Page 11 of The Darkland

Kirk sheathed his sword and suddenly, he was looming over her. “By thinking like an idiot,” he said, a flash of anger coming through. “Christ, woman, what on earth possessed you to do something like this?”

She was staring at her bloodied hand. “I… I wanted to sleep at the inn,” she repeated, feeling exhausted and ashamed. “Micheline does not like taverns, so I….”

“So you went regardless of the fact that had I denied you, simply to spite me,” he finished for her, his anger piqued. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he had been quite so angry. Or, for the second time in as many days, frightened. Working into a righteous rage, he noticed Mara’s bloody hand and felt himself weaken. “Did he do that?”

She shook her head. Kirk watched as a single tear fell, bathing the bloodied flesh. “I did it whilst attempting to defend myself.”

He sighed heavily, his fury fading in spite of the effort to maintain it. Glancing about, he spied a square of linen by the basin and snatched it, kneeling beside Mara and silently wrapping her hand. He was nearly finished when he glanced up to find bright blue eyes staring at him.

“This is twice in two days that you have saved me.”

The vortex of her eyes was enough to erase all fury. Christ, she was so very lovely, so fragile. And so terribly headstrong. Wrestling against a same unfamiliar tenderness that had swamped him yesterday, he tore his gaze away.

“And who was there to save you before I arrived?” he asked, gruffly, to mask his emotions. “I cannot imagine that I have seen your first attempts at foolishness.”

She did not say anything for a moment and Kirk forced himself to look at her. It was the first time since they had met that she appeared emotionally vulnerable. Away from all of the fire and resistance, he could see the soft little lady beneath.

“There was no one to save me,” she murmured. “I did as I pleased.”

He wasn’t strong enough to tear his gaze away this time. The urge to give into the strange emotions was overwhelming. “Those days are gone, lady.”

She continued to stare at him, without the usual hostility. “My sister calls me a hellion.”

“And my men call me the Master. Who do you suppose will be the first to surrender to the other?”

“’Twill not be me.”

“It had better be. Or I will do what I should have done yesterday.”

“What is that?”

He rose, the stone-gray eyes intense. “Take my hand to your backside. One more infraction and I shall.”

She lowered her gaze, giving a careless shrug. “My father threatened me all the time but never once carried through.”

“Then you do not fear my threat?”

The bright gaze fixed on him again. He swore he saw a flicker of a smile. “I believe you.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“I know what you asked.” She stood from the bed, deliberately avoiding his gaze and he saw the smile broaden. “I choose to give you a pleasing answer rather than the reply you truly seek.”

He sighed heavily. If he had any sense, he would spank her this minute and be done with it. Even so, he couldn’t seem to muster the will and his impotency confused him. Knowing only that this lack of sense had something to do with the odd warmth this little hellion seemed to provoke. Emotions he had no intention of exploring.

“We shall arrive at Anchorsholme come the morrow,” he muttered. “I suggest for your own sake that you behave yourself, whether or not you give credence to my threat. Do you comprehend?”

Mara nodded faintly. But Kirk did not like the gleam to her eye; nay, he did not like it at all.

CHAPTER THREE

The following morningdawned amazingly bright considering the rain that had pounded for most of the night. The camp was quickly disassembled and a simple meal of bread and cheese provided. Before the sun burst free of the eastern horizon, the escort party was on the road, nearing home with the prize of their lord’s betrothed.

At the first sight of Anchorsholme Castle, Micheline’s jaw dropped and she burst into tears. Riding beside her sister under clear skies and a brisk sea breeze, Mara tried to comfort the weeping woman. A halting explanation revealed that Micheline felt herself unworthy to preside over such splendor. All anticipation of her new marriage aside, the very real fact remained that the woman was terrified to meet her destiny.

Up until the moment Micheline dissolved into tears, the air between the sisters had been strained. Kirk had remained tactfully silent, allowing Mara to explain to her sister what had happened the previous eve. She did not mention the near-rape or Kirk’s heroic appearance, only the brief story about the fat merchant and nine children. Had Micheline not been so angry with her sister’s show of rebellion, she would have laughed at her play-acting. For all she knew, Mara had been seized by Kirk at the inn and escorted back to camp.

With the subject gracefully skirted, it had been a long ride to Anchorsholme. The Lancashire castle was a magnificent Norman structure near the sea with an inner and outer wall to protect the mighty three storied keep. As a pair of hawks shrieked overhead, the escort party was greeted by a host of well-formed ranks. Taking a good look at their fine tunics and armor, Micheline began to weep all over again.