Page 1 of The Darkland

PROLOGUE

She had diedlike all the rest.

A cowering, foolish woman that was unable to accept the mastery of Man’s strength over her fragile female souls. Not that he enjoyed killing; in fact, were it not for Johanne, he would not have killed at all. But these women, the dead ones, had been a threat to her delicate composition. And he knew he had to do away with the threat at any cost.

Johanne had wished them away, these dead women. Wished them away so that their sweet words and gentle caresses would no longer be known to the one she loved. A secret love, twisted and dark, but a strong bond that grew stronger with each successive death.

He smiled as he watched the silk-clad body sink beneath the waters of the pristine lake. It was the third lady this year to meet such a fate. And perhaps this death would deter other foolish women from pursuing the object of Johanne’s love, thinking that somehow a curse was attached to the man. Left alone by the throngs of adoring admirers, Johanne was convinced the object of her desire would finally succumb to her attentions.

His smile faded as a soft mist began to fall. He could hear the birds in the trees, the whistle of the breeze through the moist foliage. Another storm was on the approach that would churn the waters of the lake and bury the body forever. And he was not sorry, not one bit. Certainly, no one should know what he had done.

No one but God. And the Lord would forgive, perhaps with enough penitence. As the man turned from the lake and made his way through the damp meadow, his thoughts turned from the dead lady to the warmth of Johanne on this wintery night. Most pleasant when the weather grew unfriendly and the temperature dropped. Johanne, his lovely step-sister, would warm his bed.

He simply couldn’t explain the relationship between them. The need to dominate, to consume her. Since the moment her budding breasts had been evident, he had taken her into his bed and convinced her that this was where she belonged– with him, a man with whom she shared the same father. The only man who truly loved her.

Still, he was not the man she loved. He knew that and he didn’t care. The dead women had been lusting for the true love of Johanne’s life and he had listened night after night as his sister cried for a man who hardly noticed her. Therefore, to ease her pain, it had been necessary to do awaywith the foolish wenches. Another control he had over a woman he was completely obsessed with.

Even so, he knew the man of Johanne’s dreams would never return her affection; a man like Kirk Connaught would be interested in a woman with beauty and spirit, which ruled Johanne out entirely. Her beauty was average and her spirit dark. She was sick in the mind, his sister, and everyone knew it, especially Kirk.

The rain was falling steadily by the time he reached his steed, tethered to an oak tree. Mounting the beast, he made haste for Anchorsholme Castle, known throughout southern Lancashire as The Darkland.The House of the Death.

With good reason.

CHAPTER ONE

Lancashire, England

January, 1515 A.D.

She had seenthem coming from the distance, a hundred tiny specks against the dead winter landscape. Three massive chargers and a host of soldiers advanced like an incoming tide, the dust from their marching feet creating puffs of gritty haze. As the sky above darkened ominously, so did the lady’s mood.

But she was determined to welcome the army in spite of her apprehension. After all, they were coming for her and she could not refuse them. Whether or not she was willing to accept her destiny was of little concern; the soldiers had come to take her, and she would not resist. Unlike someone else she knew, with far too much defiance for such a lovely young creature. In the face of a horde of weapon-wielding men, the lady could only pray that the stubborn stance would not bring about the death of her only sister.

A biting wind was howling from the battlements by the time the soldiers entered the shabby bailey. The lady waited patiently on the steps of the manse, watching the three knights survey the crumbling surroundings before disbursing themselves. Two went to secure the courtyard while the third, a massive man astride an enormous red charger, rode in her direction. The lady could feel her chest tighten with foreboding as he drew near.

When he came within earshot, she folded herself into a proper curtsy. “My lord.” She could hear the quaking in her voice. “I am the Lady Micheline le Bec. Welcome to Haslingden Hall.”

The knight raised his visor, eyeing the woman in the faded blue cloak. “I am Sir Kirk Connaught, captain of Anchorsholme Castle.” His Irish brogue was thick and deep. “I bring you greetings from your betrothed, Lord Edmund de Cleveley. As stated in the missive sent to Haslingden three days ago, the fulfillment of your betrothal contract came due on your eighteenth birthday, two weeks ago. Do you acknowledge these terms, my lady?”

Micheline kept her eyes properly averted. Even so, her apprehension was obvious. It seemed to cover her like a blanket. “I do, my lord.”

There was something in her tone as well as her manner that went beyond the natural fear of her destiny. Something Kirk was unable to put his finger on and he tore his gaze away from the lady, noting his small escort had easily taken control of bailey. In fact, he could count on both hands the number of Haslingden soldiers and servants and he gestured to the slovenly group.

“How many will be accompanying you, my lady?”

Micheline looked up from the muddy ground, staring at a man the size of which she had never seen before. He was so large he seemed to blot out the sky and the Irish brogue was both fierce and intimidating. Everyone knew that the Irish were the ruthless sort, and the knight before her certainly fit the mold.

“Just me,” she stammered. “And m-mayhap another.”

Kirk looked at her as she choked on her words, noting the flush to her cheeks. “Mayhap another? You are uncertain?”

The mottle in Micheline’s cheeks deepened. In spite of the cold weather, she was beginning to sweat.

“I-I am afraid that….” She swallowed hard, fixing him in the eye for the first time. And the strong glimmer in the stone-gray orbs was enough to jelly her spine. “That is to say, my sister does not wish to come, my lord. I have spent the better part of three days attempting to convince her, but she refuses to see reason.”

Kirk remained emotionless, but he could see that the situation was causing the woman a good deal of distress. No wonder he had sensed more than the usual level of anxiety in her manner. “I see,” he said. “Why does she refuse to accompany you?”

Micheline sighed, hoping her sister’s resistance would not send the man into a rage. But, then again, where Mara was concerned, anything was possible. “She says that she is not the one betrothed to Lord Edmund and should not be forced to live at Anchorsholme Castle. It is her wish to be left alone at Haslingden, in peace.”