Page 42 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

M icheline had spent an entire day and night in the small, dingy little tower room, peering from the skinny lancet window that emitted light and air into the room and wondering what on earth was going to happen to her. Now, as dawn broke, she was terrified, hungry, and cold. It would seem the curse of The Darkland was infecting her as well.

Thank God Mara is away , was all she could think. Stoic in her fate, she comforted herself by knowing that Mara was safe with Kirk, far away from the hellish walls of Anchorsholme.

The chamber had become her tomb, both comforting and terrifying. Huddled against the wall beneath the lancet window, she could hear the activity below as the people began to go about their day. She wondered when, or if, Sir Corwin would return with something to eat or perhaps something to stay warm with. She had nearly frozen during the night as the tomb turned to ice in the cold temperatures. The walls bore no warmth. She had felt as if she was in a grave.

With the cold and the fear came the reflection of her actions. Perhaps she should not have confronted Edmund and Johanne as she had. Perhaps she simply should have accepted things as they were. At least she would have been safe, but the cost would have been her self-respect and, in a manner, her very soul.

She cringed every time she thought of the pair, trying not to think of them, now wondering what her destiny would be. Would Corwin tell Kirk what had become of her when the man returned from Quernmore? If he did, Kirk surely would tell Mara, and her sister was not very good at keeping her mouth shut. She might even go after Edmund and Johanne for what they did and… Micheline shuddered. The situation might go from bad to worse.

As Micheline sat in the corner and chewed her nails, the door rattled. She jumped, terrified, her gaze on the door and positive that Edmund was about to come charging through with a dagger in his hand. She could hear the old bolt being thrown and she stumbled to her feet, preparing to defend herself. As the door swung open, she shrieked, but two familiar faces shushed her harshly.

“My lady!” Lady Valdine hissed, holding up her hands for silence. “You must not…

“…make a sound lest Lord Edmund…”

“… hear you!”

Wanda shut the door swiftly as the two rushed into the room. Micheline was so startled, and so relieved, that she ended up stumbling back against the wall and sliding to her buttocks. The women had bundles in their arms and immediately went to Micheline as she cowered against the wall.

“My husband told me what happened,” Valdine said. “Are you…”

“… injured, my lady?”

Micheline shook her head as Wanda knelt on her other side. “I am not injured,” she said. “But I am cold and hungry.”

Valdine nodded as she pulled out a sack from amongst all of the items she had brought. “We have brought you food,” she said. “We have also…”

“…brought fresh clothing and water with which to bathe. Do you feel strong enough?”

Micheline accepted a hunk of brown bread from Valdine and tore into it, starving. “What of Corwin? Where is he?”

Valdine looked rather somber and because she dampened, so did her sister. “There is great trouble in de Cleveley’s Irish lands,” she said. “My husband…”

“…has taken an army and gone to meet…”

“…Sir Kirk on the docks of Fleetwood. They leave…”

“…for Ireland tomorrow morning.”

Micheline swallowed what was in her mouth. “Leaving for Ireland?” she repeated. “Kirk is going to Ireland? But where is my sister?”

Valdine produced a bladder of wine and handed it to Micheline. “We can only assume she…”

“…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 as 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 his 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 Edmund 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.”

Lily’s pretty brow furrowed. “Why so early?”

Mara sighed heavily, making a face. “I did not like it,” she said. “I lived at Rochdale Castle. Lord de Worth was an acquaintance of my father and when my father approached him to ask if my sister and I could foster in his household, he was very gracious. But we soon found out why; he was a vile old man who preferred young girls. His wife was an invalid so he did much as he pleased without her knowledge. He tried to… well, suffice it to say that when he approached my sister, we paid a soldier to escort us home.”

Lily’s eyes were wide with shock and sadness. “How terrible,” she said sincerely. “Yet you remain a strong and noble young woman. It did not affect you overly.”

It was a kind thing to say of a shameful situation. The more Mara spent time with Lily, the more her jealousy faded and the more she came to like the woman. Truth be told, Mara had never really spent any time around women other than her sister, so her experience with friends was limited. She wasn’t quite sure how to react.

“Where… where did you foster?” she asked timidly.

“Warwick Castle,” she replied. “I went there at nine years of age and returned home at sixteen.”

Mara lifted her arms as the maids began to work on the sleeves. “Did you like it at Warwick?”

Lily nodded, supervising the maids closely on the sapphire-blue coat. “It was a very big place,” she said. “Do you know much of Warwick, my lady?”

Mara shook her head. “I do not,” she admitted.

Lily helped the maid with the hem of the sleeve as she spoke. “It used to belong to the Earls of Warwick, but the last one died several years ago,” she said, happy to share her knowledge. “It belongs to the Crown now and the castellan is Sir Augbert de Gilles. Sir Augbert and his wife, the Lady Eve, were my hosts. The Lady Eve taught me to paint. She also taught me Latin, Italian, and Portuguese.”

Mara looked at the woman, feeling utterly inadequate in the presence of such an educated lady. But Lily didn’t speak boastfully. Her delivery was easy and almost dismissive. In fact, Mara found herself quite interested in what the woman was saying.

“You can speak Italian?” she said with some awe. “I have always wanted to go to Rome. Have you been there?”

Lily shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “But I am to be married soon. Perhaps I can convince my husband to take me there.”

Mara smiled, a genuine gesture. “If he does, perhaps… perhaps you will tell me of your travels when you return.”

Lily was thoughtful. “Perhaps I will not need to,” she said as if concocting a great plan. “Perhaps Kirk will marry you soon and you can join us. Would that not be exciting? We could be traveling companions and spend all of our husbands’ money.”

She giggled and Mara found herself giggling, too. But it occurred to her that Kirk must have told Lily about their relationship during all of that time that Lily was monopolizing his time.

“Then he told you about… me?” she asked.

Lily grinned. “Even if he had not, fighting Spencer to the death would have told me everything I needed to know,” she replied, her blue eyes twinkling. “He is very fond of you, is he not?”

Mara flushed furiously, fighting off a grin. “I believe we are both very fond of each other.”

Lily laughed softly at Mara’s embarrassment. As the maids wandered away, she moved in close.

“I also know that you have been sleeping in his chamber,” she whispered, watching Mara’s uncertain expression. “My ladies have told me such things. They are terrible gossips.”

Mara cheeks flushed a dull red. “I notice you did not bring them with you.”

Lily shook her head, a dismissive gesture. “They are jealous of you,” she said. “I have told them to stay away from you and if I hear them whispering any more gossip, I will slap them all silly. They are amusing companions but at times they can be very petty.”

Mara was pleased by the woman’s defense of her. “Thank you, my lady,” she said sincerely. “But… but they have not told anyone else?”

“Never,” Lily insisted. “Have no fear; my father does not know. He also does not know that my betrothed and I have also shared the same bed. Wicked, are we not? Well, I do not care a lick. I like being wicked.”

It was a great secret and Mara’s smile hesitantly returned. “I did not look at it that way,” she murmured. “Kirk and I have such feelings for one another… we are in love, my lady. When there is love, I am not sure how sharing the bed of the man you love is wicked.”

Lily giggled. “It is wicked before the marriage bed,” she said. “Perhaps it even makes me a whore. I do not care, I tell you!”

She said it with such glee that Mara couldn’t help but giggle. “Tell me of your betrothed,” she said, feeling a kindred spirit with Lily now that they had shared their naughty secrets. She’d never known female companionship like this in her life. “Is he strong and handsome?”

Lily half-shrugged, half-nodded as she began to fuss with the collar of Mara’s dress. “He is quite handsome and strong,” she replied. “His name is Sir Thomas de Ryce and his brother is very close to King Henry. Thomas is Welsh and his family is very powerful. It will be a wonderful marriage, I am sure.”

She said it as if she was trying to convince herself. Mara watched the woman’s face as she fingered the surcoat. “Do you love him?”

Lily met her gaze. “I am quite fond of him,” she said softly. “He is kind and generous. He will make a good husband.”

Mara nodded faintly, silently accepting the explanation although she didn’t believe the woman. She spoke without much enthusiasm.

“Then perhaps we can convince Thomas and Kirk to take us to Rome,” she said. “Kirk has spoken of taking me to Ireland but I would much rather go to Italy.”

The twinkle returned to Lily’s eyes but before she could speak, the chamber door opened and Kirk stood in the doorway. As the women turned to him, he surveyed the chaotic state of the room with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

“What goes on here?” he asked.

Lily, ever-chatty and right with wording, moved in his direction. “Lady Mara is doing me a great favor,” she insisted. “When my mother passed away, she left a great many fine garments that I have had to store. Mara has agreed to take them off my hands. Does she not look marvelous?”

Lily pointed proudly to Mara, who was still standing in the middle of the chamber where she had left her, arms up as the maids finished with the sleeves of the too-long gown. Kirk lifted an appraising eyebrow as he sauntered in her direction, inspecting her closely.

“She does indeed,” he said with appreciation. “She looks beautiful.”

Mara, who had been watching Kirk with some trepidation when he first entered the room, grinned when he gave his approval. With a still-upraised arm, she pointed to the bed.

“Look at all of the garments,” she said eagerly. “Lady Lily has had them all this time with no one to give them to. Are they not lovely?”

Kirk glanced over at the pile of clothing on the bed. “Indeed,” he said, but his gaze returned to her in the exquisite blue silk. His eyes were warm on her. “Do you like them, love?”

Mara nodded excitedly. “I love them all,” she said. “Lady Lily was very kind to think of me.”

“Indeed she was,” Kirk said, turning to look at Lily. “My lady, you are most generous. We thank you.”

Lily smiled broadly as she went to Kirk and looped a hand through his elbow. “Marry her soon, Kirk. I like her very much. In fact, you are going to escort her to Rome when my husband and I go. Mara and I will travel very well together and I forbid you to deny her the journey, do you hear?”

Kirk fought off a grin. “You sound much like Mara when you say it that way.”

“What way?”

“Demanding.”

Lily laughed. “She is not demanding,” she said as she let go of Kirk’s elbow. She moved back over to the bed and began collecting the surcoats. “My maids will finish with these dresses, my lady, and will return them in time for supper. I should love to see you looking finely dressed tonight.”

Mara nodded. “As would I,” she replied. “Do you want to take this blue dress with you?”

Lily handed over the garments in her arms to the nearest maid. “I think not,” she said, her gaze warm. “It fits you well enough. Kirk can hardly keep his eyes off of you. I do believe you should keep it on. I shall return to finish it later.”

Mara smiled at the woman as she finished collecting the shifts and surcoats, chasing her maids out and closing the door softly behind her. When they were finally alone, Mara turned to Kirk.

“Do you really like the dress?” she asked.

Kirk’s gaze was steady, but inside, the weight of the news he bore was dragging him down. He just needed a few moments with Mara to settle himself, to breathe, and perhaps even to grieve privately. His mind was whirling and his heart was heavy. His smile faded.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he said with soft sincerity. “No woman can compete with your glory.”

Mara smiled modestly, her cheeks flushing. She bobbed a stiff curtsy. “My thanks, my lord.”

He grinned, his gaze moving over her face, the lovely dress. “Am I to understand that you and Lily have become friends?”

She nodded, somewhat embarrassed. “She has been very kind.”

“She is a kind lady.”

“I am sorry I was so jealous of her before I came to know her. It was silly of me.”

Kirk’s attention lingered on her a moment longer before moving over to the bed. As he sat, heavily, he held out his hand to her.

“Come here,” he murmured.

Mara obeyed. When she came within arm’s length, he reached out and pulled her onto his lap. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he felt both comforted and weakened. The woman had the ability to stir emotion within him, making him feel vulnerable and strong at the same time. He buried his face against her shoulder and closed his eyes.

“You left early this morning,” Mara said softly, her cheek against the top of his head. “Where did you go?”

He was silent for a moment. “A missive came from Anchorsholme.”

Mara’s pleasant mood fled. She stiffened. “Micheline?” she asked in a panic. “Has something happened to my sister?”

Kirk calmed her. “Nay,” he assured her. “It contained nothing about Micheline. It was for me.”

Mara still wasn’t over her fright. Her hand was on her chest as if to soothe her racing heart. “Thank the Lord,” she said. “What did the missive say?”

He gazed into her blue eyes. “There has been a rebellion on de Cleveley’s Irish lands,” he said quietly. “Wicklow Castle fell. My father was killed.”

Mara’s eyes widened. “Oh… Kirk,” she breathed. “I am so terribly sorry.”

He went back to resting his head on her shoulder. “As am I,” he muttered. “I am sorry that he will never meet you. He would have liked you.”

“As I am sure I would have liked him,” she said, so very sad at Kirk’s obvious distress. “Did the missive say how it happened?”

Kirk lifted his big shoulders. “It does not matter how it happened, only that it has. My father is dead and nothing can bring him back.”

Mara wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t seem to want to discuss it. She held Kirk tightly, her arms around his neck.

“What will you do now?” she asked softly.

His embrace tightened as he turned his face against her skin, smelling her. “I am instructed to take le Vay’s troops to the docks at Fleetwood where we will meet de Cleveley troops, board de Cleveley vessels, and sail for Ireland on the morning tide.”

Mara processed the information. She could feel the angst rise, not wanting him to leave her. She was terrified for him going to war, terrified for herself because she was returning to Anchorsholme. But contrary to her nature, she didn’t voice her concerns. For the first time in her life, she kept her mouth shut because she knew Kirk had enough on his mind. His father’s murder was surely killing him.

“You leave tomorrow?” she asked softly.

“Aye. And so do you.”

“Back to Anchorsholme?”

“Aye.”

Mara didn’t say anymore after that. They’d already spoken of it and the subject was already settled. Still, she couldn’t help the tightening in her gut. She pressed her face into the top of his head.

“I am truly sorry about your father,” she whispered. “What of the rest of your family?”

“I do not know,” he replied. “The missive only mentioned my father.”

She sighed faintly. “I have spent nearly all my life at Haslingden,” she said softly. “I have never been around a battle. I would be lying if I said I was not frightened for you. Please take great care.”

He hugged her. “I will, I swear it,” he said. “I have much to live for.”

She pulled her face from his head, looking at him with a smile on her lips. “Me?”

He met her grin, gently tweaking her nose. “You.”

Her smile faded as she gazed into his eyes. “Will it be a big battle?”

He shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “When the Irish are angry, there is no knowing how many will answer the call to aide.”

“Then mustn’t you go and muster your troops? Surely you have duties to attend to.”

Kirk shook his head. “Le Vay has asked me to stay away from Spencer as he prepares the men,” he said. “I have nothing more to do than spend the remaining hours with you, for which I am grateful.”

Mara was thrilled. She toyed with his dark hair, memorizing the texture to tuck away in her memories for days when she was feeling particularly lonely. She watched Kirk’s expression, seeing such sorrow in it.

“When was the last time you were in Ireland?” she asked quietly.

“About four years ago. A lot can change in four years.”

“What… what should I do if you do not return?”

His gaze grew intense. “Raise my son in the manner you see fit.”

A twinkle came to her eye. “The son you gave me last night?”

“The same.”

“Are you so sure I carry your son?”

“I have prayed for it since last night.”

The humor vanished from the conversation. He was deeply sincere and it frightened her. The man was sailing into the unknown, to face tragic circumstances, and she could read his uncertainty. Without another word, she threw her arms around his neck and he swallowed her up in his big embrace. There wasn’t much more either one of them could say that hadn’t already been spoken of.

Fear of the future, grief from Kirk’s father’s murder, and their longing for one another came together in a cataclysmic clash. Kirk took Mara back to bed and didn’t leave her until he was forced to the following morning before dawn.

Mara’s last vision of Kirk was as he rode from Quernmore’s gatehouse, astride his massive charger as he faded out into the breaking dawn.