The Darkland (23 page)

"Make me feel as
you did last night," she whispered between heated kisses. "The
pleasure... the feelings, Kirk. Bring them back to me."

"In time, love."
He suddenly rolled onto his back, still joined to her. "All in good
time."

Mara gasped with the
swift movement as she ended up on top of him. Kirk grinned up at her, both
hands moving to her supple breasts.

"You wanted
feelings, love?" He thrust his hips upward, slowly. "The make your
own feelings. Ride me as I ride you."

Hair wildly askew, Mara
looked puzzled. Kirk moved again, encouragingly, until she timidly took the lead.
Pushing herself up, she grinned wickedly when he groaned.

"Like this?"
She slid down on him and pushed up again. Repeating the process, she watched
Kirk twitch and moan. "Do you like this?"

He nodded weakly, his
eyes closed. "Christ, woman. I am mere putty in your hands."

Mara grinned. She could
make her own wonderful feelings by impaling herself on him, sliding the length
of his shaft and feeling her body shudder with delight. The rhythm soon became
steady, the pulse pounding, and in little time Mara felt the familiar explosion
ripple through her groin. Kirk held her hips firmly, feeling her muscles milk
him, demanding his seed. He could not help but answer.

Mara felt him erupt deep
inside her and she smiled, eyes closed and head lolling. "That's right,"
she murmured, squirming atop him to drain every last drop. "Give it all to
me, Kirk. Give me your son."

In spite of his pleasure
and exhaustion, Kirk laughed softly. "Is that all you want me for?"

Her eyes were still
closed. Lazily, she smiled. "Aye."

He took a deep breath as
the waves of rapture faded, pulling her against his chest. Weak and sated, Mara
dozed to the sound of his pounding heart.

Kirk's lips caressed her
forehead, his thoughts turning from their lovemaking to his impending trip to
Ireland. The urge to take her with him was tremendous, but he knew in his heart
she must stay behind. Still, the thought of separation ate away at him like a
cancer and he gathered her closer, pulling the linens over them both in a
protective cocoon.

 "Kirk?"

He had thought she was
asleep. "What is it, love?"

"Do I have to stay
at Anchorsholme while you are gone?"

Her head was tucked
under his chin and he caressed her back, gazing into the darkness. "There
is little choice. Where else would you stay?"

"Haslingden
Hall." She lifted her sleepy face to meet his gaze. "Mayhap you could
supply an escort to guard me while you are away."

He sighed; truthfully,
the idea wasn't a bad one. "What of Micheline? She will have to remain at Anchorsholme."

Mara pushed the hair from
her eyes, making a face. "Edmund doesn't like her, anyway. Mayhap he will
allow her to return to Haslingden simply to be rid of her."

He lifted an eyebrow.
"I doubt that. But supposing I allowed you returned to Haslingden, the
place is in shambles. Do you truly wish to return to such poverty?"

She could see he was
trying to talk her out of it. Mara stared at him, realizing that if he truly
had confidence that nothing would happen to her at Anchorsholme, then he would
have discouraged her idea from the onset. Instead, he actually seemed
interested. And that worried her.

"I would rather
return to Haslingden that meet my death at Anchorsholme," she said.
"And I can see that you agree."

"I told you that
nothing would happen to you at Anchorsholme."

"But you do not
fully believe that, else you would not have allowed me to entertain the thought
of returning to Haslingden." She eyed him a moment. "If neither place
is acceptable, then you could always ask Lord le Vay to watch over me."

He looked as if he had
been struck. "With Spencer waiting to steal you when my back is turned?"
He snorted rudely. "I think not, lady."

She shrugged. "It
was merely an idea. I did not say that I wanted to stay here."

"And you
shan't," he said firmly, miffed by her suggestion. "The mere idea is
ludicrous."

"Fine, fine,"
she agreed simply because he seemed so agitated, "I apologize for even
mentioning it."

He glared at her and she
smiled sweetly, kissing him on the nose. "You shall stay at Anchorsholme,"
he said, struggling to maintain his stern attitude in the face of her kisses.
"You and Micheline shall be safe from harm, I swear it."

"But you will be in
Ireland," she said, kissing his chin and feeling his body react to her.
"How can you be sure?"

He softened, his affront
fading as she began to kiss his broad shoulder. "By threatening Edmund’s
life," he rumbled, his hands moving from her back to her buttocks.
"If anything happens to you, I shall make sure his death is not
pleasant."

"And you are sure
he will listen?"

Kirk's hands were moving
down her slender thighs, pulling her knees apart as he wedged his big body
between them. "He will listen. Especially if I threaten Johanne."

Mara paused in her
kisses, casting him a strange glance. "You would harm a woman?"

One hand moved from her
knee to her private core, fingering the thatch of dark curls. "Johanne is
not a woman, Mara," he muttered. "She is a mad beast and I suspect it
is she, and not Edmund, who is behind the vanishings."

Mara did not like the
sound of that at all. "What makes you believe so?"

Kirk was silent a
moment. "Because the women who vanished had all shown me undue attention.
I never responded to any of them, but it is well known that Johanne is rather
fond of me and her jealousy feeds her madness." His hands moved to her
buttocks again, caressing them. "And that is why we will live in Ireland,
far away from Anchorsholme and far away from Johanne's insanity. But until
then, I have no doubt that you shall be untouchable to the evil forces of Anchorsholme.
You are the only woman I have ever loved and that fact alone shall place you
above harm. If some mishap befalls you, the wrath of the Master shall be
severe."

Mara gazed at him,
wanting so desperately to believe him. "Promise?"

"I do."

She would not dream of
disputing his vow. Smiling weakly, she kissed his smooth lips. "Then I
shall wait for your return at Anchorsholme."

His hands moved to her
thighs again, pulling her closer as he responded to her kisses. "And have
no doubt that I will return," he breathed, feeling her love-slick sheath
draw him in. "I love you, Mara. Always remember that."

The sun rose before they
realized it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Micheline 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 and 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.”