The Darkland (4 page)

"You're a
virgin?" He moved his finger again and she cried out in fear. Sighing
raggedly, his gaze raked her pale face. "I can feel your maidenhood
resisting me. Oh, sweetling, what a pleasure this will be."

His mouth tried to claim
her again, but she turned her head away, sobbing. The knight, however, was
unable to progress any further; the chamber door suddenly exploded in a hail of
splinters and Mara saw a flash of steel and armor. The knight rolled off her,
scrambling for his weapon as the intruder entered the room.

Kirk brought the blade
down against the man's neck, going no further than to imply the obvious. The
knight froze and dropped his weapon as stone-gray eyes glittered with unnatural
fury.

"I am weaponless,
my lord," he said calmly.

Kirk did not reply. His
eyes remained trained on the defenseless knight as he spoke to Mara.

"Did he deflower
you, Mara?"

Mara was standing by the
end of the bed on quaking legs. She had no idea how she got there. "Nay,
my lord," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But... but he
tried."

Kirk's blade remained
poised at the man's neck a moment longer before removing it with amazing speed.
"Then I will spare him," he growled. "Vacate this room
immediately before I change my mind."

The knight rose,
collecting his armor and weapons. Kirk continued to stare at the man as he quit
the room, unmoving until he heard the boot falls fade away. Then, he turned to
Mara.

"What
happened?"

She was shaking so
terribly that she had to sit down. She could hardly look him in the eye.
"I wanted to sleep in a warm, dry inn," she said weakly. "The
knight thought I was a whore. How did you find me?"

Kirk sheathed his sword
and suddenly, he was looming over her. "By thinking like an idiot,” he
said, a flash of anger coming through. “Christ, woman, what on earth possessed
you to do something like this?"

She was staring at her
bloodied hand.  "I... I wanted to sleep at the inn," she repeated,
feeling exhausted and ashamed. "Micheline does not like taverns, so
I...."

"So you went
regardless of the fact that had I denied you, simply to spite me," he
finished for her, his anger piqued. In fact, he couldn't remember when he had
been quite so angry. Or, for the second time in as many days, frightened.
Working into a righteous rage, he noticed Mara's bloody hand and felt himself
weaken. "Did he do that?"

She shook her head. Kirk
watched as a single tear fell, bathing the bloodied flesh. "I did it
whilst attempting to defend myself."

He sighed heavily, his
fury fading in spite of the effort to maintain it. Glancing about, he spied a
square of linen by the basin and snatched it, kneeling beside Mara and silently
wrapping her hand. He was nearly finished when he glanced up to find bright
blue eyes staring at him.

"This is twice in
two days that you have saved me."

The vortex of her eyes
was enough to erase all fury. Christ, she was so very lovely, so fragile. And
so terribly headstrong. Wrestling against a same unfamiliar tenderness that had
swamped him yesterday, he tore his gaze away.

"And who was there
to save you before I arrived?" he asked, gruffly, to mask his emotions.
"I cannot imagine that I have seen your first attempts at
foolishness."

She did not say anything
for a moment and Kirk forced himself to look at her. It was the first time
since they had met that she appeared emotionally vulnerable. Away from all of
the fire and resistance, he could see the soft little lady beneath.

"There was no one
to save me," she murmured. "I did as I pleased."

He wasn't strong enough
to tear his gaze away this time. The urge to give into the strange emotions was
overwhelming. "Those days are gone, lady."

She continued to stare
at him, without the usual hostility. "My sister calls me a hellion."

"And my men call me
the Master. Who do you suppose will be the first to surrender to the
other?"

"'Twill not be
me."

"It had better be.
Or I will do what I should have done yesterday."

"What is
that?"

He rose, the stone-gray
eyes intense. "Take my hand to your backside. One more infraction and I
shall."

She lowered her gaze,
giving a careless shrug. "My father threatened me all the time but never
once carried through."

"Then you do not
fear my threat?"

The bright gaze fixed on
him again. He swore he saw a flicker of a smile. "I believe you."

"That is not what I
asked."

"I know what you
asked." She stood from the bed, deliberately avoiding his gaze and he saw
the smile broaden. "I choose to give you a pleasing answer rather than the
reply you truly seek."

He sighed heavily. If he
had any sense, he would spank her this minute and be done with it. Even so, he
couldn't seem to muster the will and his impotency confused him. Knowing only
that this lack of sense had something to do with the odd warmth this little
hellion seemed to provoke. Emotions he had no intention of exploring.

"We shall arrive at
Anchorsholme come the morrow," he muttered. "I suggest for your own
sake that you behave yourself, whether or not you give credence to my threat.
Do you comprehend?"

Mara nodded faintly. But
Kirk did not like the gleam to her eye; nay, he did not like it at all.

CHAPTER THREE

The 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.