Page 82 of The Darkland

“Perhaps, my lord.”

“It ends now.”

After the man left the chamber, Spencer sat in silence, mulling over the course the conversation had taken. He was still in shock, over many things. But even with his shock, and his contention with Kirk, all he could think about was how le Vay was stabbing Kirk right where it would hurt him most. Certainly there was jealousy there, but surprisingly, it was not overwhelming. Spencer had always believed le Vay to be a fair and decent man, but in light of the recent conversation, that opinion was now changed.

Dying or not, it didn’t give him the right to take a woman that clearly belonged to someone else. If Lionel had done to him what he was doing to Kirk, Spencer would have killed him.

He knew that if Kirk was aware of the contents of Edmund’s missive, he would do the same.

*

Lionel found Mara,conveniently enough, in Lily’s light and beautiful rooms. He had only sought to speak to his daughter but finding Mara there was a stroke of fortune in his opinion. He thought perhaps that if he delivered the news with Lily present, Mara would have comfort when the information settled and it would be better for them both. He knew, deep down, that what he was doing was wrong, but he didn’t care. His sense of self-preservation ruled above all else.

“Greetings, Father,” Lily set her needlepoint onto the table next to her chair and rose to greet her father. “How lovely of you to visit.”

Lionel kissed his daughter’s cheek as he collected her hands. “How fortunate that I have found the two most beautiful women at Quernmore in the same room,” he said, looking around the chamber. “It seems quiet in here. Where are your other ladies, Lily?”

Lily waved a dismissive hand. “Off being silly somewhere, I suppose,” she said. “Today, it is simply Mara and me. We are very companionable.”

Lionel’s gaze fell on Mara. “As well you should be,” he said. “Greetings, my lady.”

Mara, a paint brush in hand and a small palette of paints and half-painted vellum on the table before her, stood up.

“My lord,” she greeted.

Lionel’s gaze lingered on her; she was wearing the same sapphire blue silk that she had worn that morning when Kirk had ridden off into the dawn. The dress had belonged to Lionel’s dead wife, although his wife had never worn it as beautifully as Mara did. He found he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“You look quite lovely in that dress,” he told her. “I am so glad you could use my wife’s garments. It seemed a shame to keep them stored away and unused.”

Mara looked down at herself, in the fine dress she could have never imagined owning. “You are very generous to give them to me,” she said. “I can never thank you enough.”

Lionel’s gaze lingered on her delightful rosebud mouth before forcing a smile. “Your enjoyment of them is thanks enough,” he replied. Then he noticed the paint brush in her hand. “What are you doing?”

Mara grinned, somewhat embarrassed. “Lady Lily is teaching me to paint,” she said. “I do not think I am a very good student.”

Lily laughed. “She is a wonderful student,” she corrected. “Mara and I have been here since Kirk left this morning. She was sad at his departure and I did not want her to be alone, so I brought her here and we have been painting ever since.”

Lionel’s gaze moved from Mara to the painting on the table and back again. “She seems to be doing a marvelous job,” he said. “Please; do not let me disturb you. I merely came to see my daughter, whom I have not seen all morning.”

“Sit with us, Father,” Lily insisted, indicating one of her fine chairs. “Please sit and tell us stories to entertain us. In fact, tell us of the days when you used to live in London. Mara, did you know that my father was friends with Henry Tudor?”

Mara was impressed. “King Henry?” she looked at Lionel with some awe. “Was he your good friend?”

Lionel shook his head. “I was friends with Henry only as much as he found me and my army useful,” he said. “I supported him at Bosworth. That was a long time ago.”

“Only thirty years ago,” Lily insisted. “It is not that long ago.”

“You must have been a very young man,” Mara said to him.

Lionel shrugged. “I was young indeed,” he replied, thinking back to that great and bloody day. “That was the last time I saw significant battle. It was such a glorious and tragic day. In fact, I was near Richard when he was killed. I saw it all. I was also near Matthew Wellesbourne when he lost his hand.”

Mara nodded, enthralled. She didn’t pay much attention to history or battles, but everyone knew of the battle of Bosworth Field when Richard the Third was killed by Henry Tudor’s forces. She had never actually met anyone who had been eyewitness to the event.

“I have heard of Matthew Wellesbourne,” she said. “Was he not a comrade of Gaston de Russe?”

Lionel nodded. “Great Gods, you have never seen such big and powerful men,” he said, reflecting. “In the presence of The White Lord and the Dark Knight, men cowered, including me. I swear the ground shook when they walked.”

He said it so dramatically that the women giggled. “What became of them, Father?” Lily asked. “Did they survive into old age?”