Chapter Six #3
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.
“I am leaving!” she gasped, the tears that has so recently fled returning with a vengeance. “And Micheline is going with me!”
He moved toward her simply to comfort her but she screamed, moving away from him as if he carried the plague. “Stay away from me!”
He froze, his gaze tracking her like a cat watching a mouse. “What is the matter, Mara? What have I done?”
She was standing next to the bed, sobbing. “You…” she gasped, hardly able to continue. “You are cursed!”
He stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She wept into her hand, close to hysteria. But the bright blue eyes were intense. “The Darkland, Kirk. I know why Anchorsholme Castle is called the House of the Death.”
He did not say anything. Outwardly, his composure never wavered, but inwardly, his heart was breaking. He’d never known it to break before.
“Why is that, love?”
His gentle tone inflamed her. “Because young women die here!” she nearly shouted, angry that he would act as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Nine young ladies who have come here to serve Johanne, women who have simply vanished into the night. Why did you tell us the truth from the beginning?”
He took a deep breath, aware that his control was slowly weakening. And that had never happened, either. Especially not where a woman was concerned. Carefully, he pondered his reply.
“Is that what you wanted?” his voice was oddly hoarse. “To hear stories of Anchorsholme Castle, frightening you to death when you were already reluctant to come?”
Near the wardrobe, Micheline nearly collapsed with the confirmation of Mara’s wild stories.
“Dear God,” she gasped, groping for the nearest chair. “Then what she has told me is true.”
Kirk eyed the woman a brief moment before returning his attention to Mara. She was sitting on the bed now, facing away from and sobbing pitifully.
“I do not know the extent of what she has told you, Lady Micheline,” he said softly, moving slowly for the bed. “But I would like to hear everything.”
Mara could feel him standing by the foot of the bed, too weak to resist him. Face in her hands, she simply shook her head. “Dead women, Kirk. Ladies come to Anchorsholme Castle but they never leave. Isn’t that so?”
“There’s more to it than that, lass.”
“But what of Johanne?” she demanded. “You told me to stay away from her because she was dangerous. Now I know she burns people and bites off fingers!”