Page 29 of The Darkland

“There,” she said hoarsely. “As you can see, I am well. Micheline is well. Now will you leave us?”

“Nay,” he pushed the door open, his gaze roving the room. Seeing there was no obvious threat that would drive Mara to tears, his gaze immediately fell on the satchel and discarded clothing heaped on the floor. His eyebrows knit together. “What is this?”

Micheline was still standing by the wardrobe, her cheeks flushed. Hastily, she bent down to collect the falling things. “I… it was merely my own clumsiness. I was clearing the wardrobe for our new garments and this fell out.”

He did not believe her for a moment. His accusing gaze immediately turned to Mara. “Where were you going, Mara?”

She wasn’t a very good liar and it had never been her habit to excuse her way out of a situation. Fully prepared to tell him that her intentions were none of his affair, one look at the intense gray eyes and her control shattered like fragile glass.

“I am leaving!” she gasped, the tears that has so recently fled returning with a vengeance. “And Micheline is going with me!”

He moved toward her simply to comfort her but she screamed, moving away from him as if he carried the plague. “Stay away from me!”

He froze, his gaze tracking her like a cat watching a mouse. “What is the matter, Mara? What have I done?”

She was standing next to the bed, sobbing. “You…” she gasped, hardly able to continue. “You are cursed!”

He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

She wept into her hand, close to hysteria. But the bright blue eyes were intense. “The Darkland, Kirk. I know why Anchorsholme Castle is called the House of the Death.”

He did not say anything. Outwardly, his composure never wavered, but inwardly, his heart was breaking. He’d never known it to break before.

“Why is that, love?”

His gentle tone inflamed her. “Because young women die here!” she nearly shouted, angry that he would act as if he had no idea what she was talking about. “Nine young ladies who have come here to serve Johanne, women who have simply vanished into the night. Why did you tell us the truth from the beginning?”

He took a deep breath, aware that his control was slowly weakening. And that had never happened, either. Especially not where a woman was concerned. Carefully, he pondered his reply.

“Is that what you wanted?” his voice was oddly hoarse. “To hear stories of Anchorsholme Castle, frightening you to death when you were already reluctant to come?”

Near the wardrobe, Micheline nearly collapsed with the confirmation of Mara’s wild stories.

“Dear God,” she gasped, groping for the nearest chair. “Then what she has told me is true.”

Kirk eyed the woman a brief moment before returning his attention to Mara. She was sitting on the bed now, facing away from and sobbing pitifully.

“I do not know the extent of what she has told you, Lady Micheline,” he said softly, moving slowly for the bed. “But I would like to hear everything.”

Mara could feel him standing by the foot of the bed, too weak to resist him. Face in her hands, she simply shook her head. “Dead women, Kirk. Ladies come to Anchorsholme Castle but they never leave. Isn’t that so?”

“There’s more to it than that, lass.”

“But what of Johanne?” she demanded. “You told me to stay away from her because she was dangerous. Now I know she burns people and bites off fingers!”

He sighed deeply, gazing at her glorious black head. After a moment, he turned away and marched to the chamber door, calling for a servant. When two women appeared, wide-eyed and eager to do his bidding, he instructed them to escort Micheline to Lady Wanda’s chamber. He wanted to speak with Mara, alone. To see if he could undo, or at least ease, the damage done.

Micheline was reluctant to leave, but did so obediently. Kirk closed the door, returning his attention to the bed where Mara remained huddled and weeping. Silently, he approached.

“Did you kill them?” she asked.

Her voice was soft. Kirk sat down on the mattress beside her before replying. “Of course not,” he said softly. “I would know who has told you the tales of Anchorsholme Castle.”

She sniffled, struggling to calm herself. She had a terrible headache as a result of her crying jag. “It does not matter,” she said, with less force. “But I know everything and I demand that you let Micheline and I leave before we fall victim, too.”

“That is not going to happen,” he said firmly. “I would never allow any harm to befall you.”

“It befell the other women.”