“I’ve come to talk to you about Merrick,” he said.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to leave, but she reconsidered. Merrick was still very much a mystery to her. Surely Henry could provide some answers.
“I assume you quarreled, and you took the garrison commander’s part,” he continued, studying her.
“With just cause,” she replied, her anger again rising as she thought of Merrick’s harsh decision. “Talek’s been a loyal soldier here for twenty years. Merrick has no reason to think he would deliberately harm him.”
Henry regarded her gravely, and for once, there was no hint of merriment in his eyes. “I fear, my lady, that your betrothed has a suspicious nature. I’m not sure he even trusts Ranulf and me, although we’ve been friends for fifteen years and sworn an oath of loyalty to each other.”
She sat on the edge of the stone bench and gestured for him to join her. “Fifteen years? You must have met him at Sir Leonard’s castle shortly after his cortege was attacked.”
Henry nodded. “I had just arrived myself.”
“Sir Leonard wrote to tell us what had happened and to assure us that Merrick was in no danger of dying. Then he wrote asking why Lord William didn’t come. Lord William said his son was no baby to need coddling. Let Sir Leonard take care of him, as was his duty.”
How hard-hearted Lord William had been. How selfish. How cruel. Even though his son had nearly been killed, he wouldn’t bestir himself a step.
“Perhaps because Merrick had no life-threatening wounds,” Henry suggested. “Even so, he didn’t talk to anyone, including Sir Leonard, for weeks. There was some fear his wits had been damaged since there was no wound to his throat. The physician thought it might be a result of the panic and fear from the attack. He had seen such things before in children. They didn’t find Merrick until the day after the attack, you see. He spent hours alone in the dark hiding from the men who’d slaughtered his uncle and the escort.”
“I didn’t know that,” she confessed. He must have been terrified, all alone and lost in the dark, with the bodies of those sent to protect him nearby. Was it any wonder, then, that he feared assassination?
“What made him finally speak?” she asked after a moment.
“Me,” Henry replied with a sheepish grin. “He told me to shut my mouth.”
In spite of her distress, Constance had to smile as she imagined a young and annoyed Merrick losing his patience with an equally young and lively Henry.
“After he was well enough to train with the other fostered boys I pestered him unmercifully. I kept asking him to help me.” Henry’s grin became a wistful smile. “It was obvious even then that he was the best of us all.”
That came as no surprise. Yet when Henry’s admission was accompanied by a sigh, she realized how distressing it must have been to always be surpassed by Merrick. “I’m sure you’re an excellent knight, too,” she said, using the same tone of voice with which she comforted Beatrice.
Henry’s eyes lit with pleasure. “How delightful of you to say so, my lady.” His expression softened. “But then, you are ever kindhearted and generous.”
She suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. Henry hadn’t said or done anything to make her fear that his motives were anything but genial and honorable, and yet…
“Ah, here you are, Henry,” Ranulf declared as he sauntered along the path toward them.
Constance shot to her feet. She could guess how this might look, especially to the cynical Ranulf.
Henry likewise scrambled to his feet, while Constance attempted to regain her composure. After all, she had done nothing wrong and she shouldn’t act as if she had.
“There’s no need to worry, my lady,” Henry said with a smile that was no doubt intended to be comforting. “Ranulf knows I have no seductive designs on you.”
She was not a young girl in need of reassurance. “That is well, sir,” she said sharply. “For if you did, you would be wasting your time.”
Ranulf’s brows rose. She didn’t see Henry’s reaction, because she didn’t look at him.
“You see, Ranulf?” Henry replied, sounding as merry as ever. “Even if I were the most practiced seducer in England, I stand no chance with her.”
She glanced at him and he laid his hand over his heart. “Although it wounds my pride to hear such a denunciation from those lovely lips.”
Constance frowned. Had the man no sense at all? “Sir, I’m in no humor for your jests.”
“Alas!” he cried in mock anguish. “A blow from your slender hands would pain me less!”
Constance had had quite enough of Henry. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have duties that require my supervision,” she said, and she headed for the gate.
AFTER LADY CONSTANCE HAD departed in high dudgeon, Ranulf turned to Henry. “What the devil were you doing?” he demanded, his eyes glittering like cold, hard stones.
“No need to get your breeches in a bunch,” Henry lightly replied. “I wanted to talk to her about Merrick, to try to see if I could broker a peace between them after their quarrel. I believe, my friend, that I may have succeeded.”
Ranulf relaxed. “Well, for God’s sake, take care. If somebody else had seen you alone with her here, who knows what mischief you might have made.”
“What about you? Did you have any better luck with Merrick?”
“I don’t think so. I tried, but he had something else he wanted to talk about.” With a rueful expression, Ranulf spread his arms. “Congratulate me, my friend. You’re in the presence of the new garrison commander of Tregellas.”
Henry stared at him in stunned disbelief. “What?”
“Since Merrick no longer has a garrison commander, he’s asked me to take that place until he can find another,” Ranulf replied.
“As if you’re some soldier for hire?” Henry demanded.
“As if I’m a man he can trust.”
“In that case, why not me?”
“Because he needs somebody who can command the garrison, not go drinking and wenching with them,” Ranulf replied with a sardonic grin.
“I wouldn’t…well, all right, maybe I would,” Henry genially acknowledged. He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “So what say we visit the village tavern and do a little of both to celebrate?”
“You, Henry, are completely incorrigible.”
“And that’s why you like me,” Henry agreed with a merry smile.
That didn’t quite reach his eyes.
LATER THAT NIGHT, LORD Algernon grabbed Lord Carrell’s arm and pulled him into the alley between the armory and the stables.
Carrell coolly regarded his confederate in the dim moonlight. “God’s blood, Algernon, whatever is the matter?”
“You didn’t pay him to do it, did you?”
“Pay who to do what?”
“Don’t play the fool, Carrell!” Algernon charged in a heated whisper. “Talek. Did you pay him to try to kill Merrick?”
“If there’s a fool here, it isn’t me,” Carrell retorted, going deeper into the narrow alleyway. “I’m not the one asking questions where any servant might overhear.”
“This is safe enough. Did you have a hand in it?” Algernon persisted.
“Certainly not. I’m sure it was an accident, as Talek claims. He has no reason to kill Merrick.”
“That we know of.”
Carrell frowned. “Why would he want his patron dead? You know as well as I that Talek was Merrick’s strong right arm when he was a boy. Talek surely had every reason to think Merrick would believe him. I must say, so did I—unless Merrick has another reason to wish the man gone. I wonder…”
“What?” Algernon asked eagerly. “What are you thinking?”
“Your brother’s son was a brat of a boy. Who can say what mischief he got up to, or what schemes he involved Talek in.” Lord Carrell stroked his chin. “It could be that Talek, not being overly shrewd, said the wrong thing to the new lord of Tregellas, reminded him of so
mething Merrick would prefer to forget. I doubt it was anything serious, though, or Merrick would likely have killed the fellow.”
Carrell sighed with regret. “No, it must be some minor indiscretion. What a pity. We could have used it against Merrick, perhaps. However, since Talek has already gone, our plan must remain as it is. Merrick marries Constance, they both die, you inherit Tregellas and my daughter becomes your wife. That’s more money and land for you, and a richer, more powerful husband for my daughter.”
“You make it sound like a simple thing.”
“Nothing will go wrong as long as we keep our heads and stick to our plan.”
“And if Constance doesn’t prove a problem. I’m not convinced—”
“You leave my niece to me. If she wasn’t such a beauty and didn’t have a considerable dowry, I’d be more worried. But as it is, I think we have little reason to fear.”
Algernon nodded, but he continued to look anxious. “What of our allies in the north?”
“They grow impatient, as such men do. I’ve told them we must wait until all is well in hand here. I’ve assured them things are progressing as they should, but no doubt more letters will have to be sent. They’re like children who need to be told again and again that nothing can be achieved by haste. Now you’d best go back to the hall before we’re seen here. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Algernon put his hand on Carrell’s arm. “I’ll never forget what you’re risking for me.”
“And my daughter,” Carrell reminded him in case the stupid fool remembered that Carrell’s family stood to gain, as well.
Algernon checked to make sure no one was watching, then crept out of the alley and headed for the hall.
As Lord Carrell watched him go, his lip curled with scorn and he thought, with great satisfaction, of the lands he would rule in his daughter’s name when her envious, self-pitying idiot of a husband was dead.
EVEN LATER THAT NIGHT, TALEK stared into the fire in Peder’s stone cottage. He was dressed as any traveler might be, in cloak, tunic, breeches and boots, with a full purse tucked inside his wide belt, and a sword dangling at his side.
“Twenty years I’ve served the lords of Tregellas—twenty years!—and he dismisses me as easily as if I’d come yesterday,” he muttered, kicking the bundle that held his clothes and everything else he possessed. “Wasn’t I a good servant to him when he was a boy? Didn’t I follow him about like a dog, just as I was ordered, and him the most spiteful, vicious brat in Christendom? I only wish I had stuck him with my boar spear!”
“Then you’d be dead for sure,” Peder replied.
Talek took another swig of ale.
Peder leaned forward, trying to see Talek better in the dim light. “So it was an accident, then?”
“Aye,” Talek muttered, running his hand over his close-cropped hair. “Why would I want to kill him?”
“Because he wants to put a stop to the smuggling?” Peder suggested.
Talek snorted. “That’s not likely to work, no matter how hard he tries. This coast is too tricky to patrol, even with the army he’s got at Tregellas. He’d be no more of a nuisance than his father.”
“Maybe you wanted to help Lady Constance be free of him.”
“Me and my men would have backed her if she’d asked us.”
“Could be she’s afraid to refuse him,” Peder proposed.
“Her? Afraid?” Talek scoffed. “If she wasn’t afraid of the old lord, why’d she be afraid of the new one?”
“She wasn’t betrothed to the old one. Now she’s lost a man who’d protect her.”
Talek whistled softly. “That bloody bastard.”
Peder poured them both more ale from the pitcher at his elbow, then stretched out his legs and shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his aching hip. “Where’ll you go now?”
Talek’s wide mouth turned up in a smile and his eyes blazed with determination. “Not far.”
IT BEGAN IN THE HOUR JUST before dawn two nights later, with a small spark set to an oiled rag tucked into a pile of straw in the shed beside the mill. From there, the fire spread to the barrels of tallow used to grease the gears in the wheel pit of the mill. Then to the old, dry timbers supporting the roof. Squeaking in panic, mice and rats scurried from their holes, seeking escape as smoke filled the building.
When the timbers were well ablaze, the wind picked up more sparks and sent them spinning in the air toward the mill and the sluice channeling the water from the leat to the wheel. The great wooden wheel itself and the main shaft of white oak were too wet to catch fire, but the cinders blew into the wheel pit. There the fire found more to feed on—tallow around the lantern gear, and the dry wood of the inner shaft and spindle.
Like capering children the flames raced up the spindle to the rap, the shoe and the hopper, onward to the floor above. The millstone casing caught fire. And the garners storing the grain to be ground. Eventually the entire inner workings of the mill, the beams and the floors were all aflame.
CHAPTER NINE
THE BEDCHAMBER OF THE LORD of Tregellas was dark, save for the flickering light of a single candle on the table beside the large bed, its heavy dark blue curtains drawn.
How or why Constance had come there, she didn’t know…but she knew she shouldn’t linger. She had no business here. She should go…except that her feet wouldn’t—couldn’t—move.
The curtains were slowly parted by a strong male hand.
Merrick’s hand. He was there, in the bed, covered to his waist by a sheet, the rest of him naked and exposed, his long hair unbound. He sat up and smiled slowly, seductively. “Come to me, Constance,” he whispered as she stood rooted to the spot. “You know it’s what you want.”
She didn’t dare move. If she went to him, if she let him enfold her in his arms and take her to his bed, she would never be free of him.
But did she want to be free of Merrick? If she were his wife, he would protect her. He would treat her kindly and with respect, as his father and her uncle never had. She would be cherished, for she’d seen more than lust in his eyes when he looked at her.
Why not surrender? Why not take what he offered and what, deep in her heart, she truly wanted?
She took a hesitant step forward. Then another. His smile grew and his passionate eyes gleamed in the candlelight. He raised his hand, reaching out for her.
Sounds from outside interrupted. Far-off, distant, but persistent, and her dream dissolved.
Struggling awake, Constance stumbled out of bed and went to the window, sucking in her breath when her feet touched the cold stone floor.
The wall walks were deserted. No guards were at the gates. Where were the soldiers? Where was Merrick?
A group of men went running through the courtyard, half dressed and unarmed. Were they under attack? Had it come to civil war at last?
Smoke. Smoke was in the air. Where did it come from? She scanned the yard and buildings around it. Not the kitchen or the stables. Not anywhere in the castle.
Then she saw the illumination against the dark night sky and realized what it meant. The mill was on fire!
Pulling on her shoes, Constance hopped to the chest where she kept her basket of medicines. They might be needed. Then she threw a gown over her shift, tied the laces as best she could, grabbed her basket and rushed to Merrick’s bedchamber. She opened the door without pausing to knock.
Merrick was already gone. He must have heard the commotion. She pulled the door shut as Beatrice, rubbing her eyes, appeared on the threshold of her bedchamber, a bedrobe over her shift. “What is it?” she asked sleepily.
“The mill’s on fire. I must go and see if I can help.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened in alarm. “What can I—?”
“Go to the kitchen. Tell Gaston to make soup and stew—lots of it.”
“Why would—?”
Constance didn’t stay to answer. Nor did she seek out the uncles or their guests. All she could think about now was the hor
rible possibility that someone might be hurt, perhaps even dead.
Holding her basket, she ran down the stairs to the hall. A group of frightened servants huddled near the kitchen. They gave a cry when they saw her and hurried to her.
“Oh, my lady, what can we do?” Demelza asked, tears in her eyes as she wrung her hands. “It’s the mill. It’s on fire. Oh, what’ll we do?”
“You women go to the kitchen. Prepare food, and do as Lady Beatrice commands. She’s in charge while I’m at the mill. You men, follow me,” Constance ordered.
Her basket over her arm, she gathered up her skirts and ran to the mill as fast as she could. The servants following her were joined by the village women who had no young children to tend.
As Constance got closer to the river, the sight that met her eyes confirmed her worst fears. The wooden parts of the mill were completely ablaze. Flames shot out of the wheel pit and the open door, and flickered around the edges of the slate roof, telling her the beams were alight. Smoke billowed into the sky, obscuring the moon and stars.
A clear night—heaven help them, for never had they needed rain more.
Around the mill, illuminated by the flames, coughing from the smoke, choked by the chaff thick in the air, several men and women stood motionless, stunned by the disaster unfolding before them.
Others—thank God!—had formed a line from the leat to the mill. They dipped leather or wooden buckets into the water and passed them on to those who flung the contents onto the nearest flames. Children took the empty buckets and ran them back to those at the leat.
Was that Ranulf bending and handing off buckets, grabbing more with frantic haste? Where was Merrick? And Henry?
She ordered the men from the castle to join those fetching water.
A cry went up as the roof of the mill collapsed, flames shooting into the dark sky. For a moment nobody moved, until Merrick’s deep, commanding voice rang out. “More water! Don’t stop!”
He was to the west, naked to the waist, helping to tear down the slate roof of the shed where the tallow was stored. It, too, was aflame, sparks flying from it toward the miller’s house. If they could bring down the roof, it would smother most of the flames before the miller’s house was in serious danger.
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