Brides of Ireland

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  The tables were full. The only seat at Mara’s table was the one vacated by Niles and the man graciously allowed Kirk to occupy the spot. Ignoring Spencer altogether, Kirk lowered himself onto the bench and kissed Mara’s hand sweetly.

  “You look lovely, love,” he said as if they were alone. “I apologize that my business kept me all afternoon. I hope you were not bored.”

  She shook her head, beaming into his handsome face. She was terribly glad to see him. “I spent the time looking from the window, watching the happenings of the bailey. I watched the blacksmith shoe a large black charger and when the horse tried to bite him, he punched him in the nose.”

  Kirk smiled drolly. “Such lady-like entertainment. Is that all you did?”

  “I took a bath, with some soap that Lady Lily sent me.” She giggled when he held her arm to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. “What do you smell?”

  He closed his eyes, lingering in the fine scent. “Jasmine. Rose.” He growled and sank his teeth into her arm as Mara squealed with delight. “Christ, you taste good enough to eat. I take it that you and Lady Lily have spoken?”

  “Her maid brought the soap. I have not seen nor spoken to Lady Lily.”

  Kirk glanced over his shoulder at the table behind them, reserved for the le Vay family. He knew that Lionel would insist he sit with the family and he smiled, thinking of Mara struggling to maintain her anger in the face of Lady Lily’s overwhelming sweetness.

  “You shall have the chance to thank her personally,” he said. He was still holding her arm, caressing it, as Spencer watched. “When Lord le Vay and his daughter arrive, we shall sup with them.”

  “Hardly, my lord.” Spencer was cool, his eyes fixed on Kirk over his chalice of wine. “Lord Lionel’s sister and her family are visiting from Kent. There is no room for you at the head table.”

  Kirk sensed the man’s pleasure to have informed him that he was being displaced from Lionel’s table. With equal calm, he collected his own goblet and took a large swallow.

  “I hope you like ships, Sir Spencer,” he said casually, “because you shall find yourself aboard one very shortly. Your liege has graciously pledged you to my service when I sail for Ireland later this week to quell a minor rebellion on de Cleveley lands.”

  This was the first Mara had heard of such a thing. She sat straight in her seat, the brilliant eyes wide. “Ireland? You are going to Ireland?”

  Kirk had meant to unbalance Spencer, forgetting the fact that Mara knew nothing of his plans. His expression softened when he saw the shock in her eyes.

  “In a few days, love,” he said softly. “I shall hardly be gone long enough for you to miss me.”

  Her jaw dropped. “But… you have said nothing of this. Why did you not tell me before?”

  He could see the rising storm and hastened to ease her emotions. “Because nothing was for certain until a day or two ago. I saw no need to worry you.”

  “Worry me?” Mara would not be soothed. She was angry as well as surprised. “You are going to Ireland to quash an uprising and you do not have the courtesy to tell me of your future plans?”

  Spencer smiled smugly over his goblet, enjoying Kirk’s distress. Kirk could sense the taunting gaze and it only served to inflame him.

  “You are not directly involved in my military operations, Mara,” he said quietly. “I need not clear my plans through you before I proceed.”

  She gasped with outrage. “I never indicated that you must. Certainly, it would have been polite to tell me what was happening. Simply so I am prepared for your departure which, I find, may not be soon enough for my taste.”

  Even though he was remorseful for his snappish statement, he refused to be baited into a verbal brawl. Collecting Mara’s chalice, he pushed it into her hands. “Drink.”

  “But I do not…”

  “Drink!”

  He nearly shouted at her. Mara took a large swallow, her expression a mixture of fury and fear. Kirk made her take another drink before they continued their conversation, and still another. He was determined to calm her before she veered out of control. And, as he had so often experienced, she could veer out of control quite easily.

  “Now,” he said softly, shifting in his seat so that Spencer could not hear him. “I apologize for my remark. But I am truthful when I say that the business I handle for Edmund is none of your affair. And I did not want to spoil our last few days together with thoughts of my departure looming over our heads. Can you understand this?”

  Her lips were jutted out in a pout, but she nodded. “Aye.” The wall of anger crumbling. “But how long will you be gone?”

  He collected both of her hands, bringing one and then the other to his lips. “I am not sure. Certainly a few weeks. Maybe months.”

  “Months?” she repeated, distressed. “But… you cannot leave me!”

  “You will be well taken care of.”

  “Not at Anchorsholme!” She shook her head firmly, fearfully. “All of those women were murdered while you were away and…!”

  Kirk shushed her sternly. Even though the rumors regarding The Darkland were common knowledge, still, he did not want Mara adding fuel to the fire.

  “No one will touch you.” There was urgency to his tone that she dare not dispute. “Do you understand me? No one will touch you. Or Micheline.”

  Mara would not be convinced. “This is all a convenient ploy,” she hissed. “Edmund is sending you away so that he can kill me!”

  “Nonsense,” he said patiently. “He will not touch you. Have faith in my word, lass, that no harm will befall you. Please?”

  He was terribly sincere. Still, Mara was frightened. Frightened for Kirk facing a rebellion and frightened for herself. But most of all, she simply did not want to be separated from him.

  “Then I shall come with you.” She scooted closer to him, her expression eager as if she thought her idea grand. “I shall be very quiet and obedient and I shall take care of you while you fight.”

  Kirk shook his head sadly. “You cannot come, lass. A battle is no place for you.”

  Mara could feel the sting of tears, the painful ache of distance already piercing her heart. “Please, Kirk,” she whispered. “Please let me come. I promise I shall not be any trouble.”

  He touched her cheek tenderly, feeling the painful swell of longing in him as well. “You would come along on a ship full of men, distracting me with your beauty and sweetness when I should be concentrating on my duties?” He shook his head. “You would be the death of me. Not to mention the fact that I would be quite useless.”

  Mara’s brow furrowed and Kirk saw the glimmer of tears. Grabbing her chalice, he forced her to down the contents in the hope of staving off the tide of emotions. But the alcohol was not having the desired effect and the tears began to fall as he gestured to the serving wench for more wine.

  Just when he thought he had lost her completely, Lord le Vay and his richly-dressed daughter entered the room and Mara’s attention was diverted. A few smiles and a good deal of chatter regarding Lily’s elaborate dress caused Mara to forget her sobs. With another dose of wine and a barrage of kisses to her hands, Mara was calming admirably.

  Though Spencer wished it was he who was doing the calming. The knight had thus far sat silent throughout the exchange, hearing little of the conversation but aware of the body language. Obviously, there was a good deal of emotion between the lady and Sir Kirk and, being a gracious knight, Spencer should have been willing to relinquish his pursuit. But he realized, as he had when he had first seen the lady, that she was one prize worth fighting for. And he further realized he was determined to win.

  Lord le Vay motioned to Kirk as Spencer continued to stare at Mara. Kirk kissed Mara’s hand and left the table without as much as a glance to Spencer. While Kirk found himself being introduced to a flock of le Vay relatives, Spencer saw his opportunity arise.

  Great platters of food were brought from the kitchens, much to the delight of the famished guests.
As a huge boar was set in the center of their table, Spencer immediately sliced off a portion for Mara and placed it neatly on her plate.

  “This bugger was a feisty one,” he said, cutting his own meat from the thigh. “He nearly gored me before I could kill him.”

  Mara, still emotionally fragile, found she had no appetite. But Spencer smiled at her encouragingly, going so far as to cut her meat when she simply sat and stared at it. It took a good deal of coaxing for her to taste it, and even then, she chewed slowly and without enthusiasm.

  Spencer watched her lethargic movements, setting his knife down after a moment. “Is it not to your liking, my lady?”

  Mara shook her head. “It is very good.” She swallowed hard, forcing it down. “I… I am simply not hungry.”

  Spencer was to the point. “Because of Kirk?”

  Mara looked at him. Then, she looked away sullenly. “I find I must apologize for my behavior earlier, Sir Spencer. I never meant to… that is to say, I believe I encouraged your attention and I should not have. Sir Kirk and I are… involved.”

  “Are you betrothed?”

  Her brow furrowed and she stared at her hands. “Well… nay, we are not. But he is going to ask Lord Edmund for permission when we return to Anchorsholme.”

  Spencer stared at her a moment, her silken hair and exquisite profile. She seemed to provoke feelings in him that he had forgotten himself capable of and the desire to continue those warm feelings, expand them, was more than a want. It was a need.

  “Tell me, Lady Mara,” he said quietly. “Is Kirk the only suitor you have known?”

  Mara was thoughtful. “In the true sense,” she admitted. “I have known many men, mostly friends of my father or relatives. But Kirk is the only man who has pursued me.”

  Spencer smiled faintly. “Then tell me; were you to go to the dress maker, would you simply purchase the first dress offered or would you demand to be shown her selection of patterns before making your choice?”

  Mara turned her brilliant blue eyes on him and Spencer was swallowed by their beauty. “What does that have to do with suitors?”

  His pale eyes twinkled. “I mean that you should choose carefully your suitor. Not simply take the first man who comes along.”

  Mara regarded him carefully. “I do not need to sample a variety of men before making my selection. I love Kirk.”

  Spencer’s smile faded somewhat. “Are you sure it is not infatuation?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you said yourself he is the first man who has wooed you. Is it possible that the thrill of his attentions has caused you to believe yourself in love with him when, in fact, he has merely succeeded in blinding you with his charm?”

  Mara frowned. “I am not a fool, Sir Spencer. I love Kirk and he loves me and we shall be married.”

  Spencer cast a long glance at Kirk, currently in conversation with a wrinkled dowager. But the Irish knight caught his stare, the stone-gray eyes blazing across the room. Spencer merely turned back to Mara.

  “Kirk Connaught is a career soldier,” he said quietly. “The man is thirty-three years old and has never been married. Have you never wondered why?”

  Mara shook her head slowly. “Nay.”

  Now that he had her attention, Spencer focused on his food. “Mayhap you should consider that he is not the marrying kind. You could find yourself taking second place in his heart, well behind his love for fighting and his oath to the House of de Cleveley.”

  Mara stared at the man as he devoured his meat, turning wide eyes to Kirk as he chatted politely with the old woman in the severe wimple. She simply couldn’t believe there was any truth to Spencer’s words but was appalled to realize he had given her food for thought. Being rather innocent of men and their games, it was difficult to resist the confusion.

  “You are wrong.” She turned away from Kirk and from Spencer, taking another bite of meat simply to occupy herself. “Kirk and I shall wed and he shall love me best of all.”

  Spencer continued to eat. “I certainly hope so, my lady,” he said softly. “Speaking for myself, of course, I would most certainly love you best of all. There would be nothing to stand in the way of my devotion.”

  Mara looked at him sharply. “Sir Spencer, I hardly know you. And I have no interest in becoming your wife.”

  Spencer’s expression did not waver. He wiped his mouth and took a long drink of wine. “Mayhap not at the moment. But know that if your betrothal with Kirk fails to come about, I shall be eager to take his place.”

  A few of the guests had finished their meal and took to the floor as the musicians played a delicate ballad. Mara refrained from answering Spencer’s declaration, partially because she was uncertain how to respond, and instead turned her attention to the dancers. A few more couples joined the gaiety and it took Mara a moment to realize she knew one of the dancers very, very well.

  Kirk and Lady Lily were enjoying themselves as they whirled around the floor. Even though Kirk was holding the lady at a proper distance, Mara was infuriated. Intending to interrupt their cozy clutch, she hardly noticed a wrinkled hand in her face.

  “Lady Mara.” Lord le Vay was smiling at her. “Would you care to dance to a truly Irish folk ballad?”

  Mara was caught off-guard by his handsome, old face. Spencer leapt to his feet, swallowing the bite of food in his mouth.

  “Good eve to you, my lord,” he said formally. “I apologize for my bad manners, but I did not see you coming.”

  Le Vay waved him off. “Of course you did not see me. You were too busy gawking at Lady Mara.” He thrust his hand in her face again, the implication obvious. “Certainly, I can hardly blame you, but now I intend to occupy the lady myself. A dance, if you please?”

  Mara stammered. “But… surely you have not yet eaten, my lord. You have only just arrived.”

  He waved her off. “There is the rest of the night for eating. Now, I wish to dance with a lovely lass.”

  Mara had no choice. As le Vay guided her onto the stone floor, Spencer caught a glimpse of Kirk and Lily as they enjoyed the dance. Pale blue locked with stone-gray and Spencer realized that Kirk was quite unhappy for three very good reasons; forced to dance with Lady Lily, being separated from Mara while Spencer took the offensive, and also with the fact that le Vay was very busy swinging Mara around the dance floor.

  But Spencer wasn’t unhappy in the least. In fact, things were going rather well. Taking a drink of his wine, he turned his back on Kirk and Lily as they whirled by. Glancing over his shoulder as Lily’s brilliant green surcoat moved away from him, he drained the contents of his chalice; aye, things were going very well indeed.

  As Spencer gloated in triumph, across the room Mara was wallowing in misery. Lord le Vay was a nice man but she had no interest in his conversation. Her only concern was Kirk, still holding Lady Lily as the Irish ballad ended and a snappy jig began. Le Vay was rattling on about something and she ignored him, instead, watching as Kirk tried to pull away from his dance partner. But the woman was persistent and as Mara found herself forced to jig with the father, Kirk found himself forced to jig with the daughter.

  Fortunately, Mara could jig like the devil himself. She could easily out-dance le Vay and the old man began to huff and chuckle as he struggled through the dance. Bright blue eyes met stone-gray across the floor and Kirk smiled, his gaze never leaving her even as Lily laughed gaily before him.

  Warmth and emotion flowed between them even though they were several feet apart. But Mara found her attention diverted as le Vay scooped her up in his arms, tossing her to the man next to him. It was part of the dance and she was not surprised nor offended, but she soon lost sight of Kirk as she was tossed from man to man.

  Mara found herself hoping she would eventually be tossed into Kirk’s arms and he would sweep her away from these strange, lively people. And then, once they were alone, he would make her forget all of Spencer’ disturbing words. A tender touch, a soothing word, and the
confusion would leave her.

  A pair of strong arms caught her. Very large arms that held her tight and refused to let go. As the men laughed and the women shrieked in the midst of the lively dance, Mara found herself being whisked from the hall. It took her a moment to realize that Spencer was taking her through the kitchens filled with smoke and stench, carrying her out into the chilly night.

  The kitchen yards were quiet. Mara was genuinely startled by his actions, finally recovering enough to demand he put her down. But Spencer merely grinned, taking her through an arched gate and emerging into a small, well-manicured garden. Only after he closed the gate did he put her to her feet.

  Mara was angry. And she was also very cold in her thin dress. Arms wrapped protectively about her torso, she stamped her foot at Spencer.

  “Why did you bring me out here?” she demanded.

  He smiled lazily, standing in front of the gate so that she could not escape. “It is far more pleasant out here, away from the crowds and the smoke of the hall. Moreover, you were looking rather miserable. I thought you might enjoy a change of scenery.”

  “I am cold. And I want to go back to the hall this instant.”

  He moved toward her. “Then if you are cold, I shall warm you.”

  She did not like the look in his eye. “Sir Spencer, I can guarantee you shall be sorry if you touch me. You needn’t worry about Kirk’s wrath, merely my own. Trust me when I tell you it shall be painful.”

  He stopped, his smile fading. “I… I meant no offense, lady. Certainly I will not touch you if you do not want me to.”

  “I do not,” she said firmly. “I want to go inside.”

  He watched her walk around him, heading for the gate. But he did not follow, instead, strolling toward a bench resting beside the moon-lit pond.

  “I was betrothed, once,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. “She died two years ago, one month before we were to be married. I suppose… I suppose that when I saw you, it brought back the feelings I held for Genevieve all over again and naturally, I have had a difficult time controlling myself.”

  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.