Catherine Coulter (28 page)

It was close, but Garron didn’t strangle Thomas. “Who in the secret name of the Devil is Old Claver?”

“Old Claver keeps the jakes clean and tells you a story if you must settle in.”

Garron wanted to kill Thomas and laugh his head off at the same time.

Thomas hurried on. “I saw my mother’s sad face and I knew my duty. I followed them, my lord, waited for my chance, for there are always a dozen guards patrolling near the east wall, so many eyes to see them and call the alarm. How could these two escape? As I neared the wall, I began to see the guards—they were all on the ground and I knew they were asleep and not dead because I heard a lot of snoring. I wanted to yell, but knew if I did and no one came, they would kill me.”

Whalen’s stone face didn’t change expression. “They are all still unconscious,” he said to Garron. “We found wine jugs around them. The king’s physician will examine them but I believe they were given sleeping draughts. All of them drank.” His voice was colder than the ice that had covered the Thames the previous winter. Garron wondered what would happen to the guards once they awoke. Were it his decision, he’d lock them in a dungeon for a week with no food and no light.

Whalen told Thomas to continue.

He looked at Garron, then dropped his eyes again. “I went after them, my lord, I didn’t even hesitate, what with my poor mother’s voice speaking to me right in my ear. Just beyond the outside wall, there are a score of cooper shops. Beyond the shops at the end of a dark alley, I could make out that they tossed the bundle into the back of a cart and covered it with a blanket. I managed to climb in without them hearing me. I nearly gagged, it smelled like offal and sour ale. I felt the bundle and it was female, but she didn’t move.”

Garron did not doubt that Merry’s mother had used a sleeping potion on the guards. What had she used on Merry? The same thing? Had Jason of Brennan been one of the two men who’d taken her?

“It was a very long time before the cart horses stopped at the edge of a forest I didn’t recognize. I thought it was their destination, and I managed to slip out of the cart without them hearing me. Alas, they’d only stopped to relieve themselves. I wanted to relieve myself too, but I knew they might see me in the moonlight, and I saw again my mother’s sad face, and so I suffered.

“When they continued, I had no chance to climb back into the cart. I ran after them until one of the men must have heard me and turned to look behind him. I was terrified he would see me, and mayhap he did, he called out. I ran.

“I am sorry, my lord, but I do not know how much farther they traveled into the forest. I remember it looked black with only one path leading into it. I knew I had to come back to get help, and so I ran until I could steal a horse and ride back here.”

Garron said very quietly, “You saw neither man’s face?”

Thomas shook his head.

“You heard their voices. Did they sound old or young?”

“Both sounded like older men, my lord, their voices hard.”

So it hadn’t been Jason of Brennan or Sir Halric.

“I memorized the way, my lord, I can take you there.”

Garron felt a leap of hope. “Get your sword from the jakes. Hurry.” He turned to Whalen. “I wonder how they managed to get into the White Tower and down the many corridors to Merry’s room. Indeed, how did they know where she even slept?”

Whalen said, “Four of my guards within the tower were struck down, one of them that patrolled near your betrothed’s chamber is dead. It shouldn’t have happened. By all that’s sacred, what if it had been an assassin who had sneaked in to murder the king?” Whalen looked like he would vomit, then he began cursing. Garron thought Whalen knew well enough that he wouldn’t be the captain of the king’s guard for much longer.

Garron said, “No assassin could get to the king, Whalen, you know that. There are always three guards in the king’s antechamber.”

“Aye, at night, they patrol for three hours, then sleep. But this—”

“Gather men, Whalen. I need you. I will meet you at the eastern gate. Go.” Garron welcomed the anger now pouring into him, it was better than the awful impotence that had rubbed him raw. Now there was a chance. But how much farther had they traveled into the forest after Thomas had run away from them? What if Jason of Brennan had already forced her to wed him, what if he’d already raped her? No, Merry was smart, she would do something to stop him. Besides, even if she was helpless against him, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered—Jason of Brennan was a dead man, he just didn’t know it yet.

When Garron jerked the saddle cinch tighter around Damocles’ belly, his destrier swung his great head around and tried to bite him, but years of experience saved him. He jumped back, smacked his horse’s neck. “I’ll strangle you if you try to bite me again. We have to fetch your mistress to her wedding.”

Garron leaned his face against his destrier’s smooth neck for a moment, felt his great strength, and it steadied him.
Merry
, he told her silently,
use that clever brain of yours, tell him you must make a list before you can wed him.
He would swear in that instant that he could hear her saying the words, her voice firm as a nun’s. He was smiling when he leapt on his destrier’s back, and Gilpin wondered at that smile. He looked over at Sir Lyle, sitting atop his destrier, speaking low to his three men. About what?

Three hours later, Garron was as silent as the dozen soldiers riding behind him. The sky blackened, the quarter moon disappeared, the air chilled. It began to rain, hard, driving rain that quickly soaked every man to the skin. It was misery. When they reached the forest where Thomas had gotten out of the cart, they saw the narrow road through the trees was well worn, but the rain had washed away any signs of wheel tracks and turned the dirt to mud. Garron motioned them forward. The trees thickened as they rode deeper into the forest, a relief because it provided some shelter from the relentless rain. They came to two rutted paths that struck out from the main track like two stretched-out arms, and disappeared into the trees. The men in the cart could have taken one of the two paths or continued straight. At that moment, it began to rain even harder, rain sheeted down even through the thick trees, and the men huddled in their saddles, heads down, as Garron studied the two paths for any sign of a cart’s passage. There was nothing but mud.

He split the men into three groups. He didn’t know why, but he simply had a feeling about the path to the right. He, Gilpin, and two soldiers, Arnold and John, left the others and plowed on. He sent Sir Lyle and his men to the left and Whalen took the remainder of the soldiers and continued straight. He’d never prayed so hard in his life that the path he’d chosen was the right one. Some hundred yards farther, the narrow, mud-filled path ended in a small clearing. In the center of the clearing sat a woodcutter’s hut, small but stoutly built. Smoke snaked out of a hole in the roof. Just as Garron pulled Damocles to a halt in front of the hut, the rain suddenly stopped. He looked up to see the moon through the black clouds. He dismounted and shook himself like a mongrel dog. “Stay here,” he told the men. He pounded on the door, called out, but there was no answer. He pounded again. After a moment, a very old woman, wearing an ancient green gown that was still as green as the impenetrable trees, pulled open the old wooden door. She looked up at Garron, paled, took a fast step back, and crossed herself. She whispered, “Be it ye, the divil? All wet and young and beautiful to gaze upon? At least I think ye’re beautiful since there bain’t much moon to shine on yer head. Be ye here to strip my soul of its goodness and take my husk to Hell?”

“Nay, I will not harm you.” And then, with no thought, the words simply came out of his mouth. “I search for the witch.” Why had he said that? Where had those words come from?

The old woman crossed herself again and searched his face in the dim light. “Ye do not want to see her, lad, she’ll split yer gullet wide open, and all yer words will spill out of yer throat and fall on yer boots.”

“She has taken my betrothed. Tell me where I can find the witch.”

She continued to study him, then she nodded slowly, and said so low he could scarce hear her, “Sometimes she comes, not often, and when she does, smoke billows above the trees, black smoke that stinks of Hell itself. Her tower sits not far past the rutted path behind my hut. Aye, she built herself a black tower, or snapped her fingers and it built itself, I know not. It be enclosed behind a high stone wall.” She reached out a heavily veined hand and lightly touched his wet tunic sleeve. “Listen to me, lad, ye don’t want to go there. If she’s taken yer betrothed, then she is no longer of this earth. Ye don’t wish to die, do ye?”

Garron wanted to shake her, but he forced himself to patience. “Have you seen smoke billowing up over the trees?”

Once again she crossed herself. “Aye, I have, several times. I saw her only once, so beautiful she was, all golden and white, and she was laughing, at what I don’t know, I saw nothing to make me laugh. She looked glorious, like a princess or an angel, but then she suddenly looked at me, and it was like I was a mirror and she was looking into me and I was looking out at her. I saw meanness deep inside her, aye, and death was behind her eyes.”

G
olden and white? Glorious?
What was this about? She was Merry’s mother, not some fresh young maid to be admired. Then he supposed any female would seem young to the old woman.
Meanness deep inside her and death behind her eyes?
Aye, he could well believe that. He gave her several coins. She began rubbing them against her palms, stroking them like a lover. “They’re lovely, at least I think they are, but I really can’t see them. Is the silver bright as the sun?” she said, still caressing them.

“When the sun comes up in a few hours, you will see how bright they are.”

“I haven’t seen coins like this since my poor deaf Allard finally croaked it after a tree fell right on him. When I laid him out, I found two more silver coins jest like these sewn into his trousers. They were shiny. We’ll see. I will bury my coins jest yon, beneath that dripping oak tree. There bain’t no one to give them to. Mayhap a druid slept once beneath that tree, mayhap the spirit of the druid will accept my offering and will save ye from the witch. But I doubt it.”

Garron said, “Mayhap the spirits will listen, but no matter. I will save myself.” Garron swung up onto his destrier’s back, nodded to Gilpin, Arnold, and John, and clicked Damocles forward. Why had he asked about the witch? And he’d been right, he was close, he knew it to his soul. And he would find Merry. He would find her in time. They rode past the old hut, out of the clearing and back into the thick forest. Thankfully there was a bit of moonlight coming through the trees, so they could see the path.

It was near dawn and the light was gray. When the trees began to thin, Garron called his men to halt. She was near, he felt it to his bones. “All of you, wait here. I will call if I find something.”

“But, my lord—”

He didn’t want to argue with Gilpin, didn’t want to clout him into obedience, but a sense of urgency was pushing him hard. “All right, Gilpin, you will come with me. Arnold, you and John wait for my signal. Stay alert. A witch lives here. The old woman said she was dangerous. Gilpin, stay in my shadow, or I will kick your belly into your backbone, do you understand?”

Gilpin, not understanding anything at all, nodded.

They came through the thin line of trees into a wide clearing. A stone enclosure sat in the middle of the clearing, forming a rough circle about thirty feet across. The wall was a good eight feet high. A stout wooden gate was built into the wall. Suddenly the gray dawn sky turned black again and thunder boomed loud, once, twice, three times, directly over their heads. Lightning slashed through the trees behind them, splitting an ancient oak in half, not ten feet away. He heard Arnold call out and Garron knew he was afraid. He refused to believe a witch could call up the weather, that was nonsense, but he knew it was a warning, knew it in the deepest part of him, but a warning of what? A warning from whom?
You shouldn’t be here, this place will kill you, the witch will curse you, and you will be buried beneath this wall and your bones will molder and no one will ever know where you are
—

There was another boom of thunder, right over his shoulder this time. Gilpin’s horse reared on its hind legs. Garron managed to grab the reins and pull the terrified animal close to Damocles, who stood quiet as a nun at vespers. Garron wondered if Damocles was simply too afraid to move.

He looked at Gilpin’s white face and said quietly, “It will be all right. Don’t be afraid.” Gilpin swallowed bile and didn’t move. They waited a moment, but there was no more thunder or lightning. Garron dismounted, handed Gilpin Damocles’ reins. “Stay here. Keep the horses calm. Wait for me. No, don’t argue, I will be all right.”

The rain poured down again, so much hard rain Garron felt the earth beneath his feet begin to slide. It was England, it always rained, there was no magick at work here, no damned witch casting a spell on the clouds.

There was no handle on the gate. He pushed at it, but the gate didn’t move. It was barred on the inside, nothing more than that. Garron looked more closely at the stone wall, saw the stones weren’t smoothly set one against the other. He found purchase and climbed. When he reached the top of the wall, he turned back and saw only Gilpin’s shadow through the thick rain. Thank St. Clement’s meaty bones, Gilpin hadn’t moved. As for Arnold and John, he couldn’t make them out at all through the gray blur.

He lay flat atop the wall and looked down into the enclosure. It was past dawn and he could see there were no trees, no scrubs within the stone walls. The ground was covered with wooden planks leading from the gate to the tower that rose perhaps thirty feet into the air. It looked solid and grim, desolate, not a single sign of life. Three narrow windows marked the three tower levels, all of them facing to the east. There were three small buildings connected to the tower by wooden roofs, and a small stable huddled just inside the gate. He lay still, calmed himself, and listened. He heard nothing save the miserable, endless rain.