He could see the hurt, the confusion, in her eyes. After a moment, he saw the wall of defiance crumble and suddenly he was looking into a very sad, very lost, expression.
“Why?” she demanded, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Why won’t anyone tell me what is going on?”
He felt himself weaken. But when he instinctively reached out to touch her, she pulled away. Kirk gazed at her, feeling her rejection to his soul.
“What do you want to know?” he asked softly. “And, more importantly, does your very life hang in the balance if you do not discover these answers?”
Mara turned away from him, her worn slippers crunching the moldering leaves. “Something happened to my sister in Edmund’s bedchamber and no one will tell me what it was. Not even my sister.”
Kirk watched her deliciously petite figure, wishing he could simply reach out and hold her. “What happens between a wife and her husband is a private matter, Mara,” he followed her, slowly, as she moved away. “And what led you to believe that anything out of the ordinary happened?”
She paused, picking at her nails as she so often did when subdued or confused. “Edmund and Johanne inferred as much. Edmund said my sister pleased them both. And Johanne said she would teach my sister what she needed to know in order to please Edmund,” she suddenly turned on him, the brilliant eyes filled with emotion. “If it was your sister they were speaking of, how would you react?”
He sighed heavily, looking away as he pondered his reply. He couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes. “I would want to know, of course. But that still does not make the matter any of your affair.”
Mara was silent a moment, watching his beautiful face, realizing he was reluctant to meet her head-on as he usually did. It suddenly occurred to her that he knew more than he was telling her and she swallowed hard, approaching him as he stared at the ground and chewed his lip.
“Was it truly awful?”
He looked up, meeting her gaze. “Why would you ask me this?”
“Because you know. I can tell. Was Edmund truly awful to Micheline?”
His expression wavered, the consummately controlled facade weakening in the face of her softly-uttered question. After a moment, he weakly lifted his shoulders. “What would you have me tell you, lass?”
She moved closer to him until the toes of her slippers were against the toes of his massive boots. Craning her neck back, she could literally feel the heat and power radiating from his body. But the look in his eyes reflected a weakness only she was capable of understanding. A characteristic flaw that occurred every time he gazed at her.
“Tell me it was awful and I will ask no more.”
His features softened, the reluctance evident on his features. “It was awful.” She hardly heard him.
“Did he hurt her?”
“I thought you said you would ask no more.”
“I lied. You answered one question, you might as well answer the rest. Did he hurt her?”
He sighed. There was no avoiding her logic or questions. “Aside from the obvious, he did not.”
“Was he cruel? Did he shame her somehow?”
Kirk nodded. He simply couldn’t lie to her. “He did.”
Mara continued to gaze into his eyes before closing them tightly, turning away. After a moment, Kirk saw the delicate shoulders heave.
“You promised,” she whispered tightly. “You promised to protect her.”
“I have my limits,” his entire body ached with sorrow. “There was nothing I could do for her.”
“But you promised,” her voice cracked. “You asked me to trust you, once. And now I see my trust has been destroyed.”
He drew in a deep breath, wanting so badly to whip her into his arms and tell her the entire story simply so she would understand how helpless he had been. But he had promised Micheline that he would not tell, and he intended to keep his vow. Even if Mara thought him a failure.
“I did not destroy your trust,” his voice was tight. “I did what I could, as much as I could. Mara, love, I could do no more. You must believe me.”
Her answer was to turn away from him and walk through the bramble. He followed on her heels, feeling desperate. She simply had to understand.
“Please, Mara,” he said softly. “Do not do this to me. I can take anything but your silence, lass.”
Mara wiped at her nose, her eyes. She had no idea what she was feeling, only intense pain that Micheline had somehow been shamed by her husband and that Kirk had stood by and allowed it to happen. If he wasn’t going to elaborate, she could do nothing more than draw her own conclusions.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said, crossing the small clearing where Edmund and Johanne had titillated one another. “For the bitter words you dealt me last night or for your failure to protect my sister. You will stay away from me, Kirk. Go about your life and leave me out of it.”
He did grab her then, only to receive a sharp rake of nails across his face. His head snapped with the unexpected action, coming away with three bloodied lines just under his cheekbone. Slowly, and very deliberately, he ran his fingers through the gashes and stared at the blood.
Mara, her eyes wide, watched his movements. She’d only meant to strike him, to break his hold on her, but instead her nails had clipped his face. Her apology died in her throat when his stone-gray eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t have felt their harsh impact more if he had slapped her.
“Christ,” he breathed slowly and with great regret. “What I fool I was to ever think I was in love with you.”
He pushed past her, bloodied face and all. Mara watched him move across the dense foliage with tears in her eyes, wanting so badly to apologize, yet still embittered by his failure to Micheline and by the entire turbulent situation. Nonetheless, she had to literally bite her tongue to keep from calling out to him.
He disappeared in the grove of oaks. Mara could hardly follow, the pain in her heart rendering her weak and helpless. Collapsing in the rotting leaves, she wept through the nooning meal. The afternoon passed and still, she alternately wept and reflected on the course her life had taken. And when night eventually fell, Corwin found her dirty and asleep, her misery too deep for the tears that could no longer heal.
*
By morning, Mara was miserable with the chill and an aching heart. Sniffling and sneezing between bouts of tremendous sadness, she answered a knock on her chamber door only to find Niles’ wan face smiling at her.
“What do you want?” she wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.
Niles was vastly uncomfortable. More so in her company because he had seen evidence of her rage on Kirk’s face, an event which he had refused to discuss. And the fact that Kirk had spent the entire night drinking only fed Niles’s guilt that, somehow, he had contributed to this nasty situation with his loose tongue. “Lord Edmund is sending a party to Quernmore Castle within the hour, my lady,” he said. “He asks that you accompany them.”
She sneezed, her foul mood worsening. “Why?”
“I do not know,” Niles said, trying to avoid her when she sneezed again. “He only asks that you prepare yourself for the trip.”
“And he gave no reason at all?”
“He did not. But mayhap, given yesterday’s events, a few days away from Anchorsholme might do you well.”
Mara sneezed, her raven-colored hair shaking violently. “This is madness,” she said irritably. “There is no reason why I need travel to this Castle. What if I do not wish to go?”
Niles met her gaze steadily. “It is not a choice, my lady. Lord Edmund asked that you travel to Quernmore this day.”
Mara stared at him, frowning, before slamming the door in his face. So Edmund wanted her to ride to Quernmore Castle, did he? Most likely to be rid of her, as Niles suggested. Or, mayhap, he was hoping the party would be set upon by bandits and she would fall victim to their murderous rage.
Whatever the case, she had little choice in the matter. And since Micheline was nowhere to be
found, having spent the night with her new husband, Mara quite frankly did not care where she went or what she did. Micheline was keeping secrets, Kirk hated her, and she was doomed to a life of misery of her own making. It had started when she agreed to come to Anchorsholme Castle in the first place.
So she packed a small satchel. Sneezing and coughing, she donned the warmest dress she owned and pulled her hair away from her face, securing it in a loose braid at the nape of her neck. Her mother’s worn brown cloak served its purpose as she slung it over her shoulders, collecting her bag. The moment she opened the door, however, Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda were there to greet her.
They bowed in perfect unison. “Good morn…”
“… my lady. Sir Niles informed us that…”
“…you were not feeling well. May we…”
“…assist?”
Mara hadn’t the strength to reject them. Or the will. Depressed and ill, she simply shook her head. “I do not know what you can do for me. ’Tis a simple bout with the chill that only time will cure.”
Lady Valdine suddenly produced a pewter flask. Mara eyed the steaming contents. “What is that?”
The ladies smiled at the same time. “Herbs. And…”
“…secret ingredients. It will…”
“…heal you if it does not make…”
“…a drunkard out of you first.”
Mara couldn’t help but grin. “How much do I take?”
Lady Valdine put the flask in her hand. “A few sips now. And a…”
“…few sips after the morning meal. A few…”
“…sips here and there throughout the day. But not…”
“…all at once.”
Mara smelled the contents and, with a shrug, took a long, deep swallow. Smacking her lips, she shrugged again. “I taste whisky.”
“Irish…”
“…whisky. And how would a…”
“…lady know the taste of whisky?”
Mara grinned again and took another swallow before the ladies could stop her. “My father was a drunkard, ladies. I have been exposed to whisky since I was old enough to know what it was.”
Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda were fixed with identical grins, suggesting to Mara that the ladies were not so prim and proper as they appeared. She raised the flask.
“Would you like some?”
They tittered and she smiled, taking another sip. And still another. Feeling the warmth from the alcohol fortify her, she clutched her satchel in one hand and the flask in the other, moving down the corridor with the pair of ladies in tow.
“I have been ordered to travel to Quernmore Castle this day,” she said as they reached the stairs, taking yet another swallow of the ‘medicine’. “Do either of you ladies know where my sister is?”
Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda shook their heads, a wagging pair. “Nay, my lady. Your…”
“…sister is still with Lord Edmund in…”
“…his chamber”
Reaching the bottom of the stairs and cross the old stone of the foyer, Mara felt the familiar depression grasp at her. Since her marriage the day before, Micheline had been distant and withdrawn and somehow, Mara felt as if a wedge had been driven between them. A wedge of secrets that both grieved and bewildered her. Taking another drink from the flask, she smacked her lips as the great doors of Anchorsholme loomed before her. Open to the bailey, she could see that a small army was formed.
Her brow furrowed as she saw Kirk and Niles at the edge of the formation, speaking between themselves. Coming to a halt, Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda moved up on either side of her.
“Is something…”
“…the matter, Lady Mara?”
Mara took a deep breath. Then she took another drink. Shaking her head, she proceeded into the weak sunlight.
Niles saw her coming. He said something to Kirk, who immediately moved for his charger without so much as passing her a glance. Mood dampening, Mara ignored him as well, allowing Niles to help her mount her palfrey. The knight took her satchel, leaving her with the flask clutched in her palm.
As Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda bid the party farewell, Kirk and Niles moved the men into marching rhythm, purging themselves from the great double baileys of Anchorsholme.
Chapter Ten
The journey to Quernmore Castle was a little more than a day’s ride. Mara sat atop her old mare, listening to the chatter of birds as the escort party passed through the small forest on the border between Anchorsholme and Quernmore. She made a point of focusing on the landscape, the road, her horse’s mane. Anything to avoid looking at Kirk, riding tall and strong at the head of the column.
But she had stolen glances at him now and again, never once catching him looking at her in return. Niles tried to make polite conversation, but she quickly ended his attempts with one-word replies. She did not want to speak with anyone, save Kirk, if he was so inclined to apologize for the events of the past two days. And if he were to apologize, then there would be nothing to stop her from apologizing, too.
Noon came and went. The army did not stop for a meal, merely passed around bread and jerky. Niles provided Mara with bread and delicious cheese, which she washed down with the whiskey concoction. By mid-afternoon, the flask was empty and Mara was showing distinct signs of intoxication.
It all started with a slight tune, off-key and muttered. But the tune grew louder, much to Niles’ amusement, and Mara seemed quite happy with her ear-piercing song. The alcohol only served to enhance her turbulent emotions and when the last verse of the tune ended, the bright blue eyes focused on Kirk’s distant back.
“He hates me, you know.” She turned to look at Niles. “Kirk hates me. Did you see his face? I did that.”
Niles’ expression remained even, wondering if Kirk could hear what was going on. The Kirk Connaught he knew had eyes and ears all over his person and, if Niles suspected correctly, the man had heard every syllable of conversation since leaving Anchorsholme. He wondered how much he would allow Mara to carry on before intervening.
“It was an accident, I am sure,” the knight said, eyeing Kirk in the distance. “Mere scratches.”
“Aye, it was an accident,” Mara said loudly, waving her arm to emphasize her point and nearly falling off her mount. “He grabbed me and I meant to break away. But I gouged him instead.”
Niles glanced at Kirk again, wondering if he shouldn’t discreetly back away from the lady so that she would cease her conversation. Without an audience, there would be no need for chatter.
“Nothing is right any longer,” Mara muttered, swaying in the saddle and oblivious to the discomfort of the knight. “My sister is married and Kirk hates me and I… I want to go home!”
She burst into tears. As Niles debated whether or not to calm her, Kirk suddenly reined his charger around and plowed through the column. Those who did not move out of his way fast enough were nearly run over. Reaching Mara, he ordered the knight away with a brusque jerk of his head.
“Enough tears, Mara,” he said quietly, reining his horse next to her. “There’s no need…”
Her weeping grew louder and she turned away from him. Kirk raised his visor, looking seriously at her. Catching sight of the flask clutched in her hand, he snatched it. Smelling the alcohol, he turned accusingly to Niles.
“Who in the hell gave her this?”
“She had it when she emerged from the keep,” Niles replied steadily. “I thought mayhap it was mead, or even flavored water.”
Kirk shook his head with disgust. “It’s whiskey.” He focused on Mara again. “My lady, who gave you this?”
Mara sobbed dramatically. “You… you called me ‘my lady’! You haven’t addressed me formally since we kissed!” The bright eyes were suddenly on him again. “It was a good kiss, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it good, Kirk?”
She was so intoxicated it was comical. But Kirk did not smile, merely nodding, as he had little choice. “It was good.”
“Better than any lady you have
kissed?”
“The best.”
“The very, very best?”
“Aye, Mara. The very, very best.”
That seemed to satisfy her somewhat. He thought she might smile, but she suddenly burst into even louder sobs. “The very best and the very last!” she wept. “Now that you hate me, there will be no more kisses!”
Kirk did not change expression, although inside he was shrinking from the stares of his men. Mara moaned and sobbed into her hand and Kirk decided to put an end to her performance. Motioning to Niles, he grasped Mara by the arms.
“Secure her palfrey,” he told the knight, lifting the lady off the small beast without effort. Placing her across his thighs, he ignored her weak protests and spurred his charger forward.
Well in front of the column, he finally responded to her squirming. Squeezing her tightly, he listened to her gasp with the force of his strength.
“Enough,” he hissed. “You’re causing a scene.”
She balled her fists, pounding his mailed hands weakly. “Let me go,” she sobbed, but there were very few tears. Mostly frustration. “I d-do not want to ride with you.”
“Nonetheless, you are,” he said quietly. “Tell me who gave you the whiskey.”
Mara sniffled and coughed, wiping her nose most unladylike. “Lady V-Valdine and Lady Wanda,” she hiccupped. “They care more for me than you do.”
“By giving you whiskey?”
“By giving me medicine to help my cough.” She sniffled again, feeling weak and dizzy and emotionally drained. “They told me it was a cure for the chill, which I contracted last night whilst in the woods where you had left me.”
He did not reply, wondering if he shouldn’t steer clear of that particular subject. Being that Mara was drunk on the ladies’ potent cure, she probably wouldn’t remember the conversation were they to reconcile. And he wanted her to remember.
“I am sorry you are ill,” he replied softly.
In her exhaustion, she leaned heavily against him, too weak to maintain her fight. “You left me all alone, for the thieves and animals and elements. Do you know that I stayed in the trees until Corwin came looking for me?”
Lords of the Isles Page 13
