Chapter Fourteen #3
Spencer’s smile faded somewhat. “Are you sure it is not infatuation?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you said yourself he is the first man who has wooed you. Is it possible that the thrill of his attentions has caused you to believe yourself in love with him when, in fact, he has merely succeeded in blinding you with his charm?”
Mara frowned. “I am not a fool, Sir Spencer. I love Kirk and he loves me and we shall be married.”
Spencer cast a long glance at Kirk, currently in conversation with a wrinkled dowager. But the Irish knight caught his stare, the stone-gray eyes blazing across the room. Spencer merely turned back to Mara.
“Kirk Connaught is a career soldier,” he said quietly. “The man is thirty-three years old and has never been married. Have you never wondered why?”
Mara shook her head slowly. “Nay.”
Now that he had her attention, Spencer focused on his food. “Mayhap you should consider that he is not the marrying kind. You could find yourself taking second place in his heart, well behind his love for fighting and his oath to the House of de Cleveley.”
Mara stared at the man as he devoured his meat, turning wide eyes to Kirk as he chatted politely with the old woman in the severe wimple.
She simply couldn’t believe there was any truth to Spencer’s words but was appalled to realize he had given her food for thought.
Being rather innocent of men and their games, it was difficult to resist the confusion.
“You are wrong.” She turned away from Kirk and from Spencer, taking another bite of meat simply to occupy herself. “Kirk and I shall wed and he shall love me best of all.”
Spencer continued to eat. “I certainly hope so, my lady,” he said softly. “Speaking for myself, of course, I would most certainly love you best of all. There would be nothing to stand in the way of my devotion.”
Mara looked at him sharply. “Sir Spencer, I hardly know you. And I have no interest in becoming your wife.”
Spencer’s expression did not waver. He wiped his mouth and took a long drink of wine. “Mayhap not at the moment. But know that if your betrothal with Kirk fails to come about, I shall be eager to take his place.”
A few of the guests had finished their meal and took to the floor as the musicians played a delicate ballad.
Mara refrained from answering Spencer’s declaration, partially because she was uncertain how to respond, and instead turned her attention to the dancers.
A few more couples joined the gaiety and it took Mara a moment to realize she knew one of the dancers very, very well.
Kirk and Lady Lily were enjoying themselves as they whirled around the floor. Even though Kirk was holding the lady at a proper distance, Mara was infuriated. Intending to interrupt their cozy clutch, she hardly noticed a wrinkled hand in her face.
“Lady Mara.” Lord le Vay was smiling at her. “Would you care to dance to a truly Irish folk ballad?”
Mara was caught off-guard by his handsome, old face. Spencer leapt to his feet, swallowing the bite of food in his mouth.
“Good eve to you, my lord,” he said formally. “I apologize for my bad manners, but I did not see you coming.”
Le Vay waved him off. “Of course you did not see me. You were too busy gawking at Lady Mara.” He thrust his hand in her face again, the implication obvious. “Certainly, I can hardly blame you, but now I intend to occupy the lady myself. A dance, if you please?”
Mara stammered. “But… surely you have not yet eaten, my lord. You have only just arrived.”
He waved her off. “There is the rest of the night for eating. Now, I wish to dance with a lovely lass.”
Mara had no choice. As le Vay guided her onto the stone floor, Spencer caught a glimpse of Kirk and Lily as they enjoyed the dance.
Pale blue locked with stone-gray and Spencer realized that Kirk was quite unhappy for three very good reasons; forced to dance with Lady Lily, being separated from Mara while Spencer took the offensive, and also with the fact that le Vay was very busy swinging Mara around the dance floor.
But Spencer wasn’t unhappy in the least. In fact, things were going rather well.
Taking a drink of his wine, he turned his back on Kirk and Lily as they whirled by.
Glancing over his shoulder as Lily’s brilliant green surcoat moved away from him, he drained the contents of his chalice; aye, things were going very well indeed.
As Spencer gloated in triumph, across the room Mara was wallowing in misery.
Lord le Vay was a nice man but she had no interest in his conversation.
Her only concern was Kirk, still holding Lady Lily as the Irish ballad ended and a snappy jig began.
Le Vay was rattling on about something and she ignored him, instead, watching as Kirk tried to pull away from his dance partner.
But the woman was persistent and as Mara found herself forced to jig with the father, Kirk found himself forced to jig with the daughter.
Fortunately, Mara could jig like the devil himself. She could easily out-dance le Vay and the old man began to huff and chuckle as he struggled through the dance. Bright blue eyes met stone-gray across the floor and Kirk smiled, his gaze never leaving her even as Lily laughed gaily before him.
Warmth and emotion flowed between them even though they were several feet apart.
But Mara found her attention diverted as le Vay scooped her up in his arms, tossing her to the man next to him.
It was part of the dance and she was not surprised nor offended, but she soon lost sight of Kirk as she was tossed from man to man.
Mara found herself hoping she would eventually be tossed into Kirk’s arms and he would sweep her away from these strange, lively people. And then, once they were alone, he would make her forget all of Spencer’ disturbing words. A tender touch, a soothing word, and the confusion would leave her.
A pair of strong arms caught her. Very large arms that held her tight and refused to let go.
As the men laughed and the women shrieked in the midst of the lively dance, Mara found herself being whisked from the hall.
It took her a moment to realize that Spencer was taking her through the kitchens filled with smoke and stench, carrying her out into the chilly night.
The kitchen yards were quiet. Mara was genuinely startled by his actions, finally recovering enough to demand he put her down. But Spencer merely grinned, taking her through an arched gate and emerging into a small, well-manicured garden. Only after he closed the gate did he put her to her feet.
Mara was angry. And she was also very cold in her thin dress. Arms wrapped protectively about her torso, she stamped her foot at Spencer.
“Why did you bring me out here?” she demanded.
He smiled lazily, standing in front of the gate so that she could not escape. “It is far more pleasant out here, away from the crowds and the smoke of the hall. Moreover, you were looking rather miserable. I thought you might enjoy a change of scenery.”
“I am cold. And I want to go back to the hall this instant.”
He moved toward her. “Then if you are cold, I shall warm you.”
She did not like the look in his eye. “Sir Spencer, I can guarantee you shall be sorry if you touch me. You needn’t worry about Kirk’s wrath, merely my own. Trust me when I tell you it shall be painful.”
He stopped, his smile fading. “I… I meant no offense, lady. Certainly I will not touch you if you do not want me to.”
“I do not,” she said firmly. “I want to go inside.”
He watched her walk around him, heading for the gate. But he did not follow, instead, strolling toward a bench resting beside the moon-lit pond.