Chapter Eighteen #2
Corwin mounted the ladder to the battlements, approaching the brothers as they conversed and snickered. Smiling wearily, he fixed on Kirk.
“The scouts have returned from the surrounding area, Kirk,” he said. “The trees are clear of rebels. In fact, they seemed to have disappeared altogether.”
Kirk lifted an eyebrow. “But they have not, of course,” he said. “Make sure the sentry posts are tripled, Corwin. And I want mounted guards outside the walls, patrolling in foursomes.”
Corwin nodded, eager to carry out the orders and get to bed. He, too, was exceedingly weary.
“Corwin.” Kirk stopped the man before he could dismount the wall. “You have met the illustrious Mara. Tell my brothers of her, as they seem to have difficultly believing that one woman can be so perfect.”
Corwin glanced to the expectant brothers, his stomach twisting with renewed nausea.
But not because of the travel or the battle he had recently fought.
It was because he knew something Kirk did not, something that was tearing him apart.
The longer he gazed into Kirk’s smiling face, the more powerful the urge became to drop to his knees and confess everything.
But for fear of Valdine, he remained silent. For her, he had always remained silent.
“She is… well, she is certainly beautiful,” he offered weakly. “But ask Kirk about the scars on his cheek if he thinks she is so perfect.”
He was out of the conversation as Steven and Drew turned to their brother, demanding to know of the parallel wounds.
Corwin slid off the wall, hating himself for his disloyalty to Kirk.
Moving to complete his assigned duties, he tried to forget what he knew about Micheline’s situation, or Mara’s future.
But, God help him, he simply couldn’t. And the feeling was growing stronger by the moment.
*
Spencer stood stoically in Edmund’s small solar, watching the thin young lord pace about the room with glee. Spencer, however, could not reciprocate the emotions he was witnessing and with very good reason.
“So he has agreed to my marriage proposal?” Edmund repeated the knight’s missive. “How marvelous!”
Spencer could hardly agree. For seven days he had lived with bitterness such as he had never known. And Mara, poor Mara, was beyond devastated. She was lifeless.
“Aye, my lord,” he replied stiffly. “He has asked me to thank you for sending the lady to him.”
Edmund laughed joyously, shaking his hands in the air. “Thank God!” he crowed. Then, he looked to Spencer with sudden suspicion. “He kept the proposal from Kirk, did he not? I asked that he not tell him.”
Spencer could literally taste his disgust. “As far as I know, he did not. He told no one at all and I must say we were quite surprised by the news.” He eyed the delighted baron, wishing he could simply run him through and be done with it.
The man had no idea the number of people affected by his treachery.
“Lord le Vay has already sent for the priest from Crosby. The man should be arriving within the next day and I have been asked to escort Lady Micheline De Cleveley to attend her sister’s wedding. ”
Edmund’s giddy demeanor vanished. It was odd, truly, as if a fire had suddenly been doused. “Just… Micheline? Not I, nor my sister?”
Spencer shook his head. “’Tis to be a private wedding, my lord. Immediate family only.”
“But I am immediate family,” Edmund insisted. “After all, he will be marrying the sister of my wife.”
Spencer remained firm. He had no love for Edmund de Cleveley, nor did le Vay, hence his exclusion from a wedding Spencer wished would never happen. “I understand, my lord, but Lord le Vay was specific. Lady Micheline only.”
Edmund stared at the knight. He had arranged this marriage, after all, and now he was not even invited.
But rather than lodge a protest, he wisely decided to obey le Vay’s wishes.
After all, the man had just sent three hundred men to support the reclamation of the Wicklow estate.
Edmund wouldn’t dream of taxing the man further with his petty demands.
“I see,” he said quietly, but it was obvious he was disappointed. “But his demand that only my wife attend brings me to a rather unpleasant confession.”
A seed of apprehension blossomed deep in Spencer’ belly. He knew, before Edmund even elaborated, what that confession would be. Given the sinister reputation of The Darkland, there was no other alternative.
“And what is that, my lord?”
Edmund was emotionless as he spoke. “My wife threw herself from the tower the day after our wedding. I am afraid you will have the unpleasant duty of informing both le Vay and his wife that Lady Micheline is dead.”
Spencer’s body tensed, struggling to bite off words of condemnation that begged to come forth. But his control was not so strong that his cheeks did not flush, nor his pale blue eyes glitter with rage. Edmund noted the reaction, his own stance hardening.
“She did it herself!” He nearly shouted. “How dare you look at me as if… as if I had something to do with it. I never touched her!”
It was all Spencer could do to keep from refuting him. To do so would surely be to jeopardize his own life and freedom. Instead, he lifted his shoulders weakly.
“I never suggested otherwise, my lord.” He was struggling to maintain his calm. But he simply couldn’t hold himself back. “Given the reputation of Anchorsholme Castle, you will hardly blame le Vay or Lady Mara if they believe otherwise.”
Edmund exploded. “I do not care what they think!” he bellowed.
“This is my keep and the vassals within belong to me. I command the power of life and death within Anchorsholme, but I cannot control everything. Especially a distraught young woman determined to end her pitiful life. You will tell them this, de Shera, and you will make them understand!”
Spencer’s jaw ticked. He had already said too much, as indicated by Edmund’s over-defensive rage. But, God help him, he simply couldn’t help himself and more words spilled forth before he could stop them.
“I cannot make them understand when I do not understand, my lord.” His voice was tight. “And there is something else I do not understand; why have you not had the courtesy to tell Kirk of your plans for his lady? Do not you think he will find out, eventually?”
Edmund grabbed the nearest weapon, a gilded candleholder with three thin tapers. Hurling it across the room, he narrowly missed Spencer’s head.
“Get out!” he screamed. “Get out before I kill you myself! This is none of your affair and I shall kill you if you interfere!”
Spencer was wise enough to leave. Edmund raged and stormed, destroying anything he could get his hands on as Spencer marched from the room. By the time he reached the front door, he was very close to breaking himself. Lying bastard! he thought furiously.
His charger was still in the bailey, being tended by a stable hand.
Spencer stormed up, yanking the reins from the young man.
The servant scurried away and Spencer mounted, feeling desperate to put distance between himself and Edmund De Cleveley.
If only for Mara’s sake, he would like nothing better than to throttle the man.
Punishment that was a long time in coming.
The charger snorted irritably in response to Spencer’s frustrated movements. His stirrup was twisted and, muttering curses, he struggled to turn it around when a soft voice caught his attention.
Spencer glanced up into a pair of plain brown eyes. Actually, there were two pairs of identical brown eyes. Clinging to one another, the duplicate women emerged nervously from the shadows of the inner wall.
“My lord,” the first lady began. “I am Lady Valdine Martin. My husband Corwin is serving with Sir Kirk in Ireland.”
Spencer was still frustrated and angry. He paused in his struggles with the stirrup, sighing impatiently.
“And?”
The first woman swallowed. “My sister and I watched you…”
“… ride in and we heard the argument…”
“… with Lord Edmund. Is it true that Lady Mara…”
“… is marrying Lord le Vay?”
Definitely not a subject Spencer was willing to discuss. He cast the sisters an annoyed look and finished straightened out his stirrup.
“That is none of your affair,” he said shortly. “If you will excuse me, I am expected back at Quernmore.”
“Wait!” Valdine threw herself in front of the charger as Spencer spurred him forward. The animal danced and shrieked, thoroughly angering Spencer.
“Foolish wench, move aside!” he commanded.
But Valdine refused to move. “My lord, I cannot!” she said earnestly, glancing about to make sure there was no one to hear her. “Please, we must speak with you!”
Spencer had had enough of the pesky woman. “Move aside or I shall run you over.”
Valdine swallowed hard, but she did not budge. “Lord Edmund lied, my lord.”
Spencer stared at the woman. Her simple sentence had been enough to delay his departure. “What do you mean?”
Valdine moved closer to the horse, followed by her cowering sister. The two huddled together as they spoke.
“Lady Micheline is not dead,” Valdine murmured. “Lord Edmund wished…”
“… her dead, but Sir Corwin saved her.”
The speech pattern was strange but Spencer could not spare it any thought; at the moment, the message they bore was far more intriguing.
“Your husband?” He looked to Valdine. “But why did Lord Edmund tell me she was dead?”
“Because he does not know she lives.” Valdine’s voice was hoarse with emotion, with urgency. “My husband took her…”
“… to the tower in the hope that Sir Kirk would…”
“… return to escort her to sanctuary. But Sir Kirk…”
“… is in Ireland now, not to return for some time.”
Spencer’ anger cooled as the story unfolded. “Is the lady still in the tower?”
The women nodded in unison. “Since we cannot rely on Sir Kirk, we must…”
“… help her ourselves.”
“And how will you do this?”
Valdine looked at her sister, the two of them obviously terrified. Spencer dismounted his charger.
“Tell me.”