“God’s Blood,” he exhaled slowly. “What in the hell has happened here?”
Micheline stared at Johanne’s contorted form, her eyes wide with shock. After a moment, she released Valdine and made her way, however hesitantly, toward Sir Spencer.
“She… she went mad, my lord,” she breathed, still too fearful to draw any closer to Johanne’s corpse as if it would rise up and attack her. “She killed her brother in a rage when she learned that Kirk loved my sister.”
Spencer’ pale eyes stared at Micheline a moment before passing a long glance at the lady he had killed in self-defense. He simply shook his head.
“I did not want to kill her but she gave me no choice,” he said hoarsely. “I fear she would have killed us all.”
Micheline nodded firmly, pulling the scarf away from her head. Soft brown hair tumbled down her back as she stared at the dead woman, hardly daring to believe that it was over. The madness, the fear, the torture; with the swift stroke of a broadsword, the conclusion had not been pleasant, but it had been swift. And she wasn’t sorry in the least.
“I realize that,” she said quietly. “You were simply protecting us, Sir Spencer, and I am ever grateful.”
Spencer couldn’t decide if he was disturbed over what had happen more than he was satisfied. He had killed a woman, which went against everything he believed in. But given The Darkland’s reputation, he suspected he had done a great service to many. And paid vengeance for others.
He turned to Micheline, noticing in a softer, more average way that she resembled her sister. In fact, he thought her to be rather pretty.
“And you, my lady?” His baritone was soft. “Are you well?”
Micheline nodded. “Well enough. Better still now that Johanne and Edmund have been sent where they belong – to the bowels of hell to pay for their horrible sins.”
Spencer did not know what else to say. Around them, the occupants of the kitchen yard emerged from their hiding places, daring to come forward to see what had become of their mad mistress. She was dead, as was her brother, disemboweled on the floor of the great kitchen. Though it was wicked to think of celebrating such an event, Micheline realized she was considering that very thing.
Spencer thought he caught a glimpse of a very relieved smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The funeral for Kirk’s parents had been short, to the point. A lass from the kitchens of Wicklow sang a sorrowful Irish folk ballad, driving Steven to tears as the grave was filled. Ryan Connaught was buried holding his wife, the two of them wrapped in the linens from their wedding bed.
Somberly, the small collection of mourners made their way back to the Castle, the walls slowly rebuilt by a workforce of soldiers and peasants. Kirk had personally screened every one of the Irish peasants before allowing them to repair his beloved Wicklow. Convinced there were no spies or rebels among them, he was satisfied with the progress.
Niles and Albert had already been sent home on one of the de Cleveley boats. With all of the chaos finally quieted and a sense of order taking hold, Kirk had time to reflect on Niles’ death and realized he missed his friend a great deal. But he still had Corwin, a fine fighter and companion, and he comforted himself in the fact that he had not lost the both of them. One, most certainly, was enough.
Corwin, too, seemed particularly pensive over Niles’ death. But he had been unusually quiet since setting sail for Ireland, going about his duties with silent efficiency, though Kirk had not lingered on the man’s subdued mood. Mayhap it was the gloom of leaving his wife, or the distaste of battle altogether. For whatever the reason, he was unconcerned when Corwin wandered up to him after supper on the night of his parent’s burial.
The moon was full, the landscape ghostly silent. Kirk glanced at Corwin as the man came to rest beside him on the battlements, exchanging a few pleasantries before slipping into silence. As his eyes swept the countryside and keep, Kirk happened to pass a glance at Corwin and noticed the man was sweating profusely.
“Corwin?” he asked. “Are you well, man?”
Corwin seemed to be shaking. “Why… why do you ask, Kirk?”
“Because you’re soaked with perspiration. Are you feeling ill?”
Corwin coughed nervously, the trembling in his body growing more evident. Kirk’s brow furrowed with concern.
“If you are ill, then mayhap you should rest. Steven can give up his bed for one night. In fact, you have not seemed well since we arrived in Ireland. Is something the matter?”
Corwin closed his eyes as Kirk spoke, bowing his head as if to block out the question. Before Kirk was finished speaking, he made a strange choking sound and fell back against the stone parapet.
“Oh, God… Kirk!”
Kirk was gravely concerned. He grasped Corwin by the arms to steady him. “Corwin, what’s the matter?”
Corwin’s brown eyes gushed over with tears. His gaze, wide and frantic, met Kirk. “I cannot… I cannot go on like this any longer! It is killing me!”
“What is?” Kirk demanded softly. In truth, he was a little frightened. “What is killing you, Corwin?”
Corwin suddenly grabbed him, holding his arms so tightly that Kirk lost feeling where the fingers bit into his flesh. “This… silence.” He gasped as if it had taken all of his strength to spit it out. “I have been silent for too long and the torment is killing me!”
Kirk tried to remain calm, to make some sense out of what Corwin was trying to say. “I do not understand, Corwin. What silence?”
Corwin drew in a ragged breath, sagging as Kirk held him steady. The auburn head hung slack, lolling from side to side as if losing all control.
“This silence I have carried with me for years,” he whispered. “Silence that has eaten away at me, a dark silence that you can hardly comprehend. But I cannot be silent any longer! You must know what is happening!”
Kirk’s composure was slowly slipping. “Then tell me, Corwin. What is happening?”
Corwin’s head drooped again and he stared at the ground. Finally, he swallowed hard in an attempt to regain his composure. He would need all of his strength to get through this. “Dear God, Kirk, you must forgive me.”
“For what?”
“For not being truthful with you. For not telling you what I knew, for not helping you prevent the deaths of nine innocent women.”
Kirk stared at him, the flicker of disquiet in his soul bursting into a roaring blaze. “Then be truthful with me now. What do you know?”
Corwin lifted pain-filled eyes. “I know that Edmund ordered me to help him murder those women. He threatened to kill Valdine if I did not help him. He gave me little choice but to keep his dirty secrets.”
Kirk drew in a long, steadying breath. “I see,” he murmured. The truth as he had always suspected. “Then it was you helping him all along. But the rumors pointed to Niles.”
“Edmund started those rumors to take suspicion off me. He knew you suspected that one of us was aiding him and he wanted you to believe it was Niles.”
“Because he had leverage against you,” Kirk finished softly. “And you did what you felt you had to do in order to keep your wife safe.”
Corwin nodded miserably. “I hated myself for being so weak, Kirk. But I had no choice. Edmund gave me no choice!”
Kirk released the man, allowing him to bump softly against the parapet. “I understand what you are saying, lad. But I do not understand why you have chosen this particular moment to confess.”
Corwin seemed to pale further, if such a thing was possible. “It… it involves Micheline….”
Kirk grabbed him again, so hard that Corwin yelped with pain. Stone-gray eyes blazed at him. “What of Micheline? You haven’t…?”
“Nay.” Corwin shook his head quickly. “But Edmund wanted to. He ordered me to kill her, but I couldn’t. Instead, I locked her in the tower where she remains to this day. I was hoping you would return from Quernmore in time to take charge of the situation, but instead we were rout
ed to Ireland sooner than expected.”
Kirk emitted a harsh sigh, his volatile emotions surging. “Damn you, Corwin! Has she been harmed?”
“Nay.”
“What does Edmund know of her death?”
“Only that she is dead. That I disposed of the body, as we have disposed of all the rest.”
Kirk released him, roughly, and the knight stumbled back against the stone abutment. But what terrified him the most was the fact that he wasn’t finished yet.
“There’s more, Kirk.”
Kirk was chewing his lip with agitation. “Christ, what more could there possibly be?”
Corwin swallowed. “Edmund promised to kill Valdine if I told you.”
Kirk stopped chewing his lip. He did not like the look in Corwin’s eye. “Tell me what?”
Corwin’s trembling increased. In fact, he was nearly cowering. “But Valdine….”
Kirk took a step toward him. “I shall kill her myself if you do not tell me what more there is.”
Corwin shrank, averting his gaze. When the mortal blow came, he did not want to see it. “It has to do with his plans for Mara.”
As he feared, Kirk went mad. He grabbed the knight, throwing him to the pathway of the battlement. His hands around the man’s neck, he half-shoved him over the edge of the narrow walkway, a two-story drop to the ground below. Corwin gasped with terror, but his fear was nothing compared to the look of murder in Kirk’s eyes.
“Tell me!” Kirk roared.
“Edmund sent a missive to le Vay proposing a marriage with Mara!” he rattled off. “You carried the missive with you when you went to solicit his support!”
Kirk’s mouth went slack, his eyes wide with shock. But the hands remained around Corwin’s neck, nearly strangling him.
“A missive?” His eyes closed as realization swept him and he turned away, releasing the knight. “My dear God… the second missive I knew nothing about. A marriage proposal, did you say?”
“Aye.”
Kirk could hardly speak. “And I carried it right to him. Right to him!”
Corwin scooted away from the ledge, rubbing his sore neck. “Edmund wanted to be rid of Mara because he felt she was a threat to the stability of his Anchorsholme. You had turned against him because of her and Edmund simply wanted to be rid of her.”
“Then why did not he kill her like the rest?”
Corwin seemed to be calming now that he had confessed everything. “It was really Johanne who wanted them dead, Kirk. Edmund simply carried out her wishes. And Johanne wanted them dead because they had shown interest in you. And you, as we all know, belong to her.”
“That does not answer my question. Why did not he kill her?”
Corwin looked away. “Because Johanne was so focused on Micheline’s arrival that she failed to notice the relationship developing between you and Mara. Edmund did not want her to know, and he did not want to risk your wrath by harming the girl, so he chose to send her away. I think the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t bear to harm her because she was so lovely.”
“So he sent her to le Vay?”
Corwin nodded slowly. “You played right into his plans when you asked that she accompany you to Quernmore. Edmund was going to ask you to take her to Quernmore to show off to the old man, but you beat him to it. Once she was married to le Vay, there would be nothing you could do. You would be forced to forget about her, Anchorsholme would return to normal, and the entire episode would be a distant memory.”
Kirk fell back against the parapet, his face glazed with shock. “This is such madness I have difficulty believing it.” He turned to the somber knight. “Why, Corwin? Why did you wait until now to tell me all of this?”
Corwin sat dejectedly at the edge of the walkway. “Fear,” he said hoarsely. “Fear for Valdine. But I simply cannot sit by while Mara marries another man, or Micheline remains a prisoner. It has to end; all of it. You must know.”
“Do you still fear for Valdine?”
Corwin shrugged. “I will trust that you will not permit anything to happen to her. Considering you will be returning to England to stop the wedding between Mara and le Vay, I would hope you would take the time to protect my wife from the wrath of our liege.”
Kirk pushed himself off the wall. Already, he was moving for the ladder that descended to the bailey. Rising on unsteady legs, Corwin followed.
“Where are you going?”
Kirk did not glance up as he lowered himself on the ladder. “To England.”
“Tonight?”
“This very moment.”
Corwin watched Kirk as he dropped to the dirt of the bailey, marching toward the darkened keep of Wicklow like a man with a demon on his heels.
“Godspeed, Kirk.” He felt sick inside. Sick and full of sadness. “I sincerely hope you are in time.”
And time was running out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nine days.
It had been nine long and horrific days since Lionel had told Mara of her marital fate. Nine days of tears, of frustration and despair, and nine long days of plotting how to escape the man. She had to break free or die trying.
Lionel knew of her desperation. For the past several days, he had locked her in her room to prevent her from doing anything foolish but Lily had always released her. Still, Lily wasn’t entirely oblivious as to why her father had locked Mara in; she kept Mara with her at all times for much the same reason her father kept her locked in her chamber. Neither one of them wanted to see any harm befall Mara her because the woman was so distraught that they were afraid she very well might do something to hurt herself. She was in agony.
The only person Lionel could speak with about the situation was Lily because Spencer had kept a distance from him, but even Lily was somewhat unsympathetic. She made it very clear that she didn’t agree with what her father was doing. Her lack of support disturbed him but he wouldn’t let it dissuade him. It all came to a head one afternoon when Lionel came to visit Mara and, as usual, found Lily sitting with her.
The day had been unusually cold, a heavy breeze blowing in from the sea ten miles to the west. In Mara’s chamber, the same chamber she had shared with Kirk, a fire blazed and the ladies were warmly wrapped. Lionel entered politely, he gazed on Mara as she sat near the fire with Lily. He knew Mara had heard him enter but she would not look at him. She hadn’t looked at him in nine days.
“Greetings, ladies,” he said pleasantly. “I have come to tell you that supper will be early tonight. A group of traveling musicians have taken shelter with us and have promised to perform tonight. I thought you both might enjoy the entertainment.”
Mara didn’t move. Her gaze was on the fire. Lily’s gaze lingered on Mara a moment before turning to her father.
“I do not believe we will be joining you for supper, Father,” she said. “Mara and I will take our meal in her room.”
Lionel struggled not to lose his patience. It seemed to him that both women were being unreasonable and that both of them were taking a stand against him. It hurt him that Lily would side with a new friend over her own father. Moreover, after nine days of tension, he was ready to crack. He was tired of it.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You have supped every night in your rooms for over a week. You will both come down to sup in the hall tonight, do you hear? We will have a grand celebration this night with music and wine and food.”
“Nay, Father,” Lily said firmly. “Mara will not go to the hall and I will not leave her. We will eat here.”
So much for keeping his temper. Lionel grunted with frustration, turning away from the pair as he struggled to think of something to say that wouldn’t set them off. He ended up stomping across the floor towards the chamber door but stopped short of exiting. He turned to them.
“I am at an end with this foolishness,” he said flatly. “I realize that Lady Mara is upset by all of this and I realize you are attempting to comfort her. I am grateful for your compassion, Lily. But
the time has come for Lady Mara to accept her destiny. All of the weeping and moping is not going to change things. We shall be married very soon and that will be the end of it.”
Mara, having been fairly numb and distant for the past several days, suddenly came to life.
“It is not the end of it,” she snapped. “It is only the beginning, my lord, for if you force me into this sham of a marriage, you will have wed a bitter woman who hates the very sight of you. You have condemned yourself to a life of misery by forcing yourself on a woman who wants nothing to do with you.”
Lionel’s jaw ticked as he jabbed a finger at her. “If misery is what you want, then that is your choice,” he said. “I do not care what you think of me so long as you provide me with a son.”
Mara shot to her feet. “There is already a child in my belly that is not of your loins,” she fired back. “It is Kirk’s son and he will kill you in order to claim what is rightfully his. Is that clear enough for you?”
Both Lionel and Lily stared at her, shocked. The room was taut with silence, a painful sensation as Mara’s words hung heavy in the air. Lionel’s stunned expression transformed into something peculiar.
“So he has bedded you,” he muttered.
It was a statement more than a question. Mara, seething with fury, clenched and unclenched her fists.
“Of course he has,” she snarled. “I love him and he will be my husband.”
Lionel stared at her a moment longer before emitting a heavy sigh. Furious moments before, he lost all of his fire rather quickly. Confrontation wasn’t in his nature.
“It is of no matter,” he said quietly. “I will claim the child as my own. Hopefully it is a son to carry on the le Vay name.”
“Is that all you care about?” Mara threw up her hands. “A son? Look at me, Lionel; I am a woman of flesh and blood and feeling. I am not a brood mare whose only purpose in life is to provide you with an all-precious son to carry on the le Vay name.”
“You serve no other purpose,” Lionel bellowed. “You are a bereft woman from an insignificant family and you should consider yourself extremely fortunate.”
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