“Foolish wench.”
The brothers shared a laugh. Kirk sobered, watching the great bonfires in the distance as the dead were burned. Their parents’ burial was slated for the morning, in the graveyard where Connaught ancestors had been interred for centuries. Still, Kirk was having a difficult time coming to terms with what had happened. Even thoughts of Mara seemed unable to distract him.
“You cannot do anything for them, Kirk.” Steven’s voice was soft.
Kirk turned to his brother, his crippled right hand a painful reminder of the once-great knight. “What do you speak of?”
“Mother and father,” Steven clarified. “You cannot do anything for them. Those who killed them are long gone, or dead themselves. We shall never know exactly who did it.”
Kirk hardened. “We will if I interrogate every rebel in the land, or burn every village. Someone will tell me.”
“You will destroy everything if you do this,” Drew said. “The actual number of rebels are few. But through threats and intimidation, they coerced the loyal peasants to aid their cause. You cannot destroy everyone simply to capture a few.”
Kirk’s jaw ticked. “How can you say that?” he demanded. “You saw what they did to father, to mother. How can you be so willing to stand ignorant while murderers roam free?”
“I told you why,” Drew returned, with more force. “What do you plan to do, completely obliterate the county, punishing everyone for the crimes of a select few?”
Kirk cocked an eyebrow. “When we came upon Wicklow two days ago, I would say that more than a select few occupied the castle. I’d say hundreds.”
Drew shook his head. “Untrained peasants forced to comply with the few trained rebels in their midst. The men who captured Steven and I were hardly more than children. And the only reason we were captured was because of their sheer number.”
“What about the men who killed father? Or beat mother to death? Were they children, too?”
“Hard to the core, Kirk. And we shall never, ever find them. They are too clever. And too intimidating.”
Kirk sighed with frustration, wrinkling his nose to the pungent smell of the burning dead. “I simply cannot abide by all of this,” he said after a moment. “I return home to find my parents killed, the home of my birth all but destroyed. Can you not see the basis for my rage, lads?”
“Of course we do,” Drew said softly. “But we also know there is nothing you can do about it. We will rebuild and we will strengthen our ranks with more soldiers. Then we will meet with the village chieftains and see if there isn’t some peace we can come to. There is nothing more we can do than that.”
“I disagree.”
“What would your Mara say to your need for revenge, Kirk?”
It was Steven, always the voice of calm. Kirk looked at his younger brother with frustration when he realized what he was driving at. Pursing his lips, he turned away.
“Most likely the same as you,” he grunted. “But Mara is not a soldier. It is right for women to believe in peace and harmony. Without them, the world would know little.”
“Do you want to return to her soon, Kirk?” Steven’s tone was pointed, soft. “Or do you want to spend the next year searching for men whose identities will never be revealed? The peasants respect the English, Kirk, but they fear the rebels more. Have you been away so long that you have forgotten that?”
Kirk did not like what he was hearing, mostly because it was the truth. Feeling frustrated and impotent, he merely shook his head.
“Nay,” his voice was hoarse. “I haven’t forgotten. But with all of the might I command, I should think I could do more to bring these men to justice.”
To the north, the sound of distant thunder could be heard, dying away just as Kirk’s determination for vengeance was. His brothers were correct and he realized he would have to resign himself to the fact. But the knowledge that vengeance would be useless did nothing to ease his anger.
“I so wanted Mara to meet father,” he said after a moment, feeling his fatigue as the night deepened. “She’s such an exquisite creature. I wanted him to see the woman I had chosen to pass along the Connaught lineage.”
“A spirited woman who throws her fists around?” Steven laughed when Kirk pretended to punch him. “I think I like her already.”
“You will fall in love with her, as I have,” he said. “But you cannot have her. I have already had to fight off one bastard and I swear I kill the next man who looks at her.”
Steven and Drew, aware that they had deterred their big brother’s taste for vengeance, gladly delved into the subject of Lady Mara once again. It was good to see Kirk smile and they realized that his mood was the direct result of Mara’s name. Any mention of her sent him grinning like a fool.
Corwin mounted the ladder to the battlements, approaching the brothers as they conversed and snickered. Smiling wearily, he fixed on Kirk.
“The scouts have returned from the surrounding area, Kirk,” he said. “The trees are clear of rebels. In fact, they seemed to have disappeared altogether.”
Kirk lifted an eyebrow. “But they have not, of course,” he said. “Make sure the sentry posts are tripled, Corwin. And I want mounted guards outside the walls, patrolling in foursomes.”
Corwin nodded, eager to carry out the orders and get to bed. He, too, was exceedingly weary.
“Corwin.” Kirk stopped the man before he could dismount the wall. “You have met the illustrious Mara. Tell my brothers of her, as they seem to have difficultly believing that one woman can be so perfect.”
Corwin glanced to the expectant brothers, his stomach twisting with renewed nausea. But not because of the travel or the battle he had recently fought. It was because he knew something Kirk did not, something that was tearing him apart. The longer he gazed into Kirk’s smiling face, the more powerful the urge became to drop to his knees and confess everything. But for fear of Valdine, he remained silent. For her, he had always remained silent.
“She is… well, she is certainly beautiful,” he offered weakly. “But ask Kirk about the scars on his cheek if he thinks she is so perfect.”
He was out of the conversation as Steven and Drew turned to their brother, demanding to know of the parallel wounds. Corwin slid off the wall, hating himself for his disloyalty to Kirk. Moving to complete his assigned duties, he tried to forget what he knew about Micheline’s situation, or Mara’s future. But, God help him, he simply couldn’t. And the feeling was growing stronger by the moment.
Spencer stood stoically in Edmund’s small solar, watching the thin young lord pace about the room with glee. Spencer, however, could not reciprocate the emotions he was witnessing and with very good reason.
“So he has agreed to my marriage proposal?” Edmund repeated the knight’s missive. “How marvelous!”
Spencer could hardly agree. For seven days he had lived with bitterness such as he had never known. And Mara, poor Mara, was beyond devastated. She was lifeless.
“Aye, my lord,” he replied stiffly. “He has asked me to thank you for sending the lady to him.”
Edmund laughed joyously, shaking his hands in the air. “Thank God!” he crowed. Then, he looked to Spencer with sudden suspicion. “He kept the proposal from Kirk, did he not? I asked that he not tell him.”
Spencer could literally taste his disgust. “As far as I know, he did not. He told no one at all and I must say we were quite surprised by the news.” He eyed the delighted baron, wishing he could simply run him through and be done with it. The man had no idea the number of people affected by his treachery. “Lord le Vay has already sent for the priest from Crosby. The man should be arriving within the next day and I have been asked to escort Lady Micheline De Cleveley to attend her sister’s wedding.”
Edmund’s giddy demeanor vanished. It was odd, truly, as if a fire had suddenly been doused. “Just… Micheline? Not I, nor my sister?”
Spencer shook his head. “’Tis to be a private wedding, my lord. Immediate family only.”
“But I am immediate family,” Edmund insisted. “After all, he will be marrying the sister of my wife.”
Spencer remained firm. He had no love for Edmund de Cleveley, nor did le Vay, hence his exclusion from a wedding Spencer wished would never happen. “I understand, my lord, but Lord le Vay was specific. Lady Micheline only.”
Edmund stared at the knight. He had arranged this marriage, after all, and now he was not even invited. But rather than lodge a protest, he wisely decided to obey le Vay’s wishes. After all, the man had just sent three hundred men to support the reclamation of the Wicklow estate. Edmund wouldn’t dream of taxing the man further with his petty demands.
“I see,” he said quietly, but it was obvious he was disappointed. “But his demand that only my wife attend brings me to a rather unpleasant confession.”
A seed of apprehension blossomed deep in Spencer’ belly. He knew, before Edmund even elaborated, what that confession would be. Given the sinister reputation of The Darkland, there was no other alternative.
“And what is that, my lord?”
Edmund was emotionless as he spoke. “My wife threw herself from the tower the day after our wedding. I am afraid you will have the unpleasant duty of informing both le Vay and his wife that Lady Micheline is dead.”
Spencer’s body tensed, struggling to bite off words of condemnation that begged to come forth. But his control was not so strong that his cheeks did not flush, nor his pale blue eyes glitter with rage. Edmund noted the reaction, his own stance hardening.
“She did it herself!” He nearly shouted. “How dare you look at me as if… as if I had something to do with it. I never touched her!”
It was all Spencer could do to keep from refuting him. To do so would surely be to jeopardize his own life and freedom. Instead, he lifted his shoulders weakly.
“I never suggested otherwise, my lord.” He was struggling to maintain his calm. But he simply couldn’t hold himself back. “Given the reputation of Anchorsholme Castle, you will hardly blame le Vay or Lady Mara if they believe otherwise.”
Edmund exploded. “I do not care what they think!” he bellowed. “This is my keep and the vassals within belong to me. I command the power of life and death within Anchorsholme, but I cannot control everything. Especially a distraught young woman determined to end her pitiful life. You will tell them this, de Shera, and you will make them understand!”
Spencer’s jaw ticked. He had already said too much, as indicated by Edmund’s over-defensive rage. But, God help him, he simply couldn’t help himself and more words spilled forth before he could stop them.
“I cannot make them understand when I do not understand, my lord.” His voice was tight. “And there is something else I do not understand; why have you not had the courtesy to tell Kirk of your plans for his lady? Do not you think he will find out, eventually?”
Edmund grabbed the nearest weapon, a gilded candleholder with three thin tapers. Hurling it across the room, he narrowly missed Spencer’s head.
“Get out!” he screamed. “Get out before I kill you myself! This is none of your affair and I shall kill you if you interfere!”
Spencer was wise enough to leave. Edmund raged and stormed, destroying anything he could get his hands on as Spencer marched from the room. By the time he reached the front door, he was very close to breaking himself. Lying bastard! he thought furiously.
His charger was still in the bailey, being tended by a stable hand. Spencer stormed up, yanking the reins from the young man. The servant scurried away and Spencer mounted, feeling desperate to put distance between himself and Edmund De Cleveley. If only for Mara’s sake, he would like nothing better than to throttle the man. Punishment that was a long time in coming.
The charger snorted irritably in response to Spencer’s frustrated movements. His stirrup was twisted and, muttering curses, he struggled to turn it around when a soft voice caught his attention.
Spencer glanced up into a pair of plain brown eyes. Actually, there were two pairs of identical brown eyes. Clinging to one another, the duplicate women emerged nervously from the shadows of the inner wall.
“My lord,” the first lady began. “I am Lady Valdine Martin. My husband Corwin is serving with Sir Kirk in Ireland.”
Spencer was still frustrated and angry. He paused in his struggles with the stirrup, sighing impatiently.
“And?”
The first woman swallowed. “My sister and I watched you…”
“… ride in and we heard the argument…”
“… with Lord Edmund. Is it true that Lady Mara…”
“… is marrying Lord le Vay?”
Definitely not a subject Spencer was willing to discuss. He cast the sisters an annoyed look and finished straightened out his stirrup.
“That is none of your affair,” he said shortly. “If you will excuse me, I am expected back at Quernmore.”
“Wait!” Valdine threw herself in front of the charger as Spencer spurred him forward. The animal danced and shrieked, thoroughly angering Spencer.
“Foolish wench, move aside!” he commanded.
But Valdine refused to move. “My lord, I cannot!” she said earnestly, glancing about to make sure there was no one to hear her. “Please, we must speak with you!”
Spencer had had enough of the pesky woman. “Move aside or I shall run you over.”
Valdine swallowed hard, but she did not budge. “Lord Edmund lied, my lord.”
Spencer stared at the woman. Her simple sentence had been enough to delay his departure. “What do you mean?”
Valdine moved closer to the horse, followed by her cowering sister. The two huddled together as they spoke.
“Lady Micheline is not dead,” Valdine murmured. “Lord Edmund wished…”
“… her dead, but Sir Corwin saved her.”
The speech pattern was strange but Spencer could not spare it any thought; at the moment, the message they bore was far more intriguing.
“Your husband?” He looked to Valdine. “But why did Lord Edmund tell me she was dead?”
“Because he does not know she lives.” Valdine’s voice was hoarse with emotion, with urgency. “My husband took her…”
“… to the tower in the hope that Sir Kirk would…”
“… return to escort her to sanctuary. But Sir Kirk…”
“… is in Ireland now, not to return for some time.”
Spencer’ anger cooled as the story unfolded. “Is the lady still in the tower?”
The women nodded in unison. “Since we cannot rely on Sir Kirk, we must…”
“… help her ourselves.”
“And how will you do this?”
Valdine looked at her sister, the two of them obviously terrified. Spencer dismounted his charger.
“Tell me.”
Valdine took a deep breath. “We had hoped to dress her in peasant clothing and whisk her from the keep.”
“A valid scheme.”
Valdine nodded hesitantly. “We were planning to do it today. Lady Micheline has the clothes in her possession, but…”
“… finding an escort to take her to the monastery at Crosby has…”
“… been difficult.”
“How so?”
Valdine glanced about as her sister trembled. “The soldiers who remain are reluctant to go against their liege. I sincerely believed we would…”
“… have their support, but it would seem that out of loyalty to the House of de Cleveley, they are fearful of the consequences should…”
“… their aid to Baroness Bowland be discovered.”
Spencer glanced to the battlements, noting the positioning of sentries, old soldiers who had seen better days. Scratching under his hauberk, he sighed heavily.
“I see,” he said softly. “And you would have me assist you?”
Valdine almost collapsed. “Oh, my lord, we were fearful to ask. Other than a few peasant children and servants, we have no help…”
“ … at all. It has been terribly frustrating!”
“What on earth are they afraid of?”
“Of the curse of The Darkland. They are fearful that it…”
“… will turn against them if they defy Lord Edmund.”
Spencer sighed again, turning to glance at the structure behind him. “So the fear of the evils of The Darkland has prevented anyone from going against the grain.” He returned his focus to the trembling women. “Well, I for one do not fear The Darkland or her reputation. And if Lady Micheline needs a champion, then I am determined to help her.”
Valdine reached out, grasping his mailed hand. “Thank you, my lord. We truly feared we were at an end.”
Spencer was feeling the slightest bit of satisfaction that he would be bringing shame to Edmund by rescuing his wife from under his nose. But more than that, he was determined to prevent the death of another young woman at the hands of a man who had no concept of the value of life. Spencer was brave and strong, and he was not afraid to do what was right.
“You have come to the right man, ladies,” he said confidently. “I shall escort Lady Micheline to Crosby and take great pleasure in doing so. Now, it would seem we must solidify the plan. Do you think you can bring her down from the tower without incident?”
Valdine and Wanda nodded. “The plan is to take her through…”
“… the kitchens and out through the tunneled gate.”
“Where is the gate?”
“On the north side, by the kitchen yard,” Valdine replied.
Spencer tightened his gauntlets. “Bring her. I shall be waiting.”
Valdine and Wanda dashed away without another word. Spencer mounted his charger, passing a final glance at the towering structure of Anchorsholme and resisting the urge to smile.
Not another, you bastard. You will not take another!
Johanne entered the smelly solar, locating her brother by the lancet window. He seemed preoccupied, staring over the bailey, as she approached and rubbed against his leg.
“What did Spencer have to say?” she purred, grabbing his flaccid member through his hose.
Edmund pushed her hand away, still gazing over the bailey. “He came to tell me that le Vay is marrying Mara. And to escort Micheline to the wedding.”
Brides of Ireland Page 97
