The Darkland (2 page)

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.

CHAPTER TWO

"Has she said a
word to you?"

The weather had worsened
since leaving Haslingden that morn, the addition of a nippy gale making life
generally uncomfortable. The sky overhead was gray, the smell of rain pervasive
and sharp. Astride his muscular charger, Kirk refused to glance at the
wind-whipped young lady riding several paces behind him. "Not a
word."

Niles, however, did look
at her. Swathed in a heavy cloak that was both too large and too worn, Mara was
watching the muddied road pass beneath her mare's hooves. With a shake of the
head, Niles returned his attention to the bleak landscape.

"Not even a word
for saving her life?"

"Nothing."

"Ungrateful wench.
You should have let her fall."

Kirk chewed on his lip
as his steed plodded along, refusing to reply to Niles' cruel statement.
"We should see Ormskirk in another hour. We shall find a clearing to pitch
camp and be gone before sunrise. Hopefully we shall reach Anchorsholme by the
nooning meal."

Niles nodded, passing
the information to the men-at-arms. To Kirk's left, Corwin let out a nasty
burp.

"Good Christ,"
he gurgled. "I can still taste this morning's meal. Disgusting as it was,
barley gruel."

"Considering the
poverty of the keep, we were fortunate for that." Niles cast a disgusted glance
at Corwin. "What about the powder Lord Edmund’s physic gave you? Doesn't
that settle your stomach?"

"I used it
all." Corwin was struggling not to wretch in front of the ladies.
"Yesterday, in fact."

Niles shook his head.
"For a man who has spent his entire life in the saddle, I find it
extremely peculiar that your stomach has not grown accustomed to the sway of a
horse."

Corwin puffed out his
cheeks as another strong burp rocked him, discreetly passing it off. "The
sway of the horse, the sway of a wagon, makes little difference. Any movement
makes me ill." He was suddenly overtaken with another burp, so loud that
the men-at-arms snickered.

Kirk was rattled by the
sound, distracted from the thoughts that had plagued him most of the day and
night. Thoughts involving the ungrateful, foolish, alluring Lady Mara. Forcing
himself back to the world at hand, his deep voice rumbled with impatience.
"We have ladies with us, Corwin. Control your repulsive habits."

"I cannot help it,
my lord," he said sullenly. "You know how travel affects me."

"I know all too
well." Kirk cast the auburn-haired knight a long glance. "But I ask
that you control yourself just the same."

The journey progressed
silently, aside from the various sounds emitting from Corwin's body no matter
how hard he tried to suppress them. The weather, strangely, was now threatening
to clear, wisps of sunlight filtering through the clouds. On the outskirts of
Ormskirk, Kirk spied a sheltered clearing and immediately called a halt.
Men-at-arms rushed the pasture, establishing the site as Kirk moved to the
ladies.

"We will camp here
for the night, ladies," he said, looking down from his tall charger.
"We shall rise early and be at Anchorsholme by noon."

Micheline nodded
submissively while Mara eyed the busy soldiers. She had no intention of
sleeping in the wet grass. "The weather is damp, my lord," she said,
turning her bright blue gaze to him. "Micheline's health has always been
delicate."

He met her steadily.
"There will be a warm fire and adequate bedding. I am sure the lady will
fare well."

As he feared, a willful
eyebrow lifted. "An inn would do better. Micheline is, after all, the
intended of a baron. Would a decent room not be more suitable to her
station?"

She had a point. Kirk
looked at Micheline who, sensing his attention, immediately flushed. "A
sturdy tent will do very well, my lord. An inn will not be necessary."

Mara turned to her
sister before Kirk could reply. "Ridiculous, Misha. Do you remember that
bout with the chill two months ago? Why, you have only just recovered.
Moreover, you are to be married to a wealthy man and there is no reason why you
should not be provided with the comforts befitting his station."

Micheline's blush
deepened, her plain blue eyes fixed on her sister. "Please, Mara,"
she hissed, refocusing on Kirk's intense gaze. "An inn is not necessary,
my lord. A pitched shelter will do quite nicely."

Mara opened her mouth
but Kirk blotted out her response. "As you say, Lady Micheline." He
ignored Mara's frustrated expression. "Lord Edmund has sent along his very
own travel bedding for your comfort."

He reined his horse in
the direction of the camp when Mara's voice stopped him. "I would hardly
call dusty furs and molding linens appropriate comfort." She made sure
Kirk was looking at her when she spoke. "My sister deserves the
best."

"And she shall have
it."

"I am speaking of a
warm inn."

"And I am
not." The stone-gray eyes cooled. "This discussion is ended, Lady
Mara."

Mara and Micheline
watched him trample through the winter grass, gesturing to a few men and
sending them running.

"You should not
provoke him, Mara," Micheline said softly, eyeing the soldiers that had
been left to watch over them. "He has been exceptionally patient with you.
Not to mention the fact that he saved your life yesterday."

Mara looked away
stubbornly. "I would not have been forced out onto the ledge had he not
threatened to break my door down. ’Tis his own fault that I almost fell to my
death."

Micheline sighed.
"'Tis your own willfulness that almost cost you your life. And it would
make my life considerably easier if you would learn to control yourself. I have
enough to worry over with thoughts of a new husband."

Mara cast her sister a
long glance. "I am in perfect control, Misha. And I was perfectly correct
in asking Sir Kirk to take us to an inn. You deserve proper lodgings, as a
future baroness."

"I am not speaking
of that in particular, but everything." Micheline's gaze moved to the
distant camp, a weak fire beginning to smoke. "Really, Mara. I simply do
not have the strength to deal with your bold nature or Sir Kirk's resulting
anger."

Mara followed her
sister's gaze to the glowing encampment. She could see that Kirk had dismounted
his warhorse, head-and-shoulders taller than the rest of his men as he stalked
the camp to make sure everything was proceeding orderly. His men practically
bowed at his feet, making haste to carry out any order or request.

 "His anger is of
no concern to me," she said, watching the activity. "Especially when
I am correct."

Micheline's expression
suggested nothing but impatience. "Correct or no, you must learn to curb
your mouth. If not for yourself, then for me. Please consider my position; how
would it appear for the new baroness to have a hellion for a sister?"

Mara did not reply for a
moment, the bright blue eyes suddenly growing distant. "Do you recall the
last time you visited an inn, Misha?"

Micheline blushed with
the change of subject, lowering her gaze. "Not a word, Mara. I refuse
to...."

"Father used to
make you dance for money to feed his gambling habit." Mara wasn't
listening to her sister's protests. "And he would leave me outside, on the
street, pretending I was an orphan and begging for more money. Do you
remember?"

Micheline refused to
answer. Met with silence, Mara turned to her sister. "Do you?" When
Micheline nodded weakly, Mara's expression softened. "That is why you do
not want to go to an inn, isn't it? They hold nothing but bad memories for
you."

Micheline sighed deeply,
avoiding Mara's knowing stare. "The smell of ale and sweat still makes me
vomit," she murmured, sickened by the painful memories. "The only
reason father did not prostitute me was because he knew he could get a better
price for a virgin bride."

"But in the end, he
used you to pay off a gambling debt as if you were a commodity."

"To Monroe de
Cleveley," Micheline finished quietly, "as a bride for his only
son."

Mara observed her
sister's pained expression. She had been young enough not to mind begging, her
aggressive nature having served her well. But Micheline, just over the brink of
womanhood, had been embarrassed to display herself like a common trollop.
Dancing for drunken soldiers, or singing in her piercing soprano for the few
coins they would throw. It had been a shameful way to grow up, better left
forgotten. But not before Edward le Bec bestowed one final act of humiliation
by using his eldest daughter to settle a substantial gambling obligation.

Mara knew that
Micheline's humiliation ran deep, being likened to hard currency rather than
flesh and blood. "Think on it this way, Misha." She attempted to
lighten the heady mood that had settled. "A wealthy husband and the title
of baroness. Mayhap Father's gambling habit will have positive results, after
all."

Micheline nodded
faintly, feeling the first few drops of rain cool her flaming cheeks. "I
wonder what he looks like." She raised her eyes, meeting Mara's gaze.
"My husband, I mean. I have been wondering for two years."

Mara smiled.
"Dashing, I am sure."

Kirk's bellow echoed in
the distance and both ladies turned toward the camp. "As dashing as Sir
Kirk?" Micheline asked softly.

Mara shrugged.
"He's a beast. A misshapen giant."

"He's terribly
handsome, Mara. Or hadn't you noticed through all of your resistance?"

She had, if she were to
admit it. A square jaw, thick dark lashes and a straight nose.  And this
morning she had even caught a glimpse of dark, shiny hair beneath his hauberk.
Before he donned his helm and transformed into an evil fighting machine that
took delight in dominating her.

"I have noticed
that he is three times my size." She turned her nose up stubbornly; there
was no way Micheline would be able to wrangle a confession from her. "His
fists are as big as my head."

"Who cares about
his fists?" Micheline smiled, almost seductively. "I was speaking of
his face."

Mara's brow furrowed,
refusing to agree with her sister's assessment. Even though she realized she
would very much like to. Turning away, she reined her old mare in the direction
of the camp.

"I see they've
pitched a couple of tents," she said. "Come along, Misha. It's been a
long day for you."

Micheline followed.
"I am sorry you have to sleep in a tent, darling. I just... just cannot
abide sleeping in an inn."

Mara shrugged, far too
carelessly. "But I can. And if I feel like going to an inn to enjoy a warm
atmosphere and protection from the rain, then I shall. If Kirk Connaught is
going to force me to accompany you to Anchorsholme, he'll have to pay for his
decision."

Micheline looked
shocked. "Why would you do this? The man is only doing his job, Mara. And
inns are nothing but dens for gambling and debauchery. You know this to be
true."

Mara shrugged again,
noting the campfire was blazing brightly. "I spent most of my time outside
of the inns, Misha. Only you and father went inside. I have always found them
to be rather... flavorful."

"Flavorful?"
Micheline was horrified. "How can you say that?"

They were nearing the
camp perimeter and Mara shushed her sister firmly. "Not to worry, Misha. I
would never do anything foolish."

"But you are
thinking foolish thoughts, little goat."

From the corner of her
eye, Mara caught sight of Kirk as they entered the camp. Seeing the
travel-weary ladies, Kirk left the task of securing a section of tent and made
his way toward them. Mara kept her eyes trained on him, the face Micheline
thought was so very handsome.

"For me, these thoughts
are not so foolish," she murmured. "They are perfectly normal."

"As I said,”
Micheline closed her eyes in silent prayer, "foolish."

                             
***

Mara waited until the
camp was quiet before making her move. The clouds had returned, as had the
rain, and she made sure Micheline was asleep before stirring from her bed. The
soft glow from the dying fire cast long shadows as she peered from the tent,
watching the sentries pace the encampment. Waiting for the last pair of
soldiers to disappear into the bramble, she slipped from the shelter and into
the trees.

The village was visible
about a mile down the road. Mud splashed on her worn shoes as she trudged down
the thoroughfare, but Mara was unconcerned with the discomfort. She was determined
to make it to town, to beg a few coins off a rich soldier as she had done so
ably when she was young, and then indulge herself in a fine goblet of mead to
toast her victory against Kirk.

Ormskirk was a smelly,
dirty town. As Mara skipped along the road, dodging horses and men, her gaze
fell on a large hostel by the edge of town. Looking through the window, she
could see the laughing people and smell the smelly warmth. It was inviting and
she quickly decided to become a part of it. Slipping in behind a group of
well-dressed knights, she lost herself in the crowd.