Catherine Coulter

by The Valcourt Heiress

  “To make a man well again is surely more important than giving a sick or dead man tools, my lord.”

  He eyed her with dislike, as Rabel, trying not to look too pleased with himself, carefully wrapped white linen around the book and reverently handed it to Garron. “You will guard it, my lord. I am glad it is now yours, in your protection. I feared someone would steal it. It was my own grandmother who bought it from the monk. She was a witch, a very good one.”

  Garron looked down at Merry. “It appears to form a circle since it comes to a witch.”

  “A witch’s daughter.” She came up on her tiptoes to say close to his ear, “I read that if a poisoned man drinks old wine with the ooze from the white horehound, the poison will soon pass off. Now you are safe, my lord.”

  “It is a pity my brother did not know this.”

  She frowned. “Miggins said it happened so quickly there was nothing to be done.”

  He told her of the twenty workers and their families he had hired to come to Wareham.

  “I trust the families will bring sufficient clothing and bedding. Ah, we must build dwellings for the families. The unmarried men, how many are there, my lord?”

  “Six are unwedded.”

  “Where will they live?”

  “We will add to the soldiers barracks, a large dormitory, perhaps.”

  “Are any of these men older?”

  “Aye, three are, and they are masters at their crafts.”

  “We must build them dwellings as well. They will not want to spend their time with heedless young men, cursing and spitting and butting heads.”

  When Garron stopped a moment to examine a handsaw, Merry, standing just behind him, saw Sir Lyle speaking to one of his men. The man nodded and slipped away. What was that about? She didn’t like Sir Lyle, hadn’t the moment she’d met him, hated the way he’d looked down his nose at her as if she were worth less than nothing.

  But she forgot Sir Lyle when Garron began discussing each of the new workers he had hired, and where they would build their dwellings.

  Night was falling, warm and clear, when Garron heard the sound of a stream and called a halt. Pali found a nearby clearing large enough for all of them, the mules and the horses. Merry watched the horses docilely follow Hobbs to drink from the stream. He returned humming to the camp, again, the horses following him. Garron smiled at Damocles, that mean irritable animal who would delicately eat a dried apple from Hobbs’s hands. Gilpin removed all the bundles from the mules’ backs, fed them, and led them to the stream.

  Aleric brought down two rabbits for dinner and Pali roasted them over a blazing fire. Merry wanted to help, but she quickly saw this was a routine and each man knew what he was to do, and so she sat down cross-legged and sang them songs. After they ate the rabbit, she sang more songs. Pali told her a voice like hers had made the stars shine brighter. “Ha,” Garron said.

  She pointed upward. “Garron, but look at that star just over Gilpin’s left shoulder. It is so bright I can see Pali’s red eyes reflected in its light. I am good, am I not?”

  He laughed and threw a rabbit bone at her.

  The following day dawned warm. They stopped at a small alehouse, the Hoary Rabbit, in the tiny hamlet of Kersey-on-Dale, halfway through their remaining five-hour trek back to Wareham. Garron wanted to see if anyone here knew anything about the Retribution at Wareham and the Black Demon. He discovered quickly enough that everyone knew. However, no one knew the Black Demon’s identity, or admitted to knowing.

  Garron bought a flagon of ale for Sir Lyle and invited him to sit with him on the long bench in the alehouse.

  “You are missing one of your men. Solan is his name, if I remember aright.”

  Sir Lyle said, “Aye, Solan had belly cramps. I left him to take his ease beneath an elm tree. When he recovers, he will return to Wareham.”

  Garron took a drink of the tart ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked out the narrow window at a bent old woman tugging at a rope tied around a pig’s neck.

  A reasonable answer, but Garron wondered.

  Sir Lyle stilled, no part of him moved, even his eyes. He slowly lowered the cup of ale to the scarred tabletop. He said easily, “You doubt my word? I am your man, my loyalty is to you, to none other. I came with England’s chancellor, the king approved of me.”

  This was true. Garron nodded slowly.

  “I will go keep watch over our supplies.” And Sir Lyle strode out of the tavern.

  When Garron emerged, he heard a small gasp. He stilled immediately. “Merry?”

  “Ye tell me where yer silver coins be, my lord, and ye can have the wench back with her gullet still inside her neck.”

  He turned very slowly to see a man holding Merry tightly against him, a knife point against her neck.

  Be calm, be calm. “Very well,” Garron called out, “I will tell you where the silver coins are but you must release her.”

  “Ye think me a fool? I’ll not trust a big’un like ye to keep yer word. Url, show our fine young lad what ye can do.”

  Garron felt the sharp tip of a knife press into the middle of his back, through his thick tunic, to stick into his flesh. He heard the man’s breathing, ragged, and knew he was afraid.

  “Aye, ye hold yerself still and Url won’t shove it through yer back. Now, where did yer brother hide the silver coins?”

  Merry gave a soft, terrified cry and slumped forward in a dead faint. The man automatically loosened his hold, yelled, “What are ye doing, silly wench!” and Merry slipped unconscious to the ground. When the man bent down to pull her up, she rolled onto her back, raised her feet, and struck him as hard as she could in the groin. The man dropped his knife, grabbed himself, and doubled over. Merry struck him again in his side, and this time he fell to the ground, moaning and crying. She grabbed up the knife.

  The knife against Garron’s back shook, and he smiled even as he whirled about and cuffed Url on the side of his head with his fist. He yelled, “Aleric! A moi!”

  “Garron, behind you!”

  Garron whirled about, brought up his fist, and slammed it into the new man’s jaw. His blow was so hard, the man went flying backward to land hard on his back. He didn’t move. Merry watched Garron calmly bend down over the man and pull the knife out of his hand. He slapped him once, twice.

  But he didn’t move.

  Garron stood when he saw Aleric, Sir Lyle at his side, both their swords drawn, running toward him. In that moment, the man jerked up, rolled up onto his feet, and ran into the woods behind the inn. “Let him go,” Garron called out when Aleric would have gone after him. “We still have two of them. They will tell us what we need to know.”

  Aleric sheathed his sword. “Well done, my lord. You kicked that one cockshead in his parts?”

  “Nay, Merry did that.” He saw in his mind’s eye the dirty lad he’d rescued kick Berm in his groin right before Garron had hurled his knife into his throat. He frowned, then dismissed it.

  “This one here, I clouted in the head. And for the one who ran, I hit him in the jaw, but evidently not hard enough. Have you seen either of these two before?”

  Both Aleric and Sir Lyle studied the men, then shook their heads. Sir Lyle called out to his men, but neither knew the two scoundrels.

  Garron went down on his haunches beside the man who’d held the knife to his back. No, not a man, more a boy, and he was filthy. His eyes were open and he was sniffling. He moaned and raised his hand to press against his head. Garron leaned close. “Tell me, Url, who hired you?”

  The boy was so afraid he was shaking. “I dinna know, I swear it, my lord.”

  Garron drew his knife and began to slide his fingers up and down the blade. “I won’t kill you if you tell me. Who hired you? How much did he pay you?”

  The boy shook his head again, his eyes on that knife, and moaned at the pain in his head. He whispered, “After we found out where yer brother hid the silver coins, after I kilt ye, then he said he’d pa
y us. I don’t know who he was, niver saw him afore.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “His head were down, I couldna see him.”

  “You agreed to kill a man without seeing a single coin?”

  “Aye, why not? But the man, he gave us each a bit to make us want to gain the rest after we kilt ye.”

  Aleric knelt down beside Garron and shoved his hands into the boy’s pockets. He pulled out three half pennies. “Evidently he did not believe these young louts needed much to urge them to murder.”

  Garron walked to the other man, still lying on his side, moaning and holding himself. “Who hired you?”

  This man was older, as dirty as the boy, only there were years of meanness in his eyes. He looked beyond Garron to Merry, and there was bone-deep rage in his eyes. He spat in the dirt. “I’ll kill ye, wench, I’ll kill ye with me bare hands! Yer a female, yer not supposed to hit a man like that, it’s vile and unnatural!”

  Merry growled deep in her throat, took a step toward him, and raised her foot. The man yelped and tried to roll away.

  Garron leaned down and struck him in the jaw. The man fell back, unconscious. He looked up at Merry, her foot still raised. “Well, that was a mistake. I should have left him conscious to enjoy some more pain and answer my questions. We’ll take them back to Wareham, question them there. We’ll find out who hired them. I believe this fellow knows.”

  “Oh aye,” Aleric said, and rubbed his hands together. “Remember that French assassin who wouldn’t tell you who had hired him to kill the king? Ah, that was fine sport, wasn’t it, Garron?”

  Garron realized Url was listening. He laughed. “The man was a coward, he yelled so loudly when you pulled out his fingernails and toenails, the king remarked that it curdled his cow’s milk.” Garron paused, saw the young man’s face was perfectly white, a feat since he was so dirty. He rose, dusted his hands on his breeches. “They can think about their fingernails whilst we ride home.”

  Garron felt his blood begin to slow. He turned to Merry, the anger still burning hot in her eyes. “You should have stayed with Aleric. Now, breathe deeply, and calm yourself. Do you know, not long ago I saw a boy kick a scoundrel in the groin just as you did. And you did it well, Merry, although you were an idiot, since that lout could have shoved that knife into your neck in an instant.”

  He was right, she knew, she hadn’t thought, hadn’t considered. She’d found a recipe for curing hiccups and wanted to tell him. She began frantically rubbing her throat. “Oh dear,” she said, staring up at him, saw that knife slice right through her neck. “Oh dear,” she repeated, and she fell over in a dead faint.

  As Garron lifted Merry into his arms and carried her to Damocles, Aleric spoke calmly, “Pali, Gilpin, bind the two scoundrels, Garron wants to question them when we reach home.” He said louder, knowing both men were listening, “And I will leave my knife dull and dirty, ’twill be more fun shoving it beneath fingernails.” He slanted a look at Garron, said quietly, “It was a fine tale of torture you spun to the boy. I doubt not that he, at least, will be more than willing to spill everything he knows. As for the other one, he’s hard, that one. Gilpin, bring Merry’s horse. Sir Lyle, will you keep watch on the two prisoners?”

  Sir Lyle nodded. He looked angry. And Garron wondered if his anger was because these men had tried to kill him or because they’d failed.

  Garron mounted his horse, still holding Merry against him. He let her be for several minutes, then slapped her face. “Come on, wake up. One moment you are a hero and then you collapse like an empty goat bladder.”

  “I am not a goat bladder.”

  He grinned over her head as he clicked Damocles forward.

  “Oh dear, I did not really faint, did I?”

  “You fell to the ground like a rock.” And he began whistling.

  “It is not fair. I am a hero.”

  19

  It could all have ended so differently, she kept thinking, and found herself again rubbing where the man’s knife had pressed against her throat. To distract herself, she began chanting a recipe for curing loose bowels from Leech Book of Bald. Everything had turned out all right. She and Garron were both fine, and they were now nearing home.

  Only days, she thought, since she’d been kidnapped by Sir Halric and his three villains. Yet it was beginning to feel distant, just as Valcourt and her life there was receding with each passing hour. She looked up to see the sun had disappeared, locked behind darkening clouds. The afternoon was growing colder, and she shivered.

  She pulled her cloak tightly around her and drew Satan closer to Damocles. “How did those three men know?”

  Garron said matter-of-factly, “In all the towns we’ve visited, everyone knew about the Black Demon’s attack on Wareham and why. Someone realized he could make a lot of silver and so he hired the three men, though his selection did not show particular intelligence on his part. But he did have to act quickly.”

  “Or it could have been someone in Wareham who knew where we were going.”

  “Aye, so it could. I dislike traitors. I really do.”

  Merry said without thought, “I saw Sir Lyle speaking to his man Solan, and then Solan disappeared.”

  A black brow shot up as Garron turned to look at her. “What is this? You doubt Sir Lyle, believe he is the traitor?”

  “There is something about him I do not trust.”

  “What is that?”

  “I am not sure how to say it. I suppose it is the way he looks at you.”

  “I am a stranger to him. He doubtless looks at me because he wants to gain my measure. The king himself sent Sir Lyle to me.” His voice sharpened. “Has he bothered you?”

  “Nay, but he does not like me either.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Come, you can always tell when another doesn’t like you. He looks at me like he doesn’t trust me and his eyes are always so cold.”

  “Mayhap he does not trust you, Merry. Mayhap he realizes, just as I did, that you are no priest’s byblow, and he fears you will try to harm me.”

  “For anyone to think I could hurt you—that is idiocy.”

  “Aye, it is. I could wring your neck as easily as a chicken’s.”

  She wanted to strangle him. “That is not what I meant and you know it. This is not a jest, Garron.”

  “Aye, I know it.”

  “This is very serious.”

  He gave her a small smile. “After what you did to that lout who stuck his knife to your neck, I suppose I must now take care around you.”

  Her shoulders went back, her chin up, and his smile grew just a bit. “Aye, I did well, did I not?” She said very deliberately, “My father taught me. He told me kicking a man just there would stop even a giant in his tracks. And he laughed at that. I had never tried it before.” Lie, lie. “It worked. I have proven myself to you, to your men.” She flung out her arms. “I have proven myself to the world.”

  He laughed now, though his fear for her was still a knot in his belly. The fear was gone from her eyes. As a matter of fact, she looked proud as Gilpin had the time he’d managed to trip a man who’d tried to slit Garron’s throat in Marseilles.

  Ah, but that villain could have so easily slid that knife into her neck and she’d be dead, and—No, he wasn’t going to say any more about it. “Aye, you’ve proved yourself to the world. You were a warrior. Tell me, Merry, have you ever seen Sir Lyle before?”

  She frowned, shook her head.

  Did he himself trust Sir Lyle? Down in his gut where it counted?

  An hour later they were back at Wareham and greeted with loud cheering and great excitement when all the laden pack mules were in the inner bailey. Garron turned the twenty men he’d brought back with him from Winthorpe over to Aleric. Their families would be arriving within a sennight. Until dwellings were constructed, the great hall would be full to bursting.

  He did not go to the granary to visit his two prisoners until it was nearly tim
e for the afternoon meal. Merry was on his heels the instant she realized what he was going to do. “Leave me alone with them, I will make those worms tell you the truth,” she said, chin up.

  Ah, the arrogance, he thought, and found himself smiling at her. “No, Aleric and I will question them first. If we fail, you may be certain I will call upon you. They have enjoyed several hours by themselves to consider their sins and their fingernails. It’s very dark down there, the walls oozing damp and cold. It should make their tongues loosen.”

  “But—”

  He patted her hand, and left her. He and Aleric walked down the stairs, and Aleric unlocked the granary door and shined a rush torch inside. The two men lay on filthy straw, their backs against the cold stone walls. Both appeared to be asleep.

  “Do you think they’re ready for your fine care, Aleric?” Garron called out, his voice echoing back to him.

  There was no movement from either man.

  Garron frowned, then he cursed and ran to where they lay. They were dead. Both had been garroted, the ropes still around their throats.

  He cursed until he was repeating animal body parts. “They’re cold to the touch, Aleric. They were murdered not long after we arrived home.” Garron rose slowly to his feet. “We have a traitor right here in Wareham. By all the disciples’ martyred sisters, I do hate traitors.”

  Garron wondered what Robert Burnell would have to say to this.

  Burnell had plenty to say when Garron told him during dinner. He carefully laid down the pheasant bone on his trencher. “I cannot accept this, I cannot. Yet another traitor here at Wareham?”

  “Evidently so, sir. Since both the prisoners are dead, there is no way I can determine who hired them. Tell me about Sir Lyle.”

  “Sir Lyle? Come, Garron, that is not possible, surely it is not. I cannot credit it, I cannot, for it would mean I was duped, and surely that cannot happen.”

  “Then mayhap it was one of the king’s men you brought with you, sir. My own men and I have been together since I was a green lad. There is no one else. Miggins or Tupper would have told me if there was a stranger lurking around.”