Page 67 of The Darkland

Le Vay cocked an eyebrow. “That is not what I meant and well you know it. I shall not have you two battling each other when it’s the bloody Irish you should be focused on.” He turned away, glancing at Mara as he moved for the gate. “Tend your knight, lady. And I would suggest you keep him out of my sight for the remainder of the eve.”

Mara nodded obediently, watching the old man leave the garden. Slowly, she turned to Kirk.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Please forgive me for causing all of this.”

He stood there, staring at her. After a moment, he sighed heavily and attempted to sheathe his sword. “You are not responsible, lass. There is no one to blame but myself and Spencer.”

He was struggling wearily with the sword, his left side soaked with a growing red stain and Mara moved forward, practically yanking the weapon from his grip. “Give this to me,” she demanded quietly. “Let us go inside where I can tend your wound.”

He let her take the sword, although it was a struggle for her to simply hold the thing. He continued to gaze at her as she put his great arm around her shoulder, his blood staining her dress. Gently, she urged him forward.

The servants and soldiers that still lingered fled in all directions when Mara and Kirk emerged from the gate. Kirk’s pace was slow as Mara nursed him across the courtyard, exhausted herself from lugging his sword. Kirk wasn’t particularly weak from the battle, but he found himself emotionally drained more than anything. When they entered the dark corridors of the keep, he took the sword from Mara lest it drag her to the ground.

By the time they reached her chamber, blood had stained the top of his hose but the wound was sealing itself. Mara had him remove his tunic, sending a serving wench for hot water and rags. Waiting for the woman to return, Kirk stretched out on Mara’s pretty bed and smeared blood all over the coverlet.

Mara moved to the edge of the bed as he lay with his eyes closed, timidly examining the puncture. It was clean, about two inches in length, and she decided it would be best to simply clean it and bind him tightly. In truth, she had never sewn a wound in her life and was nauseated with the thought of sticking a needle into Kirk’s flesh. Peering closer at the rather sickening injury, she was unaware that his eyes had opened.

“It should take about eight stitches,” he said quietly, watching her turn shades of green. “Small ones, if you please.”

She swallowed hard, daring to look him in the eye. “I… I have never sewn a wound. I do not think I can.”

He smiled faintly. “Certainly you can. I shall help you.”

She made a face of disgust. “Kirk, I do not think….”

A sharp rap at the door interrupted her. Gladly, she answered and Niles burst into the room. One look at Kirk’s bloody torso and the man came apart.

“Christ!” he exclaimed, rushing to the bed. “What in the hell happened?”

Kirk was quite cool. “Spencer pressed his attentions and I was forced to defend my interests.” He cocked an eyebrow at Niles’ dismayed expression. “The lady was not persuasive enough in her attempts to be rid of him. I had no other choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Niles insisted. “The entire castle has heard of the clash and considering this is Spencer’ domain, they are siding with him.”

“I care not who the people of Quernmore side with. Spencer did all he could to take Mara away from me and I did what I felt necessary to dissuade him.”

Niles looked at Mara, standing rather pale next to the bed. She looked terribly guilty and he refrained from comment; it was no one’s fault in particular, but Niles was concerned with the fact that le Vay seemed to be taking a good deal of grief from his vassals who wanted Kirk sent home toAnchorsholme in disgrace. He had been in the great hall for the past several minutes, listening to the rising displeasure.

“I suppose we can thank God that you did not kill the man,” he muttered, casting Kirk’s wound a long glance before turning away. “Were that the case, I am sure we would have a mob on our hands. You must remember, Kirk, that Spencer is very much loved here at Quernmore. Whether or not he tried to steal your lady.”

Kirk was well aware of the situation and the consequences that could have transpired. And he certainly wasn’t blind to le Vay’s disappointment or the fact that his military support was now in jeopardy. With a grunt of effort, he swung his legs over the bed.

“Then I suppose I should soothe the situation before it grows out of hand,” he said, wincing as he rose to his feet. “Clearly I am to be made the villain in all of this.”

Mara rushed to his side. “You cannot! I must tend your wound!”

He cast her an amused expression. “How? With kisses and magic? Not a minute ago you informed me that you had no intention of sewing it.”

She frowned. “I never said that I did not intend to sew it. I simply said that I had never sewn a wound before.”

He looked around for his stained tunic, his voice mockingly high as he repeated her words. “‘Kirk, I do not think I can sew your hideous gash.’” When Niles snickered, Kirk turned to Mara with a smirk on his face. “Fear not, you spineless creature. I shall survive without your needle and thread.”

Her cheeks pinkened, torn between extreme anger and the urge to giggle. “How dare you taunt me.” She stamped her little foot. “Very well, then. Go and make your attempts to soothe the vicious mob and I hope they tear you limb from limb for your efforts!”

He grinned broadly, pulling the tunic over his head. Putting his fingers in the hole left by Spencer, he gasped like a woman and pretended to faint at the sight of his wound. Mara rushed at him, slapping him with her little hands.

“You’re a horrible, nasty man!” She struggled with him even as he grabbed her, laughing deeply. “Out of my sight before I use your own sword against you!”

He tried to kiss her but she slapped his lips, drawing guffaws from Niles. Laughing as she continued to wrestle with him, Kirk groaned when he moved suddenly to avoid being hit in the belly. All struggles and frivolity came to an end.