by Mary Yarde
“I should be getting back,” Merton said, uncomfortably. “And I get the feeling you came here to be alone.” It was common knowledge that Amandine spent a great deal of her time, when she was here, stood looking out at the sea for a ship that was never coming in.
“Merton...” She touched his arm, and he inhaled unsteadily, before raising his eyes to her face.
“You deserve to be happy, Amandine. You really do.”
She bit her lip, unable to speak.
“Don’t let him keep you out here too long. It’s raining. Garren wouldn’t want you getting wet.” He smiled at her and began to walk away.
“Merton,” she made his name sound like a plea.
He turned slowly back around to look at her.
She took a moment to compose herself. “Promise me you will say goodbye before you go.”
He tilted his head slightly and smiled. “Don’t I always?”
13
Merton leant against a tree and watched Amandine from a distance. He respected her need for solitude, but he could not — he would not — leave her out here alone, and he cursed Lord Bretagne for being so complacent with his wife’s safety. Anything could happen to her. Merton ignored the fact that Amandine had done this a thousand times without an escort and had never come to any harm before. While he was here, he would ensure her safety. So he had hidden, as best he could and watched her.
But apparently he had not hidden well enough.
“Merton, there you are, we’ve been looking for you,” Yrre yelled as he and Wann rode towards him.
Merton glanced back towards Amandine. She seemed oblivious to anything but that empty horizon. Thank goodness, for he had no wish to explain himself. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t take kindly to being watched.
“What are you doing?” Yrre asked as he dismounted and walked towards Merton.
“Contemplating murder,” Merton spoke under his breath, but Yrre heard him.
“Whose murder?”
“Let me think…” Merton said as he glowered at Yrre.
“Mine?” Yrre pointed to himself. “What have I done now?”
“Have you always spied on women or is this a new thing?” Wann said as he led his horse forward.
“Women?” Yrre looked around until he spotted Amandine. “Oh…” He said sheepishly. “I didn’t realise.” Comprehension suddenly dawned on Yrre’s face. “By the gods, are you hiding from her?”
“Merton,” Wann said placing his arm around his leader’s shoulder. “There is nothing to fear. I am sure she will not bite. Just go up and introduce yourself. I’ll come with you if you want. A bit of moral support never hurt anyone.”
“Moral support?” Merton choked on the words as he shrugged himself free. “So generous. I’ll bear that in mind.”
“She is a beautiful woman. I’ll give you that,” Wann continued.
“How can you tell that from looking at her back?” Yrre quizzed, bemused. “She might have the face of a donkey.”
“She has a nice arse,” Wann stated, tilting his head to one side so he could appreciate the beauty in front of him. “And anyone who has an arse like that is bound to be a pleasure to the eye. And Merton’s women are always incredibly beautiful.” Even that witch he married had possessed a pretty face. But Wann wisely kept his opinions about her to himself.
“Women?” Merton said, somewhat affronted. Even before his wife, he had never been the sort of man who went from one bed to the next. Yes, he enjoyed the company of many a woman, but he did not take all of them to his bed. He had more respect for women, and for himself for that matter, to do something like that. If only he had kept his hands off Adèl.
“There is no point pretending to be someone you are not,” Wann said, clearly on a roll and loving every minute of it.
There was every reason. Merton thought. He knew Yrre was looking at him, and he knew Yrre wanted to say something to the contrary, but now was not the time. In fact, there would never be a right time.
“Luckily, we aren’t all cowards when it comes to the fairer sex. I think I will go and introduce myself.” Wann started to pull at his travelled stained clothes, trying to make himself look more presentable.
“She’s married,” Merton said, his gaze moving back to Amandine. She’s married — speaking those words insulted his tongue and left a bitter taste. He had no right. No right, to think of her at all. She wasn’t his responsibility. She never would be.
“I don’t understand. What’s your point…?” Wann said with a cheeky grin, as he finger combed his wet, windswept hair. “Married women make the best lovers — you don’t have to be so careful — it doesn’t matter if you put a child in their belly, they can pass it off as their husband’s. I have a string of sons who know nothing of their true origins, and that is fine by me.”
He received dark looks from both Merton and Yrre because of his words, but he didn’t care. “What do I look like?” Wann asked moments later.
“Bedraggled,” Yrre offered his opinion first.
“I do not look-”
“You are a little shabby,” Merton pointed out.
“Dishevelled?” Yrre said.
“That’s a good word. I like that one,” Merton said, glancing at Yrre and trying not to laugh.
“Thank you, Merton. I appreciate that. Your opinion means a great deal to me,” Yrre answered, keeping a straight face.
Wann narrowed his eyes, and a deep growl began to rumble in his throat.
“How about absurd? That’s a good word too?” Merton stated.
“Dishevelled and absurd,” Yrre looked Wann up and down, assessing his appearance. “Those words describe you accurately. Off you go. Good luck. If you don’t mind, we will just stay here and watch.”
“Moral support, you know,” Merton winked.
“She is going to shoot him down, isn’t she?” Yrre whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Merton, although his words were loud enough for Wann to hear.
“Like a duck,” Merton answered in the same tone.
“I am going to enjoy this,” Yrre said, folding his arms in front of him and leaning back against a tree. “Well, go on then…what are you waiting for?”
“You are only jealous because I have the balls to go up and introduce myself,” Wann said.
“You are right,” Merton said. “He’s right,” he addressed Yrre. “I am — I mean, we-”
“Yes, we,” Yrre reiterated.
“Are both,” Merton looked at Yrre again who nodded his head. “So incredibly jealous of you,” Merton laughed, and Yrre joined him. Wann stood where he was and glowered at them both.
“I’m sorry, Wann, I am,” Merton said. “But you don’t have a hope in hell. She is far, far above you.”
“I would wager that I will be in her bed by sundown,” Wann stated arrogantly.
“I would wager that you would be dead by sundown if you touched one hair on her head,” Merton countered, the laughter fading from his eyes. It was one thing to jest about approaching her, but it was quite another to insult her by laying a wager down. She wasn’t some cheap whore. “She was my brother’s wife and I would take it very personally if you touched her.”
“Was? Didn’t he want her anymore?”
“He died. He was lost at sea, many years ago.” Merton looked down at the ground and sighed heavily. He wished he could make it right for her. Perhaps if Garren had lived, then things would have been different. Maybe things would have been different for all of them.
“What is she doing, looking for his boat?” Wann asked, and Merton’s head snapped up, his face had lost any sign of amusement. How dare Wann make a jest about her grief.
“By the gods, I am right. That is what she is doing. If that’s the case, she must be a bit you know...” he made the sound of a cuckoo. “Oh…I wish you hadn’t told me that. Now you’ve gone and made me change my mind about introducing myself. And there goes my afternoon in the company of a good-looking woman. Damn you, Merton,” Wann
still spoke with humour.
“Why is she,” Yrre made the same cuckoo sound and looked at Wann for an explanation.
“For one — she married a du Lac. Of all the stupid things you could do that would have to be at the top of the list,” Wann teased. “And for another, she wants him back,” he shook his head as if he could not contemplate such a ridiculous thing. “If you ask me, she isn’t right in the head.”
“It’s a good job no one is asking you then,” Merton stated, his voice held a touch of anger. He would not stand here and listen to Wann insult her further.
“You are quick to jump to the lady’s defence. Why is that? Are you sleeping with her yourself? I thought you had sworn off women forever, after Adél,” Wann snorted in amusement. “I knew it wouldn’t last.”
Yrre grabbed Merton’s arm to stop him from retaliating. Damn Wann, he always took things too far.
“Forget about the woman,” Yrre said, gripping Merton’s arm more the tighter. “We came to find you because we needed to tell you something.”
“And what would that be?” Merton asked, his voice level, but there was a touch of ice to it, and Yrre knew he would have to tread carefully in case he unleashed the demon.
Yrre slowly released his hold on Merton’s arm and took a step back. “We came to warn you. There were two men, noblemen by the looks of their clothes, who came a little close to the camp. The younger of the two acted a little skittish and kept glancing over his shoulder as if he was afraid he was being watched.”
“He was being watched,” Wann stated. “We were watching him.”
“They went deeper into the woods, and we followed them,” Yrre said.
“They took us for a merry walk. They were careful to hide their tracks and backtracked on themselves more than once,” Wann added.
“Merton, I recognised one of them,” Yrre said, and his face showed his concern.
“Who was it?” There was an edge of panic in Merton’s voice that he hoped his comrades had not heard. He may not like Budic, but he didn’t want to be the one responsible for bringing a war to the kingdom. He had thought Wihtgar would not follow him here. To Cerniw maybe, but not Brittany. Only a fool would provoke the might of the Breton army. “Tell me it wasn’t one of Wihtgar’s scouts? Surely, they wouldn’t dare cross the border-”
“Wihtgar may be a royal pain in the arse, but he isn’t that irresponsible,” Wann answered.
“Can you remember when we were fighting in Powys?” Yrre asked, looking at Merton.
“Powys was a long time ago — but I remember it was a very long day,” Merton replied, and he felt an uncomfortable cold sensation travel down his spine at the memory. It had been so hot that day that the flies had swarmed around the horses, and men alike, like a black cloud of torment. By the day’s end, the flies were still at the banquet, biting those who had lived through the carnage, while laying their eggs on those who had perished.
“Can you remember their leader? He rode a-”
“A white horse with blood red eyes. I remember,” Merton said. He had never seen a horse with red eyes before. He tried not to listen to the superstitious stories told by the monks, but there was something about that horse which spoke of the darker realm. It had unnerved him. It had unnerved them all. And the man who rode the beast had been annoyingly familiar. Merton was sure they had met once before, but for the life of him, he could not give him a name.
“That man is here. I saw him.”
Merton scoffed, unbelieving. “He is dead.”
“I know what I saw, Merton. What we saw. It was the same man. I never forget a face.”
“Impossible. We saw his horse gallop away without him from that battlefield.”
“But we did not check to see if he was among the dead.”
“No, you are right we did not,” Merton recalled how he and Yrre had been paid for their services and then they had left not long after, for news had travelled that Wessex’s army was on the move, and Merton had been determined to catch up with him before he reached Cerniw. “I don’t suppose you happened to hear what these two men were talking about?”
“Oh yeah, we heard,” Wann said. “But they didn’t have the courtesy to speak in Saxon. The selfish bastards.”
“Budic’s name was mentioned, as well as yours and Alden’s, that much we could make out. In fact, your name was mentioned a great deal. We followed them to a cave, and they were gone a long time. When they came back, the one we didn’t recognise looked very pale. Something happened to him in there, and it wasn’t good.”
“And you spent time in prison?” Wann mocked, addressing Yrre. “Merton, what was that prisoner’s name? You know the one I am on about — Trace had that long conversation with him.” Wann smirked as he remembered the story.
“That man had lost his mind,” Yrre retorted, “and Trace was foolish to waste his time speaking to him.”
“He thought Trace was his mother come to take him home — poor old fool,” Merton said as he remembered.
“And he thought I was his wife. It seems we had the same colour hair,” Yrre stated. “He had been there over a year. He was a broken, tortured soul. I pray to the gods that he is dead. No man deserves to live like that. One of my fellow prisoners told me his story. He told me that he was a simple man, a farmer. His master had stolen away his wife on their wedding night, and he had not returned her. He had done what any good husband would have done and had gone looking for her. But they were waiting for him. They did unspeakable things to her, in front of him, and then they killed her and threw him into the prison to rot. Do you know he was only eighteen?”
“I thought he was in his forties,” Merton said, shocked, not only by the story but also by the age. “He looked so old.”
“He was eighteen,” Yrre repeated.
Last night Merton had made the whole experience sound comical when he told the story to Alden, but nothing had been funny about that night. That prison had been horrendous, from the tools of torture hung up on the wall to the smell of death, decay and faeces. In fact, the smell had been so awful that all of them had emptied the contents of their stomachs. How Yrre had survived that hell hole, and come out of it seemingly unscathed spiritually, Merton would never know.
“He looked frightened,” Yrre said.
“Who did?” Merton asked, still caught up in the memories of that terrible night.
“The man we didn’t recognise in the woods by the cave, keep up, Merton. That knight had put, what do you Christian’s call it, God of fear into him?”
“Fear of God,” Merton corrected. “Would you recognise him?”
“Yes,” Yrre answered immediately. “As I just said, I never forget a face. You should warn Budic. This is his kingdom after all,” Yrre said.
“Budic isn’t talking to me,” Merton had not meant to say that, and he regretted his words immediately. The Du Lac brothers had to be united — always. It was the one thing their father drilled into them.
“You and your brothers are not speaking to each other?” Wann asked with humour. “Next, you will be telling me that your family is weaved from the same cloth as Gondebaud. Was it Alden that murdered the Queen?”
“How dare you,” Merton said in a voice suddenly full of anger. “You know nothing about me or my brothers. You say something like that again and I will-”
“Merton,” Wann backed up a step, his hands coming up in front of him as if to ward off an attack. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Merton?” Yrre touched him on the shoulder and Merton flinched at the contact.
“Touch me again and you will become acquainted with my knife,” Merton warned, his eyes blazing with the threat.
“I’m not the enemy,” Yrre said, his voice soft and his hands spread wide, palms up in appeal. “And neither is Wann. We know Alden would never murder for political gain. No one is accusing him.”
Merton chose to walk away, because if he stayed, he would beat Wann to a pulp. “I am going back to the
Hall,” he said over his shoulder. “I need to find Alden. I need to warn him.”
“Good. We will come with you,” Wann said as he walked back towards Merton.
“No,” Merton turned sharply around. “Budic would see it as an act of war if I brought someone like you inside the grounds. And even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t trust you not to slit the throats of my brother’s guests, for their purses are very full, and they are very rich. Money is the only language you know, and you care not who you kill to get it.”
“Merton.” Yrre was outraged by his words. “Did you really just say that?”
“Are you taking the moral high ground with me?” Wann asked, rising to his full height.
“I speak how I see it.”
“Then perhaps I should take your eyes, for you have no need of them because you are already blind,” Wann snarled the threat, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “You have no right to judge me. What’s wrong, Merton? Is it this place? Do you miss it? Do you miss acting the Lord? Well, it is too late, you cannot go back, none of us can. You and I are the same. I have seen you kill for money. I have seen it countless times. We followed you. We didn’t have to. I, for one, was happy with Wihtgar. But I chose you. And now you insult me. I am not a savage. I can keep control of myself. I am the fourth son of a cyning, and I will not stand here and listen while you slur my good name-”
“Your good name? You are a murderer for hire — nothing more.”
Wann withdrew his sword. “And you’re not?”
“That’s enough,” Yrre said, coming to stand in between the two of them. “Put your sword away. You may be good with a blade Wann, but you aren’t that good.”
“And you…” Yrre turned to Merton. “Snap out of it. He said the wrong thing — but that is Wann, he does that. It is annoying, but he doesn’t mean any harm by it.”
“Don’t I?” Wann asked.
“Shut up,” Yrre ordered. “I am trying to save your bloody skin.” He turned his attention back to Merton. “I have bit my tongue over the last year, but I am not going to keep quiet anymore. You haven’t been right since Adèl came into your life. She bit you with her venom and ever since then you have been a shadow. Her poison is killing you, and I will not allow that.”