Corwin shook his head, slowly. “Why must you blame her? Her thoughts may be evil, but it is you and I who carry out the sentence.”
Edmund drained his cup, moving to the bed where his sister continued to pray. Reaching out, he stroked her tangled hair. “We must keep Johanne happy, Corwin.”
Corwin left the chamber without another word, Micheline’s limp body flopping in his arms. The sun was setting, intermittent rays of light streaming through windows as the knight mounted the stairs for the tower.
The cylinder was narrow, the steps winding an endless circle skyward. Micheline stirred, groaning softly as Corwin neared the top. Just as he entered the dusty, unused chamber at the summit, Micheline raised her head, her eyes struggling to focus.
“Sir Corwin,” she mumbled. “What… happened?”
Corwin was beyond all rational thought. He dumped Micheline on the floor, his eyes wild.
“You will stay here,” he gasped, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You will not leave this place if you value your life. Do you understand me?”
Micheline stared at him, her stomach lurching and her head spinning. Tears filled her frightened eyes. “What has happened?”
Corwin struggled with his control. “Your death is what will happen if you leave. Kirk will return in two days and we must wait for him. Until that time, you must stay here and remain completely silent. No one must know of your presence.” He suddenly grabbed her by the arms, shouting. “Tell me you understand what I have told you!”
Micheline burst into terrified tears. “I do,” she sobbed. “Did Edmund… is he…?”
Corwin did not answer. Releasing the dazed woman, he stumbled from the chamber and slammed the door. Micheline heard the rusty bolt as it slid across the panel, locking her in. His footfalls faded down the stairs, leaving Micheline confused and scared.
Looking about the cobwebs and broken furniture of her new home, she covered her face and wept.
Chapter Eleven
The rain had returned by the time evening fell. Quernmore Castle was only a few more hours, but as the weather worsened, Kirk decided to seek shelter for the night. With Mara wrapped up in her worn cloak, snoring softly in his arms, he ordered his men to find shelter in a grove of oak trees.
There was a small village in the distance, the smoke from cooking fires choking the damp air. Leaving Niles in charge of the camp, Kirk spurred his charger in the direction of the settlement.
The few merchants along the main avenue had closed shop for the night. The massive destrier plodded along the muddied street, his hooves echoing off the small homes as Kirk went in search of proper shelter for Mara. She had shivered and sneezed all afternoon and he was unwilling to allow her to spend the night in the freezing rain.
On the opposite side of the berg sat a small tavern, a warm light emitting from a partially-open door. Kirk reined his charger around the side of the establishment, providing the animal with shelter from the rain. There was a pool of water collecting from the rain gutters and the animal drank noisily as Kirk gently roused Mara.
“Mara,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “Wake up, lass.”
She stirred, but mostly she ignored him. Sighing, he managed to dismount with her still in his arms. As the rain pounded and the wind began to whip up, he walked to the front of the inn and opened the door with his boot. Hit in the face by a blast of warm, stale air, he ducked beneath the doorjamb.
There were several people enjoying their ale and food, hardly glancing up when the massive man with the lady in his arms entered. The innkeeper looked up from behind his bar, wiping his hands on his stained tunic.
“What’ll it be, m’lord?”
Kirk shifted Mara, who was beginning to come around. “A room on this hellish night.”
The innkeeper nodded, shoving a nearby serving wench on the arm to get her moving. “Verenia’ll show ye a room,” he said, eyeing Kirk more closely now that Mara seemed to be showing signs of life. “Food for ye, then? A bath for yer lady?”
Before Kirk could answer, Mara suddenly raised her head and scowled viciously. “Good Lord, no food!” she put her hands to her head, groaning. “My head is threatening to explode. Why is this damnable room spinning?”
Kirk couldn’t help but grin. He wasn’t feeling particularly well, either, but he knew that in their current state, food would be the best thing for them both.
“Send it to my room,” he told the innkeeper.
The man nodded, listening to Mara moan and grumble as Kirk carried her down a short corridor, following the direction of the serving wench. Snapping his fingers to his toothless wife, the woman began to serve up the knight’s supper as ordered.
The chamber provided was small. Kirk could hardly move about as he set Mara to unsteady feet, glancing around their dismal surroundings. But Mara ignored the state of the room, smelling of sweat and dirt, as the serving wench turned back the bed and quit the room. Finally alone, Mara sat down on the lumpy bed and fell backward.
“My head,” she groaned softly. “It hurts so!”
Kirk unlatched his helm, removing it with a grunt of relief. “Let this be your lesson against the evils of whisky.”
The bright blue eyes were closed against the rocking room. After a moment, she peeped open a lid. “It was medicine,” she insisted softly. The other eye opened and she focused on him as he went to work removing his armor. “Where are we?”
He did not look up as he dislodged his gauntlets, his chaffing breastplate. “At an inn,” he cocked an eyebrow, meeting her gaze. “I seem to remember a certain young lady telling me that sleeping on the damp grass like a hardened soldier was unacceptable.”
She continued to gaze at him as the plate protection came off piece by piece, carefully set aside against the wall to drain. Slowly, she sat up, gripping the bed when the room swayed. Kirk pretended to ignore her as she unfastened her worn cloak, laying it by the small hearth. He finished removing his mail hauberk when he noticed she was staring at her shoes.
“What’s the matter?”
She kicked off the shoes in response, setting them by the cloak. As Kirk watched, she reached up her skirt and fumbled about, coming away with two ribbon garters. As he watched with increasing interest, she proceeded to peel off her woolen stockings.
They were wet and she lay them carefully on the warm stone. They were also full of holes. Kirk continued to watch her, distractedly removing his damp tunic, as she meticulously flattened out the wool so that it would dry better.
“I did not realize you had gotten wet,” he said softly. “Wrap yourself in the coverlet if you are chilled.”
She shook her head, her bare feet sticking out from beneath her surcoat as she knelt beside the fire. “I am used to the wet and the cold.”
She had made the statement without a hint of self-pity. Simply stating a fact. Kirk moved up behind her, tearing his eyes away from her long enough to glance at the saturated cloak, her worn shoes. Scratching his dark head, he fingered the cloak.
“I shall have to see about purchasing you some new clothes,” he said. “Bright colors, I think. Your coloring is far too striking for unspectacular shades.”
He seemed rather nonchalant in his statement, almost normal in fact. As if they hadn’t spent a day and a night in violent conflict. As Mara glanced up to reply, she noticed that he had removed his tunic.
Suddenly, it was very warm in the little room. Mara had never seen a man’s naked chest before, tanned skin as it covered bulging muscles and hair that matted his chest and trailed down his abdomen. She couldn’t help but stare at his trim belly and arms that were as large as oak branches. In fact, she was so involved in her observations of Kirk’s magnificent form that she had yet to notice his amused smile.
“What’s the matter, lass?” his voice was soft. “Have you never seen a man before?”
Her cheeks flushed a brilliant red and she looked away, fumbling with her hose once again. “You… you have re
moved nearly all of your clothing,” she stammered. “I was merely… what I mean to say is that… Oh!”
She grunted in frustration, angry that he had caught her staring at him and saw fit to laugh at her innocence. Kirk continued to chuckle.
“What was I supposed to do? Leave the wet garments on?” he gestured at her. “You yourself treated me to a titillating show when you removed your hose as if I was not in the room.”
Her gaze was fixed on the hearth, her cheeks glowing like the white-hot embers. “I…I simply wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I am not used to having men about. Only Micheline.”
He snorted. “No more, lass. Had you put your hands up your skirt in Niles’ company, the man would have attacked you in a fit of lust and I would have been forced to kill him.”
She pursed her lips with embarrassment, defiance. “I would have never done such a thing in front of him. I simply did not think, I tell you. It’s nothing to laugh over!”
The more agitated she became, the more he snorted. “Aye, it is. You are more comfortable with me than you care to admit.”
She rose abruptly, moving to the large bed and throwing herself on the coverlet. Annoyed with Kirk, she was in the process of wrapping her cold feet in the smelly warmth of the blankets when Kirk leaned over the bed, collecting both sides of the coverlet and winding them around her. Before Mara could protest, he had her snuggly swaddled in the linens.
“There,” he stood back, hands on his hips. “Is that better?”
Mara lifted a black eyebrow. Christ, how he knew that expression. “If I do not suffocate first, I suppose it is.”
A faint smile continued to play on his lips as he turned away, laying his tunic next to her hose. Outside, the rain continued to beat and the wind to howl, but the stenchy little room was remarkably cozy. And in spite of her aching head and irritation, Mara realized she was rather comfortable. And hungry.
But she was more interested in watching Kirk at the moment. On his haunches next to the fire, she watched his naked back as he stoked the hearth, coaxing it into a blaze. She could see every muscle as it moved beneath the tanned skin, shoulders so broad that they were wider than a door. As the warmth of the room and blankets saturated her, the harsh emotions, the churning of her stomach, seemed to fade.
“Kirk?”
He turned around, his face illuminated by the glowing fire. “Hmm?”
“Have you realized that Micheline is alone at Anchorsholme?”
He shook his head. “She is not alone. I left Corwin behind to see to her.”
Mara did not seem particularly comforted by his answer but remained silent. He returned his attention to the fire when she spoke again, softly.
“Why am I here?”
He gazed at her a moment, setting the poker aside. “Because it is raining.”
“Nay,” she shook her head. “Why am I going to Quernmore? Am I to be banished there?”
His brow furrowed as he rose. “Banished? Who told you such nonsense?”
“No one,” she watched him move for the bed, his weight sinking the mattress dangerously as he sat. “Niles said that Lord Edmund ordered me to travel to Quernmore, but he gave no reason. Do you know why?”
Kirk scratched his head, averting his gaze. “Most likely because I told him I was going to take you with me.”
She frowned. “You wanted to take me with you? Why?”
The scratching hand dropped to his side. “Foremost, because I was afraid of what would happen if I left you alone, without my guidance. I thought a few days away from the situation would settle your emotions. When I broached the subject with Edmund last night, he heartily agreed. It seems that he wants you away from Anchorsholme as well, although I cannot understand why.”
The last few words were delivered sarcastically. Mara’s frown deepened and she unwound herself from the covers. “Settle my emotions? The need to protect my sister from her deviant husband will never be settled!”
Kirk did not want another argument on his hands, not when the peace between them was new and easily damaged. “We have been through this, Mara. This is Micheline’s marriage and she does not want any interference, from you or from me.”
Mara was working herself into a righteous rage when she saw the expression on his face; it was somewhat saddened. “Did she tell you this?” she asked.
He nodded, his stone-gray eyes gazing into the fire. “She is correct. It is her marriage and if there is to be any respect at all, she must be the one to establish it. As much as I am reluctant to obey her wishes, I will not always be around to make sure Edmund treats her well. Misha must do that for herself, I am afraid.”
Mara stared at him, sensing his frustration. He had wanted to help Micheline, but her sister had firmly declined his offer. And she could see that the rejection bothered him deeply.
“You called her Misha?” she reached out, touching his arm.
Kirk tore his gaze away from the hearth, finding himself swallowed whole by brilliant blue eyes. “I have heard you address her as such. ’Tis an endearing term of affection between family.”
Mara’s cheeks flamed again, the heat from his naked arm sending a blaze of excitement through her body. “But you are not family.”
“Not yet.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were reluctant to reconsider your marriage proposal.”
He couldn’t have removed his gaze from her if he had tried. He did not want to try; the magnetism between them was more powerful, more intense, than he had ever known it to be. “There was truly nothing to reconsider, lass,” he sighed; it was useless to resist the obvious. “God help me, I cannot stay away from you, not even if my common sense tells me otherwise.”
She smiled radiantly. Great hands suddenly came up and the bed shifted heavily as he pulled her against him, his lips devouring her tender mouth. Mara gasped with delight, feeling his overwhelming warmth envelope her, melting her completely. All of the heartache of the past two days was forgotten as his seeking lips told her how eager he was to make all between them well again.
“Kirk, Kirk,” she moaned, her hands in his hair as his teeth nibbled on her jaw. “I am so glad you have not abandoned me. I was afraid I had driven you away.”
“Never,” his voice was muffled against her flesh. “The more you abuse me, the more I want you.”
She giggled, quickly turning to sighs of pleasure as he devoured her neck. “You’re insane to think so,” she whispered. “But know… know I truly never meant to hurt you.”
He heard her, incapable of replying as his lips moved to the swell of her breasts. Mara’s hands touched his face, still terribly concerned with the parallel lacerations as he focused on other, more pleasurable, targets.
“Do they hurt?” she asked, running her fingers over the scabs.
He shook his head, pulling her surcoat off her shoulders. Before Mara realized it, she was bared to the waist and his mouth was suckling heartily on a rosy nipple. With a gasp, she stiffened with new, ripe pleasure and the three ugly wounds vanished from thought. Clutching Kirk’s head against her breast, she fell back on the bed and took him down with her.
She was sweeter than he had ever known a woman to be. Soft, delectable, tender for the taking. Pinning her arms above her head, he kissed a delicate circle around each breast, rewarding himself after each turn by sampling a hot nipple. Mara writhed and panted, experiencing his mouth with the greatest of joy.
Between each breast he moved, blazing a scorching trail up one arm and down the other. Releasing her arms, his massive hands kneaded and explored as her slender fingers anchored themselves firmly in his hair. Just as he was forging into the new territory of her abdomen, a soft knock rattled the door.
He almost shouted them away. But Mara lifted her head, panting and dazed.
“The food,” she breathed.
He knew she was hungry. With a heavy sigh, he nodded in resignation and pushed himself off her.
“A moment!” he couldn’t h
elp the frustration in his voice, pulling Mara off the bed and helping her straighten her surcoat. When she was properly secured, he discreetly adjusted his bulging hose and opened the door.
The innkeeper’s wife and the serving wench had their hands full of steaming food. Kirk pointed silently to the small table next to the hearth and the women quickly deposited their load. Bowing and scraping their way from the room seemed to take a small eternity and Kirk slammed the door irritably when they were finally gone. Turning around, he was not surprised to see that Mara was almost halfway through with the meal.
He lifted an eyebrow as he approached. “Did you not think to save any for me?”
Her mouth was full of mutton. “Nay,” she said, pushing his hand away when he tried to take a slab of meat. “This is all mine.”
He grinned and she batted at him, pushing him away and pretending to horde it all. In a flash, Kirk reached down and lifted her from the small chair, taking it himself. As Mara sputtered and shrieked, unable to protest with her mouth stuffed, he deposited her on his lap and took a helping of bread.
“There, you gluttonous wench,” he slopped the bread in gravy and took a healthy bite. “I will claim you and your food.”
She grinned at him, pieces of mutton on her lips. He kissed her, licking the debris clean. One kiss led to another, and still another. Before either one of them could control their actions, the food was back on the wooden trays and they were on the bed, continuing where they had left off before the intrusion of their meal.
The surcoat came off more quickly than before. And this time, Kirk pulled it completely free, leaving Mara naked beneath him. Between heated kisses, he somehow managed to remove his boots and finally, his damp hose. But Mara never noticed; as long as his mouth remained where it was the most pleasurable, she would pay little attention to anything else. When his hot, naked body covered her on the stale sheets, the only thing she was aware of was her own awakening desire.
Thunder rattled the walls as Kirk’s pace increased, his kisses fast and furious. Mara gasped with unrestrained delight, her experience with the drunken soldier all but forgotten. The rude introduction to desire had not scarred her so deeply that Kirk was not able to erase the memory with his scalding hands and searching mouth. Pulling, tugging, tasting; the delights multiplied as the night deepened.
Lords of the Isles Page 15