dress. Gently, she urged him forward.
The servants and soldiers that still lingered fled in all directions when Mara and Kirk emerged from the gate. Kirk’s pace was slow as Mara nursed him across the courtyard, exhausted herself from lugging his sword. Kirk wasn’t particularly weak from the battle, but he found himself emotionally drained more than anything. When they entered the dark corridors of the keep, he took the sword from Mara lest it drag her to the ground.
By the time they reached her chamber, blood had stained the top of his hose but the wound was sealing itself. Mara had him remove his tunic, sending a serving wench for hot water and rags. Waiting for the woman to return, Kirk stretched out on Mara’s pretty bed and smeared blood all over the coverlet.
Mara moved to the edge of the bed as he lay with his eyes closed, timidly examining the puncture. It was clean, about two inches in length, and she decided it would be best to simply clean it and bind him tightly. In truth, she had never sewn a wound in her life and was nauseated with the thought of sticking a needle into Kirk’s flesh. Peering closer at the rather sickening injury, she was unaware that his eyes had opened.
“It should take about eight stitches,” he said quietly, watching her turn shades of green. “Small ones, if you please.”
Brides of Ireland: A Medieval Historical Romance Bundle Page 91