Page 87 of The Darkland

Spencer shook his head. “’Tis to be a private wedding, my lord. Immediate family only.”

“But Iamimmediate family,” Edmund insisted. “After all, he will be marrying the sister of my wife.”

Spencer remained firm. He had no love for Edmund de Cleveley, nor did le Vay, hence his exclusion from a wedding Spencer wished would never happen. “I understand, my lord, but Lord le Vay was specific. Lady Micheline only.”

Edmund stared at the knight. He had arranged this marriage, after all, and now he was not even invited. But rather than lodge a protest, he wisely decided to obey le Vay’s wishes. After all, the man had just sent three hundred men to support the reclamation of the Wicklow estate. Edmund wouldn’t dream of taxing the man further with his petty demands.

“I see,” he said quietly, but it was obvious he was disappointed. “But his demand that only my wife attend brings me to a rather unpleasant confession.”

A seed of apprehension blossomed deep in Spencer’ belly. He knew, before Edmund even elaborated, what that confession would be. Given the sinister reputation of The Darkland, there was no other alternative.

“And what is that, my lord?”

Edmund was emotionless as he spoke. “My wife threw herself from the tower the day after our wedding. I am afraid you will have the unpleasant duty of informing both le Vay and his wife that Lady Micheline is dead.”

Spencer’s body tensed, struggling to bite off words of condemnation that begged to come forth. But his control was not so strong that his cheeks did not flush, nor his pale blue eyes glitter with rage. Edmund noted the reaction, his own stance hardening.

“She did it herself!” He nearly shouted. “How dare you look at me as if… as if I had something to do with it. I never touched her!”

It was all Spencer could do to keep from refuting him. To do so would surely be to jeopardize his own life and freedom. Instead, he lifted his shoulders weakly.

“I never suggested otherwise, my lord.” He was struggling to maintain his calm. But he simply couldn’t hold himself back. “Given the reputation of Anchorsholme Castle, you will hardly blame le Vay or Lady Mara if they believe otherwise.”

Edmund exploded. “I do not care what they think!” he bellowed. “This is my keep and the vassals within belong to me. I command the power of life and death within Anchorsholme, but I cannot control everything. Especially a distraught young woman determined to end her pitiful life. You will tell them this, de Shera, and you will make them understand!”

Spencer’s jaw ticked. He had already said too much, as indicated by Edmund’s over-defensive rage. But, God help him, he simply couldn’t help himself and more words spilled forth before he could stop them.

“I cannot make them understand when I do not understand, my lord.” His voice was tight. “And there is something else I do not understand; why have you not had the courtesy to tell Kirk of your plans for his lady? Do not you think he will find out, eventually?”

Edmund grabbed the nearest weapon, a gilded candleholder with three thin tapers. Hurling it across the room, he narrowly missed Spencer’s head.

“Get out!” he screamed. “Get out before I kill you myself! This is none of your affair and I shall kill you if you interfere!”

Spencer was wise enough to leave. Edmund raged and stormed, destroying anything he could get his hands on as Spencer marched from the room. By the time he reached the front door, he was very close to breaking himself.Lying bastard!he thought furiously.

His charger was still in the bailey, being tended by a stable hand. Spencer stormed up, yanking the reins from the young man. The servant scurried away and Spencer mounted, feeling desperate to put distance between himself and Edmund De Cleveley. If only for Mara’s sake, he would like nothing better than to throttle the man. Punishment that was a long time in coming.

The charger snorted irritably in response to Spencer’s frustrated movements. His stirrup was twisted and, muttering curses, he struggled to turn it around when a soft voice caught his attention.

Spencer glanced up into a pair of plain brown eyes. Actually, there were two pairs of identical brown eyes. Clinging to one another, the duplicate women emerged nervously from the shadows of the inner wall.

“My lord,” the first lady began. “I am Lady Valdine Martin. My husband Corwin is serving with Sir Kirk in Ireland.”

Spencer was still frustrated and angry. He paused in his struggles with the stirrup, sighing impatiently.

“And?”

The first woman swallowed. “My sister and I watched you…”

“…ride in and we heard the argument…”

“…with Lord Edmund. Is it true that Lady Mara…”

“…is marrying Lord le Vay?”

Definitely not a subject Spencer was willing to discuss. He cast the sisters an annoyed look and finished straightened out his stirrup.

“That is none of your affair,” he said shortly. “If you will excuse me, I am expected back at Quernmore.”