“… is still at Quernmore Castle with Lord le Vay. Perhaps…”
“… Sir Kirk has asked that she remain there while he away. It would…”
“… be the safe thing to do.”
Micheline thought on that as she sipped the wine. “Then I am glad,” she murmured. “I am terrified of what will happen if she returns here.”
Valdine and Wanda nodded in unison. “We can only assume…”
“… that Sir Kirk will not want her returned here while he is unable to protect her. Corwin…”
“… had hoped that Sir Kirk would return shortly to escort you from Anchorsholme, but…”
“… he is leaving for Ireland on the morrow and we do not know when he shall return. Therefore…”
“… we must find someone else to take you from this place.”
Micheline gazed at the pair as she took a big bite of tart, white cheese. “Take me where?”
Valdine shrugged. “There is…”
“… a priory in Crosby. Corwin thought perhaps…”
“… you could seek sanctuary there. You must…”
“… leave Anchorsholme, my lady. If Edmund finds you…”
“… he will kill you himself. He ordered you…”
“… dead and you are clearly not dead.”
Micheline knew that. Still, to hear them speak of it was terrifying and sickening. Her chewing slowed. Swallowing the bite in her mouth, she sipped at the wine again. She was pensive.
“How do you plan to remove me from this place?” she asked. “It will not be a simple thing. You must disguise me somehow.”
Valdine and Wanda nodded, mirror image. “We will seek help,” Valdine said. “We will…”
“… collect peasant clothing and…”
“… find a soldier who will escort you to Crosby. We promise we…”
“… will take you from this place, my lady. We do not want…”
“… to see you end up as the others have.”
Micheline didn’t have much of an appetite any more. Her pale eyes moved between the two women, seeing that they, too, were afraid but nonetheless willing to help her. She was truly touched that they should risk themselves so. But in their eyes she saw more than fear; she saw anguish. It was a telling expression.
“You know who has done the killing,” she murmured, a statement more than a question. “You know who does these terrible things.”
Wanda looked at her sister, but Valdine was looking at Micheline. She didn’t reply for a moment. “We have a suspect,” she said quietly. “But there…”
“… was nothing we could do to help. The young women…”
“… were taken in the night before…”
“… we could do anything to help. My husband…”
“… would never speak of the disappearances. He said…”
“… it is better to let the dead lie before the same thing…”
“… happens to us.”
Micheline studied them intently. “Did Corwin ever try to help the women?” she asked. Then, a dark glimmer came to her eye. “Or… dear God, was he a party to the crimes?”
Valdine lowered her gaze. “We suspect that…”
“… Edmund threatened to harm us if…”
“… he did not do as he was told.”
Micheline’s eyes widened. “Do as he was told?” she repeated. “What was he told?”
Valdine shook her head, her features paler than usual. “Please,” she begged softly. “Do not…”
“… ask questions that you will not…”
“… like the answer to. My husband has asked us to…”
“… remove you from Anchorsholme and that…”
“… is what we shall do. Do not ask more than that.”
Micheline didn’t like any of what she was hearing. Too much pointed to Corwin as a source of guilt in The Darkland’s disappearances but she didn’t say anymore. Perhaps she was wrong. He had, after all, saved her. All she could think of at the moment was getting out of Anchorsholme. The rest she would worry about when she wasn’t in mortal danger.
“I will not,” she told them. “I am deeply grateful for your help. And I shall be ready to leave as soon as you have found someone to escort me.”
The women didn’t say much more after that. As Micheline finished off the remainder of the food, Valdine and Wanda helped her change into warmer clothing. They also fashioned a pallet for her out of the blankets they had brought. They tried to make her as comfortable as possible in her tower prison, all the while thinking of the plans that lay ahead. They had to remove Baroness Bowland and inconspicuously as possible, which would not be an easy task. Although Corwin had sworn them to secrecy, the ladies knew that they would need help.
The population of Anchorsholme held no love for Edmund. There was too much fear and contempt there for the man, something that was ingrained into the history of the castle. They would have to depend on that hatred in order to save the baroness’ life.
*
“The missive arrived this morning,” Le Vay said softly. “I have already read it. I am sorry, Kirk.”
It was just after sunrise in Lionel’s lavish solar with its hide rugs and glass from Venice. It spoke of a man well-traveled and wealthy, but Kirk didn’t pay any notice. He had been summoned from his bed several minutes earlier with news of a missive for him newly arrived from Anchorsholme. He had been curious but not concerned, and that had been his undoing. He had been caught off guard.
Now, he was staring at a piece of vellum upon which was inscribed hastily written words. He recognized Edmund’s writing, almost unrecognizable scrawl. All he could feel as he read the words, over and over, was grief. Pure, unmitigated grief.
“I suppose in hindsight it is not a surprise,” he finally said. “We knew there were winds of revolt, but my father….”
He sighed heavily, unable to continue, as Lionel watched him carefully. The missive had carried bad news indeed and he was not without compassion.
“I never knew your father,” he said quietly. “I understood he was a magnificent knight.”
Kirk nodded slowly, thinking on the man he favored greatly, now cut down by rebels. My father is dead. It made him feel sick to think about it.
“He was,” he murmured, realizing his throat was tight with emotion. “I shall miss him.”
Lionel could feel the man’s sorrow and he was deeply sympathetic. “I know what it is like to lose someone you care for,” he said after a moment. “I lost my son several years ago when he was newly knighted. He was cut down by archers during a siege at Kenilworth Castle. It was perhaps the worst day of my life.”
Kirk glanced up at the man. “I remember when that happened,” he said. “I knew your son, if you recall. Michael was a fine man.”
Lionel shrugged, not particularly wanting to relive that agony. It was still his daily companion, like a ghost that never went away. He gestured at the vellum.
“What else does Edmund say about the siege?” he asked. “Don’t you have brothers at Wicklow as well?”
Kirk looked back at the missive. “I do,” he replied, “but he does not mention them. Just my father. He says I am to meet Anchorholme’s troops at the port tomorrow morning. We sail for Wicklow immediately.”
Lionel nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I shall have Spencer muster six hundred troops for you to take with you but I think, given his injury, that I will keep him here with me. I will send another knight in his stead.”
Kirk nodded faintly, not giving much thought to the fact that Spencer’s injury wasn’t that serious and le Vay was more than likely keeping him behind because he was afraid he would lose the man to Kirk’s temper were he to send him to Ireland. Kirk had more important things on his mind, reflecting on his father, his mother, his brothers, and losing himself in a world of anguish and sorrow. The more he tried to fight off the feelings, the more they swamped him. Eventually, he set the missive aside and leaned forward in hi
s chair, head in his hands. Grief swallowed him.
Le Vay rose from his padded chair, moving away from Kirk to give the man a bit of privacy to mourn. He went to stand near the lancet window, watching the bailey of Quernmore Castle come alive in the early morning. This small Norman fortress had been in his family for three hundred years, close to the western coast of Lancashire where it had fended off Celtic invaders and other marauders during that time. It had seen much action.
“What more can I do for you, Kirk?” he asked softly, turning away from the sights and sounds of the bailey to face the distraught knight. “How can I help?”
Kirk removed his face from his hands, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You have already pledged men and support, my lord,” he said hoarsely. “You have already done much that I am grateful for.”
“You would do the same for me.”
Kirk nodded, rising wearily to his feet. “I will help Spencer muster the troops.”
“Kirk,” le Vay came away from the window, his gaze intense. “Spencer can do this without your help. In fact, I would prefer if you stayed away from him.”
Kirk knew what he meant. He waved the man off. “I will not harass him,” he assured le Vay. “This is business. I do not mix it with personal feelings.”
Le Vay sighed faintly, thoughtfully. “I would not presume to question your honor, but I would feel better if you stayed away until the troops are prepared,” he said. “I am an old man. I worry. You will do this for me.”
Kirk smiled weakly. “If I were to swear on my oath, would you believe me?”
“I would. But I still want you to stay away.”
Kirk simply nodded, not having the energy to argue with the man. But there was one more thing on his mind as he headed to the solar door.
“My lord, you asked if there was something more you could do for me,” he paused by the big oak panel, open to the darkened keep beyond. “I believe there is.”
“Name it.”
Kirk hesitated a moment before speaking. “Lady Mara,” he said. “I will not be able to return her to Anchorsholme myself.”
“I will send her with an escort.”
Kirk was visibly relieved. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate it.”
Le Vay’s dark eyes twinkled. “I will make sure not to send Spencer as her escort.”
Kirk rolled his eyes. “A wise choice, my lord,” he said. Then, he sobered. “In fact, it would be wise to keep the man away from her. Permanently.”
Le Vay sobered as well. “I will make sure he understands that.”
Kirk nodded shortly and left the room without another word. Lionel watched him go with a heavy heart, feeling sad about the circumstances at Wicklow that had robbed Kirk of his father. But such was the way of the world. Battles, and death, were part of the common fabric. They had all known their fair share of it.
As he turned away from the door, he noticed Kirk’s missive on the floor and bent over to pick it up. As he put it on the table, he noticed the second of the two missives Edmund had sent him. He’d only opened the first one because Kirk had been insistent about it. Kirk hadn’t known the contents of the second missive so Lionel had set it aside as the more pressing issues in the first missive had taken over. In fact, he’d forgotten about it until now.
Alone in the solar, Lionel popped the seal on the second missive and read the contents. He read it again. His mouth popped open and his bushy eyebrows lifted. He read it three more times before the meaning actually began to sink in. Even then, he could hardly believe it.
What he read shocked him to the bone.
*
Kirk had been summoned shortly after sunrise by a servant and had left Mara to their cozy bed, warm and snug. She drifted in and out of sleep as the sun broke the horizon, her dreams on Kirk when she slept and her thoughts on him when she was awake. She could smell him in the bed linens, on her hands, and on her body. Everything about the man made her feel deliriously warm and happy and safe.
But those thoughts ended when a gull took rest upon the windowsill, squawking. Mara lifted her head, eyeing the gull unhappily as it preened its feathers and squawked. Hanging over the side of the bed, she grabbed the nearest thing she could grab, her shoe, and tossed it at the window. Insulted, the gull flew off as the shoe clattered to the floor.
The gull reminded her of the sea, and the sea reminded her of Kirk and his departure for Ireland. Sadness swamped her but she fought it, not wanting to be an emotional wreck about it. She had been given the chance to rage about it, to beg Kirk not to go, but that was over with now. She was coming to see that no amount of pleading would keep the man from going. She needed to come to terms with it. She thought, perhaps, he would want it that way. Perhaps she needed to grow up a bit, as befitting the future wife of a warrior.
There was cold water in the basin next to the bed and she remembered the bar of soap Lady Lily had given her. Rising in the chill of the room, she found the precious soap in her satchel and used it to wash with, cold water and all. She hooted as she splashed the water on her face and swabbed off her body. The smell of freesia was heavy and delicious. Having existed for so long with only the bare necessities of life, something luxurious and feminine was thrilling. Once she was washed and moderately dried, she tucked the precious soap away again.
As she pulled her shift over her head, there was a knock at the door. Hesitantly, Mara went to open it a crack, peering out into the darkened landing.
Lady Lily stood in the weak light, swathed in finery and smiling timidly. “Good morn to you, my lady,” she said pleasantly. “I… I thought you could use some assistance in dressing this morning. I have not had much opportunity to properly speak with you and I should like to remedy that.”
Mara wasn’t quite sure what to say. Seeing Lily’s lovely face brought on stabs of jealousy that she quickly pushed aside. She remembered how kind and accommodating Lily had been the night before when Mara had been in a panic about Kirk and Spencer’s battle. In fact, Lily had gone out of her way to comfort her, something Mara didn’t really think about until this very moment. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so resistant. She opened the door wider.
“Come in,” she told her.
Lily entered the room, followed closely by two servants bearing a variety of garments and other things. Mara looked at them very curiously.
“What have you brought?” she asked.
Lily’s smile grew. “Well,” she began, pulling one of the garments out of the servant’s arms. “I truly hope you do not mind, but when I saw you last night, a thought occurred to me. You see, my mother died some time ago and I have trunks full of her garments that I cannot wear simply because I am too tall, so they have been packed away in storage with no one to wear them. They are too fine to donate to the poor and no one I know can fit them, so I was hoping to perhaps gift them to you because you are the perfect size. Will you at least look?”
Astonished, Mara watched as Lily held up an exquisite shift made from soft lamb’s wool with tiny gold thread woven through it. As Mara reached out to touch the fabric, Lily held up another garment, a matching surcoat that was layered with golden fabrics and lined on the edges with white rabbit fur. It was absolutely exquisite and Mara couldn’t help her jaw from dropping.
“Me?” she asked, stunned. “For me?”
Lily could see how surprised Mara was. Truthfully, she had come this morning because she felt guilty for virtually ignoring the lady since her arrival. She’d had Kirk to keep her occupied and a host of visiting relatives. In fact, she had only gotten a good look at the lady last night as Kirk and Spencer had battled it out, and she had noticed the worn nature of Mara’s surcoat. Surely a woman would have worn her very finest to a feast so if that was Mara’s finest, Lily came to think that perhaps the woman didn’t have much at all. As her ladies in waiting whispered and giggled about Mara’s rags, Lily felt a good deal of compassion for her.
Although she didn’t know anything about her other than the fact she was Ed
mund de Cleveley’s sister-in-law and that in of itself caused her to feel good deal of pity for her. Everyone knew what a horrible place The Darkland was. There was something about Lady Mara that invited compassion. Moreover, Kirk had spoken so fondly of the woman at the feast the previous night and she had seen how Kirk had battled Spencer when the man had gotten too close. If Mara was worthy of Kirk’s respect, then Lily wanted very much to know her.
“Try them on,” Lily said as she tossed them over onto the mussed bed. Snapping her fingers at the servants, they began to lay them all out over the enormous bed. “My mother spared no expense with her wardrobe. I shall be so happy if you feel you can use it.”
Mara stood rather dumbly as the activity went on around her. She wasn’t honestly sure what to do or say, lured by the beautiful new clothing and Lily’s kind manner. Lily was sweet and mothering, and in little time, Mara was dressed in the fine lamb’s wool shift and the surcoat with the rabbit lining. One of Lily’s maids was an excellent seamstress so when the woman was finished taking note of what needed to be altered, that clothing was pulled off in favor of a red silk. And then a green brocade, a yellow silk, and finally a very fine linen that was the color of a ripe peach. Mara stood on a stool while all of the frivolous madness went on around her. She’d never known anything like it.
The last dress to go on was a magnificent blue that magnified Mara’s eye color. It fit her snuggly on the torso while draping off her shoulders into sleeves that trailed to the floor. A silver ribbon cinched up the front, crisscrossing across her breasts and making her look absolutely delectable.
Lily and her maids fussed over Mara and the dress. In fact, it needed very little altering and as the women tugged here and there, fitting the garment on Mara’s shapely frame, Lilly began to talk.
“Where were you born, Lady Mara?” she asked.
Mara watched the maids work on the hemline of the gown. “Haslingden,” she replied. “It is two days ride south of Anchorsholme.”
“You have lived there your entire life?”
“Aye.”
“Where did you foster?”
Mara glanced at the woman, embarrassed to answer. “Well,” she began reluctantly, “I was sent to foster when I was seven but I did not stay long. I came home at nine years of age.”
Lords of the Isles Page 21
