“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 wal
l.
“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.”
Johanne would not be deterred. She lifted her skirt and straddled Edmund’s leg, bumping her Venus Mound against his thigh. “There was never any doubt that the old man would take to her,” she replied. “What did you tell him of Micheline?”
“That she threw herself from the tower.” He was thinking on pushing her away again but his physical reaction was difficult to ignore. “He did not believe me, I could tell. Now, why on earth would he be speaking to Valdine and Wanda?”
The change of subject captured Johanne’s attention and she stopped rubbing against him long enough to peer from the window, following his gaze. After a moment, she shrugged and returned to masturbating.
“I suppose they want to find out if Spencer knows anything about the conflict in Ireland.” She licked her brother’s ear. “On your desk, dear. I need you now.”
Edmund ignored her, watching curiously as Valdine and Wanda suddenly rushed away from Spencer. The knight mounted his horse and bolted from the inner bailey, leaving Edmund thoroughly puzzled by their behavior.
“Not now.” He moved away from his sister. “I want to see what Valdine and Wanda are up to. Something is not right; they were acting very strangely.”
“They always act strangely.” Johanne followed her brother as he quit the solar. “Where are we going?”
Edmund gestured to the door leading to the bailey. “Where they went.”
“And if they went nowhere?”
Edmund paused by the door, the dust from the bailey filling his nostrils. “They are up to something, Johanne. And I must discover what it is. They had no valid reason to speak to Spencer, and suddenly they dash away from him as if he has sent them on an errand. Though I cannot imagine what that would be.”
Johanne pursed her lips irritably. “Something subversive, I am sure.”
“Do not
mock me. The man stood in my solar not five minutes ago accusing me of killing my wife. There is no way of knowing what treachery he is up to. Enlisting Valdine and Wanda to help him, no less!”
Johanne was impatient. She did not believe her brother’s suspicions and was impatient for him to take her. Throwing up her hands, she agreed. “Fine. Let’s discover what they are all up to. And then I demand you pay attention to me.”
“Later.” He pulled her after him.
Chapter Nineteen
Micheline found that the garments worn by the serving wenches were hardly different from her own clothing. Coarse, simple, without flair. But her surcoats were clean, whereas the rags Valdine and Wanda had brought her were filthy and louse-ridden. But she put them on, willing to subject herself to such squalor if it would help in her escape.
There was no time frame for her break to freedom; day or night made no difference. When Valdine and Wanda deemed the conditions safe, they would escort Micheline through a secured route. But what had been most disheartening was the fact that no one seemed eager to help. Aye, everyone knew of Micheline’s predicament. But when the twins went about soliciting assistance, no one was willing to involve themselves in a risky situation. No one but the children, that is.
Robert, Fiona, Gilly and George. They had stolen the peasant clothing, and they pestered people to aid Micheline’s cause. Determined little buggers, they had gone so far as to steal one old soldier’s breeches in an attempt to force him to their will. But the ploy had only managed to get Robert a whipping, from his mother no less, who was helping in her own right by giving Valdine and Wanda food to take to the baroness.
Micheline could have very easily been discouraged by the fact that the servants who hated Edmund were likewise unwilling to go against him. But she wasn’t, for she could understand their fear of a man who held their lives in his demented hands. Still, she had Valdine and Wanda and four little peasants who were determined to aid her. And for that, she was grateful.
It was just prior to the nooning meal on the ninth day of her incarceration. Micheline was standing by the window, itching her bug bites, when the rusty latch was thrown. She rushed to the door to be met by the twins, more pleased than she had ever seen them.
Lords of the Isles Page 25
