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Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
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necessary
regardless of Edmund’s caution. "I shall send word to our allies
nonetheless, preparing them for the potentiality," he said. "Did my
father say anything about my brothers or mother? Are they in danger?"
"He did not mention
the fact." Edmund went to the wardrobe and, rummaging about, drew forth
the missive from Ireland. Kirk accepted it eagerly. "I am sure your
younger brothers are well. Drew recently returned from fostering in Devon, did
he not?"
Kirk nodded, scanning
the contents of the vellum. "After Steven injured his hand in a riding
accident, my father was without the power of a son by his side. But now with
Drew returned...." He suddenly re-rolled the vellum, frustrated.
"This missive tells me nothing. It's as if... as if he is holding something
back."
"Your father holds
nothing back," Edmund replied. "The missive is quite frank."
Kirk shook his head, his
fatigue fading as frustration took hold. "He probably does not want to
worry me. He knows I shall sail for Ireland with half of England under my
command at the first sign of trouble."
Edmund watched the man
work himself into a substantial fret. "According to your father, there is
no trouble - yet. Trust that the man will inform us when he needs
reinforcements." Kirk continued to pace, the missive clutched in his hand,
and Edmund set his goblet down. "Retire to your chambers, Kirk. Rest,
relax. We shall have a grand feast this night to celebrate your return."
Kirk looked up from his
pacing boots. "You mean the arrival of Lady Micheline."
Edmund met his gaze.
After a moment, he shrugged. "As you say. Regardless, I demand you rest
until the meal. You look as if it has been a hellish journey."
Kirk did not say what he
was thinking, thoughts turning from the situation in Ireland to the events of
the past two days.
Not hellish, Edmund. Hellion.
***
The first thing Mara was
aware of was the smell of roasting beef. A heavy, mouth-watering smell and she
realized she was famished. Seated in the great smoky hall at the table reserved
for the de Cleveley family, Mara and Micheline huddled together as the rumbled
of conversation filled the room.
Kirk had explained that
the guests this eve had been part of Johanne's birthday celebration a few days
prior. Most of them were older, a few young men and ladies in fine court dress.
Clad in the finest surcoats they owned, Mara and Micheline were sorely out of
place among the wealthy visitors.
Even though Micheline
was trying her best to remain dignified, Mara wanted no part of it. The crowd
had been staring and pointing since her arrival a half-hour before and she was
nearly wild with what she perceived to be negative attention. When Kirk passed
the table on his rounds of the room, she latched onto his hand and refused to
let go.
Smiling gently, he knelt
beside her chair. "What's the matter with you? Are you not enjoying
yourself?"
He could see she was
close to tears. "These people," she whispered. "They are staring
at Micheline and I. I want to leave!"
Micheline heard her
sister's plea, meeting Kirk's gaze. His expression was surprisingly gentle,
considering his usual reaction to Mara. Even after spanking her earlier in the
day, which her sister had explained with very little outrage, it was obvious he
was no longer angry. And Mara, too, apparently held no grudge.
"Relax, lass,"
he said. "They are simply curious and nothing more."
She shook her head,
still holding his hand. He had escorted Micheline to the dining hall, clean
shaven and without his armor. Mara had followed on Niles' arm, awed by the
sight of Kirk, combed and bathed and in gentlemen clothing, as he chatted
pleasantly with her sister. If she had thought him handsome before, the new
picture was enough to set her head spinning. And he smelled nice, too. A smell
of precious oils and pine that filled her nostrils even as he knelt beside the
chair and attempted to comfort her.
"They
regardless of Edmund’s caution. "I shall send word to our allies
nonetheless, preparing them for the potentiality," he said. "Did my
father say anything about my brothers or mother? Are they in danger?"
"He did not mention
the fact." Edmund went to the wardrobe and, rummaging about, drew forth
the missive from Ireland. Kirk accepted it eagerly. "I am sure your
younger brothers are well. Drew recently returned from fostering in Devon, did
he not?"
Kirk nodded, scanning
the contents of the vellum. "After Steven injured his hand in a riding
accident, my father was without the power of a son by his side. But now with
Drew returned...." He suddenly re-rolled the vellum, frustrated.
"This missive tells me nothing. It's as if... as if he is holding something
back."
"Your father holds
nothing back," Edmund replied. "The missive is quite frank."
Kirk shook his head, his
fatigue fading as frustration took hold. "He probably does not want to
worry me. He knows I shall sail for Ireland with half of England under my
command at the first sign of trouble."
Edmund watched the man
work himself into a substantial fret. "According to your father, there is
no trouble - yet. Trust that the man will inform us when he needs
reinforcements." Kirk continued to pace, the missive clutched in his hand,
and Edmund set his goblet down. "Retire to your chambers, Kirk. Rest,
relax. We shall have a grand feast this night to celebrate your return."
Kirk looked up from his
pacing boots. "You mean the arrival of Lady Micheline."
Edmund met his gaze.
After a moment, he shrugged. "As you say. Regardless, I demand you rest
until the meal. You look as if it has been a hellish journey."
Kirk did not say what he
was thinking, thoughts turning from the situation in Ireland to the events of
the past two days.
Not hellish, Edmund. Hellion.
***
The first thing Mara was
aware of was the smell of roasting beef. A heavy, mouth-watering smell and she
realized she was famished. Seated in the great smoky hall at the table reserved
for the de Cleveley family, Mara and Micheline huddled together as the rumbled
of conversation filled the room.
Kirk had explained that
the guests this eve had been part of Johanne's birthday celebration a few days
prior. Most of them were older, a few young men and ladies in fine court dress.
Clad in the finest surcoats they owned, Mara and Micheline were sorely out of
place among the wealthy visitors.
Even though Micheline
was trying her best to remain dignified, Mara wanted no part of it. The crowd
had been staring and pointing since her arrival a half-hour before and she was
nearly wild with what she perceived to be negative attention. When Kirk passed
the table on his rounds of the room, she latched onto his hand and refused to
let go.
Smiling gently, he knelt
beside her chair. "What's the matter with you? Are you not enjoying
yourself?"
He could see she was
close to tears. "These people," she whispered. "They are staring
at Micheline and I. I want to leave!"
Micheline heard her
sister's plea, meeting Kirk's gaze. His expression was surprisingly gentle,
considering his usual reaction to Mara. Even after spanking her earlier in the
day, which her sister had explained with very little outrage, it was obvious he
was no longer angry. And Mara, too, apparently held no grudge.
"Relax, lass,"
he said. "They are simply curious and nothing more."
She shook her head,
still holding his hand. He had escorted Micheline to the dining hall, clean
shaven and without his armor. Mara had followed on Niles' arm, awed by the
sight of Kirk, combed and bathed and in gentlemen clothing, as he chatted
pleasantly with her sister. If she had thought him handsome before, the new
picture was enough to set her head spinning. And he smelled nice, too. A smell
of precious oils and pine that filled her nostrils even as he knelt beside the
chair and attempted to comfort her.
"They
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