His hands moved to her thighs again, pulling her closer as he responded to her kisses. “And have no doubt that I will return,” he breathed, feeling her love-slick sheath draw him in. “I love you, Mara. Always remember that.”
The sun rose before they realized it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Micheline had spent an entire day and night in the small, dingy little tower room, peering from the skinny lancet window that emitted light and air into the room and wondering what on earth was going to happen to her. Now, as dawn broke, she was terrified, hungry, and cold. It would seem the curse of The Darkland was infecting her as well.
Thank God Mara is away, was all she could think. Stoic in her fate, she comforted herself by knowing that Mara was safe with Kirk, far away from the hellish walls of Anchorsholme.
The chamber had become her tomb, both comforting and terrifying. Huddled against the wall beneath the lancet window, she could hear the activity below as the people began to go about their day. She wondered when, or if, Sir Corwin would return with something to eat or perhaps something to stay warm with. She had nearly frozen during the night as the tomb turned to ice in the cold temperatures. The walls bore no warmth. She had felt as if she was in a grave.
With the cold and the fear came the reflection of her actions. Perhaps she should not have confronted Edmund and Johanne as she had. Perhaps she simply should have accepted things as they were. At least she would have been safe, but the cost would have been her self-respect and, in a manner, her very soul.
She cringed every time she thought of the pair, trying not to think of them, now wondering what her destiny would be. Would Corwin tell Kirk what had become of her when the man returned from Quernmore? If he did, Kirk surely would tell Mara, and her sister was not very good at keeping her mouth shut. She might even go after Edmund and Johanne for what they did and… Micheline shuddered. The situation might go from bad to worse.
As Micheline sat in the corner and chewed her nails, the door rattled. She jumped, terrified, her gaze on the door and positive that Edmund was about to come charging through with a dagger in his hand. She could hear the old bolt being thrown and she stumbled to her feet, preparing to defend herself. As the door swung open, she shrieked, but two familiar faces shushed her harshly.
“My lady!” Lady Valdine hissed, holding up her hands for silence. “You must not…
“… make a sound lest Lord Edmund…”
“… hear you!”
Wanda shut the door swiftly as the two rushed into the room. Micheline was so startled, and so relieved, that she ended up stumbling back against the wall and sliding to her buttocks. The women had bundles in their arms and immediately went to Micheline as she cowered against the wall.
“My husband told me what happened,” Valdine said. “Are you…”
“… injured, my lady?”
Micheline shook her head as Wanda knelt on her other side. “I am not injured,” she said. “But I am cold and hungry.”
Valdine nodded as she pulled out a sack from amongst all of the items she had brought. “We have brought you food,” she said. “We have also…”
“… brought fresh clothing and water with which to bathe. Do you feel strong enough?”
Micheline accepted a hunk of brown bread from Valdine and tore into it, starving. “What of Corwin? Where is he?”
Valdine looked rather somber and because she dampened, so did her sister. “There is great trouble in de Cleveley’s Irish lands,” she said. “My husband…”
“… has taken an army and gone to meet…”
“… Sir Kirk on the docks of Fleetwood. They leave…”
“… for Ireland tomorrow morning.”
Micheline swallowed what was in her mouth. “Leaving for Ireland?” she repeated. “Kirk is going to Ireland? But where is my sister?”
Valdine produced a bladder of wine and handed it to Micheline. “We can only assume she…”
“… is still at Quernmore Castle with Lord le Vay. Perhaps…”
“… Sir Kirk has asked that she remain there while he away. It would…”
“… be the safe thing to do.”
Micheline thought on that as she sipped the wine. “Then I am glad,” she murmured. “I am terrified of what will happen if she returns here.”
Valdine and Wanda nodded in unison. “We can only assume…”
“… that Sir Kirk will not want her returned here while he is unable to protect her. Corwin…”
“… had hoped that Sir Kirk would return shortly to escort you from Anchorsholme, but…”
“… he is leaving for Ireland on the morrow and we do not know when he shall return. Therefore…”
“… we must find someone else to take you from this place.”
Micheline gazed at the pair as she took a big bite of tart, white cheese. “Take me where?”
Valdine shrugged. “There is…”
“… a priory in Crosby. Corwin thought perhaps…”
“… you could seek sanctuary there. You must…”
“… leave Anchorsholme, my lady. If Edmund finds you…”
“… he will kill you himself. He ordered you…”
“… dead and you are clearly not dead.”
Micheline knew that. Still, to hear them speak of it was terrifying and sickening. Her chewing slowed. Swallowing the bite in her mouth, she sipped at the wine again. She was pensive.
“How do you plan to remove me from this place?” she asked. “It will not be a simple thing. You must disguise me somehow.”
Valdine and Wanda nodded, mirror image. “We will seek help,” Valdine said. “We will…”
“… collect peasant clothing and…”
“… find a soldier who will escort you to Crosby. We promise we…”
“… will take you from this place, my lady. We do not want…”
“… to see you end up as the others have.”
Micheline didn’t have much of an appetite any more. Her pale eyes moved between the two women, seeing that they, too, were afraid but nonetheless willing to help her. She was truly touched that they should risk themselves so. But in their eyes she saw more than fear; she saw anguish. It was a telling expression.
“You know who has done the killing,” she murmured, a statement more than a question. “You know who does these terrible things.”
Wanda looked at her sister, but Valdine was looking at Micheline. She didn’t reply for a moment. “We have a suspect,” she said quietly. “But there…”
“… was nothing we could do to help. The young women…”
“… were taken in the night before…”
“… we could do anything to help. My husband…”
“… would never speak of the disappearances. He said…”
“… it is better to let the dead lie before the same thing…”
“… happens to us.”
Micheline studied them intently. “Did Corwin ever try to help the women?” she asked. Then, a dark glimmer came to her eye. “Or… dear God, was he a party to the crimes?”
Valdine lowered her gaze. “We suspect that…”
“… Edmund threatened to harm us if…”
“… he did not do as he was told.”
Micheline’s eyes widened. “Do as he was told?” she repeated. “What was he told?”
Valdine shook her head, her features paler than usual. “Please,” she begged softly. “Do not…”
“… ask questions that you will not…”
“… like the answer to. My husband has asked us to…”
“… remove you from Anchorsholme and that…”
“… is what we shall do. Do not ask more than that.”
Micheline didn’t like any of what she was hearing. Too much pointed to Corwin as a source of guilt in The Darkland’s disappearances but she didn’t say anymore. Perhaps she was wrong. He had, after all, saved her. All she could think of at the moment was getting out of Anchorsholme. The rest she would
worry about when she wasn’t in mortal danger.
“I will not,” she told them. “I am deeply grateful for your help. And I shall be ready to leave as soon as you have found someone to escort me.”
The women didn’t say much more after that. As Micheline finished off the remainder of the food, Valdine and Wanda helped her change into warmer clothing. They also fashioned a pallet for her out of the blankets they had brought. They tried to make her as comfortable as possible in her tower prison, all the while thinking of the plans that lay ahead. They had to remove Baroness Bowland and inconspicuously as possible, which would not be an easy task. Although Corwin had sworn them to secrecy, the ladies knew that they would need help.
The population of Anchorsholme held no love for Edmund. There was too much fear and contempt there for the man, something that was ingrained into the history of the castle. They would have to depend on that hatred in order to save the baroness’ life.
“The missive arrived this morning,” Le Vay said softly. “I have already read it. I am sorry, Kirk.”
It was just after sunrise in Lionel’s lavish solar with its hide rugs and glass from Venice. It spoke of a man well-traveled and wealthy, but Kirk didn’t pay any notice. He had been summoned from his bed several minutes earlier with news of a missive for him newly arrived from Anchorsholme. He had been curious but not concerned, and that had been his undoing. He had been caught off guard.
Now, he was staring at a piece of vellum upon which was inscribed hastily written words. He recognized Edmund’s writing, almost unrecognizable scrawl. All he could feel as he read the words, over and over, was grief. Pure, unmitigated grief.
“I suppose in hindsight it is not a surprise,” he finally said. “We knew there were winds of revolt, but my father….”
He sighed heavily, unable to continue, as Lionel watched him carefully. The missive had carried bad news indeed and he was not without compassion.
“I never knew your father,” he said quietly. “I understood he was a magnificent knight.”
Kirk nodded slowly, thinking on the man he favored greatly, now cut down by rebels. My father is dead. It made him feel sick to think about it.
“He was,” he murmured, realizing his throat was tight with emotion. “I shall miss him.”
Lionel could feel the man’s sorrow and he was deeply sympathetic. “I know what it is like to lose someone you care for,” he said after a moment. “I lost my son several years ago when he was newly knighted. He was cut down by archers during a siege at Kenilworth Castle. It was perhaps the worst day of my life.”
Kirk glanced up at the man. “I remember when that happened,” he said. “I knew your son, if you recall. Michael was a fine man.”
Lionel shrugged, not particularly wanting to relive that agony. It was still his daily companion, like a ghost that never went away. He gestured at the vellum.
“What else does Edmund say about the siege?” he asked. “Don’t you have brothers at Wicklow as well?”
Kirk looked back at the missive. “I do,” he replied, “but he does not mention them. Just my father. He says I am to meet Anchorholme’s troops at the port tomorrow morning. We sail for Wicklow immediately.”
Lionel nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I shall have Spencer muster six hundred troops for you to take with you but I think, given his injury, that I will keep him here with me. I will send another knight in his stead.”
Kirk nodded faintly, not giving much thought to the fact that Spencer’s injury wasn’t that serious and le Vay was more than likely keeping him behind because he was afraid he would lose the man to Kirk’s temper were he to send him to Ireland. Kirk had more important things on his mind, reflecting on his father, his mother, his brothers, and losing himself in a world of anguish and sorrow. The more he tried to fight off the feelings, the more they swamped him. Eventually, he set the missive aside and leaned forward in his chair, head in his hands. Grief swallowed him.
Le Vay rose from his padded chair, moving away from Kirk to give the man a bit of privacy to mourn. He went to stand near the lancet window, watching the bailey of Quernmore Castle come alive in the early morning. This small Norman fortress had been in his family for three hundred years, close to the western coast of Lancashire where it had fended off Celtic invaders and other marauders during that time. It had seen much action.
“What more can I do for you, Kirk?” he asked softly, turning away from the sights and sounds of the bailey to face the distraught knight. “How can I help?”
Kirk removed his face from his hands, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You have already pledged men and support, my lord,” he said hoarsely. “You have already done much that I am grateful for.”
“You would do the same for me.”
Kirk nodded, rising wearily to his feet. “I will help Spencer muster the troops.”
“Kirk,” le Vay came away from the window, his gaze intense. “Spencer can do this without your help. In fact, I would prefer if you stayed away from him.”
Kirk knew what he meant. He waved the man off. “I will not harass him,” he assured le Vay. “This is business. I do not mix it with personal feelings.”
Le Vay sighed faintly, thoughtfully. “I would not presume to question your honor, but I would feel better if you stayed away until the troops are prepared,” he said. “I am an old man. I worry. You will do this for me.”
Kirk smiled weakly. “If I were to swear on my oath, would you believe me?”
“I would. But I still want you to stay away.”
Kirk simply nodded, not having the energy to argue with the man. But there was one more thing on his mind as he headed to the solar door.
“My lord, you asked if there was something more you could do for me,” he paused by the big oak panel, open to the darkened keep beyond. “I believe there is.”
“Name it.”
Kirk hesitated a moment before speaking. “Lady Mara,” he said. “I will not be able to return her to Anchorsholme myself.”
“I will send her with an escort.”
Kirk was visibly relieved. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate it.”
Le Vay’s dark eyes twinkled. “I will make sure not to send Spencer as her escort.”
Kirk rolled his eyes. “A wise choice, my lord,” he said. Then, he sobered. “In fact, it would be wise to keep the man away from her. Permanently.”
Le Vay sobered as well. “I will make sure he understands that.”
Kirk nodded shortly and left the room without another word. Lionel watched him go with a heavy heart, feeling sad about the circumstances at Wicklow that had robbed Kirk of his father. But such was the way of the world. Battles, and death, were part of the common fabric. They had all known their fair share of it.
As he turned away from the door, he noticed Kirk’s missive on the floor and bent over to pick it up. As he put it on the table, he noticed the second of the two missives Edmund had sent him. He’d only opened the first one because Kirk had been insistent about it. Kirk hadn’t known the contents of the second missive so Lionel had set it aside as the more pressing issues in the first missive had taken over. In fact, he’d forgotten about it until now.
Alone in the solar, Lionel popped the seal on the second missive and read the contents. He read it again. His mouth popped open and his bushy eyebrows lifted. He read it three more times before the meaning actually began to sink in. Even then, he could hardly believe it.
What he read shocked him to the bone.
Kirk had been summoned shortly after sunrise by a servant and had left Mara to their cozy bed, warm and snug. She drifted in and out of sleep as the sun broke the horizon, her dreams on Kirk when she slept and her thoughts on him when she was awake. She could smell him in the bed linens, on her hands, and on her body. Everything about the man made her feel deliriously warm and happy and safe.
But those thoughts ended when a gull took rest upon the windowsill, squawking. Mara lifted her head, eyeing the gull unhappily
as it preened its feathers and squawked. Hanging over the side of the bed, she grabbed the nearest thing she could grab, her shoe, and tossed it at the window. Insulted, the gull flew off as the shoe clattered to the floor.
The gull reminded her of the sea, and the sea reminded her of Kirk and his departure for Ireland. Sadness swamped her but she fought it, not wanting to be an emotional wreck about it. She had been given the chance to rage about it, to beg Kirk not to go, but that was over with now. She was coming to see that no amount of pleading would keep the man from going. She needed to come to terms with it. She thought, perhaps, he would want it that way. Perhaps she needed to grow up a bit, as befitting the future wife of a warrior.
There was cold water in the basin next to the bed and she remembered the bar of soap Lady Lily had given her. Rising in the chill of the room, she found the precious soap in her satchel and used it to wash with, cold water and all. She hooted as she splashed the water on her face and swabbed off her body. The smell of freesia was heavy and delicious. Having existed for so long with only the bare necessities of life, something luxurious and feminine was thrilling. Once she was washed and moderately dried, she tucked the precious soap away again.
As she pulled her shift over her head, there was a knock at the door. Hesitantly, Mara went to open it a crack, peering out into the darkened landing.
Lady Lily stood in the weak light, swathed in finery and smiling timidly. “Good morn to you, my lady,” she said pleasantly. “I… I thought you could use some assistance in dressing this morning. I have not had much opportunity to properly speak with you and I should like to remedy that.”
Mara wasn’t quite sure what to say. Seeing Lily’s lovely face brought on stabs of jealousy that she quickly pushed aside. She remembered how kind and accommodating Lily had been the night before when Mara had been in a panic about Kirk and Spencer’s battle. In fact, Lily had gone out of her way to comfort her, something Mara didn’t really think about until this very moment. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so resistant. She opened the door wider.
“Come in,” she told her.
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