Chapter Eleven
The rain had returned by the time evening fell. Quernmore Castle was only a few more hours, but as the weather worsened, Kirk decided to seek shelter for the night. With Mara wrapped up in her worn cloak, snoring softly in his arms, he ordered his men to find shelter in a grove of oak trees.
There was a small village in the distance, the smoke from cooking fires choking the damp air. Leaving Niles in charge of the camp, Kirk spurred his charger in the direction of the settlement.
The few merchants along the main avenue had closed shop for the night.
The massive destrier plodded along the muddied street, his hooves echoing off the small homes as Kirk went in search of proper shelter for Mara.
She had shivered and sneezed all afternoon and he was unwilling to allow her to spend the night in the freezing rain.
On the opposite side of the berg sat a small tavern, a warm light emitting from a partially-open door.
Kirk reined his charger around the side of the establishment, providing the animal with shelter from the rain.
There was a pool of water collecting from the rain gutters and the animal drank noisily as Kirk gently roused Mara.
“Mara,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “Wake up, lass.”
She stirred, but mostly she ignored him. Sighing, he managed to dismount with her still in his arms. As the rain pounded and the wind began to whip up, he walked to the front of the inn and opened the door with his boot. Hit in the face by a blast of warm, stale air, he ducked beneath the doorjamb.
There were several people enjoying their ale and food, hardly glancing up when the massive man with the lady in his arms entered. The innkeeper looked up from behind his bar, wiping his hands on his stained tunic.
“What’ll it be, m’lord?”
Kirk shifted Mara, who was beginning to come around. “A room on this hellish night.”
The innkeeper nodded, shoving a nearby serving wench on the arm to get her moving. “Verenia’ll show ye a room,” he said, eyeing Kirk more closely now that Mara seemed to be showing signs of life. “Food for ye, then? A bath for yer lady?”
Before Kirk could answer, Mara suddenly raised her head and scowled viciously. “Good Lord, no food!” she put her hands to her head, groaning. “My head is threatening to explode. Why is this damnable room spinning?”
Kirk couldn’t help but grin. He wasn’t feeling particularly well, either, but he knew that in their current state, food would be the best thing for them both.
“Send it to my room,” he told the innkeeper.
The man nodded, listening to Mara moan and grumble as Kirk carried her down a short corridor, following the direction of the serving wench. Snapping his fingers to his toothless wife, the woman began to serve up the knight’s supper as ordered.
The chamber provided was small. Kirk could hardly move about as he set Mara to unsteady feet, glancing around their dismal surroundings.
But Mara ignored the state of the room, smelling of sweat and dirt, as the serving wench turned back the bed and quit the room.
Finally alone, Mara sat down on the lumpy bed and fell backward.
“My head,” she groaned softly. “It hurts so!”
Kirk unlatched his helm, removing it with a grunt of relief. “Let this be your lesson against the evils of whisky.”
The bright blue eyes were closed against the rocking room. After a moment, she peeped open a lid. “It was medicine,” she insisted softly. The other eye opened and she focused on him as he went to work removing his armor. “Where are we?”
He did not look up as he dislodged his gauntlets, his chaffing breastplate. “At an inn,” he cocked an eyebrow, meeting her gaze. “I seem to remember a certain young lady telling me that sleeping on the damp grass like a hardened soldier was unacceptable.”
She continued to gaze at him as the plate protection came off piece by piece, carefully set aside against the wall to drain.
Slowly, she sat up, gripping the bed when the room swayed.
Kirk pretended to ignore her as she unfastened her worn cloak, laying it by the small hearth.
He finished removing his mail hauberk when he noticed she was staring at her shoes.
“What’s the matter?”
She kicked off the shoes in response, setting them by the cloak. As Kirk watched, she reached up her skirt and fumbled about, coming away with two ribbon garters. As he watched with increasing interest, she proceeded to peel off her woolen stockings.
They were wet and she lay them carefully on the warm stone. They were also full of holes. Kirk continued to watch her, distractedly removing his damp tunic, as she meticulously flattened out the wool so that it would dry better.
“I did not realize you had gotten wet,” he said softly. “Wrap yourself in the coverlet if you are chilled.”
She shook her head, her bare feet sticking out from beneath her surcoat as she knelt beside the fire. “I am used to the wet and the cold.”
She had made the statement without a hint of self-pity. Simply stating a fact. Kirk moved up behind her, tearing his eyes away from her long enough to glance at the saturated cloak, her worn shoes. Scratching his dark head, he fingered the cloak.
“I shall have to see about purchasing you some new clothes,” he said. “Bright colors, I think. Your coloring is far too striking for unspectacular shades.”
He seemed rather nonchalant in his statement, almost normal in fact. As if they hadn’t spent a day and a night in violent conflict. As Mara glanced up to reply, she noticed that he had removed his tunic.
Suddenly, it was very warm in the little room.
Mara had never seen a man’s naked chest before, tanned skin as it covered bulging muscles and hair that matted his chest and trailed down his abdomen.
She couldn’t help but stare at his trim belly and arms that were as large as oak branches.
In fact, she was so involved in her observations of Kirk’s magnificent form that she had yet to notice his amused smile.
“What’s the matter, lass?” his voice was soft. “Have you never seen a man before?”
Her cheeks flushed a brilliant red and she looked away, fumbling with her hose once again. “You… you have removed nearly all of your clothing,” she stammered. “I was merely… what I mean to say is that… Oh!”
She grunted in frustration, angry that he had caught her staring at him and saw fit to laugh at her innocence. Kirk continued to chuckle.
“What was I supposed to do? Leave the wet garments on?” he gestured at her. “You yourself treated me to a titillating show when you removed your hose as if I was not in the room.”
Her gaze was fixed on the hearth, her cheeks glowing like the white-hot embers. “I…I simply wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I am not used to having men about. Only Micheline.”
He snorted. “No more, lass. Had you put your hands up your skirt in Niles’ company, the man would have attacked you in a fit of lust and I would have been forced to kill him.”
She pursed her lips with embarrassment, defiance. “I would have never done such a thing in front of him. I simply did not think, I tell you. It’s nothing to laugh over!”
The more agitated she became, the more he snorted. “Aye, it is. You are more comfortable with me than you care to admit.”
She rose abruptly, moving to the large bed and throwing herself on the coverlet.
Annoyed with Kirk, she was in the process of wrapping her cold feet in the smelly warmth of the blankets when Kirk leaned over the bed, collecting both sides of the coverlet and winding them around her.
Before Mara could protest, he had her snuggly swaddled in the linens.
“There,” he stood back, hands on his hips. “Is that better?”
Mara lifted a black eyebrow. Christ, how he knew that expression. “If I do not suffocate first, I suppose it is.”
A faint smile continued to play on his lips as he turned away, laying his tunic next to her hose.
Outside, the rain continued to beat and the wind to howl, but the stenchy little room was remarkably cozy.
And in spite of her aching head and irritation, Mara realized she was rather comfortable. And hungry.
But she was more interested in watching Kirk at the moment.
On his haunches next to the fire, she watched his naked back as he stoked the hearth, coaxing it into a blaze.
She could see every muscle as it moved beneath the tanned skin, shoulders so broad that they were wider than a door.
As the warmth of the room and blankets saturated her, the harsh emotions, the churning of her stomach, seemed to fade.
“Kirk?”
He turned around, his face illuminated by the glowing fire. “Hmm?”
“Have you realized that Micheline is alone at Anchorsholme?”
He shook his head. “She is not alone. I left Corwin behind to see to her.”
Mara did not seem particularly comforted by his answer but remained silent. He returned his attention to the fire when she spoke again, softly.
“Why am I here?”
He gazed at her a moment, setting the poker aside. “Because it is raining.”
“Nay,” she shook her head. “Why am I going to Quernmore? Am I to be banished there?”
His brow furrowed as he rose. “Banished? Who told you such nonsense?”
“No one,” she watched him move for the bed, his weight sinking the mattress dangerously as he sat. “Niles said that Lord Edmund ordered me to travel to Quernmore, but he gave no reason. Do you know why?”
Kirk scratched his head, averting his gaze. “Most likely because I told him I was going to take you with me.”
She frowned. “You wanted to take me with you? Why?”
The scratching hand dropped to his side.
“Foremost, because I was afraid of what would happen if I left you alone, without my guidance. I thought a few days away from the situation would settle your emotions. When I broached the subject with Edmund last night, he heartily agreed. It seems that he wants you away from Anchorsholme as well, although I cannot understand why.”