Page 29 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)
CHAPTER THREE
T he following morning dawned amazingly bright considering the rain that had pounded for most of the night. The camp was quickly disassembled and a simple meal of bread and cheese provided. Before the sun burst free of the eastern horizon, the escort party was on the road, nearing home with the prize of their lord’s betrothed.
At the first sight of Anchorsholme Castle, Micheline’s jaw dropped and she burst into tears. Riding beside her sister under clear skies and a brisk sea breeze, Mara tried to comfort the weeping woman. A halting explanation revealed that Micheline felt herself unworthy to preside over such splendor. All anticipation of her new marriage aside, the very real fact remained that the woman was terrified to meet her destiny.
Up until the moment Micheline dissolved into tears, the air between the sisters had been strained. Kirk had remained tactfully silent, allowing Mara to explain to her sister what had happened the previous eve. She did not mention the near-rape or Kirk’s heroic appearance, only the brief story about the fat merchant and nine children. Had Micheline not been so angry with her sister’s show of rebellion, she would have laughed at her play-acting. For all she knew, Mara had been seized by Kirk at the inn and escorted back to camp.
With the subject gracefully skirted, it had been a long ride to Anchorsholme. The Lancashire castle was a magnificent Norman structure near the sea with an inner and outer wall to protect the mighty three storied keep. As a pair of hawks shrieked overhead, the escort party was greeted by a host of well- formed ranks. Taking a good look at their fine tunics and armor, Micheline began to weep all over again.
“Welcome to The Darkland, ladies.” Corwin was riding slightly behind them, the impressive structure reflecting in his soft brown eyes.
Mara, in the midst of calming her sister, turned to the knight. “Why do you call it The Darkland?”
Over the top of Mara’s head, Corwin caught Niles’ negative expression. Clearing his throat, he shrugged faintly.
“Lord Edmund’s Irish subjects gave it the name, I suppose, because they consider their English overlord to be the Devil himself.” A very simple version of the disturbing truth.
Mara frowned, her gaze raking the structure. “It doesn’t look dark to me.”
Niles interrupted before Corwin could say any more. “A figure of speech, my lady.”
Mara continued to stare at the castle, a single stone tower reaching for the sky. It was such a beautiful place that she could hardly justify her reluctance to come.
“I did not know Lord Edmund had lands in Ireland.” She turned her inquisitive gaze to Corwin. “Where is the property?”
“Wicklow, my lady, south of Dublin,” he replied. “The lands were part of his grandmother’s dowry. A very large, very profitable piece of land.”
“Profitable?”
“Sheep,” Corwin explained. “Fine wool and Irish whisky, to name a few.”
Mara nodded in understanding, noting that Micheline’s hysteria had calmed. Plain blue eyes studied the structure as the woman hastened to dry her tears. She was sight enough for her prospective bridegroom without the added distraction of red-rimmed eyes.
“Sir Kirk is from Ireland,” she sniffled. “Is he from Wicklow?”
Corwin spurred his horse forward, next to Mara as he answered. “Kirk’s grandfather was a great warlord. He served Lord Edmund’s grandfather for many years as adjutant for the Wicklow properties. Kirk’s father assumed the position after his father’s death, while Kirk came to Anchorsholme to personally serve the House of de Cleveley.”
Mara’s gaze was lingering on the massive knight at the head of the column, his armor reflecting the weak sunlight. “Will Kirk go back to Ireland to assume the position at his father’s passing?”
Corwin nodded. “Aye. Nearly half of County Wicklow belongs to the House of de Cleveley. Kirk’s father commands over four hundred English troops to protect and enforce the holdings.”
Mara continued to observe the distant knight, swaying in rhythm to his horse; in spite of the fact that he had become both her mortal enemy and her savior, Corwin’s impressive tales about the man and his genealogy piqued her curiosity.
“Where did Sir Kirk foster?”
“Kenilworth, my lady. Lord Edmund’s father pledge him to the royal household to train.”
“Why?”
Corwin smiled, a lop-sided gesture. “Because when Kirk was seven years of age, he was as tall as you are and several pounds heavier. The man is a product of centuries of Celt lineage and Monroe De Cleveley recognized the natural warrior in him. Better to train him properly with strong loyalty to England than to leave him in the land of his forefathers where he can wreak havoc against the House of Tudor.”
Mara pondered Kirk’s pedigree, agreeing inwardly that it was somewhat respectable. But considering her lineage was also powerful in spite of her father’s drain on the family funds, she continued to act as if nothing about Kirk was impressive.
“He’s an Irish barbarian, no matter what his lineage,” she snorted, turning away to observe the lush lands around her. Wanting off the subject of Kirk Connaught, she gestured to the landscape. “I still do not understand why Anchorsholme Castle is called The Darkland. These lands are anything but dark.”
Niles was riding in front of the women, hearing every word of the conversation although he pretended otherwise. When Mara returned the subject to the dismal reference, he leapt into the dialogue.
“Lord Edmund has a sister, the Lady Johanne,” he said, veering the focus away from Anchorsholme’s reputation. “She is a little older than yourself, Lady Micheline. She has been very excited for your arrival.”
Eyes dried, Micheline looked pleased. “She has?” She turned to smile at Mara, who returned the gesture. But when her sister returned her focus to Niles, Mara’s rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue; that was what she thought of Lady Johanne’s excitement. “How wonderful,” Micheline said, oblivious to her sister’s mocking expressions. “I had no idea my betrothed even had a sister.”
Niles caught Mara’s gesture, shocked until he realized that giggles were very close to the surface. Unlike most finely bred ladies, the girl made no secrets of her thoughts. Aye, she was bold and spoiled and after what Kirk told him had transpired last eve, foolish too. But if he were to ignore her negative characteristics, she was also the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
“Lady Johanne enjoys painting and poetry.” He tried not to look at Mara as she continued to make faces. “I would assume you are accomplished in both?”
Micheline nodded. “I love to paint, although my knowledge of poetry is somewhat limited.”
“That should not be a problem.” Corwin was still in the conversation. “My wife writes poetry. She would love to indulge you.”
“Your wife?” Micheline turned to the knight. “I did not know you were married, Sir Corwin.”
He nodded. “Three years now. My wife, Lady Valdine, and her sister, Lady Wanda, reside at Anchorsholme.”
“Are you married, Sir Niles?” Mara stopped grimacing long enough to focus on Kirk’s tall associate.
The knight shook his head. “Nay, lady, I am not. Do I detect your interest?”
A smile played on Mara’s lips even though she was doing her best to scowl. “Never!”
Niles sensed the game, smiling coyly as she turned away. “Come now, my lady. There is no need for modesty. Simply declare your interest and I shall consider you.”
Mara shook her head firmly, the black hair gleaming like silk as she moved. “I am not interested and I never shall be.”
Niles managed to rein his horse in front of her, his smile wicked. “I am crushed. Why not?”
Mara tried not to look at him. “Because you’re too old, Sir Niles. Moreover, I do not want a husband.”
“I am only twenty-six. And why do you not want a husband?”
She shrugged, watching Corwin smirk from the corner of her eye. “Because I do not. I do not need one, nor do I want one. Besides, who would be foolish enough tolerate my lively nature?”
Corwin and Niles looked at each other. “She has a point,” Niles conceded. Sighing dramatically, he returned his gaze to Anchorsholme. “Lady Mara, I have decided to reject your suit. You will understand, of course. I am far too feeble a man for your bold nature.”
Mara fought off a smile, giggling when Micheline whispered something in her ear. Ahead, Kirk suddenly reined his horse around and lifted a massive arm, sending the escort dividing into two long rows. Niles and Corwin, their exchange with Mara forgotten, lowered their visors and took position in front of the ladies.
Mara and Micheline watched as the great gates of Anchorsholme Castle slowly opened, the grinding of wood and rope echoing off the stone. A color guard waited on the battlements, the yellow and gray standards of the House of De Cleveley waving in the brisk wind. The sisters drank it all in, the awe of the spectacle outweighing the anxiety of their destiny.