Chapter Six
The snorting, the grunting, had ceased for the moment. Deep in the folds of the moonless night, Edmund and Johanne lay wrapped in each other’s arms, listening to the sounds of the crackling hearth. A few hours before dawn, they would make love twice more before the sun rose.
“She’s a witch,” Johanne murmured into her brother’s stale shoulder.
Almost asleep, Edmund grunted. “Who?”
“Mara,” Johanne stretched, her frizzy blond hair hanging in her eyes. “I have decided she must go.”
Edmund opened his eyes, dreading his sister’s words.
He did not want to kill another lady, not with Kirk present.
The other times, nine in all, he had sent the man out on an errand before completing the task.
Always with assistance from a knight Kirk had come to trust, a man who Edmund paid well for his silence.
“What do you mean, Johanne?” his question was filled with reluctance.
But his sister seemed not to notice the cautious inflection. She raked her dirty nails down his back. “Precisely that. Either she returns home, or I shall wish her away.”
Edmund sighed. “Then we will send her home. The sister I can do nothing about, but the dark-haired spitfire I would agree to remove. Either that, or betroth her to some hapless fool and be rid of her that way.”
Johanne raised her head, gazing into eyes the same size and shape as her own. “Either path makes no difference as long as she is gone. And as for Lady Micheline, she seems to be quiet and respectful. Mayhap she will do well as your wife.”
Edmund groaned. “Quiet and respectful and ugly,” he rubbed his eyes. “I could hardly stand to look at her at dinner for fear I would lose my appetite.”
Johanne laughed softly. “But she remained silent and unobtrusive and left us alone,” she licked his right nipple seductively. “I do not think you said a word to her all eve.”
“I did not,” Edmund shuddered when Johanne licked him again. “I find I prefer to pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“But what about the wedding?”
He groaned again. “We shall simply get it over with, a quick ceremony and an even quicker consummation.”
Johanne slithered down his body, wrapping her hands around his semi-flaccid manhood. “I shall make the arrangements, then. I am sure we can have this unpleasant business out of the way by tomorrow eve.”
“Whatever you say,” he grabbed her by the hair, pulling hard and loving her gasps of pain. “The sooner the better.”
“And the sister?”
“Betrothed to the first man I can find. Satisfied?”
Johanne licked his phallus, grinning. “Very much. As you shall be quite shortly, as well.”
*
Mara was awakened by Micheline’s shrieks of pleasure.
Rolling around in the large bed, she was vaguely aware of the bright day, the sounds of birds singing.
Even with the brilliant light, however, the room was bitterly cold and she shivered, snuggling beneath the covers until Micheline ripped them off her small body.
“Look, Mara!” she cried happily. “Surcoats!”
Mara blinked the sleep from her eyes, growling and trying to regain her lost blankets. But Micheline was thrusting something in her face, a lovely shade of sapphire, and Mara blinked her eyes again at the fabric came into focus.
“Where did this come from?” her voice was hoarse with morning sleep.
It was then that she noticed Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda lingering respectfully at the edge of the bed. Mara sat up, staring at them; it was like looking at a mirror image.
“Sir Kirk said…”
“… that you could use these. They have…”
“… been left behind by lady visitors and he thought…”
“… they would suit you quite nicely.”
Mara rubbed her eyes, unsure if she was capable of dealing with Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda this early in the morning.
But the women had brought clothing, beautiful clothing, and Mara found herself willing to tolerate their strange presence.
Rising from the bed, she fingered a yellow silk lying on the edge of the mattress.
“It’s magnificent,” she said, noting the plunging neckline. After a moment, she looked at the twins. “Sir Kirk sent you with these?”
They nodded in unison and Lady Valdine moved forward; it was the first time Mara had seen one of the twins move independently.
“Now that you are related to Baron Bowland, he suggested…”
“…that these fine surcoats would enhance your wardrobe…”
“…until we could make you some new garments. Do they…”
“…please you?”
“Yes, of course,” Mara nodded as Lady Valdine held up the yellow surcoat, holding up to Mara’s shoulders and noting the length.
“It needs to be…”
“…shortened a few inches. She’s such a tiny…”
“…thing. So…”
“…beautiful. So…”
“…delicate.”
Lady Wanda was standing several feet from Lady Valdine and still, they spoke in one sentence.
But their expressions and gestures were kind and in spite of the oddity, Mara realized she was willing to tolerate them.
They were practically the only compassionate faces she had encountered since arriving at Anchorsholme and she could hardly resist their care.
As Lady Valdine fussed over Mara, Lady Wanda went to stand beside Micheline as she examined a lovely purple brocade.
Micheline insisted on trying it on and immediately removed her nightshift as Mara moved from the yellow silk to a clear red satin.
Never in their lives had they had the opportunity to wear such lovely garments and their excitement was palpable.
Moreover, there were armloads of surcoats and as Mara perused the pile next to the door, she turned to Lady Valdine curiously.
“You mentioned that these dresses were left by lady visitors,” she said. “Why did they leave them behind?”
Lady Valdine’s normally blank expression seemed to grow even more wide-eyed. “They… they simply…”
“…did,” Lady Wanda had heard the question. “Sometimes we are host to such…”
“…wealthy guests that they never miss…”
“…a trunk or two left behind.”
Mara did not think their weak explanation made much sense, but she remained silent on the matter.
And the fact that her question seemed to have greatly disturbed the twins also deterred further inquisition.
Catching sight of Micheline as the woman gasped with delight at the feel of the purple surcoat embracing her thin body, she decided that it did not matter where the surcoats came from.
It had been a long time since she had seen her sister so happy.
“Then I must thank Sir Kirk for his thoughtfulness,” she said, her attention returning to the clear red satin surcoat lying across the bed. “And I believe I shall wear the red surcoat to accomplish this.”
“And you shall, my lady. After…”
“… we mend the length.”
Mara left the pile by the door, collecting the red dress from the mussed pile of blankets. Turning to the twins, she held it up before her.
“The length is fine for the moment,” she tossed the garment back to the bed and began removing her shift. “For now, you will help my sister. She is to be the future baroness, after all. ’Tis more important that she is presentable. I can wait.”
The three of them turned to watch Micheline dance past them, twirling her new purple surcoat.
Mara smiled as her sister waltzed with an imaginary lover to a tune none of them could hear.
A delightful dance in the arms of a man who thought her beautiful as opposed to plain, fascinating as opposed to average.
The more Mara watched, the more she realized Kirk was responsible for Micheline’s dose of happiness; he had promised to aid Mara in her defense of Micheline.
Although he had not been able to help her yesterday in the face of Edmund’s ignorance, he was helping her now by making amends for her rough introduction to Anchorsholme Castle.
Bringing hope and beauty to a girl who had known little of both.
“Take care of Micheline, ladies,” Mara said, tossing the red satin over her head and thinking warm thoughts of a man she was once sworn to hate. “I have a knight to thank.”
*
The double baileys of Anchorsholme were dusty, smelly pools of men and animals.
The sky was amazingly clear this day, the weak sun bright on the fields below.
Dressed in the beautiful red surcoat that accentuated her feminine curves, Mara picked her way among the crowd in search of Kirk.
The servants inside the keep had been unable to tell her where he had gone on this fine morning; therefore, she determined to find him herself.
She was almost run over near the stables by a dancing charger.
Frightened, but characteristically hostile, she shook her fist at the soldier and dashed off toward the kitchen yard.
It never occurred to her to ask one of the many men-at-arms what they knew of Kirk’s location, but whether it was because she was too prideful or intimidated by their grizzled appearance was unknown.
The sun was drying the rain from the earth, creating dust and clouds of insects as she made her way to the kitchens.
The smell of urine was sharp in her nostrils but she paid little heed to the stench, her focus on finding Kirk.
Once inside the small enclosure that housed the buttery, the butcher’s block, and other kitchen necessities, she saw quite clearly that Kirk wasn’t in the area and, frustrated, turned to leave.
Returning the way she had come, she was almost out of the yard when she noticed movement from the corner of her eye.
It was movement in the cool shadows and Mara could hear a good deal of whispering. Peering closer, she noticed several pairs of eyes stared back at her. Putting her hand up to shield the sun, four dirty children abruptly came into focus.
Mara frowned. “What are you doing in there? Hiding?”
One of the children, a boy a year or so younger than herself, emerged from the dampness. He was a bit taller than she was and they gazed at each other curiously beneath the bright blue sky.
“What are you doing?” the boy countered. “Have you lost something?”