The Valcourt Heiress

by Catherine Coulter

  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.

  15

  Garron 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.”

  She touched her fingers to her hair. “My father liked the little braids as well.”

  “Where did you sleep before the Black Demon came?”

  “In the small room assigned to my father.”

  He slashed his hand through the air. “By Saint Andrew’s rotted teeth, you are too smart. When will you tell me the truth? When will you tell me who you are? When you came here? How you came here and why you were not killed? What does it matter now?”

  16

  She wondered if he could hear her heart, it pounded so loudly. She had to say something. Her chin went up. She lightly laid her hand on his arm. “I swear to you, my lord, that I will bring you no trouble.” Please, God, please, God, make that the truth, make my promise hold. “I am of no importance at all, well, mayhap there are people who want me, mayhap they want me badly, but I do not want them. I never want to see them again.” But what if her mother found her? Or Sir Halric? Or Jason of Brennan? No, not here at Wareham, it would be all right. No one knew she was here, there was no reason for anyone to ever find out. But there was Sir Halric. Would he figure out where she was and tell his master, Jason of Brennan? Would he tell her mother? Could her mother then simply come here and demand to have her back?

  No, it couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen. She was safe as long as she was useful to him. She planned to be very useful to him.

  “If you are of no importance, then why keep your identity from me?”

  She was silent as a rock.

  “But you admit there are those who want you. Tell me who they are. Do you not believe I will protect you?”

  She looked up at him. She had no more words.

  Garron said, “It is your father who searches for you, isn’t it? You ran away, didn’t you? Why?”

  “No, no, not my father.”

  “Ah, so it is someone else who wants you. Your mother, perhaps? A woman has no power, there is no reason to fear your mother.”

  If you only knew.

  “Don’t you believe I can protect you?”

  “Maybe.”

  Well, that was something. “Yet you want me to trust you? Trust you when you will not trust me with the truth? And for no logical reason I can think of?” He paused a moment, stroking his chin. “Mayhap you do know of the silver. You are a thief, here to steal it. Mayhap you are the one who poisoned my brother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t even here at Wareham! Listen, Garron, my lies are of no importance either. I am simply trying to protect myself. In truth I am a simple girl, young, and as you say, well made.”

  He did not smile. He leaned back against the rampart wall and crossed his arms over his chest, an intimidating pose, one she suspected he used quite often.

  “The fact is, I am here and I am able to help you return Wareham to its former glory. You are fortunate the keep wasn’t razed to the ground. We can rebuild all that needs to be rebuilt. Surely you can trust me in that, can you not? Were the roasted meats not delicious? Were not the stones in the great hall cleaned and swept? I can do more, I will do more. Your people will help me. They approve of me.”

  He stared down at her a moment. The black clouds had moved in, bringing instant darkness. He couldn’t see her expression clearly. “You could be an enemy,” he said slowly, “you could be here to murder me as my brother was murdered.”

  She didn’t move; he saw her hands clench into fists, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I am not your enemy. Indeed, I am very happy to be here. Please, let me earn my keep. Let me help you and your people.”

  “Who taught you what to do?”

  “Mayhap you could think of me as a witch. A witch can do anything.” A door suddenly opened in her mind. She was perhaps six years old, the first time she could remember seeing her mother. She had come to Valcourt to see Merry’s father, why, she didn’t know. She remembered soldiers followed her, even into the great hall. Merry crept after her to her chamber that night, the child wanting to be close to her mother. Instead, she’d watched her mother fall gracefully to her knees before a small pile of what looked to Merry like dried weeds. She listened to her mother’s beautiful voice chant strange words even as she crushed more weeds in her hands and threw them on the pile. Then she made a strange circular sign with her fingers. Merry watched her sprinkle what appeared to be sand over the weeds. They burst into flames. She’d never been so afraid in her life.

  She’d said nothing to anyone. She was too afraid. And she’d begun to hear the whispers then, everyone at Valcourt spoke behind their hands of her mother, and witchcraft. Was her mother really a witch? If so, why had she sought out a religious life? Why had she left her and her father and entered Meizerling Abbey?

  Garron gave a sharp laugh. “You, a witch? You are too guileless to be a witch. Besides, there is no such thing.” He looked away from her, back out over the sea, searched to see the horizon. “Just a moment ago, the water was flat, running smooth and black. Now you can practically feel the water pulse deep beneath the surface. Listen to the waves boiling up, soon they’ll strike the rocks. The storm is coming.

  “Tupper tells me he has a fine nose, something I don’t remember. Mayhap he has grown this fine nose in the past eight years. He tells me we will have howling winds and rain throughout the night, but the morrow will bring warmth and a sun high in the sky. If this comes to pass as he says it will, then we will go to Winthorpe.” He turned to stare down at her with a good deal of dislike. “Very well, I will let you keep your secrets if you continue to be useful to me.”

  He was going to leave it, thank St. Cladawr’s bulging eyeballs. She bowed her head, feeling light-headed with relief. “Thank you, my lord. I swear you will not regret it.”

  He had the distinct feeling, however, that he would come to regret it greatly.

  She said, “The queen was very generous, but the
re are still many items we must purchase. We need wool. Elaine, the woman with the two small boys, she is a seamstress, as is Talia. Borran is Wareham’s weaver. I too know how to spin and weave thread into cloth. I can help him since there is so much to be done. I can teach other women since there is so much need. I know Borran has already begun repairing the looms smashed by the Black Demon. We must make palliasses and stuff them with straw so our old people can sleep better.”

  He let her run on. Finally, he raised his fingertips and laid them against her mouth. “I’m certain you can do all these things. If you cannot, then we will see.” His fingers touched her bottom lip. Madness, he thought, it was madness to feel lust for this unknown girl. She had drawn his people in, so easily, it seemed, beginning with old Miggins. He dropped his hand to his side. “I have coin, but I will have to spend most of it on skilled laborers. Wareham’s carpenter wasn’t killed, but Inar is an old man. I am hopeful to find a new carpenter in Winthorpe he can teach. The steward was killed. At least Eller the armorer survived. The Black Demon did not destroy my farms, but the farmers need more seeds, something my brother had not provided them before he died.” He gave a short laugh. “I had believed myself rich, but I do not have enough to rebuild Wareham.”

  “Mayhap you could ask the king to find you an heiress.” She hadn’t meant to say the words, but they’d popped right out of her mouth. And just why was that?

  He laughed. “It is not a bad idea, except that heiresses do not fall like snow upon the ground. There are very few of them. Heiresses are also, I’ve heard, a very bad business.”

  “Surely that cannot be true.”

  “Of course it can. Indeed, it is common knowledge.”

  “A bad business? What do you mean, bad business?”

  “An heiress knows her own worth and thus she is too proud. She complains endlessly, she whines, she casts out orders, and all dislike her heartily and hate to look at her because she very likely has rabbit teeth and foul breath. To be a husband to an heiress curdles my guts.”