Page 27 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER ONE

Lancashire, England

January, 1515 A.D.

S he had seen them coming from the distance, a hundred tiny specks against the dead winter landscape. Three massive chargers and a host of soldiers advanced like an incoming tide, the dust from their marching feet creating puffs of gritty haze. As the sky above darkened ominously, so did the lady’s mood.

But she was determined to welcome the army in spite of her apprehension. After all, they were coming for her and she could not refuse them. Whether or not she was willing to accept her destiny was of little concern; the soldiers had come to take her, and she would not resist. Unlike someone else she knew, with far too much defiance for such a lovely young creature. In the face of a horde of weapon-wielding men, the lady could only pray that the stubborn stance would not bring about the death of her only sister.

A biting wind was howling from the battlements by the time the soldiers entered the shabby bailey. The lady waited patiently on the steps of the manse, watching the three knights survey the crumbling surroundings before disbursing themselves. Two went to secure the courtyard while the third, a massive man astride an enormous red charger, rode in her direction. The lady could feel her chest tighten with foreboding as he drew near.

When he came within earshot, she folded herself into a proper curtsy. “My lord.” She could hear the quaking in her voice. “I am the Lady Micheline le Bec. Welcome to Haslingden Hall.”

The knight raised his visor, eyeing the woman in the faded blue cloak. “I am Sir Kirk Connaught, captain of Anchorsholme Castle.” His Irish brogue was thick and deep. “I bring you greetings from your betrothed, Lord Edmund de Cleveley. As stated in the missive sent to Haslingden three days ago, the fulfillment of your betrothal contract came due on your eighteenth birthday, two weeks ago. Do you acknowledge these terms, my lady?”

Micheline kept her eyes properly averted. Even so, her apprehension was obvious. It seemed to cover her like a blanket. “I do, my lord.”

There was something in her tone as well as her manner that went beyond the natural fear of her destiny. Something Kirk was unable to put his finger on and he tore his gaze away from the lady, noting his small escort had easily taken control of bailey. In fact, he could count on both hands the number of Haslingden soldiers and servants and he gestured to the slovenly group.

“How many will be accompanying you, my lady?”

Micheline looked up from the muddy ground, staring at a man the size of which she had never seen before. He was so large he seemed to blot out the sky and the Irish brogue was both fierce and intimidating. Everyone knew that the Irish were the ruthless sort, and the knight before her certainly fit the mold.

“Just me,” she stammered. “And m-mayhap another.”

Kirk looked at her as she choked on her words, noting the flush to her cheeks. “Mayhap another? You are uncertain?”

The mottle in Micheline’s cheeks deepened. In spite of the cold weather, she was beginning to sweat.

“I-I am afraid that….” She swallowed hard, fixing him in the eye for the first time. And the strong glimmer in the stone-gray orbs was enough to jelly her spine. “That is to say, my sister does not wish to come, my lord. I have spent the better part of three days attempting to convince her, but she refuses to see reason.”

Kirk remained emotionless, but he could see that the situation was causing the woman a good deal of distress. No wonder he had sensed more than the usual level of anxiety in her manner. “I see,” he said. “Why does she refuse to accompany you?”

Micheline sighed, hoping her sister’s resistance would not send the man into a rage. But, then again, where Mara was concerned, anything was possible. “She says that she is not the one betrothed to Lord Edmund and should not be forced to live at Anchorsholme Castle. It is her wish to be left alone at Haslingden, in peace.”

Kirk scratched beneath his helm in thought, giving Micheline a glimpse of rich dark hair. “How old is your sister, my lady?”

“Seventeen years, my lord.”

That seemed to draw a reaction from Kirk. “Impossible. You are her guardian, are you not?”

Micheline nodded. “Since our parents’ death one year ago, it has only been the two of us.”

He snorted. “Then she cannot stay. She will come to Anchorsholme Castle as the ward of Lord Edmund.”

He moved past the trembling lady and into the threadbare foyer of Haslingden. It was a cavernous place, hinting at the luxury of days gone by, but now, it simply looked old and worn. The stench of poverty was everywhere. As Kirk’s gaze moved over the dingy stone walls, Micheline was on his heels.

“My lord, I beg you, permit me to persuade her,” she pleaded fearfully. “She can be most unreasonable and… impudent. I fear she might offend you with her bold tongue.”

Kirk tucked his gauntlets into the folds of his breastplate. His armor, heavy plate protection of the latest style, glimmered in the dim light. “Where is she?”

Micheline was close to tears. “Please, my lord. I beseech you….”

Kirk turned to the woman, swiftly. “I would ask again where she is. Have faith that I can be quite convincing when the situation requires, bold tongue or no.” He paused, realizing he sounded rather harsh from the expression on her face. His next question was more gently delivered. “What is her name?”

Micheline twisted her hands with anxiety, wanting to protect her sister but unwilling to disobey a man the size of two average men combined. Fear won over and weakly, she gestured to the stairs, a great stone bank that disappeared into the second floor.

“Her name is Mara,” she murmured. “Last door to the right. She responds better to calm reasoning than outright violence, although the latter is acceptable if all else fails.”

Kirk cocked an eyebrow at the strange statement. Mounting the stairs, he found himself wondering what sort of she-cat he would be dealing with. Stubborn, young, and no doubt spoiled. A nasty combination.

The big oak door indicated by Micheline was firmly closed. And firmly locked. Kirk rapped his knuckles against the panel.

“Go away!” came the shout.

He sighed; obviously, his assumptions had been correct. Stubborn, willful, petulant; he could deduce everything simply by the tone of her voice.

“My name is Sir Kirk Connaught,” he announced. “I have come to escort you and the Lady Micheline to Anchorsholme Castle. Will you come peacefully?”

There was a long pause, and no doubt a surprised one. After a moment, the voice that had once been a distant bellow was somehow closer. But the door remained locked.

“I am not going to Anchorsholme Castle, Sir Kirk.” The shouting voice was now sweet in tone. Disarming if he would allow himself to think so. “I am sure my sister explained that I wish to remain at the home of my birth. There is no reason why I need go to Anchorsholme Castle.”

“No need except for the fact that you will be completely alone, unchaperoned, and unprotected.” Kirk leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms wearily. It had been far too long a ride for him to spare patience to an unyielding girl. “Does this not concern you?”

“Nay,” she said flatly. “I do not need anyone to take care of me. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“I am sure that you are. But your sister is distressed at the thought of leaving you behind. Will you not come for her peace of mind?”

There was a stubborn pause. “Nay.” She was very close now. He guessed she was leaning against the closed door. “Micheline will have a new husband to occupy her time. She will soon forget her concern for me.”

“I doubt that.” Kirk found himself wondering if the lady on the opposite side of the door was as plain as her sister. Certainly, her voice was terribly delicious and the pleasing tone alone was enough to ease his irritation. “Lady Micheline demands you attend her. As her betrothed’s captain, it is my duty to see her wish fulfilled. Do you understand?”

There was a long, long pause. When the voice spoke again, it sounded as if it was on the other side of the room. “I understand perfectly. And unless you want a battle on your hands, I suggest you forget about fulfilling my sister’s wish. I am not going.”

Now he knew what Micheline had meant by acceptable violence. The young lady on the opposite side of the door was in need of a good spanking. And when he opened the panel, he planned to do just that.

“I am afraid that you are,” he said, his rolling Irish accent low and steady as his irritation returned. “Unlock the door, my lady. If you do not plan on obeying my request, then you will kindly step away from the panel as I break it down.”

He could hear her shriek of outrage. “Break it down and I… I shall jump from the window!”

“’Tis a long way down, lass. Opening the door would be less drastic.”

Behind the closed panel, he could hear a good deal of muttering and bumping. In truth, he had to fight off a smile at her pluck. She was certainly feisty in the face of a violent threat.

“Do you hear me? Open the door or I shall break it down this instant.”

More muttering, more grunting. “I am jumping now!”

He cocked an eyebrow. He couldn’t be positive that she wasn’t bluffing and he certainly did not want her death on his hands. Standing away from the door, he raised a massive boot and lashed out at the bolted panel. In an explosion of splinters, the door came apart and Kirk was into the room before the wood had even settled.

He was concerned when he discovered the room empty. Rushing for the window, he was confronted by a rope of bed linens, secured to the heavy bed on one end and then disappearing out the lancet opening. Puzzled, he grasped the rope as he stuck his head from the window to see what was on the opposite end of the line.

He could make out long dark hair and a worn surcoat perched on the ledge several feet away. It was a rather precarious position but she was absolutely plastered against the wall, fingers clutching at the stone. For someone attempting to jump, she wasn’t doing a very good job.

“My lady?” The tone was droll. “What, may I ask, are you doing?”

Pressed against the stone wall as far as she could go, the small figure refused to budge. “Jumping!”

Kirk did grin, then. “With a rope around your waist?”

“I did not want to fall before I was ready!”

“I see.” He leaned lazily against the windowsill, the humor of the situation apparent. “And when will you be ready?”

The dark head twitched. “Soon. Sooner still if you do not go away and leave me alone.”

Kirk snorted softly, glancing to the ground below; nearly three stories up, it was a severe drop and he could see his men gazing up with interest. In fact, the two knights that had accompanied him, Sir Corwin Martin and Sir Niles de Worth, were directly below and he waved weakly in response to their inquisitive expressions.

“I do not plan to leave,” he said, simply to goad her. “In fact, I have a rather good view of the entire event. I plan to watch.”

On the small ledge, the tiny figure shifted, pressing herself even closer to the wall. “Then I shan’t jump. I shall stay here until you leave.”

The rope was still in his grasp. With a wicked grin, Kirk tugged on it, enough for her to feel it. “Come on, lass. It’s been a long time since I have seen a good jumping.”

She squealed as he tugged. “Stop it! Stop it, I say!”

Kirk could hardly hold back the giggles, tugging more firmly on the rope. “Do not be shy, lass. Go ahead and jump.”

She screamed and he was forced to bite back great guffaws of laughter. “Damn you for tormenting me, you brutish fiend!” she howled. “Stop pulling on the rope!”

He continued to tug mischievously. “Please?”

“Nay!”

“I promise I shall applaud loudly. I shall even throw money if it’s particularly gruesome.”

“Stop pulling!”

He did, but not before he gave the rope one final tweak. “Then come in here if you are not going to jump, you naughty wench. How dare you taunt me with promises of blood and pain.”

The dark head shifted, turning toward him. Kirk’s smile faded when he beheld features more beautiful than anything he had ever witnessed. Delicate, porcelain beauty with eyes of the brightest blue. Eyes that were currently blazing with fury.

“Let go of the rope, you beast,” she hissed. “I am coming to the window and if you had any intelligence, you would run for your life!”

He continued to stare at her, so mesmerized by her beauty that he hardly heard the threat.

“Come back in here.” He wondered why his voice sounded so peculiar. Moving to the edge of the window, he extended his hand. “Come along, Mara. I shall help you.”

A well-shaped black brow lifted. “How did you know my name?”

“Your sister told me. Come back in before the rain begins.”

Bright blue eyes dared to glance at the threatening sky. In fact, she could smell the imminent storm. But his outstretched hand somehow fed her stubbornness and Mara frowned, very slowly inching her way back to the window.

“Put your hand down,” she grumbled. “I shall not accept it. I can do this alone.”

He raised an eyebrow, drawing his hand back but not removing it completely. Her skirts were in her way as she crept along the ledge and he found himself watching her footing very carefully.

“Were you really going to jump?”

“Of course,” she said boldly. “I still might if you plan to force me to travel to Anchorsholme Castle.”

“I do. Jump if you must.”

Her frown deepened, out of place on her lovely face. “Then untie the rope from the bed. I am going to go through with it.”

He shook his head. “I am not going to untie anything. If you truly wish to jump, then unfasten the rope around your waist.”

She stepped on the edge of her surcoat, tugging it carefully from beneath her slipper. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a nasty, disagreeable man?”

“Constantly.”

“And this Irish accent; it offends me. Why did you not simply stay in Ireland where you belong?”

“Because my family has served the House of De Cleveley for three generations,” he said patiently. “I had no choice but to come to England and associate with stubborn English females like yourself.”

She scowled, taking her focus off the ledge for a brief moment. “I do not like you.”

“Good.”

“Mayhap you did not understand me clearly. I really do not like you. I loathe you. In fact, when my sister is married to de Cleverey, I am going to make sure that you are reduced from captain to scullery maid.”

“The name is de Cleveley. And I am too hairy to be a scullery maid.”

Her surcoat was caught beneath her feet again but neither one of them realized it until it was too late. Before Mara could deliver another insult, she lost her balance and plunged from the ledge.

Instinctively, Kirk snatched the linen rope, holding it tight. About ten feet below him, Mara gasped and twisted.

“Stop moving, lass!” he commanded. “I shall pull you in, but you must stop moving!”

Clutching the rope, Mara’s voice was tight with fear. “I… I did not tie it about my waist very well! It is slipping!”

A bolt of panic surged through Kirk, entirely foreign to the usually calm man. It was difficult to maintain a cool, steady motion while reeling in the rope; he did not want to jerk it in his haste and end up losing her altogether.

“I have almost got you.” His voice was calm. “Just a little further and I have got you.”

He could hear her fearful grunts, struggling to control his own apprehension. Hand over hand, he was nearly to the point where he could reach down and grab her when Micheline suddenly bolted into the room. Her scream of terror was almost enough to cause him to lose his grip.

“My God!” Micheline cried, plowing into Kirk in her attempt to catch a glimpse of her sister. “Mara, darling, hold on!”

Bright blue eyes gazed up at the two concerned faces several feet above. “Misha, I am sorry!” she cried, a far different attitude from the belligerent girl of moments before. “I should not have been so difficult and I swear if God allows me to live, I shall never do anything so stupid again! And I shall go with you to Anchorsholme, I promise!”

Kirk very nearly had her. “God is not pulling you from your death, my lady, I am.” He paused in his struggles. Stepping on the rope to hold it steady, he held out a hand as far as it would go. “Take hold, lass. Take hold!”

Mara could feel the tie around her waist loosening. Struggling to keep hold with one hand, she tried to reach him but missed by an inch. Feeling the rope as it continued to unwind, she gripped the linen fearfully with two hands again.

“I can’t,” she moaned. “I shall fall!”

Kirk knew how terrified she was. He was terrified, too. Resuming his pull on the rope, he reeled carefully. “It’s all right, I shall pull you up.” He heard a shaken voice, hardly aware that it was his own. A couple of more tugs and Mara let out a piercing scream.

Kirk watched as the rope spun away from her waist, leaving her free and dangling several stories above the bailey. She was nearing panic, her gasps of fright heavy as her hold slipped.

“My hands!” She looked up at Kirk with those brilliant eyes. “They are wet. I can’t hold on any longer!”

She was just beyond his reach. Feeling a real surge of desperation, Kirk was about to make another attempt at grabbing her purely for the fact that he knew his time had run out when Niles and Corwin came storming into the room. Kirk caught sight of his knights, feeling a burst of hope.

“Hold the rope,” he ordered, releasing it to Niles’ strong arms. Throwing himself across the windowsill, his massive hands reached with desperation for the dangling lady.

“I can’t hold on,” Mara cried again.

“Aye, you can.” He could touch her but he couldn’t quite get a grip. “Niles! Pull, man, pull!”

Someone had him by the legs. Hanging from the window, it gave him the reach he needed to grab her by the wrist just as her grip failed. Mara shrieked as the rope fell away, her slender wrist straining under Kirk’s iron hold and the undue stress of her dead weight.

Somehow, he made it back onto the windowsill. He had Mara by two hands now, hauling her up with him. She was gasping, panicked and weary, and he pulled her through the window and into his massive arms.

They were both panting, shaken. It took Kirk a moment to realize he was clutching her tightly, never more relieved of anything in his entire life.

“You’re safe now, lass,” he murmured into silken dark hair. “I have got you.”

Micheline extended her arms, trying to take Mara from Kirk’s embrace. “Mara darling!” she cried. “Thank God you’re safe. I thought I was going to lose you!”

Mara was clutching Kirk with a death-grip. After a moment, the bright blue eyes appeared from the safe cozy of his neck. “Never,” she whispered, holding out a hand. “I am so sorry, Misha. Please forgive me.”

Micheline clutched the hand tightly, kissing the small fingers as she looked to Kirk. “My lord,” she said breathlessly. “We are forever in your debt. No price shall be too great to ask in reward for saving my sister’s life.”

Kirk found he could hardly respond. The greatest reward of all was nestled in his embrace, warm and soft and trembling. But he nodded faintly, setting Mara to the ground before he grew too comfortable with the feel of her in his arms. She collapsed against Micheline, the two sisters holding each other tightly.

Kirk glanced up at Niles and Corwin, noting that the knights were fairly shaken as well. Drawing in a deep breath to regain his composure, he struggled not to appear too unnerved by the whole event.

“Since you promised your sister that you would accompany her to Anchorsholme Castle, Lady Mara, I shall hold you to your vow.” He was already moving to the chamber door. As if trying to escape the unfamiliar emotions that had just occurred. “Since you are not packed for the journey, I shall give you until tomorrow morning. Considering the weather is worsening, I suspect we would do well spending the night at Haslingden.”

Mara looked up from her sister’s breast long enough to lock gazes with him. Before she could offer a measure of thanks, he quit the room with his knights in tow. Staring at the empty doorway, Mara was left to ponder the annoying, heroic appearance of Sir Kirk Connaught.