She glared at him as they crossed the urine-soaked mud. “Do not say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I shall not have you!”
He nudged her with a big arm. “Admit it, Mara. You would have only me.”
She shrieked with frustration, gaining speed to out-walk him. “No!”
Laughing, he followed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mara had had enough of Kirk’s badgering by the time they reached the chamber she and Micheline would occupy. Leaving the flushing young lady in the care of her sister, Kirk went in search of Edmund. As promised, he intended to inform his lord the details of the situation and would waste no time in doing so.
He knew exactly where to find the man and knew without a doubt that he would not be alone. Knocking loudly on Edmund’s chamber door, he was met with Johanne’s pale, smiling face.
“Welcome home, Kirk,” she purred, gesturing him into the room. “My brother and I were just discussing you. I hope the trip to Haslingden went well?”
He eyed the woman he could hardly stand. A foul woman who leered at him as if he was something of a delightful confection.
“Well enough, my lady.” He looked at Edmund, standing by the windows with a goblet of fine wine in his hand. “I would speak with you, my lord. Alone, if I may.”
Edmund smiled cordially at his captain, moving to the decanter of alcohol. “Of course,” he said, pouring a second cup for his knight. “I have a need to speak with you as well. Johanne, please leave us.”
Johanne was staring at Kirk, a foolish grin on her face. Prancing a wide circle around the man, inspecting him closely as the knight stood stock-still, she ran an index finger down his massive forearm on her way to the door.
“We are pleased you have returned, Kirk,” she said, licking the finger that had stroked his arm. Kirk refused to look at her as she opened the carved panel. “Mayhap you will tell us of the adventure tonight at the feast?”
The only thing requiring Kirk to give a decent answer was his sworn loyalty to the House of de Cleveley. Were it not for his oath, he would just as well ignore the woman.
“Mayhap.” He replied, still focused on Edmund.
Johanne slipped from the room without another word. Kirk knew when she had gone because her repulsive odor immediately vanished. Whether or not it was an imagined stench, still, it seemed to reek from her like a roaring river. It was all Kirk could do to keep from gagging.
Edmund had the odor, too. But for the simple fact that he was Kirk’s liege, the knight could do nothing but tolerate the fetor. He had known Edmund the better part of his life, a young man with a remarkably level head in spite of a personal life that went beyond the boundaries of acceptable existence. Were the man not carrying on an incestuous liaison with his step-sister, Kirk might have found him likable at times.
Kirk refused the goblet Edmund offered, instead, removing his helm and setting it next to the door. He would have thrown it on the bed had he not feared contracting some of the hideous filth Johanne had left on the sheets. Scratching his head with fatigue, he waited for Edmund to speak.
Edmund eyed his moody captain, knowing the man’s thoughts without being told. Kirk had long recognized the relationship between Edmund and his step-sister, a concept that distressed him now as it had from the beginning. But being a discreet man, he had never said a word. Edmund knew the tact wasn’t for the benefit of his liege; it was simply because Kirk couldn’t bring himself to verbally acknowledge the situation.
“Well, then,” Edmund said after a moment. “What is it you wished to discuss?”
“The Lady Micheline, my lord,” Kirk replied.
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yes. My new bride.” He shook his head, turning back to the decanter of liquor. “You should have left her at Haslingden, Kirk. She certainly isn’t what I’d hoped for.”
Kirk watched his young lord take another drink of wine. “I am sorry you feel that way,” he said quietly. “She’s a nice young woman, kind and obedient. She’ll make a fine chatelaine for Anchorsholme.”
“What of Johanne?” Edmund turned to him. “She is an excellent chatelaine. How can I ask her to share the reins of power with an outsider?”
“As your wife, the Lady Micheline should have sole power. You are, after all, the baron. And she will be the baroness.”
Edmund did not like that thought. Pursing his lips, he strolled to the long windows. “Curse my father for accepting this betrothal,” he muttered, gazing over the landscape. “I wanted no part of this, Kirk. I would have welcomed the black-haired girl, but her sister is below my expectations.”
“Edmund,” Kirk’s voice was soft. Firm. “The Lady Micheline has had a difficult life. You are making it far more difficult with your obvious displeasure. But you have no choice in the matter, as she does not. If you will simply accept the situation and take comfort in the lands she brings, I am sure you will come to terms with this. I must say, I was rather embarrassed by your reaction in the bailey. You left me to make excuses for your behavior.”
Edmund looked at the knight; at thirty-two years of age, he was everything Edmund could never be if he lived to one hundred. The big brother he never knew, the mentor he never had. Edmund knew Kirk respected him simply because he was sworn to him; but true respect, something that had to be earned, was non-existent. Given his relationship with Johanne, Edmund suspected he would never earn it.
“I apologize for that,” he said softly. “I suppose I am not very good at masking my emotions. After witnessing her beauteous sister, the lady’s average features caught me off-guard.”
Kirk cocked an eyebrow. “I am not the one you should apologize to.”
Edmund nodded reluctantly. “You are right, of course.” He refused to elaborate further. Taking a deep breath, he moved away from the window. “We have other things to discuss, Kirk. I received a missive from your father yesterday.”
Kirk was veered off the subject of Lady Micheline by mention of his father. “What did he say?”
Edmund did not look pleased. “He seems to think there is a rebellion brewing among my vassals. The harvest was poor, as you know, and winter stores are not plentiful. The serfs resent the taxes I impose on them and are growing restless as the cold spell deepens. Your father believes a revolt is imminent.”
Kirk’s eyebrows rose. “A revolt? Ridiculous! The House of De Cleveley has always treated her vassals fairly.”
Edmund shrugged. “I take half of all harvests from my Irish subjects, which is less than some English overlords. Even so, with the countryside bordering on famine, the people are looking for someone to blame and that person, apparently, is me.”
Kirk’s jaw ticked. “Would you have me rally support from our allies and ride to my father’s aid?”
Edmund shook his head. “Not yet.” He poured himself more liquor. “Ryan Connaught is content to wait out the situation for the moment. If it intensifies, then we will have no choice.”
Kirk knew his father to be an intelligent warrior, not one to panic prematurely. If Ryan said a revolt was imminent, then Kirk was inclined to believe immediate action was necessary regardless of Edmund’s caution. “I shall send word to our allies nonetheless, preparing them for the potentiality,” he said. “Did my father say anything about my brothers or mother? Are they in danger?”
“He did not mention the fact.” Edmund went to the wardrobe and, rummaging about, drew forth the missive from Ireland. Kirk accepted it eagerly. “I am sure your younger brothers are well. Drew recently returned from fostering in Devon, did he not?”
Kirk nodded, scanning the contents of the vellum. “After Steven injured his hand in a riding accident, my father was without the power of a son by his side. But now with Drew returned….” He suddenly re-rolled the vellum, frustrated. “This missive tells me nothing. It’s as if… as if he is holding something back.”
“Your father holds nothing back,” Edmund replied. “The missive is quite frank.”<
br />
Kirk shook his head, his fatigue fading as frustration took hold. “He probably does not want to worry me. He knows I shall sail for Ireland with half of England under my command at the first sign of trouble.”
Edmund watched the man work himself into a substantial fret. “According to your father, there is no trouble – yet. Trust that the man will inform us when he needs reinforcements.” Kirk continued to pace, the missive clutched in his hand, and Edmund set his goblet down. “Retire to your chambers, Kirk. Rest, relax. We shall have a grand feast this night to celebrate your return.”
Kirk looked up from his pacing boots. “You mean the arrival of Lady Micheline.”
Edmund met his gaze. After a moment, he shrugged. “As you say. Regardless, I demand you rest until the meal. You look as if it has been a hellish journey.”
Kirk did not say what he was thinking, thoughts turning from the situation in Ireland to the events of the past two days.
Not hellish, Edmund. Hellion.
The first thing Mara was aware of was the smell of roasting beef. A heavy, mouth-watering smell and she realized she was famished. Seated in the great smoky hall at the table reserved for the de Cleveley family, Mara and Micheline huddled together as the rumbled of conversation filled the room.
Kirk had explained that the guests this eve had been part of Johanne’s birthday celebration a few days prior. Most of them were older, a few young men and ladies in fine court dress. Clad in the finest surcoats they owned, Mara and Micheline were sorely out of place among the wealthy visitors.
Even though Micheline was trying her best to remain dignified, Mara wanted no part of it. The crowd had been staring and pointing since her arrival a half-hour before and she was nearly wild with what she perceived to be negative attention. When Kirk passed the table on his rounds of the room, she latched onto his hand and refused to let go.
Smiling gently, he knelt beside her chair. “What’s the matter with you? Are you not enjoying yourself?”
He could see she was close to tears. “These people,” she whispered. “They are staring at Micheline and I. I want to leave!”
Micheline heard her sister’s plea, meeting Kirk’s gaze. His expression was surprisingly gentle, considering his usual reaction to Mara. Even after spanking her earlier in the day, which her sister had explained with very little outrage, it was obvious he was no longer angry. And Mara, too, apparently held no grudge.
“Relax, lass,” he said. “They are simply curious and nothing more.”
She shook her head, still holding his hand. He had escorted Micheline to the dining hall, clean shaven and without his armor. Mara had followed on Niles’ arm, awed by the sight of Kirk, combed and bathed and in gentlemen clothing, as he chatted pleasantly with her sister. If she had thought him handsome before, the new picture was enough to set her head spinning. And he smelled nice, too. A smell of precious oils and pine that filled her nostrils even as he knelt beside the chair and attempted to comfort her.
“They are laughing at us,” she hissed, her bright blue gaze full of uncharacteristic emotion. “You promised there would be no more humiliation for Micheline!”
He sighed, patting her hand. “They are not laughing, love. I would kill them all if they were laughing.”
Mara was not convinced, frustrated that he could not see the truth of the situation. “Look at us, Kirk.” She let go of him and grabbed a fistful of her skirt. “Look at this surcoat; it was my mother’s and it is several years old. And Micheline; she is wearing a silk surcoat that was once burgundy. Now it’s pink. We’re shamefully dressed, I tell you!”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You could wear rags and you would both still outshine every woman in this room.” He caught a glimpse of Micheline’s grateful smile from the corner of his eye. But Mara was still frowning and he touched her cheek gently, rising. “Do not worry so, Lady Mara. Enjoy the feast and forget about these women who stare. They are simply jealous.”
Mara rolled her eyes miserably. Kirk smiled at her, enjoying her animated response, when Corwin and two women approached the table. Before Mara could further lament the atmosphere of the room, Kirk turned her in the direction of the visitors.
“Lady Mara, you have not yet been introduced to Sir Corwin’s wife and sister-in-law.” He gestured to the identical pale-faced women. “Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda, may I present the Lady Mara le Bec.”
Mara smiled weakly at the woman on Corwin’s arm, who bowed crisply. As she did so, the woman standing next to her mimicked her actions perfectly. It was like watching two of the same person.
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Lady Valdine,” she said. “Your husband’s pleasant conversation helped pass the time on our journey here.”
“We…”
“… thank you, my lady.”
Mara blinked. Lady Valdine had started the sentence; her sister had finished it. Puzzled, she looked to Micheline for support. But her sister merely smiled.
“The Lady Valdine and her sister helped me settle into my chamber while you and Sir Kirk were… well, shall we say, in conversation.” Micheline nodded her head at the two ladies. “Good eve to you, ladies.”
The twins bowed again. And they smiled at Micheline at exactly the same time.
“Good eve…”
“… to you, Lady Micheline. We hope…”
“… you chamber is…”
“… satisfactory?”
Mara’s mouth was hanging open. She couldn’t help it. Again, Lady Valdine started the train of speech, Lady Wanda finished it. But Micheline seemed unfazed by the conversation, merely nodding at the pair. “It’s wonderful, thank you. Will you be sitting with us for the meal?”
They shook their head in synchronization. “Nay, my lady. We…”
“… will be seated to…”
“… your left, with the other…”
“… knights and ladies.”
Mara’s head was spinning from the echo-like effect of their peculiar speech. As they bowed their farewell to the table and moved in perfect rhythm for their assigned table, Mara watched with a mixture of fascination and confusion.
“They talk at the same time!” she turned to Kirk, still standing behind her.
He laughed softly. “Nay, they do not. If you notice, they speak in perfect order. One never overlaps the other and they are very precise in what they wish to say.”
“But….” Mara shook her head. “Can they not speak separately?”
“I have never heard them.” Kirk glanced up, noting that the gaily-dressed crier was preparing to announce the arrival of Edmund and Johanne. “Corwin says it was quite difficult to court Valdine. Wanda always seemed to be interfering.”
Mara’s expression was droll. “How in the world could he tell? I’d say the man has two wives for the price of one.”
Kirk snorted softly, observing as the heralds took position for the grand entrance of Lord Edmund de Cleveley, Baron Bowland. Excusing himself politely, he moved away from the table.
Mara watched him move to the grand hall entrance, a towering doorway with carved oak panels. His movements were graceful, agile, and she found herself staring at him as he waited patiently for Edmund’s arrival.
“He is in a far more pleasant mood this eve than he has been,” Micheline said softly.
Mara was still staring at him. “Oh… who?”
Micheline smiled. “Kirk, dear. He seems quite amiable toward you.”
Mara tore her gaze away, focusing on her sister and trying not to appear too agreeable. “It’s amazing what a peaceful afternoon can do for one’s spirits.”
Micheline continued to watch her sister as the woman’s gaze returned to the towering knight. Leaning close, she whispered in her ear. “Did he really spank you this afternoon? Or did he do something else?”
Mara looked puzzled. And shocked. “What else would he do?”
Micheline kissed her on the ear. “This.”
Mara nearly l
eapt from her chair. “I would never… I never…!”
Micheline laughed softly, grabbing the woman before she could run away. “If you say so, Mara. I will not mention it again, I promise.”
Red about the ears, Mara maintained her seat but refused to look Micheline in the eye. A kiss was so intimate, so… serious. And it would only lead to the same actions the soldier in the inn had forced upon her. Actions that were painful and degrading and she had no intention of allowing them to happen again. Even if the actions would be coming from Kirk.
“I do not like him, Misha.”
“I know.”
“Nay, you do not. I am sincere when I say this.”
“I realize that.”
Mara looked at her sister then, just as the crier announced the appearance of Lord Edmund and his beloved step-sister, Johanne. The heralds blasted their trumpets and the lavishly-dressed guests rose to their feet, but Mara ignored the pomp; her focus remained on Micheline.
“Do not mock me, Misha. I am serious when I say that I want nothing to do with Kirk Connaught.”
Micheline rose, too, her smile fading as she caught sight of her short, muss-haired groom.
“That may be, Mara,” she whispered, “but he wants everything to do with you.”
Johanne’s reaction to Micheline hadn’t been quite as severe as Edmund’s. After the introduction by Kirk, she sized the woman from head to toe before seating herself at her brother’s left. While Micheline struggled to maintain her composure as Edmund ignored her, Johanne’s attention moved from her brother’s future wife to the dark-haired woman seated at the end of the table. When Kirk introduced the Lady Mara, Johanne’s eyes narrowed.
“I did not believe the marriage contract called for the addition of a younger sister,” she said as servants began to bring out great trenchers of beef. “Will you be returning to Haslingden after the ceremony, Lady Mara?”
By Edmund’s request, Kirk was seated on his right hand, between the reluctant groom and his new bride. The knight begrudgingly did so, although he was glad for his mediating presence when Johanne began her catty dialogue. Eyeing Mara, his gaze conveyed the demands of proper behavior.
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