Page 52 of The Darkland

“Sir Corwin,” she mumbled. “What… happened?”

Corwin was beyond all rational thought. He dumped Micheline on the floor, his eyes wild.

“You will stay here,” he gasped, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You will not leave this place if you value your life. Do you understand me?”

Micheline stared at him, her stomach lurching and her head spinning. Tears filled her frightened eyes. “What has happened?”

Corwin struggled with his control. “Your death is what will happen if you leave. Kirk will return in two days and we must wait for him. Until that time, you must stay here and remain completely silent. No one must know of your presence.” He suddenly grabbed her by the arms, shouting. “Tell me you understand what I have told you!”

Micheline burst into terrified tears. “I do,” she sobbed. “Did Edmund… is he…?”

Corwin did not answer. Releasing the dazed woman, he stumbled from the chamber and slammed the door. Micheline heard the rusty bolt as it slid across the panel, locking her in. His footfalls faded down the stairs, leaving Micheline confused and scared.

Looking about the cobwebs and broken furniture of her new home, she covered her face and wept.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The rain hadreturned 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?”