Catherine Coulter (10 page)

“Can you imagine her fat?”

“I cannot see her.”

Garron called out, “Merry! Wake up! Attend me, the king’s secretary wishes to thank you for the delicious dinner.”

He watched Miggins shake her shoulder. She jerked, and even from a distance, he saw the brief confusion and a spark of fear in her eyes before she realized she was here and safe.

“Merry!”

Slowly, she got to her feet, straightened her gown, patted her hair, and walked to him.

“What do you think of our new trestle table?” Garron asked her.

“It is a marvel, my lord. However, we have no bed for the king’s generous and kind ambassador. Gilpin said Aleric plans to make two beds on the morrow, one of them for you, sir.”

Burnell’s ears turned red with pleasure.
An ambassador
. He’d always believed it his calling, wiliness of tongue was but one of his many talents, but to be an ambassador—it was the destiny of his heart. He beamed upon the girl. “Thank you for the excellent meal. Your father, what happened to him?”

“He died in the Retribution.”

“I thought I heard you call it the Devastation before,” Burnell said.

Her face went perfectly blank, and Burnell thought,
She was never fat.

“Retribution, devastation—one or the other, what matter?” Garron said, never taking his eyes off her. Burnell, sharp as an arrow tip, that old bastard, was testing her.

Burnell studied her a moment, particularly her hair. “I am sorry for your father’s death, since it leaves you alone. What will you do now, child?”

Garron realized she had no ready answer to this question. “As I told you, sir, she is at present seeing to Wareham. She is good at it. What will happen later? We will see.”

Burnell said, “Do you know who first called it the Retribution? Was it this Black Demon?”

Merry turned and called out, “Tupper, who first called it the Retribution?”

“The Black Demon,” Tupper shouted. “When he sat atop that great destrier at the fore of his men, he announced he was here to carry out the Retribution unless we gave him his silver coins. Then he said he would spare us if Lord Arthur would come forward and give himself up for his crimes, but Lord Arthur was dead, now wasn’t he? But it seemed the Black Demon didn’t believe Elkins, Lord Arthur’s master-at-arms. Then Murlo laughed at him, all our soldiers joined in with him because they believed themselves safe and they believed him a puffed-up popinjay. All knew that even with Lord Arthur dead, we would hold against an enemy.”

“Rightfully so,” said Burnell. “Wareham is a stout keep. How did the Black Demon manage to get within the walls?”

The hall quieted. Everyone was listening.

Tupper said, “A traitor let in some of his soldiers through the hidden postern gate at the beach. While the Black Demon was threatening Murlo and our soldiers, all their attention focused on him and his men, the traitor led them in single file. When the Black Demon finished talking, there were enough of his soldiers already within to take Wareham.” Tupper bowed his head. “No one realized the Black Demon had divided up his men. ’Twas a black day, sir.”

Burnell called out, “Who knew to call this man the Black Demon?”

Tupper said, “He called himself the Black Demon, sir, said it was his name, said, he did, we would never forget him, if we lived to tell about it.”

Burnell sat silent a moment, stroking his chin. “Does anyone know who this man is?”

There was discussion. Finally, Bullic the cook shouted, “Nay, sir, no one knows. He never removed his helmet. He was garbed all in black and his destrier, a huge brute, was black as well.”

“What of his standard?”

There was the buzz of conversation throughout the great hall, but none could remember a standard.

Garron said, “I know nothing of the silver coins the Black Demon claimed Arthur stole from him.”

“I wonder how many coins there are?”

And Garron knew Burnell was thinking about the king’s share.

G
arron escorted Burnell to the lord’s bedchamber, followed by his servant Dilkin, a thin old man with stooped shoulders and an air of great patience. Dilkin carried a pile of blankets in his frail arms. To Garron’s relief, but not surprise, he saw that Merry had cleaned the large room, which was now perfectly empty, causing their boots to echo on the stone. Sleeping on the floor would be nothing new for Dilkin, he always slept beside his master’s bed. Come to think of it, it appeared to Garron that both master and servant wore the same expression as they looked around the chamber.

When he returned to the great hall, Miggins sidled up to him, Tupper standing at her elbow. “Ye’re looking happy, my lord.”

“Aye, I suppose that I am.” Truth be told, he was seeing the great hall as it would look by Michaelmas. It would again be a nobleman’s hall—sweet-smelling rushes on the stone floor, a full complement of trestle tables and benches, even a carved chair for him. He heard grunts and snoring from those already asleep, and smiled.

He noticed that the old woman was fidgeting. “What is it, Miggins? Tupper? Why aren’t both of you sleeping? Is there a problem?”

Tupper gave Miggins a look. She nodded, drew in a deep breath. “Not long before his death, I overheard yer brother tell a visiting knight about ye, and how ye’d grabbed an assassin by his throat, clean lifted him off the ground, and snapped his neck before he could get within six feet of the king. Proud he was of ye, my lord, very proud indeed.”

How had Arthur heard of that? In that instant, Garron saw his brother at no more than twelve years old, and he was showing Garron, only six years old, how to wield a sword. “I did not know, Miggins. Thank you for telling me.”

She paused a moment. “Ye believe yer brother’s death was a tragedy, that he was struck down for no good reason. But Tupper and I don’t believe his heart jest stopped beating. It was so strange, Lord Arthur was laughing one minute, stroking Mordrid, his leman, and the next instant, he simply fell over his trencher my lord, dead.” Miggins sucked in a deep breath and spit it out. “We believe Lord Arthur was poisoned.”

Tupper said, “But the problem is, no one can prove he was poisoned.”

Garron’s world tilted. Poison? His brother was dead because someone poisoned him? He remembered tales of how the sheiks in the Holy Land feared poison more than being cleaved in two by their enemies. He felt his own heart, beating painfully slow, thudding inside his chest.

“But why?”

Tupper said, “Iffen he was poisoned, my lord, mayhap the one who kilt him knew of his silver coins and wanted them for hisself.”

Miggins laid her hand lightly on Garron’s shoulder. “There are others besides Tupper and me who believe he was poisoned, my lord. We jest wanted ye to know, mayhap keep more alert even here at Wareham, take more care of yer food and ale.”

Garron stared blindly down into his empty mug. Would someone try to poison him as well? But there could be no reason. He hadn’t even known about the silver coins.

Those damnable silver coins. Garron’s head ached. He looked up to see Merry watching him. Oh yes, they’d told her about this before they’d told him. Had she counseled them to tell him what they believed? In order to make him more careful, to protect him?

Garron rose from the bench. “Thank you for telling me. I will be careful.”

He supposed he should inform Burnell, but at the moment, he could not get his brain to take it all in. He needed time to think. He flicked his fingers toward Merry and together they walked to the great hall doors, open to the cool evening air. For the first time, Garron realized that this girl beside him wasn’t a small, mincing maid. Nay, she was tall, the top of her head coming nearly to his nose. She was long legged, capable of covering a lot of ground. And she stood straight, her chin up, as if she had worth and value, and she no longer sought to hide it from him.

She followed Garron to the ladder that led to the narrow walkway atop the inner bailey ramparts. The outer curtain walls at Valcourt were eight feet thick. These walls were perhaps two feet less. When she reached the top of the ladder, he took her hand and pulled her up.

She straightened Lady Anne’s skirts and turned with Garron to look at the half moon hanging over the Forest of Glen, at the stars studding the black sky. Merry drew in a deep breath, felt the cool night air stir around her. Rain was coming. It felt heavy, like a cloak weighing on her shoulders. She breathed in the smell of the sea and tasted salt on her tongue.

“I am surprised they didn’t destroy the ladders. Look yon, the ladders to the ramparts on the outer walls are also intact.”

“I wondered about that as well.” He paused a moment, then turned to lean his back against the rampart wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I could threaten to toss you to the ground if you don’t spit out the truth now. It is a long way down. Or I could give you over to Aleric. He has a gift for convincing men—and women too, I suppose—to tell him what he wishes to know. What do you think?”

“I think—I think that would be wasteful of you, my lord.”

Wasteful?
Garron nearly laughed at that. Yet he thought he heard a tremor in her voice. Was she afraid of him? Well, she didn’t know him. He could be one of those men who spoke calmly, even kindly, before they struck. Or maybe she wasn’t afraid of him at all, he simply didn’t know.

He held out his hand to her. She eyed it a moment, then took it. As they walked the rampart walkway to the seaward side of the castle, Merry realized she didn’t want to tell him she was the Valcourt heiress. He was the king’s man, first and foremost, and that meant his loyalty was to Edward. The king might not force her to wed Jason of Brennan, but she had no doubt he would select a man who would bring him great gain, be it silver or loyalty and men. He would sell her just as her mother planned to do. Well, it was the way of things, now wasn’t it? Marriage was about building wealth, gaining land and power, establishing or strengthening alliances, nothing more, nothing less. But it terrified her to be the one bandied around. She didn’t want to return to Valcourt, not yet; she wasn’t ready to lower her head, accept a yoke on her neck, and accept her fate.

What she had here at Wareham, it made her swell with pleasure and pride. She was important here. She was making a difference, people looked to her, counted on her.
Please, God, let me remain here for just a little longer, mayhap a fortnight longer, then when it ends, I will not complain
. Well, she knew herself, now, didn’t she? She would complain, but not in a prayer to God.

She found herself wondering if a Wareham carpenter still lived, and perhaps a stonemason, and a smith as well? Well, that was Garron’s problem, not hers, blessed be St. Leonard’s crooked teeth.

“Wasteful, you say?”

She looked up at him, his profile silhouetted in the dim light, and she saw him fighting Sir Halric and remembered she’d known he would win, known it to her soul, and he would have if Sir Halric hadn’t run. And he’d also seen through her quickly enough, known she was lying, and now he wanted the truth. He turned to give her a lazy look, no threat in it at all, and it was hard to look away from him, from his dark hair blowing off his forehead in the night breeze, to his eyes, so much lighter than hers, such a light blue to rival a summer sky.

“Aye, wasteful, my lord. Aleric believes me useful as well. On the morrow, I will help Pali stuff mattresses. Mayhap one will be for you.” She frowned up at him. “You are very young.”

“Not so young. You already know I am just turned twenty-four.”

“How old was your brother?”

“Arthur was my senior by six years, far too young to die. Do you agree with Tupper and Miggins? Do you believe someone poisoned him?”

“How can I know?” Her face froze.
Lie, but make it smooth and easy.
“Actually, I wasn’t in the great hall when it happened. I was in the cooking shed, so I know only what they have told me, still—”

“You are a very bad liar. You need lessons. No, no, don’t lie more. You told Miggins and Tupper to tell me, did you not?”

“Well, of course. If it was poison, I did not want you to be ignorant of the danger to you. Do you have other brothers and sisters?”

A dark eyebrow shot up, but he merely shook his head at her. “Thank you, I will be careful. There were three other sons and two daughters besides Arthur and me, but they died.”

“Life is many times difficult,” she said, “particularly for babes.”
And for everyone else as well
, she thought.

He stopped and they both looked toward the North Sea, the calm flat water glistening. Below them was the hidden postern gate leading down to the beach. She said, without thinking, “You are quite well made, my lord.”

The dark eyebrow shot up again. “Young and well made?”

“It’s the truth, as well you know.”

“Do I? Are you trying to distract me?”

“The truth is never a distraction. It wasn’t a compliment, merely an observation.”

“Give me more of your observations.”

“You smell good.”

She saw a tug of a grin on his mouth, but then he only shrugged. “I have always disliked filth, particularly on myself. That is all you’ve got to offer up—I don’t stink?”

“There is more, but if I tell you, your head will not fit through the doors into the great hall. Now, attend me. I have made a list of all that must be done within the keep. In my head. If Robert Burnell will give me a bit of parchment, I will write everything down and show it to you.”

Garron looked at the low-hanging dark clouds rolling toward them over the sea, obscuring the moon. He turned back, studied her for a moment. “Even though your gown is too short, you are also young and well made.”

She shook her head.
She was well made?

“You always wear your hair braided, yet you are a maid. I like the little braids you’ve stuck in the big ones. I have counted three of them.”