Page 73 of The Darkland

Valdine shook her head, her features paler than usual. “Please,” she begged softly. “Do not…”

“…ask questions that you will not…”

“…like the answer to. My husband has asked us to…”

“…remove you from Anchorsholme and that…”

“…is what we shall do. Do not ask more than that.”

Micheline didn’t like any of what she was hearing. Too much pointed to Corwin as a source of guilt in The Darkland’s disappearances but she didn’t say anymore. Perhaps she was wrong. He had, after all, saved her. All she could think of at the moment was getting out of Anchorsholme. The rest she would worry about when she wasn’t in mortal danger.

“I will not,” she told them. “I am deeply grateful for your help. And I shall be ready to leave as soon as you have found someone to escort me.”

The women didn’t say much more after that. As Micheline finished off the remainder of the food, Valdine and Wanda helped her change into warmer clothing. They also fashioned a pallet for her out of the blankets they had brought. They tried to make her as comfortable as possible in her tower prison, all the while thinking of the plans that lay ahead. They had to remove Baroness Bowland as inconspicuously as possible, which would not be an easy task. Although Corwin had sworn them to secrecy, the ladies knew that they would need help.

The population of Anchorsholme held no love for Edmund. There was too much fear and contempt there for the man, something that was ingrained into the history of the castle. They would have to depend on that hatred in order to save the baroness’ life.

*

“The missive arrivedthis morning,” Le Vay said softly. “I have already read it. I am sorry, Kirk.”

It was just after sunrise in Lionel’s lavish solar with its hide rugs and glass from Venice. It spoke of a man well-traveled and wealthy, but Kirk didn’t pay any notice. He had been summoned from his bed several minutes earlier with news of a missive for him newly arrived from Anchorsholme. He had been curious but not concerned, and that had been his undoing. He had been caught off guard.

Now, he was staring at a piece of vellum upon which was inscribed hastily written words. He recognized Edmund’s writing, almost unrecognizable scrawl. All he could feel as he read the words, over and over, was grief. Pure, unmitigated grief.

“I suppose in hindsight it is not a surprise,” he finally said. “We knew there were winds of revolt, but my father….”

He sighed heavily, unable to continue, as Lionel watched him carefully. The missive had carried bad news indeed and he was not without compassion.

“I never knew your father,” he said quietly. “I understood he was a magnificent knight.”

Kirk nodded slowly, thinking on the man he favored greatly, now cut down by rebels.My father is dead. It made him feel sick to think about it.

“He was,” he murmured, realizing his throat was tight with emotion. “I shall miss him.”

Lionel could feel the man’s sorrow and he was deeply sympathetic. “I know what it is like to lose someone you care for,” he said after a moment. “I lost my son several years ago when he was newly knighted. He was cut down by archers during a siege at Kenilworth Castle. It was perhaps the worst day of my life.”

Kirk glanced up at the man. “I remember when that happened,” he said. “I knew your son, if you recall. Michael was a fine man.”

Lionel shrugged, not particularly wanting to relive that agony. It was still his daily companion, like a ghost that never went away. He gestured at the vellum.

“What else does Edmund say about the siege?” he asked. “Don’t you have brothers at Wicklow as well?”

Kirk looked back at the missive. “I do,” he replied, “but he does not mention them. Just my father. He says I am to meet Anchorholme’s troops at the port tomorrow morning. We sail for Wicklow immediately.”

Lionel nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I shall have Spencer muster six hundred troops for you to take with you but I think, given his injury, that I will keep him here with me. I will send another knight in his stead.”

Kirk nodded faintly, not giving much thought to the fact that Spencer’s injury wasn’t that serious and le Vay was more than likely keeping him behind because he was afraid he would lose the man to Kirk’s temper were he to send him to Ireland. Kirk had more important things on his mind, reflecting on his father, his mother, his brothers, and losing himself in a world of anguish and sorrow. The more he tried to fight off the feelings, the more they swamped him. Eventually, he set the missive aside and leaned forward in his chair, head in his hands. Grief swallowed him.

Le Vay rose from his padded chair, moving away from Kirk to give the man a bit of privacy to mourn. He went to stand near the lancet window, watching the bailey of Quernmore Castle come alive in the early morning. This small Norman fortress had been in his family for three hundred years, close to the western coast of Lancashire where it had fended off Celtic invaders and other marauders during that time. It had seen much action.

“What more can I do for you, Kirk?” he asked softly, turning away from the sights and sounds of the bailey to face the distraught knight. “How can I help?”

Kirk removed his face from his hands, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You have already pledged men and support, my lord,” he said hoarsely. “You have already done much that I am grateful for.”

“You would do the same for me.”

Kirk nodded, rising wearily to his feet. “I will help Spencer muster the troops.”