The Valcourt Heiress
Page 30
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?”
Mayhap he had a point. A very small point.
“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.
She laid her hand on top of his. “We love you too, my lord.”
The following day Lord Ranulf, the Earl of Carronwick, arrived at Wareham with his new bride of a sennight, Elise, so filled with enthusiasm Garron could only shake his head and laugh.