Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Lily looked at her father with some uncertainty. He knew she understood the mechanics of marriage. She had spent many years in a rather courtly household and Lionel was well aware that she understood the purpose of an advantageous marriage. Still, he could see the reluctance in her eyes.

  “I understand,” she said. “But what you are doing is not right. You are hurting two people who never did anything to you, Father. Don’t you see that? Kirk has always been a strong supporter and Mara… well, her only crime is loving Kirk. You are punishing her for being young and in love.”

  Lionel could see he wasn’t going to have Lily’s full support. It didn’t matter that they were flesh and blood relatives, closer than most fathers and daughters were. Lily was taking a stand for what she believed in and it happened to be a stand against him. Lionel didn’t like it. If he couldn’t coerce her into supporting him, then he could force her. Time was growing short and he had to marry Mara no matter what.

  “I am not punishing her,” he said, his voice low. “I am not entirely sure why young ladies these days believe that marriage is based on love, but that is a fool’s notion. I have summoned a priest who will be here by dinner. You will have Mara properly dressed for the occasion because whether or not she is ready, I am marrying her tonight at dusk. There will be no more delays.”

  Lily was horrified. “Dusk?” she repeated. “Father, surely you….”

  He cut her off, unwilling to discuss it further. “I have waited long enough,” he snapped. “Whether we wait nine days, nine weeks or nine months, the result will be the same. Make sure she is ready by dusk.”

  With that, he swept from the room without a glance to Mara. She was still standing near the wall, weeping softly. When the door slammed in his wake, she jumped, turning to see who was still left in the room. Only Lily remained, looking drawn and anxious. She approached Mara, haltingly, a sickened expression on her face.

  “Oh… Mara,” she breathed. “He is being most unreasonable. He says he has sent for a priest and you will be married at dusk tonight.”

  Mara, surprisingly, didn’t fall into hysterics. She simply stared at Lily. The hysteria has been replaced by a steely coldness now that a timeline had been put to her fate. It was shock more than anything, perhaps numbness and a sense of harsh realization. Nine days of fighting hadn’t solved or changed anything. Her future was still set. She turned away from Lily.

  “I will not go willingly,” she said.

  Lily sighed heavily. “He will call the guards if he has to,” she said. “They will carry you down to the hall. They will hold you through the ceremony and force you to wed my father. Is this truly how you wish to behave?”

  Mara looked over her shoulder, her bright blue eyes piercing. “How would you behave?”

  Lily looked pained. She shrugged helplessly. “I do not know,” she whispered. “But I would realize there is no use in fighting. Would I wish for everyone to see me screaming and kicking and being held down by soldiers? I would not. I would not embarrass myself so.”

  “Then help me escape.”

  “Escape to where?”

  “Back to Haslingden until Kirk can come for me.”

  Lily shook her head, exasperated. “My father would find you there just as easily,” she said. “Mara, don’t you see? You cannot refuse this, darling. I know you love Kirk. I know he will return for you. But he is not here now, and he cannot save you from this marriage. You have no choice.”

  Mara stared at Lily, a creeping sense of defeat filling her. But no. She would not accept it. She couldn’t.

  “Lily,” she said as she averted her gaze. “You have been a true and sweet friend. I… I have never known such friendship and I want to thank you very much.”

  Lily put a hand on her arm. “As I have never had a friend like you, either,” she said. “You are humorous and curious and lovely. I am so sorry this has happened, darling, truly.”

  Mara patted her hand but then she moved away from it, heading towards one of the small lancet windows that let light into the chamber.

  “Will you do something for me if I ask it?” she asked.

  Lily nodded. “If I can, you know I will.”

  “I want you to leave me alone. Please.”

  Lily wasn’t so sure about the request. Mara hadn’t been alone since the day of her father’s announcement, and for good reason. Everyone was aware of that fact, especially Mara. Therefore, her question had Lily on edge.

  “I… I would like to, of course,” she stammered. “But….”

  “Please,” Mara said firmly, turning to look at her. “I swear I will not try to harm myself in any way.”

  Lily looked at her dubiously. “Do you promise? A promise above all promises?”

  “I swore, didn’t I?”

  “But why do you want to be alone?”

  “I just do,” she said softly. “I just want to… think. I have so much to think about. Please indulge me, Lily. Just for a little while.”

  Reluctantly, Lily nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I will leave you to your thoughts. Shall I send up some food?”

  Mara shook her head. “No food.”

  With a final lingering gaze, Lily hesitantly quit the room. As soon as the door shut softly behind her, Mara ran to the door and threw the big iron bolt. The door and frame, built like a fortress with great iron supports, was built to withstand a siege.

  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 stunne
d 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 standoff 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, astoni
shed. “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.