By dinner, a dozen men were still trying to force it open.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Spencer could see the torches on the battlements of Quernmore in the distance and he sighed with relief; they were almost home. He couldn’t wait to see Lionel’s expression when he told him what had become of Edmund and Johanne. If Lionel didn’t believe him, he’d brought three reliable witnesses with him.
In the darkness of early evening, Micheline rode beside him astride a small gray palfrey, having exchanged her peasant clothing for more suitable attire. Behind them rode Valdine and Wanda, wrapped up in heavy cloaks astride their own palfreys, and terrified of traveling on the open road. Having rarely ventured out of Anchorsholme, they had an unnatural fear of the outside world. Micheline kept glancing back at them to make sure they were well. Since they had tried, and succeeded, in saving her from her prison, she felt an obligation to take care of them.
“They are fine, Lady de Cleveley,” Spencer said when she turned around for the hundredth time since leaving Anchorsholme. “You worry like a mother hen.”
Micheline looked at him, smiling weakly. “They do not look very well.”
Spencer glanced over his shoulder at the pair, riding so close that they were nearly on top of each other. All they could see was their pale faces peering out from behind their heavy hoods.
“How can you tell?” he asked with feigned seriousness.
Micheline giggled. “You’ll not make light of them,” she scolded softly. “They are brave beyond measure.”
Spencer was looking at her, a glimmer in his eye. “I do not make light of them, I assure you,” he said. “They were indeed brave to do what they did for you. But I would say, baroness, that you are braver and stronger because you, in fact, survived the Darkland. I have the utmost respect for you.”
Micheline blushed demurely. “Were it not for you, my lord, I am not sure what would have happened to us.”
Spencer watched her lowered head. She had her sister’s nose and soft shape of the face, but her behavior was far more agreeable and sweet.
“I am sure you would have bested Johanne somehow,” he said, thinking on what had happened two days before. It had been a freakish and shocking happening, but he pushed it aside for the moment. There were more pleasant things to speak to Lady Micheline about. “Now that you have inherited Anchorsholme from your husband, have you thought about what you intend to do with it?”
Micheline’s head came up and she cocked it thoughtfully. “I… I am not sure,” she said. “Live there, I suppose. To tell you the truth, I am still rather stunned about what happened. It is difficult to comprehend that both Edmund and Johanne are dead.”
The glimmer faded from Spencer’s eye. He grew serious. “Not soon enough,” he said. “Surely you knew of the rumors of the Darkland, my lady. Everyone in these parts knew of them.”
Micheline tried not to look too contrite. “I will confess that I had not heard,” she admitted. “My father pledged me to marry Edmund in payment for a debt owed to Edmund’s father, Monroe. If my father knew of the rumors, he never told me. I only learned of them after I came to Anchorsholme.”
Spencer lifted his eyebrows in understanding. “Now that you know of them, surely you know what a blessing Edmund and Johanne’s passing is.”
“I am coming to.”
He smiled confidently. “Anchorsholme will be an inviting and pleasant place once again under your hand,” he said. “I am sure of it.”
Micheline was fortified by his kind words, blushing beneath the moonlight. He seemed like such a kind man; she was coming to like him a great deal. “I hope so, my lord. I will do my best.”
Spencer didn’t say anymore to her after that as the approached the massive walls of Quernmore. It was growing cold and very dark by the time they came upon the great gatehouse with its massive smoking torches, smelling of animal fat. Spencer announced the party to the sentries, who ordered the gates opened. Chains clanked and groaned as the big woodened panels slowly swung open.
They were greeted inside the gatehouse by a few soldiers and a senior sergeant. Spencer wearily climbed off his charger, handing the reins to one of the soldiers and moving to assist Micheline. She was light and slender, sliding easily into his big arms.
“Where is Lord Lionel?” Spencer asked.
“In the keep, my lord,” the sergeant replied. “He is attending his bride.”
Spencer had just lowered Micheline to the ground but he froze, his hands still on her waist as he looked at the soldier. “They are already married?”
The sergeant shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he replied, unaware that the woman in Spencer’s grip was the sister of the reluctant bride. “It would seem that his intended has barricaded herself in a room and they are trying to get her out. A priest is waiting for them in the hall once they manage to purge her from the chamber.”
Micheline gasped and Spencer glanced at her with concern. Without another word to the gaggle of soldiers, he took Micheline by the hand and began walking, very swiftly, towards the keep. Wanda and Valdine slithered off their palfreys and followed, clutching each other and terrified of all the strange men and the strange surroundings.
Quernmore’s keep was a big, square and squat building, four stories including the lower ground floor storage level. It was massive. Micheline skipped after Spencer, hardly able to take the time to view her surroundings as he pulled her through the keep entry and up a rather large flight of spiral stairs that was built into the thickness of the wall. Once they reached the top level, he pulled her down a narrow, arched corridor, ducking his head to avoid the iron wall sconces and their smoking torches.
Almost immediately, they could hear voices and what sounded like a chopping axe echoing in the tight quarters of the passageway. Men were speaking, sometimes barking, and Spencer could hear Lionel’s agitated tone. Turning a corner, they could see the situation of a torn-up door and several soldiers trying to break it down.
“My lord,” Spencer said as he swiftly approached. “What goes on here?”
Lionel looked surprised to see Spencer. But just as swiftly, his attention was drawn to Micheline in Spencer’s grip and the identical women hovering fearfully behind her. His gaze lingered on the women for a moment before he refocused on Spencer.
“Nothing a few dozen soldiers and three months of hard labor will not see resolved,” he said, rather exhaustedly. “I did not hear the sentries. When did you arrive?”
“Just now,” Spencer told him, still eyeing the door. “What has happened?”
Lionel slumped against the wall as he, too, eyed the door. “The Lady Mara has barricaded herself and we are attempting to free her,” he replied. His attention was drawn to Micheline. “Who is your lovely escort, Spencer?”
Spencer looked at Micheline. “My lord, allow me to introduce you to the Lady Micheline de Cleveley,” he said, returning his attention to Lionel with a lift of the eyebrows. “Lady Micheline is the Lady Mara’s sister.”
Lionel’s eyes widened. He focused on Micheline. “Lady Mara’s sis…?” He couldn’t even finish. He pushed himself off the wall and grasped Micheline by the arm. “You are Mara’s sister?”
Micheline was rather intimidated by the man with the busy dark eyebrows. “Aye, my lord.”
Lionel’s hope was renewed. “Perhaps she will open the door for you!”
Micheline knew that wouldn’t happen; but, then again, perhaps Mara might. The sisters had been separated for a few weeks, more separation than they had ever experienced in their lives. Perhaps Mara would be glad enough to see her sister to forget her stand-off and open the door.
“Perhaps,” Micheline nodded, eyeing the soldiers trying to twist the door off its hinges. “But you must send your men away. She will never open the door if she feels threatened.”
Lionel began waving his hands at the soldiers. “Cease!” he hissed. “Drop what you are doing and leave at once. Go!”
The soldiers, weary
and sweaty from hours of exertion, gladly did as they were told. As they backed off from the panel, Lionel turned to Spencer. “You will stand flush against the wall next to the door,” he told him. “If Lady Micheline can coerce her out into the corridor, you can grab her from behind.”
Spencer’s brow furrowed. “Grab her? Why?”
Lionel’s features hardened. “Because this girl has put me through nine long days of madness and foolishness,” he snapped. “I will stand for it no longer. The priest awaits us downstairs and unfortunately, Lady Mara has chosen to be married by force. I shall be happy to oblige her.”
Micheline wasn’t at all thrilled with his reply. It was a struggle not to outright refute the man.
“My lord,” she said steadily. “I was informed that my husband offered my sister to you in marriage.”
Lionel nodded. “He did, and I accepted.”
It wasn’t in Micheline’s nature to resist or go against a directive of any kind. She was too meek. But knowing how Mara felt about Kirk, nothing about this situation made sense to her. She tried very hard to be respectful.
“My lord,” she began again, carefully. “I am not sure if you are aware, but my sister has hoped to wed Kirk Connaught. My husband was not aware of this when he sent you the marriage offer. Had he known, he would not have offered Mara to you.”
“Aware or not, I have accepted,” Lionel repeated. “This is not a subject open to debate. Mara will become my wife before the night is over.”
Micheline didn’t like the soullessness from the man, and that dislike fed her bravery. “Do you understand that she is in love with another man and he is in love with her?” she asked. “I am sure if you understood this, you would not make such a callous statement.”
Lionel eyes narrowed. “It does not matter,” he said. “Furthermore, this is a contract between Edmund and me. With all manner of respect, my lady, this is none of your affair and you will kindly stay out of it.”
“It is my affair,” Micheline shot back softly. “My husband is dead; therefore, I have inherited his affairs, this one included. I am rescinding the marriage contract, my lord. You will find yourself another bride or I will not lift a finger to aid you in removing Mara from that room.”
Lionel was geared up for a retort when her words sank in; my husband is dead. “Edmund is dead, did you say?” he repeated incredulously. “When did this occur?”
“A few days ago,” Micheline replied, her manner strong and confident. “His sister killed him and when she tried to murder me, Sir Spencer saved my life.”
Lionel looked at Spencer, astonished. “Is this true?”
Spencer was grim. “It is,” he said softly. “Johanne was running mad. She murdered her brother and was attempting to murder the baroness when I intervened. When she tried to kill me, I killed her instead. I am not proud of the fact, my lord, but it is the truth. The woman was insane and I had no choice.”
Lionel was completely shocked. He stared at Spencer, wide-eyed. “The madwoman attacked you?” he breathed. Then he shook his head. “I have heard tale of what she was capable of, but to attack a fully armed knight? I cannot believe my ears. The woman truly was mad.”
Spencer nodded grimly. “She was not particularly strong but she was ruthless,” he said. “As much as I did not relish killing a woman, there was no alternative.”
Lionel was quickly overcoming his shock, thinking of a world without the horrors of the Darkland hanging over their heads.
“What did you do with Edmund and Johanne?” he asked, looking between Spencer and Micheline. “I am assuming there was no mass said for them?”
Spencer looked at Micheline, who answered without hesitation. “None that I would attend, my lord,” she replied. “I paid the local parish priest to bury them in a location he deemed appropriate but I do not wish to know the details. I wash my hands of them both.”
“Wise,” Lionel concurred. He began to look at Micheline with new, and perhaps respectful, eyes. “Lady Micheline, you seem like a woman with a good head on her shoulders. How is it that you married into that hellish family?”
Micheline repeated the details. “In payment for a gambling debt my father had with Monroe de Cleveley.”
Lionel stroked his bearded chin, eyeing her. “I see,” he said. “How old are you, my lady?”
“I have seen twenty-two years, my lord.”
“And you feel yourself capable of running an established house such as Anchorsholme?”
“I cannot be any worse than my husband was, my lord.”
Lionel snorted. He approved of his newest neighbor even though the truth was that he had little choice. It also occurred to him that he needed to establish a good relationship with her from the start and trying to break the woman’s sister out of her barricaded room wasn’t perhaps the best way to go about such a thing.
“Indeed,” he said. “You already seem wise and reasonable. Speaking of wise and reasonable, do you have any suggestions on how to release your sister from her bower?”
Micheline sighed. “I know of no such way, my lord,” she said with regret. “She will stay in there until she rots. She is very stubborn.”
“Can you not plead with her to open the door?”
Micheline had no real choice in the matter. They simply couldn’t leave Mara in the room forever. Again, she signed.
“I can try.”
Lionel and Spencer stood back as Micheline went to the door, half-hacked up and wrought with twisted metal. After a moment’s hesitation, she knocked on it softly.
“Mara?” she called. “Mara, ‘tis me, love. Please let me in.”
They could all hear the shriek behind the closed door. Suddenly, the door was rattling as the bolt was thrown on the opposite side. But the door was so warped that it wasn’t hanging correctly any longer so the best Mara could do was open it three or four inches. When she saw Micheline in the corridor, she shrieked again.
“Misha!” she cried. “You have come!”
Micheline smiled at her pale-faced sister. “Open the door, love.”
Mara jerked at the door until her hair flopped in her face. “I cannot,” she said, looking at the warped panel. “Those fools have ruined this door. I do not believe I can open it.”
Having heard the conversation from his post several feet away, Spencer moved towards the door.
“Let me try,” he said.
As Micheline stood back, Spencer threw his shoulder into the panel and shoved, but it wasn’t enough, so Lionel came forward and also threw his shoulder into it. When Mara saw Lionel, she screamed and ran from their field of vision.
“Stay away!” she cried.
“Mara?” Micheline called to her. “Please do not be frightened. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.”
Mara, having spent more than a day in the chamber with hardly any sleep or food, was at her wit’s end.
“You… you liar!” she screamed at her sister. “You wanted me to open the door so he would come in!”
Micheline quickly came to understand what her sister meant and she hastened to reassure her. “Nay, love, I promise that is not true,” she said. “I simply wanted to see you.”
Spencer and Lionel managed to get the door partially open and Mara shrieked again when she saw that it was wide enough for a man to slip through. In a panic, she threw herself into the slender lancet window.
“If you come any closer, I shall jump!”
Spencer was already in the room, coming to a halt when he saw Mara in the window. Lionel was a little slower to enter, struggling his big belly through the narrow opening, but he too came to a halt when he saw Mara in the window that was three stories above the hard-packed bailey. He threw out his hands.
“Nay, Mara,” he pleaded. “All will be will, I swear it. You must get out of the window.”
Mara inched out of the narrow ledge, gripping the frame of the window for leverage. “I will not get out of the window,” she cried. “I will not marry you, do yo
u hear me? If you come any closer, I shall throw myself to the bailey below.”
Micheline was in the room now, her eyes wide with fear. She well remembered a situation like this a few weeks ago when Mara had threatened to jump and would have fallen to her death had Kirk not saved her silly neck. She knew Mara wasn’t serious but she was also reckless. She could easily slip and….
“Please, Mara,” she begged softly. “I have not seen you in over a week and there is much to tell. So much has happened. Edmund and Johanne are dead.”
Mara had much the same reaction that Lionel had; her eyes widened and her jaw went slack. “Dead?” she repeated. “What happened?”
“Now is not the time to discuss this,” Lionel interrupted. He was seriously concerned. “Lady Mara, please climb out of the window.”
Mara’s attention was back on Lionel, her expression reverting to the panicked frown. “Only if you promise I do not have to marry you.”
Lionel wasn’t surprised she was striking up a bargain. He knew she was an intelligent creature; she was trying to turn the situation to her advantage. But he knew he could never let her gain the upper hand.
“Would it be so terrible, lass?” he asked quietly. “Would it be so terrible that you would rather kill yourself that become a wealthy baroness?”
Mara’s bright eyes flickered. “It would not be terrible under different circumstances,” she said, calming somewhat. “But I would rather be the wife of a poor knight whom I love than the wife of a wealthy baron I do not love.”
Lionel lifted a bushy eyebrow. “I understand,” he said, “but what you have failed to consider is that Kirk might not ever return from Ireland. He went over to fight a battle, my lady. It was not a garden party. Men will aim to kill him and it is quite possible one will succeed. He could be dead right now for all we know and then what will you do? Be a burden on your sister’s good graces for the rest of your life?”
Mara turned red. “He will return,” she hissed. “He will return and he will kill you for what you have done.”
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 100