The Darkland (9 page)

It was cool and pleasant
among the trees. Mara finished the cheese and crunched into a small green apple
as Robert graciously brushed off a rock for her to sit. Smiling, she accepted.

The lanky youth plopped
to the dirt at her feet, smacking loudly on pumpkin seeds. "Now," he
said, licking his fingers. "You have got to send word to your da. He must
come and take your sister away from Anchorsholme before she can marry the
Devilboy."

"Devilboy?"
Mara repeated. "You mean Lord Edmund?"

Robert nodded, his unkempt
blond hair waving like grass in a breeze. "He is evil."

Mara stopped mid-chew.
"How do you know this?"

Robert picked more
seeds. "Because I have lived here all my life, lady. If your sister stays,
she'll end up dead like all the rest. Mayhap you will, too."

Mara could hardly
swallow. She tossed the apple aside and spit out the contents of her mouth, her
bright blue eyes wide on the boy. "Dead? For Heaven's sake, Robert, what
are you talking about?"

Robert's younger brother
retrieved Mara's half-eaten apple, brushed it off, and finished it. Robert
ignored the boy, finishing his seeds. "Did not anyone tell you about The
Darkland?"

Mara nodded hesitantly.
"Well, yes... Sir Corwin told me that is what Lord Edmund’s Irish subjects
call it."

"Did he tell you
why?"

"Not really,"
she sat forward on the rock, her expression intensely curious. "Why do
they call it The Darkland, Robert?"

Robert finished his seeds
and met Mara's demanding gaze. "Because women die here. Any young woman
who comes to this place never leaves."

Chills of foreboding
raced up Mara's spine. "How do they die?"

"No one
knows," Robert shook his head. "One minute they are here, the next they
are gone. No one ever sees them again. Nine in all, in fact."

Mara did not reply for a
moment, digesting his story. "And you believe my sister and I to be in
danger?"

Robert's expression
tensed. "All young women are in danger."

"But Sir Kirk will
protect us."

"He cannot. He is
always gone when the women vanish."

Mara swallowed, her
sense of dread growing. "Is he somehow involved with these...
disappearances?"

Robert shook his head
and Mara sighed with instant relief. "Sir Kirk is a just man. But he always
seems to be away when the women vanish." The youth gestured at her new surcoat.
"I saw that dress on a lady in early winter, a lady come to serve Lady Johanne
from Ireland. The dead ladies are always from Ireland, you see, vassals of Lord
Edmund. Lady Jessamyn wore that same dress the night before she vanished."

Mara looked at the
garment, horrified. "How do you know it is the same dress?"

The lad shrugged.
"Sometimes I help serve the soldiers. She was sitting with Lady Johanne in
that dress, eating her last meal. I remember noticing the dress because Gilly
liked the silver thread around the sleeve."

Mara was pale as she
looked at the young girl seated on her left, no more than twelve years of age.
The girl smiled weakly, her cheeks flushing, and Mara returned her focus to
Robert in dismay.

"You are sure,
Robert?"

"Positive."

"But you said the
women disappeared. How do you know for sure that they were killed? Mayhap they
simply left and no one saw them depart."

Robert shook his head,
slowly. "They are dead, lady. Lord Edmund told everyone that the women
returned home, but my mam once helped bury the possessions of one of the
ladies."

"By whose
order?"

"No one is for
certain. And no one is willing to ask."

Mara felt sick. And
terrified. Slouching on the rock, she shook her head as she pondered the lad's
stunning account on the happenings at Anchorsholme.

"So that is why
they call it The Darkland," she murmured, more to herself.

Robert nodded. "The
House of the Death. Young ladies never leave here alive."

Mara's gaze snapped to
him, trapping him within her intense focus. "Well,
I
am leaving
here alive," she hissed, rising swiftly from the rock. "My sister and
I are leaving and never coming back, betrothal or no!"

Robert and his siblings
were instantly on their feet as Mara gathered her too-long skirts. Retraced her
steps up the hill, the collection of children followed.

"How are you going
to leave?" Robert pulled her skirt free of prickly bramble when it
snagged. "Do you have horses, a wagon?"

"We have
palfreys," Mara said firmly. "We are leaving and no one is going to
stop us. I shall kill anyone who tries!"

"Even Sir
Kirk?"

"Especially Sir
Kirk. How dare he not tell us of the danger we are in!"

"Sir Kirk was the
reason the ladies died," Gilly's soft voice came from behind her brother.

Mara came to an abrupt
stop, causing the children to bump into each other. Bright blue eyes were fixed
on the pale young girl with the untamed curls.

"Tell me all,"
her voice was hoarse with dread.

Gilly swallowed hard,
struggling for courage. She had been bold enough to make the statement, but
explaining her words were clearly another matter. "The dead ladies all had
eyes for him," she said softly. "It was known that he did not return
their feelings, but the ladies died just the same. Mayhap by their own hand.
Some have come to think that Kirk Connaught is cursed."

Mara's eyebrows rose in
shock. "Cursed?" she repeated. Taking a deep breath to soothe her
shattering composure, she turned her eyes toward the dark stone bastion
reaching for the heavens. "Dear God. Why did not anyone tell us this
before?"

Robert was standing
beside her, his blue eyes sympathetic and fearful at the same time. She was
such a pretty lady, far prettier than any lady he had ever seen at Anchorsholme
Castle. And she was nice, too; none of the other ladies had ever spoken to him.
But Mara had.

"We shall help you
leave, lady," he said, nodding to his siblings. "Get your things
together and we shall whisk you from Anchorsholme before anyone is the
wiser."

Mara should have been
grateful for the lad's assistance. But instead, she was overwhelmed with despondency
over Kirk's apparent hex and found herself unable to focus on anything else.

"Do you believe
that Kirk is cursed, Robert?" she asked softly.

He shrugged weakly.
"I do not know, lady. But some say he is."

"Who?"

"Servants mostly.
The soldiers defend him, saying he had nothing to do with the ladies'
deaths."

"What of Edmund and
Johanne? What do they say?"

Robert's gaze faltered.
After a moment, he shrugged again. "Who can say? Everyone is a'feared of
them because of Johanne's madness."

"Madness?"

The boy nodded.
"She rages with the change of the moons. She's been known to beat serving
wenches, or burn them with pokers. One time she bit a wench on the hand and
tore off her finger."

Mara's eyes widened with
horror. Without another word, she returned to the kitchen yard through the
tunnel in the wall. With a hasty farewell to Robert and his silent siblings,
she made way to her chamber as fast as her feet would carry her.

                        
***

Micheline was trying on
her sixth surcoat by the time Mara reached her. Huffing with exertion, she
raced into the room and slammed the door, bolting it from the inside. But when
she turned and saw Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda hemming one of Micheline's new
dresses, she screamed at them to leave and, in perfect synchronization, they
did so.

Mara bolted the door
again when they were gone. Puzzled and incensed, Micheline came down from the
stool she had been perched on.

"Mara!" she
scolded. "What is the matter with you?"

Mara's face was white
with fear, her breathing rapid from having mounted three flights of stairs in a
panic.

"Misha," she
grasped her sister by the arms. "We have got to leave this place.
Now!"

Micheline could see the
terror in her sister's eyes. "Why, Mara? What has happened?"

Mara couldn't answer.
Releasing her sister, she ran to the massive wardrobe and threw open the doors.
Grabbing the worn satchel that had once belonged to her mother, she began
stuffing garments into it.

Micheline went to her,
struggling to calm the hysterical woman. "Tell me what's the matter,
darling. What has upset you so?"

Mara dropped the satchel
in her haste. Growling in frustration, she turned to her sister, both hands
clutching the clothing she was trying so desperately to pack.

"This place,"
she hardly knew where to begin. "Do you remember when Sir Corwin called it
The Darkland?"

When Micheline nodded,
Mara swallowed hard before continuing. "It's called The Darkland because
young women die here. These dresses that were brought to us are from those dead
ladies. Do you remember Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda explaining how the garments
had been left behind? With hesitance and uncertainty, as if they did not want
us to know!"

Micheline wasn't any
better at masking her horror than her sister. "Are you certain?" she
hissed. "Who told you this?"

"Children of a
servant. They have lived here for a very long time and explained the evil of
this place to me," Mara shuddered involuntarily, struggling to go on.
"Thank God someone had the courage to enlighten us. But Kirk... they say
he is cursed. Every young woman who died had eyes for him."

Micheline gasped.
"But... Mara! He is so fond of you and...!"

There was a sharp rap on
the door. Mara shrieked, dropping the garments in her hands. Frozen with
fright, the sisters stared at the panel as the caller rapped again. And a third
time. Finally, a voice echoed from the opposite side of the door.

"Mara?" It was
Kirk. "Lady Micheline? Are you there?"

Micheline gasped again
and Mara shushed her sternly. Her entirely body trembling, she moved swiftly to
the door, making sure it was bolted before replying.

"Go away, Sir
Kirk," she half-demanded, half-begged. "We do not wish to see
you."

In the corridor, Kirk's
brow furrowed at the sound of Mara's voice. She sounded so... weak.

"Mara?" he
tried the latch; it was locked. He rattled it loudly. "Mara, what's wrong?
Open the door."

The sound of his deep, soothing
voice was enough to drive her to tears. Terrified and confused, Mara sobbed
softly against the old, scrubbed wood.

"Please," she
whispered loudly. "Just... go away. Leave us alone, Kirk."

He rattled the latch
again, more firmly this time. "I will not. Open the door or I shall break
it down."

"Nay!" she
knew he was fully capable of carrying out his threat. "Do not break it
down. Please do as I ask!"

Hand still on the iron
latch, Kirk was distressed by Mara's attitude. But he was even more distressed
by the quaking of her voice. To become angry would only inflame her, so very
calmly, he leaned against the seam where the door met the frame.

"I won't break it
down, love," he murmured, knowing she could hear him. "But please
open the door. Why are you so upset?"

He could hear her
sobbing. "I am... I am simply fatigued. Micheline and I wish to be left
alone."

"I will leave you
alone if you open the door and prove to me that you're well."

"Do you not trust
my word?"

"When I do not know
the reason for your tears, I must say that I do not."

Mara stared at the latch
a long, long time. Finally, and very slowly, she released the bolt. And after
another lengthy pause, she cracked the panel open.

Kirk's stone-gray eyes
were staring at her. Mara sniffled, meeting his gaze and struggling not to
crumble.

"There," she
said hoarsely. "As you can see, I am well. Micheline is well. Now will you
leave us?"

"Nay," he
pushed the door open, his gaze roving the room. Seeing there was no obvious
threat that would drive Mara to tears, his gaze immediately fell on the satchel
and discarded clothing heaped on the floor. His eyebrows knit together.
"What is this?"

Micheline was still
standing by the wardrobe, her cheeks flushed. Hastily, she bent down to collect
the falling things. "I... it was merely my own clumsiness. I was clearing
the wardrobe for our new garments and this fell out."

He did not believe her
for a moment. His accusing gaze immediately turned to Mara. "Where were
you going, Mara?"

She wasn't a very good
liar and it had never been her habit to excuse her way out of a situation.
Fully prepared to tell him that her intentions were none of his affair, one
look at the intense gray eyes and her control shattered like fragile glass.