Catherine Coulter (38 page)

“She kept me in her forest tower but I escaped. She caught me again and imprisoned me at Meizerling. I escaped when your soldiers came to get her.”

Merry turned to her twin. “Now there is no more pretense. Tell me why you have pretended to be me.”

Her twin drew herself up. “Very well, I will tell you. I listened to you and my mother speaking. I listened to you talk about this Garron of Kersey as if he were a god.” She shrugged. “I wanted to see what Garron of Kersey was all about.” She looked at him holding Merry’s hand. “I must say, I was disappointed. I daresay I would have preferred to wed Jason of Brennan with his one ear.”

Merry nearly flung herself on her sister, but Garron held her back. “I do not see how you fooled anyone since we look nothing alike.” She whirled around and shook her fist under Garron’s nose. “How could you believe she was me, Garron, even for an instant?
How could you?
”

He cupped her dirty face between his palms. “Deep down, something in me knew, but the fact was how could she not be you?” He breathed her in. “You smell like horse and sweat.” He breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. “Roses, I believe your hair smells of wild roses.”

“You whoreson, you’ve killed my mother!”

Merry’s twin leapt at him, fists flailing. Garron set Merry aside, and grabbed her twin’s wrists.

“Please let her go, Garron.”

He released her. Merry smiled at her twin, raised her own fist, and struck her twin in the jaw.

Both mother and daughter lay unconscious, side by side, on the king’s chamber floor.

Garron raised her fist to his mouth and kissed her skinned fingers. “Will you wed with me right now?”

“Right now, Garron?” The king cocked a thick golden Plantagenet eyebrow.

“Aye, sire, if you will. I am afraid that something else will happen to her. I do not wish to let her out of my sight.”

Merry threw back her head and laughed. “Aye, please, sire.”

The queen rose to her feet. She looked from the unconscious girl on the floor to Merry. “This is all passing strange, but we will do what we must. Merry, you will come with me and I will see that you are readied. Garron, I will keep close guard on her, fear not.”

But Garron said, “Please, madam, let us wed now. I want all in this chamber to witness our joining, her mother especially, if she awakens.”

The queen smiled. “Very well.” She herself took a glass of ale from the marble table beside the king’s throne and carried it to where Abbess Helen of Meizerling lay against the wall. She poured the ale on the woman’s face.

Helen blinked, opened her eyes to see the Queen of England standing over her. “My lady?”

“Merry wishes you and your daughter to witness her wedding with Lord Garron of Kersey, the Earl of Wareham.”

Lord Ranulf asked his son, “Did you know of this twin?”

Jason was looking at both of them, shaking his head. “But I would prefer to wed this one. This other, she is no lady. You saw her use her fist. And she is dirty, she is ungoverned.”

His only son, Lord Ranulf thought, what was a father to do? He walked up to his son and clouted him. He caught him before he could sprawl on the floor, whispered close to his one remaining ear, “You will shut your mouth. It is over. When you fight Lord Garron, be a man, not a puling coward.”

Robert Burnell took charge. He ordered everyone about, and in the end, all surrounded Merry and Garron, save, of course, the king and queen, who remained seated, the king looking ironic, the queen, pleased.

Merry, wind-blown, dirty, stray hairs tucked into her plaits as best she could, stood beside her betrothed.

Burnell began speaking, his beautiful voice low and melodious, speaking Latin which few understood, but it sounded important and grave, and occasionally the king nodded, as if he understood, and mayhap he did, Garron didn’t know.

The moment after Burnell blessed their union, Garron looked over at Jason of Brennan and said, “I challenge you. We will fight until one of us no longer breathes.”

Robert Burnell studied what he had written. Had it really happened thusly? For perhaps the hundredth time now since this amazing occurrence had come to pass nearly a week before, he saw that wild white bolt of lightning explode Jason of Brennan’s sword tip, melded, it had seemed, to Garron’s sword, yet Garron had walked away unscathed, save for a single cut delivered by Jason of Brennan to his arm.
Had it truly been a miracle?
he wondered.
Had God truly directed lightning itself, hurled it at Jason of Brennan?

It was not for him to judge such matters, merely present them to His Holiness, ordained by God himself to rule upon its merits. He rose from his high-backed chair, wiped the excess ink from his fingers, and carried the letter to the king.

His step lagged a bit, for he also had unfortunate news for his majesty. Helen, Abbess of Meizerling, and her daughter, whose name no one knew, had escaped from the tower dungeons early that morning, and no one had wanted to be the messenger to the king. No one could understand how she did it, since no one, absolutely no one, could have escaped the tower dungeons without bribing more than a dozen guards. How had the witch managed to do this? The guards all swore they were loyal, and, Burnell had to admit, their shock and fear of the witch’s escape appeared quite genuine. And there was the question—had the witch somehow managed to cast a spell on all the guards? At the same time?

She and her daughter were gone, simply gone, and none had seen them, either within the massive walls or outside. Burnell knew to his soul they wouldn’t be found. And who, pray tell, would want to find the witch anyway, and risk being bespelled?

At least, he thought, Sir Lyle of Clive was back at the king’s side after his completed task, a special task given to him by the king himself, who had not confided in him, his secretary and his Chancellor of England, and that did indeed rankle. The king had ordered him to guard Garron, to ensure that he did not come to an untimely death as had his brother Arthur. Burnell remembered how the Valcourt heiress, then only a priest’s byblow, had disliked and suspected Sir Lyle of treachery. He wondered what she thought when she’d learned the truth.

Burnell thought of the king’s share of the silver coins, how that unexpected influx of wealth would undoubtedly buy him at least five hundred soldiers willing to desert their masters and come to him.

And there was another miracle, at least Burnell believed it to be, a miracle no one could have foreseen. Lord Ranulf had told Garron that he did not blame him for the death of his only son, indeed, after what Burnell now thought of as the “divine intervention,” Lord Ranulf had embraced him.

Life, Burnell thought, was such an unexpected mixture of the holy and the profane, a man could only wonder.

 

 

 

G
arron and Merry stood side by side on the ramparts of Wareham Castle. It was a fine day in late October, the sun shone bright overhead, the cows grazed in the pasture, now fenced in to the edge of the moat. From the inner bailey, they could hear the muffled sounds of dogs barking mixed with the laughter and shouts of children.

Garron said, “The news the king’s messenger brought us surprised me, I’ll admit it.”

“Come, Garron, you were honestly surprised that my mother wrote to King Edward? After all, she bested him, did she not? She escaped him, made him look like a fool. And now she wanted to put her fist beneath his nose yet again—my sister to wed a French nobleman. Aye, she was smiling when she wrote the letter, knowing we would hear of it sooner or later. Do you think she now owns a wealthy abbey?”

Garron would have given most anything to see the witch dead beneath the heel of his boot for all the misery she had wrought, but it was evidently not to be. He said, “She will probably outlive all of us, our children and their children as well.”

Merry said, “It doesn’t matter now, Garron. Let my mother parade her magick in France, let her bedevil the French,” and she laughed and laid her cheek against his shoulder. “Do you believe my mother might ever come here?”

I pray that she will
. “If she does, I will finally be able to kill her.” He hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud.

Merry said, her voice hard, “Not if I get to her first. What she did, the evil of it, I cannot bear it that she is my mother. And my nurse, Ella, loyal to my mother, not to me.”

His warrior
. “You will worry no more about any of them.”

“She even managed to take Ella with her when she escaped from England.”

“I was wondering if her incredible beauty would last,” he said as he picked out one of the small hidden braids tucked in amongst the thick plaits, and raised it to his nose. “It is odd that I knew you by the smell of your hair.”

You should have realized within the first five minutes that bitch was an imposter.
On the other hand—“At least you knew enough not to wed her.”

“Something deep inside me knew the truth, but how could I accept that you were really not you?”

“I was wondering since my mother loves my twin so very much, why she didn’t simply take me away and make her the Valcourt heiress.”

He looked out toward the Forest of Glen. “I think your mother knew there was something in your twin that wasn’t right. After several days with her, Merry, I knew I did not want to wed her, there was meanness in her, something unwholesome. Perhaps she feared your twin would turn on her or perhaps she wanted to keep her close.” He shrugged. “Who knows why she didn’t let her trade places with you?”

“I wonder if she is a witch like our mother.” She shuddered. “I will pray that the two of them curse each other and vanish. Aye, I like that notion.”

She leaned against the ramparts wall, and grinned up at him. “And just when is Lord Ranulf to arrive for his monthly visit?”

“Possibly tomorrow. He brings Halric with him.”

“He dares to bring that villain here?”

He touched his palm to her cheek. “Forgive him, sweeting. I have known many men whose deeds were much blacker than Halric’s who still hold the king’s trust. Halric wasn’t all that great a villain, Merry.”

“Ha! I will never trust him. He is still free to roam the land, free to kidnap another heiress as it pleases him to do so.”

His warrior
. He laughed, kissed her. “I still cannot believe Lord Ranulf plans to wed a knight’s daughter. He hopes to produce an heir to Carronwick. He says he’ll be damned if he will allow Arlette’s curse to wipe out his name.”

“I believe he would like to adopt you, Garron.”

He laughed. “If Ranulf has his way, I will doubtless foster any son his new wife manages to produce.”

“Or it means that if he doesn’t produce an heir, you will eventually have three huge holdings to govern. Can you begin to imagine what the king will expect from you?”

“It does not bear thinking about.”

Garron kissed his wife’s forehead and thought about life’s twists and turns, about fate, and about his brother—
Why, Arthur, why did you steal the silver coins
?
Surely you knew no good could come of it.
If, however, Garron thought, Arthur hadn’t stolen the silver, why then Garron’s life would be very different indeed. Merry wouldn’t be standing beside him, one small braid curving along her jaw. He lightly laid his palm over her belly, wondering whether a son or daughter lay under his hand, and all the intense feelings now burrowed deep inside him, enduring feelings he knew would continue until he died, burst out of him in words simple and abiding. “I love you, Merry,” he said.