Mara grinned, somewhat embarrassed. “Lady Lily is teaching me to paint,” she said. “I do not think I am a very good student.”
Lily laughed. “She is a wonderful student,” she corrected. “Mara and I have been here since Kirk left this morning. She was sad at his departure and I did not want her to be alone, so I brought her here and we have been painting ever since.”
Lionel’s gaze moved from Mara to the painting on the table and back again. “She seems to be doing a marvelous job,” he said. “Please; do not let me disturb you. I merely came to see my daughter, whom I have not seen all morning.”
“Sit with us, Father,” Lily insisted, indicating one of her fine chairs. “Please sit and tell us stories to entertain us. In fact, tell us of the days when you used to live in London. Mara, did you know that my father was friends with Henry Tudor?”
Mara was impressed. “King Henry?” she looked at Lionel with some awe. “Was he your good friend?”
Lionel shook his head. “I was friends with Henry only as much as he found me and my army useful,” he said. “I supported him at Bosworth. That was a long time ago.”
“Only thirty years ago,” Lily insisted. “It is not that long ago.”
“You must have been a very young man,” Mara said to him.
Lionel shrugged. “I was young indeed,” he replied, thinking back to that great and bloody day. “That was the last time I saw significant battle. It was such a glorious and tragic day. In fact, I was near Richard when he was killed. I saw it all. I was also near Matthew Wellesbourne when he lost his hand.”
Mara nodded, enthralled. She didn’t pay much attention to history or battles, but everyone knew of the battle of Bosworth Field when Richard the Third was killed by Henry Tudor’s forces. She had never actually met anyone who had been eyewitness to the event.
“I have heard of Matthew Wellesbourne,” she said. “Was he not a comrade of Gaston de Russe?”
Lionel nodded. “Great Gods, you have never seen such big and powerful men,” he said, reflecting. “In the presence of The White Lord and the Dark Knight, men cowered, including me. I swear the ground shook when they walked.”
He said it so dramatically that the women giggled. “What became of them, Father?” Lily asked. “Did they survive into old age?”
Again, Lionel nodded. “The last I heard they had both survived into old age,” he said thoughtfully. “They are still alive but very old, and I have heard tale that they both had gaggles of descendants. In fact, Wellesbourne has sons that serve our king and I believe de Russe’s sons have conquered half of the known world.”
The women grinned. “It is a wonder anyone survived that battle,” Lily said as she collected her sewing. “I am so glad you did, Father. You were not married to Mother at the time, were you?”
Lionel shook his head. “I was barely twenty years and one when Bosworth was etched into the annals of history,” he said. “I did not marry your mother until I was well past thirty years and she was sixteen years of age. It was an arranged marriage, and advantageous. All good marriages are. Lily, your marriage is also a contract marriage.”
Lily nodded, stabbing at the material. “But I happen to like my future husband,” she sighed. “I am fortunate. But Mara is even more fortunate; she and Kirk love one another. Father, you loved Mother, did you not?”
Careful, Lionel told himself. He could see a window opening and he was about to climb through. He was extremely cautious as he proceeded in the minefield between pleasant conversation and life-changing information.
“I did,” he said softly, his gaze on Mara. “I learned to love her. She was a good woman and I was very fortunate. But she was not my first love; no. First loves are not meant to last. They are the loves that teach us what it means to feel for someone and to adore them. That way, the second time around, it is much easier.”
Mara was listening with interest in between brush strokes. The conversation was engaging and flowing easily. She had no idea he was setting her up for the kill.
“How long where you married?” she asked innocently.
“Over twenty years,” he told her. “I miss her. I miss the companionship and the affection. It is something I never imagined I would have again, with anyone. But it seems that I was mistaken.”
Lily looked curiously at her father. “What do you mean?”
It was the obvious question, one that Lionel was looking for. Now is your chance, he told himself. Be careful!
“Since your brother died, I am without an heir,” he told his daughter quietly. “You know this, and you know how I have lamented the fact. All I had was to go to Michael but instead, it will pass to you and your husband, and the House of le Vay will cease to exist. That has always deeply saddened me, as I have wished that your mother and I had been blessed with at least another son to carry on the name. It is a prayer I have had since your brother died but one that has gone unfulfilled until now.”
Lily was still looking at him curiously. She set her sewing down. “Be plain, father,” she said. “Has something happened?”
Lionel stood up; he had to. He was too close to the lovely faces and when he delivered the news, he didn’t want to be so close that he could feel Mara’s tears. He paced away from them, across Lily’s lovely sitting room, and paused by the lancet window overlooking the bailey.
“Something has happened indeed,” he said quietly. “It would seem that I have been presented with a marriage proposal and it is one I intend to accept. I understand that this young lady, the bride that has been offered to me, has a suitor but she must understand that marriages are not made of love and dreams. They are made of politics and breeding and standing. I will offer this young lady the barony of Wyresdale, of course, and all of the wealth related to it. All of this I will offer her; she will never want for anything. Do you not think she will be amiable to such an offer?”
He turned to look at the young women as he said it. Lily nodded, as did Mara. In fact, both girls looked very sincere in their response.
“The young woman will be most fortunate, Father,” Lily insisted. “I am very happy that you have received the offer. But you said that she has a suitor?”
Lionel nodded, coming away from the window as he moved back in their direction. “A knight,” he said. “An infatuation, I am sure. It will pass. What I offer her is much more substantial.”
Lily’s brow furrowed. “That is true; it is,” she said hesitantly. “But… but what of her feelings? If she has a suitor, she must care deeply for him. Have you not considered that?”
“Of course I have,” he said. “I have considered her feelings fairly and I hope dispassionately. Although I am not unsympathetic, I am sure she will understand that marriage to me will be best for her. She seems to come from an impoverish family so the wealth she will acquire when we marry is beyond her dreams. In the end, her suitor will fade from memory because she will know that marriage to me was the right choice. It is the reasonable choice.”
Lily was more confused than ever. “She is impoverished?” she repeated. “How in the world did you come to an agreement with a bride who carries no dowry?”
Lionel was very serious. “She does not need a dowry,” he said. “She will provide me with a son and that is worth a thousand dowries. Make no mistake; I am agreeing to this marriage because it is my chance to have a son, another heir. Lily, as much as I love you, you are my daughter. A man needs a son. I marry again to have one so that the le Vay name will not die. In exchange for a son, I will make this young woman wealthy beyond her wildest dreams.”
Lily didn’t know what to say to all of that. In fact, she was rather embarrassed that Mara had heard all of it. Her father’s thoughts were deeply personal; too personal to be spoken in front of a mere acquaintance like Mara. When she looked at Mara, rather apologetically, she could see that Mara’s attention was on Lionel. She held a rather innocent expression, as if the passion of Lionel’s words truly had no meaning to her. She didn’t know
the man at all, so her opinion of his feelings was superficial at best. Lily returned her attention to her father.
“Then I am happy for you,” she finally said. “Who is this young woman? Do I know her?”
Lionel nodded. “You do,” he said softly, his gaze finally trailing to Mara. “You are sitting at the table with her.”
Lily’s eyes widened as she looked at Mara, but Mara had no immediately reaction. She had just completed a brush stroke on her half-finished painting so her focus was on her art and not Lionel’s words. But the words eventually sank in and her head came up, looking at Lily and seeing the woman’s shock.
When Mara saw the look on Lily’s face, it began to occur to her that she was the only other woman at the table and surely Lionel would not be speaking of his own daughter. Impoverished. Her suitor, a knight. All of these clues began to go off in her mind like lightning hits and the paint brush clattered to the table.
“What… what’s this you say?” she looked at the man with horror. “Surely… surely you do not mean me?”
Lionel nodded patiently. “I do,” he said, almost apologetically. “Edmund de Cleveley, your guardian and the man entrusted to look out for your welfare, as offered you in marriage to me and I have accepted.”
Mara just stared at him. “That is not possible,” she said flatly. “It is not true.”
“It is. I have the missive from Edmund to prove it. I will be happy to show you.”
Mara was coming to realize that this wasn’t some kind of horrid joke. The room began to sway. “But Edmund is my sister’s husband and…”
“And your legal guardian,” Lionel cut her off, though not unkindly. He could see that she was building up to an explosion and he hastened to calm her. “Lady Mara, do you not understand what an honor you have been given? You shall be Baroness Wyresdale. You will be respected and loved by all. You will wield power and money such as you have never dreamed. All I ask of you is a son to carry on the le Vay name. It is a great honor, my lady, to be the mother of a legacy.”
Mara’s mouth popped open and she stood up, knocking over her chair. When Lionel reached out to keep her from falling, she flailed away from him and ended up on one knee. The look in her eyes was wild.
“Never,” she hissed. “I will never marry you. I am to marry Kirk!”
Lily stood up, putting herself between her father and Mara. “Mara, please,” she begged for calm as she turned to her father. “Father, you will leave now. Please get out of here.”
Lionel stood his ground. “I will not,” he said. “I am not trying to be unkind, but you must understand that there is no choice in all of this. The sooner Lady Mara understands her destiny, the better for us all. I am truly sorry if I have upset her, but the facts cannot be changed. She will be my wife.”
“No!” Mara screamed. “I will not marry you! ’Tis Kirk I love and Kirk I shall marry!”
“Mara, love,” Lily rushed at her, trying to calm her down. “Please do not….”
Mara ripped free of sweet Lily’s grasp, hurling herself towards the lancet window. Before anyone could stop her, she leapt up into the window sill.
“I shall throw myself to the ground if you intend to go through with this… this outrage,” she cried. The tears were beginning to come now, fast and furious. “Edmund had no right to make such a contract. Kirk will be my husband, do you hear? I will not marry you.”
Lionel could see that she was beyond rational. “Lady Mara, please calm yourself,” he pleaded. “I understand your feelings for Kirk. I like Kirk a great deal. But in marriage, feelings do not come in to play. You must understand that this is for the best.”
“The best?” Mara shrieked. “The best for you but not for me. You cannot force me to do this!”
“I am afraid you have no choice.”
“I will marry Kirk!”
“You will not. I am sorry, but you will not.”
“Then I will have no husband at all!”
Lily threw herself at Mara, grabbing her around the body and trying to pull her out of the windowsill. Lionel rushed to the pair, pulling them both out of the window, but Mara was like a wild animal. She screamed and fought and scratched as Lily tried to calm her and Lionel tried to talk reason to her. But she ended up sobbing, and Lily was sobbing, and Lionel had a mess on his hands. He tried to calm them both but neither one of them wanted anything to do with him. They huddled together on the floor and wept.
Defeated, disappointed, Lionel moved away from them and settled in a corner, watching them from the shadows. Mara’s reaction wasn’t surprising; he’d seen the way Mara and Kirk had looked at each other. But he was still convinced it was infatuation and still convinced that Mara would eventually see the advantages of a marriage to him. At least, that was the hope.
Spencer was upset with him. Lily was upset with him. Mara was shattered. Lionel could only imagine how Kirk was going to react but by the time he was informed, they would be married and there would be nothing he could do about it.
Yet, somehow he didn’t see Kirk Connaught simply fading away. It was just a feeling he had. He began to wonder what would kill him first; Kirk or the disease.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kirk could smell Ireland before he ever saw the coast. The green, lush lands and softly rolling hills. When the three de Cleveley ships docked with their load of one thousand men, horses, wagons and supplies, Kirk found himself frantic to reach Wicklow. But it was a three hour march by his calculations and the army set forth at a strong pace.
Niles and Albert had charge of the advance party, sent ahead of the main army to determine the state of the Castle. Kirk and Corwin remained with the column, Corwin still terribly ill from his day-and-night trip across the Irish Sea. The sway of his charger only seemed to worsen his condition and Kirk ignored the man as he wretched bile over miles of rocky road.
Retching and burping that continued until they reached Wicklow. Niles and Albert met the army a mile out, indicating that a sizable rebel force was occupying the estate. Bringing his men to arms, Kirk lowered his visor and, with rage feeding his determination, spread his ranks into a sweeping pattern that marched on Wicklow like a plague of locusts.
The battle had been ugly from the start. The Irish rebels were prepared for the approach of the de Cleveley army and put up a hellish fight. Kirk lost Sir Albert in the first few hours of fighting, and Niles died in his arms just after midnight of the following day. A far too costly war, in Kirk’s opinion. And it only grew worse.
When dawn broke the next day, Kirk threw caution to the wind and sent a suicide force of men into the keep, literally burning the place free of invaders. He lost a good deal of seasoned men, mostly de Cleveley troops, but was rewarded with a full retreat of the enemy by noon. Licking their wounds, the rebels skulked into the surrounding countryside as Kirk raised the gray and yellow de Cleveley standard over the keep he had been born in.
His father’s impaled body had been the first sight greeting him upon entering the large, and now devastated, inner bailey. Ryan Connaught had been strung up by his wrists, spread between two large poles as an object of inspiration for the Irish insurgents. Kirk had promptly vomited at the sight and then ordered his father cut down. He himself carried the man to a resting place against the inner wall, tears falling on the corpse as he brushed away the flies and maggots.
But he had no time to spare his grief or his rage. Corwin located his two brothers, dirty and beaten, shackled in the moldering vault. But they were alive and unharmed for the most part, greeting Kirk with kisses and tears. The eldest Connaught learned that his mother had been taken by the rebels, her whereabouts unknown. A short search of the surrounding area had discovered the woman murdered, and Kirk’s rage developed into full-blow madness.
The second night after nearly two days of continuous fighting, Kirk, Steven and Drew found themselves on the battlements as six hundred English troops patrolled the grounds and Castle perimeter. To gaze at the three men would have bee
n to notice identical characteristics, an expression here or a gesture there. Whereas Kirk and Drew had similar coloring and features, Steven was fair, his blue eyes and blond hair in direct contrast to his brothers’ dark countenance.
The Irish eve was amazingly mild, the smell of rain in the distance. Kirk was weary, but his murderous emotions kept him from seeking his pallet. With his mother and father killed, his thoughts lingered solely on those of revenge.
And his brothers were aware of the fact. But they were also aware that unless Kirk intended to kill every peasant in the county of Wicklow, he would never find the culprits.
“Why do not you sleep, Kirk?” Steven asked his brother quietly. “Drewie and I have the watch. You have been awake for days, lad, and it shows.”
Kirk grinned in spite of himself, rubbing his stubbled face. “So I am not my beauteous self, am I?”
Drew shook his head. “Christ, you’re an ugly man. No wonder you have never married.”
A dull twinkle came to Kirk’s eye. “A few months will see that changed, lads.”
Both Steven and Drew turned to him with surprise. “Is that so?” Steven snorted. “God’s Blood, I pity the woman. How much did you pay her, Kirk?”
Kirk chuckled. “There’s not enough money in the world to buy this woman. She’s priceless.”
His brothers grinned. “Priceless? Do tell, lad.” Drew was snickering.
Kirk sighed heavily, leaning against the parapet as he gazed into the clear night sky. “She’s a beautiful lass. Silken dark hair and the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. Her name is Mara and if you so much as sneeze in her direction, she’ll put her fist through your nose before you can blink.”
Drew raised his eyebrows. “A fighting wench, eh?”
Kirk grinned. “Not when handled correctly.”
His brothers let up a collective “oh”, a knowing sound that suggested they understood their brother completely.
“You have bedded her, then,” Steven said.
Kirk crossed his thick arms. “It wasn’t like that, Steven. I am in love with the girl.”
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