Catherine Coulter

by The Valcourt Heiress

  The chair weighed more than Vivien did, and so Garron fetched the chair himself. Once he was seated, Blanche of Howarth moved to stand beside him. She placed a proprietary white hand lightly on his shoulder.

  Garron was appalled. What was she doing? Didn’t she realize Merry was like as not to stick a knife in her ribs? He saw Merry looking from his face to Blanche’s hand, her eyes narrowing, and he knew she was wishing for that knife. He wanted to tell Blanche to take three steps away from him, for her own safety. He cleared his throat.

  “Wine for our visitor, Mathilda,” the queen said.

  Mathilda of Matthis poured him a glass of ruby red Aquitaine wine, from Graelam de Moreton. The queen said comfortably as he tasted the wine, “You know Graelam, do you not, my lord?”

  “Aye, I know him well. I nearly broke my neck two years ago when I tried to ride his destrier on a wager. I was doing well until Graelam whistled. The brute threw me into a mess of thorn bushes, the destrier, not Graelam. He was laughing too hard to do anything.”

  The queen laughed as well. “As Baron Cotswolt told you, my lord, the king is visiting his uncle in Cornwall. A messenger arrived yesterday with a letter from him. He wrote that Graelam and Kassia are in residence, as well as his daughter, Philippa, and her husband, Dienwald de Fortenberry, and their children. The castle is evidently trembling with all the noise. I could tell he wished I was there with our children as well.”

  Blanche smiled toward Garron. “I remember picking thorns out of you, Garron. There were thorns everywhere.”

  I’m going to Hell. There is Satan with his arms open ready to receive me.

  Merry rose slowly to her feet, her eyes never leaving Blanche’s face. “When Garron and I are wed, I will pull all the thorns out of his hide. No one else. You will remove your hand from my betrothed’s shoulder or I will prepare a decoction to turn your face blue. I am very nearly a healer.”

  There wasn’t a single breath drawn for a good three seconds.

  The queen finally said, “Aye, Blanche, Lord Garron is shortly to belong to another lady. I do not believe your husband would like to have you returned to him with your lovely face blue. Dark blue or light blue, Merry?”

  “Well,” Merry said, “mayhap she would become a blue cow. The decoction I’m thinking about isn’t always predictable.”

  Blanche’s hand bunched into a fist before she finally lifted it from his shoulder.

  The queen said, “Do you know, ladies, I have kept thorns out of my own lord’s perfect self for years upon years now. It is a wife’s duty.”

  The ladies laughed politely.

  The queen said, “I see no reason for you and Merry not to be wed, Lord Garron. You are no longer the king’s guard, you are an earl. You now have wealth and rank. You will simply add more wealth and another title. My lord will ensure you will govern both Valcourt and Wareham wisely. Merry, I give you and Lord Garron of Kersey permission to wed. Indeed, I will see to it myself. My lord wrote he would be home within a sennight. It will be done then, unless, naturally, you have committed some foul deed, Lord Garron, then I do not know what will happen to you.”

  “He is too noble, too kind, to commit any foul deed, my lady.”

  The queen laughed. “I jest, Merry, please do not faint.”

  It was too easy, Garron thought, simply too easy. When the king returned, he would look at Garron and denounce him for a worthless upstart. Garron rubbed his neck.

  33

  LONDON

  I will wed him tomorrow. I will make a list of good deeds, and I swear I will do all of them.

  She was going to wed him. She wanted to shout it from every rooftop in London, though there probably weren’t very many of the incredible number of inhabitants in this mud-soaked filthy city who would know or care.

  Merry was wearing one of Vivien’s gowns, long in the torso with sleeves that came to a point below her hands and a braided golden belt that fit snugly around her hips. The gown reached the floor, something that made her smile since she’d become used to Lady Anne’s too-short skirts. She knew Eleanor had sent a message to Valcourt to have all her belongings sent here to court. Her maid, Ella, would accompany the belongings. She missed the woman who’d raised her from a babe. From her earliest memories, it was Ella’s face she saw—

  “You are daydreaming, Merry. Just look at your stitches.” Vivien of Leicester laughed as she pointed to the four crooked stitches on the soft silk cloth. The queen, seeing that peace reigned, left her ladies to gossip and sew to speak to a courtier, and so Vivien poked Merry lightly in the ribs. “You are seeing your lord naked, are you not? Seeing him come over you and—” Vivien gave a delighted shudder.

  The ladies snickered and leaned in close.

  Alice of Kent said with great practicality, “She is not a maid, Vivien, so she knows what he will do.”

  “He must have done it very well since she dreams away the afternoon,” said Mathilda of Matthis. She paused a moment, frowned into the distance. “Although I cannot recall Garron ever doing such things badly.” She turned to Merry. “I trust you were a virgin?”

  Merry blinked. Mathilda of Matthis? She and Garron?

  “How many times did he take you, Merry? I know he has great stamina.”

  Goodness, he would do that more than once? Merry smiled at all of them indiscriminately. She’d forgotten that absolutely nothing was left unsaid even amongst the ladies, and it had embarrassed her horribly before. But not now. “I was indeed a virgin,” she said easily. She paused a moment, her head cocked to the side. “I had not expected him to be so very big.”

  There was silence, then bursts of laughter.

  “Ah, that is the truth.” Alice patted her knee and gave her a sloe-eyed look that put Merry on the alert. “Lord Garron is well fashioned, several of us already know that well, do we not?” She gave a tinkling laugh. “But never mind that. Tell us, Merry, was he careful with you since you were an innocent? Or was he a bull?”

  “He was a bull.” Alice of Kent? Did the man never sleep?

  Blanche said smoothly, “How odd that he did not go easily with you. Mayhap he did not believe you were a virgin, thus his, ah, enthusiasm.”

  Merry looked at Blanche’s white throat, wondering if her hands were large enough to squeeze the life out of the cow.

  Alice said, her voice matter-of-fact, “You bring him great wealth. It is a good union.” She paused a moment, frowned. “We were told of the Black Demon and how he devastated Wareham and his men raped all the maids. Indeed, we helped the queen make a list of all Lord Garron would need at Wareham.”

  “Everything the queen sent was used, thank you all.”

  “But how—”

  Merry said, “It isn’t important.” She shrugged. “I merely tried to fix everything.”

  Blanche laughed. “You, fix everything? How is this possible?”

  Before she could answer, Alice added, “Come, tell us how you came to be with Lord Garron. Did he visit Valcourt before your father died? Did you sneak away with him? Tell us why you were with him.”

  Merry shook her head, but kept a smile firmly in place. “Garron wishes this to remain our secret.”

  “By all the Devil’s cloven hooves, why?”

  Merry gazed at Mathilda of Matthis, saw the avid curiosity in her dark eyes, and shook her head again. “Why do we not speak of my new wedding gown?”

  Luckily, at that moment, the queen returned, so the ladies were forced to speak of the gown the queen herself was directing made for Merry, her wedding gift to the couple.

  When Gilpin fetched Merry an hour later, Blanche insisted upon accompanying her back to her chamber. She walked beside her down the long corridor. Merry heard Gilpin speaking to someone behind her. The corridor was filled with soldiers, guards, ladies, servants, courtiers—all of them talking. Merry shivered. Weren’t they cold? The beautiful line of thick wool tapestries covering the walls didn’t keep the cold from leaching through the stone, even in deep midsummer
. “What do you want, Blanche?”

  Blanche looked to see that Gilpin was at least ten paces behind them, flirting with Mathilda’s maidservant. “He marries you because he has no choice. You removed all his choice when you whined to the queen.”

  “Don’t be a dolt, Blanche. Think of all the wealth I bring him.”

  “But he does not like you, that was quite clear to everyone. He thinks you a silly little girl with naught but dreams of daffodils in her head.”

  “Daffodils? They’re very pretty, are they not?”

  “Don’t you try to distract me. You and your ignorance and your wicked red hair—how could any man admire you if you didn’t bring more coffers of silver with you than the King of France?”

  “I don’t believe there will be any silver. Valcourt’s wealth lies in its prosperous land.”

  “What do you know of anything?”

  “I know about Arthur’s silver. I plan to find it and give it to Garron as my wedding present to him.”

  “Silver? What silver? Who is Arthur?” Blanche’s voice, once filled with scorn, was now filled with reluctant interest. She pulled Merry to a halt, her fingers tight around Merry’s wrist. She shook her. “What silver?”

  “Garron’s older brother Arthur had a stash of silver coins. The Black Demon attacked Wareham to find it. He failed.”

  Blanche shook her head. “Doubtless one of your silly tales. You are good at distracting people, but now I wish to speak of Garron. Surely he does not like your wicked hair and those stupid little braids. The braids make you look plain.”

  Merry remembered a priest who had crossed himself when he’d seen her and muttered about the Devil. How could hair be wicked? Why would the Devil care?

  Blanche leaned close. “Indeed, why would Garron want someone as ugly as you are? If you had a single wit in your head, you would know he wants me. That is what he told me last night.”

  Why don’t I have a damned knife? “You should not tell falsehoods that are so easily disproved, Blanche.”

  Blanche had the gall to laugh in her face. “I refused to bed with him again, you witless girl. But that is what he told me, his voice all low and hungry. You will never have the man, not the man I have known. You will have only the man who marries the heiress who will doubtless beat you if he has a brain in his head for you surely deserve it. You never shut your mouth.”

  “I have a question for you, Blanche. Why would you care? You have your own husband.”

  “Aye, I do, but he is so old, he has no more teeth in his mouth. Can you imagine a man trying to gum you?” She shuddered.

  “No, I cannot. So that is why you spend so much time at court?”

  “Of course. He is so old all he does is cackle over his porridge. Ah, but Garron, he has a mouth full of white teeth. He smells good, he tastes good. Last night, he was humming a song he said you wrote whilst he was kissing my neck,” and she walked away, smoothing her beautiful blue silk gown, her laughter sounding behind her.

  Garron nuzzled that cow’s neck? She would wager Arthur’s silver he hadn’t done that. Garron was the kind of man who worked alongside his people until it was too dark to see. He was fair-minded, he would be a fine master for Valcourt. Did he not make lists? Good lists? And what did that say about the man? He kissed the cow’s neck whilst singing one of my songs?

  She did not see Garron that evening because he and the king were continuing discussions on the marriage contract—rather, she suspected, the king was dictating to Garron what he wanted and Garron was trying to salvage what he could without disagreeing overly since he did not want to lose his head for an impertinence the king would decide not to forgive. Merry suspected it weighed in Garron’s favor that the king knew him to be an honest man, and when he added a wife, he could expect an heir. Continuity was important to the king.

  All the contracts would be completed by the morrow, before the Bishop of London wedded them. They would bind Valcourt and Wareham together. Both holdings would flourish. She imagined her son would take charge of Valcourt when he was old enough. Her son. She touched her hand to her belly. Could it be possible that she already carried a babe?

  Since she didn’t want any more embarrassing questions from the queen’s ladies, she went to her small chamber and snuggled down into the soft feather mattress, pulling the covers to her chin. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow she would become a wife, Garron’s wife.

  Maybe, before they left London, she would have a chance to smack Blanche’s white face.

  Her last thought before she fell asleep was of her mother and what she would do when she discovered her chick had married a man of her own choosing.

  Her mother stood over her, her incredible golden hair untouched by gray, just as her face was untouched by lines. “What a little adventuress you are, so resourceful. But no more. You will now do as you’re told.” There was no expression on her face as she spoke, but oddly, her eyes seemed to burn, red and hot, and suddenly her own eyes were burning and it hurt and—

  Merry jerked up, coughing and gagging as the bitter smell filled her nostrils. She was shoved back down and a rough cloth was stuffed into her mouth.

  She fought like a wild woman, sending her fists into soft flesh, kicking with her feet. She heard a grunt and a cry of pain. A fist struck her jaw. Still she fought, but she couldn’t seem to control her hands or her feet. She felt slow and clumsy. She felt a strange numbing sensation sweep through her. Finally, she fell back into silence and blackness.

  34

  Garron awoke to soft hands stroking down his belly. “Merry, nay, you must stop. You shouldn’t be here.”

  The hands closed around him and he lurched up, grabbing for her hands. “Merry? No, we must wait. We will wed on the morrow. Go back to your chamber.”

  “One last time.” Her hair curtained her face as she leaned down and kissed his belly.

  She was kissing him? Where had she learned that? “Merry?” The kisses continued downward. In near pain now, Garron grabbed her hair, and immediately came wide awake. It wasn’t Merry’s hair. He jerked up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Garron, come back.”

  The room was dark. He grabbed the honey-scented taper and walked to the fireplace. He went down on his haunches on the hearth to press the wick to the still glowing embers. He raised the lit candle and looked at Blanche’s face. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright, her skin flushed, her dark hair spilling about her face and shoulders. He realized he was naked. That wasn’t good at all. He set the taper on the chest at the foot of the bed, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around himself.

  She laughed. “There is no reason to cover yourself. I have seen you, Garron, all of you, many times, felt you and kissed you. Do you not remember how you always moaned into my mouth?”

  “Whatever I remember, it makes no difference now. I am to be wed on the morrow, with the king’s blessing and in his presence. Do you really believe I would want to bed another woman?”

  “Why not? No one will know.” Blanche shrugged. She was wearing a bedgown that looked like a spiderweb, pale and soft, and he could clearly see her breasts. She said deliberately, “You are not yet hers.”

  He shook himself. Hers? “What do you mean? A man remains a man while a woman becomes the man’s possession.”

  What a ridiculous thing to say. On the other hand, she had baited him. Blanche pulled her bedgown slowly up over her head, let it pool at her feet, let him look his fill. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d frozen him to the spot. He looked to be in pain, yet he didn’t move. He quickly turned his back to her. She wanted to clout him. Instead, she managed a laugh, picked up her gown, and pulled it back over her head, letting it settle light as a butterfly’s wing against her skin. “Garron, I have no wish to wed you and become a possession, let that arrogant little girl wear your yoke. All I wish to do is enjoy your body one last time.”

  “No, I cannot. I will not.”

  “All right. But you know,
Garron, when next you visit the king, you will doubtless be bored with her. Then we will see if I still want you. Come, what is wrong with that?”

  Wrong. Something was very wrong. Oh God, it was Merry. She was screaming, screaming. He ran from his chamber, holding the blanket around his waist with one hand and the lit taper in the other. He kicked Gilpin in the side with one bare foot, leaped over him. “À moi. Now!” The stone floor beneath his feet felt like ice, but he paid no attention, ran faster. Gilpin was soon behind him, running as fast as he could, not knowing what was happening. “My lord, what is the matter? Why are we running?”

  “It’s Merry,” Garron shouted. “Something is wrong with Merry.”

  Gilpin heard a laugh behind him and turned to see Lady Blanche of Howarth, her gown flowing around her, waving a white hand as she quietly closed Garron’s bedchamber door behind her and turned to walk away in the opposite direction.

  That wasn’t right, Gilpin thought as he tried to catch his master. What had happened? How could his master know something was wrong with Merry?

  It seemed an eon passed before Garron pounded on Merry’s door. There was no answer. He didn’t hesitate, and slammed the door open. He raised his taper high, saw her narrow bed was empty, a blanket hanging off the side onto the floor.

  “No,” he said, “no, this isn’t possible. Gilpin, get yourself dressed and fetch Whalen, the captain of the guard. Tell him Marianna de Luce de Mornay of Valcourt is gone, kidnapped. Hurry!”

  Gilpin, ashen-faced, ran as fast as he could.

  Within ten minutes, Whalen was sending out his guards to search the White Tower.

  The king didn’t want to leave his fine dream. The ground around him was strewn with the bodies of warriors he himself had slain, his tunic soaked with their blood. He was faster than the wind, stronger than his prized destrier, so skilled he needed no soldiers to assist him. He was smiling because he’d won, he’d saved England—he heard a man’s voice in the antechamber, it was too loud. He’d take his sword to the lout, he’d—