The Valcourt Heiress

by Catherine Coulter

  Merry looked at the fleeing soldiers, Sir Halric at their head, his hand pressed against his neck to stanch the flow of blood. Why hadn’t Jason of Brennan come, since he was the Black Demon? Who had told them where the silver coins were hidden?

  Garron’s soldiers rose to stand beside Aleric, screaming insults after the fleeing enemy.

  Aleric slapped men on the backs, told them they’d beaten the cowards, and there was more cheering from those standing armed in the inner bailey.

  She threw her arms around him. “That was an amazing plan, lining your men along the rampart walkway, never letting them be seen until it was too late. We won!” Aleric stood frozen, pleased, appalled, and a huge grin bloomed on his face. He patted her awkwardly on the back.

  Miggins shouted, “Aleric, ’tis a good braw lad ye be. What say ye, would ye like to lick me?”

  Everyone laughed, Merry included. Two archers were laughing so hard they nearly fell off the ramparts.

  As for Merry, she knew there was now no hope for it. Sir Halric would remember who she was, she knew it. She said to Aleric, “Did you see the standard the squire was carrying?”

  “Aye, I did. I have never seen it before.”

  Spit it out, spit it out. “I have.”

  Aleric said slowly, “Their leader said you looked familiar. I wondered how that could be. Whose standard is it, Merry? Who is that man’s master?”

  “Jason of Brennan. It is his standard—two black eagles, their wings folded down, bones piled between them.”

  “Jason of Brennan. I know of him, as does Garron. How do you know it is his standard? You are saying he is the Black Demon?”

  “Yes, he must be. Their leader’s name is Sir Halric. He is Jason of Brennan’s man.”

  “Tell me, Merry, everything you know of these men.”

  “I know Jason of Brennan is a bad man, greedy, ambitious. As for Sir Halric, he is a hard man, and single-minded, I think.”

  Aleric knew stalling when he saw it. He repeated, “How do you know these men, Merry?”

  She was frantically pleating the skirt of her gown. “Please, Aleric, please, I must tell Garron first, it is only right.”

  “Surely it is not so very bad, is it?”

  “Aye, it is.”

  Aleric eyed her. Her face was white as the beautiful clouds overhead. He watched her pull the hood off her head. He eyed her bright red hair. “The man recognized your hair, didn’t he? How is this?” When she remained silent, he sighed deeply. “Will you tell Garron the truth when he returns? You swear you will tell him how you know these men?”

  “Aye, I will, I must. It is past time, really. I do not want any of you hurt.”

  “Now that I know who they are, they cannot hurt us. I knew you could be no priest’s byblow. Who are you?”

  “Not yet, Aleric, please, not yet. There is more.”

  25

  WAREHAM CASTLE

  SIX DAYS LATER

  Bless Aleric, he did not mention Sir Halric or Jason of Brennan again, nor did he again ask her who she was.

  Now Garron was home. Merry watched him, Gilpin, and Pali ride across the drawbridge, their horses’ hooves pounding loud on the thick wooden beams. Since Robert Burnell wasn’t with him, he must have taken all the king’s soldiers and returned to London after visiting Furly and Radstock. This meant all was well, but it was still a relief.

  She saw Sir Lyle of Clive and his three men riding behind Garron. She knew to her bones he’d been the one to pay those men to try to kill her and Garron, then he’d killed the two men, probably killed the new smith and claimed he’d escaped Wareham. But how to get proof of his guilt?

  Garron had taken off his helmet and his black hair shone beneath the bright sun.

  Voices swelled around her.

  “Lord Garron is home!” yelled Lilo, a young daughter of a carpenter they’d hired from Winthorpe, who appeared to worship Hobbs, always standing near when he spoke in his beautiful musical voice to the horses.

  Word spread fast. Soon, all Wareham’s people poured out of the great hall, out of the outbuildings to gather in the inner bailey. Workers waved their tools, joining in the cheers.

  Damocles reared on his hind legs, not at all nervous with all the noise; rather, Merry thought, he was announcing his arrival, ready to be admired. Merry came down the great hall stone steps and moved to stand a step behind Miggins. She wanted to cheer with his people, but could not.

  Garron was home at last.

  Her time was up.

  Garron saw a flash of bright red hair. He saw Merry lurking behind Miggins on the stairs. Why wasn’t she coming to greet him? He smelled the now familiar scents of home, and grinned from ear to ear at the sight of all Wareham’s people, all here to welcome him home. It was the first time in his life he’d received such a welcome. It warmed him to his booted feet.

  It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brilliantly down upon his land, his castle, his people, his cows, her glorious red hair with the small hidden braids. “Merry,” he shouted, “bring yourself here now!”

  He knew, she thought, somehow he had found out and now he was going to denounce her in front of all his people. She heard Eric the goat make small belching noises, saw Errol trying to pull a stick from the goat’s mouth. She felt a shove at her back. Elaine said, “Go, Merry, the master is home. You will tell him all we’ve accomplished in his absence.”

  Merry threw her head back, smiled, and strode to where Garron was dismounting Damocles, who was still flinging his mighty head up and down. Garron stroked his long neck to calm him even as he listened to Hobbs speaking quietly to him.

  Then he looked at her coming toward him, and smiled, simply couldn’t help it. The fact was, days ago he realized he didn’t really care who she was, where she came from, what her lineage was, he only knew she was here and she was smiling at him, and—Something was wrong.

  “What is the matter with her, Aleric? Has something happened? Is she ill?”

  “She will tell you, Garron.”

  Garron didn’t think. He took three steps toward her and lifted her high, then swung her around. His people cheered and laughed and cheered some more.

  He realized she was his as much as Wareham was his, and it felt very good. It felt right. He slowly lowered her, leaned his head down, and kissed her.

  She was always talking, laughing, but now her lips were seamed tight. She’d turned to stone, and that was surely a blow to a man’s pride.

  He frowned, set his forehead against hers for a moment, and said low, “I will see to it that when I kiss you the next time, we will be alone,” and he set her away from him. He turned to Aleric. “Six days, Aleric, and all looks nearly whole again.”

  Aleric said easily, “Come into the great hall and I will tell you about how a man named Sir Halric visited us with several dozen soldiers and archers and demanded to be let in. He obviously believed all of us to be dying or dead. He offered to give us food if we let him in.” He paused a moment, looked briefly to Merry, and nodded. He stepped back to give them privacy.

  Garron stilled. “Merry? What do you know of this? Who is Sir Halric?”

  She said, “Evidently Sir Halric did not know you had returned to Wareham. I recognized him and Jason of Brennan’s standard as well.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “Jason of Brennan’s standard is horrible—two black eagles with their wings folded down hovering over a pile of bones.”

  Garron looked back at Aleric. “Do you believe Jason of Brennan is the Black Demon?”

  “It would seem so,” Aleric said. “He sent Sir Halric because he didn’t believe it would be difficult to gain entry into Wareham.”

  Garron asked, “Did you hide the archers behind the rampart walls?”

  “Aye, I did. It is a fine ploy. When the enemy shot their arrows at us, all our people merely covered their heads. I covered Merry’s head with my own shield. It was Hobbs who shot Sir Halric in the neck, not a death shot, but
he bled like a pig. I will wager the bastard is cursing us for his pain.”

  Garron said to her, “You were on the ramparts wall with Aleric?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me, Merry, how did you recognize Sir Halric?”

  She stood before him, dumb as a post.

  “How did you know he was Jason of Brennan’s man?” He saw her swallow hard. “You are somehow tied to these men, are you not? Have you told anyone who you are?”

  “I asked Aleric if I could wait to tell you first.”

  “Good. Aleric, leave us.” He raised his voice to shout to everyone in the inner bailey, nearly full now, with people, his people, “We are home. Furly and Radstock are both loyal to us. You have all done very well, and I thank you.”

  No one wanted to move. Everyone knew something important was happening that involved Merry and Lord Garron, but Aleric ordered them back to their jobs, and no one would dare to disobey Aleric.

  Garron studied her a moment. “I will not turn you away, Merry, not after you have done so much for Wareham. Tell me, are you Jason of Brennan’s wife? Did you run away from him? Did he send Sir Halric to fetch you home? But how did he know where to find you?”

  He’d reached the most awesome conclusion. “Jason of Brennan is not my husband. I am not wed.”

  “All right,” he said, and waited. He watched her wring her hands. He’d never seen Merry do that.

  Her words poured out in a flood. “My mother sold me to Jason of Brennan. When I found out I was to be wedded to him, I ran away. Sir Halric is his man. He caught me, made me wear boy’s clothes. I was the boy you saved in Clandor Forest.”

  Aleric hadn’t stepped all that far away and Garron could hear him suck in his breath. Merry and that scruffy boy were one and the same? No, it was too outlandish, impossible—

  “I really am the boy you saved, my lord,” she said again, searching his face.

  Garron said, “Why did you not come out when I called out to you?”

  “I did not know who you were. You could have saved me merely to take me yourself. And I was puking up my innards from being hit on the head.”

  “But then you decided to follow me?”

  “Aye, I’m not entirely stupid.”

  He gave a fleeting smile. “No, you are not. You slipped into Wareham?”

  She nodded. “Miggins and Lisle took care of me.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I told them I would fix Wareham if they would help me. They believed me. Lisle had some of Lady Anne’s gowns hidden beneath the stones in the lord’s chamber. She gave them to me. They spoke to all the people, and everyone agreed to say I was the castle priest’s bastard. Because you fed everyone that first night, I believe they were ready to give me a chance as well.”

  “You told no one who you were?”

  “No.”

  “Who are you, Merry? What is your real name?”

  “My name is Marianna.”

  “Marianna. Well, that is a nice name.”

  “You will not like the rest of it. Garron, I am very sorry.”

  He lifted his hands to her shoulders, shook her slightly. “I know you are not the Queen of England. What matter then? Tell me.”

  She looked briefly heavenward, swallowed, then said finally, “My name is Marianna de Luce de Mornay. I’ve heard I am called the Valcourt Heiress.”

  For an instant, his mind was blank. He stared down at her, his brows drawn together. Then his mind filled with the knowledge of her. Slowly, carefully, he set her away from him.

  “I see,” he said.

  “You said heiresses complained and whined and ordered everyone around. You said they had rabbit teeth. I do not.” And she gave him a big smile, showing small white teeth.

  “No, you don’t, do you?” And he turned away from her without another word.

  Merry opened her mouth to call after him, but Aleric shook his head at her. “Leave him be, mistress. It is a blow, who you are. The heiress of Valcourt. It is something I never would have imagined, Garron either. And you were that boy in Clandor Forest. He must think this through, it is his way.”

  Merry watched him stride away.

  “He is not brooding, Aleric, he is looking at all the repaired barracks and outbuildings, the cottages for our workers.” She watched him walk to the large cleared area that stretched out from one of the inner walls, a short fence protecting it. It would be her herb garden.

  Aleric said, “Even I have heard of you.”

  “Most have.”

  “This is very bad, Merry. I do not know what will happen. Are you really the Valcourt Heiress?”

  She nodded, so filled with misery she couldn’t find words.

  “By all Saint Cuthbert’s broken toes, this is an amazing thing, but no matter. Garron will decide what to do. How much fresh ale do we have?”

  “Enough, I believe. Aleric, is there any reason to tell anyone else who I really am?”

  “It wouldn’t matter since none of the people would know of you and what you are. I am willing to wager Sir Halric now realizes exactly who you are, and that means Jason of Brennan now knows as well. This is not good at all. I must tell Garron that Sir Halric recognized you.”

  When Garron entered his chamber, he saw that Gilpin had filled his new bathing tub. As Garron sank down into the steaming water, he closed his eyes and tried not to think, but it was no use. “Leave me, Gilpin.” He now knew the name of the Black Demon—Jason of Brennan. He knew the man to be more rapacious than most men, a man who would slip a stiletto in another man’s back if he could not gain what he wished by looking him in the face. He was the man who had destroyed Wareham, all in search of Arthur’s silver coins.

  What would he do now? At least Garron now knew the name of his enemy.

  If only that were all. Marianna de Luce de Mornay, the Valcourt Heiress. What in the name of all that was holy would happen now? Soon enough, he realized, he could very well be a dead man.

  26

  MEIZERLING ABBEY

  NEAR CHEDDLEFORD ROWLEY

  EAST ANGLIA

  You are an idiot.” Jason of Brennan wanted to leap over the huge table covered with foul-smelling vials and jars that held things he didn’t want to know about, and throttle the magnificent goldenhaired creature who stared at him with open contempt.

  The sharp eye-watering smell of sulfur wafted to him, as if a trap door to Hell had opened. He was not afraid of her, he wasn’t, nor was he an idiot. He would show her what he was made of, he would sound as calm and reasoned as one of the king’s counselors, or his damned father. He knew he looked imposing in his black tunic, with the studded silver belt that fastened his gem-encrusted sword to his side, and drew himself up. “I am not an idiot. Sir Halric is not an idiot. I told you, madam, Halric did not realize Lord Garron had gone to Wareham. Who was there to tell him? Who was there to tell me so I could inform him of the fact? He expected all those remaining within the walls to be starving, desperate for help. There was no reason to believe his ruse would not work.”

  The beautiful witch sneered at him, contempt now bursting from her voice. “Ah, but you tell me he saw this very fit soldier standing atop the ramparts, yet it did not occur to Sir Halric to wonder if mayhap something had changed? He still kept to his fiction of offering aid? Given this, would you not call him an idiot? And given you are his master, does it not follow that you are an idiot as well?”

  Her words slammed against him like hard grit, abrading his flesh, irritating him to his soul. He looked down at his boots for a moment. What could he say to her accusation? What she had said was logical. The truth was the truth. He said finally, hating those words coming out of his mouth, “Aye, I suppose that is what happened. Still—”

  “I am distressed that my excellent plan was so poorly executed.” And she gave him a smile that promised more suffering than he could imagine. He hated her in that moment, as much as he hated this immense chamber filled with strange smells and thick brood
ing shadows since the window shutters were always closed against the sunlight. Jason imagined he could feel the bright sunlight beating against the shutters, trying to come in, but to no avail. The billowing shadows crowded in on the branch of candles on Abbess Helen’s large worktable. He knew there was something malignant lying in the midst of those shadows, something waiting to rip out his throat, that or drive him to madness, and it lurked, and waited. He knew he would have no fear of her if he could grab her by her golden hair and drag her out of this malevolent room, out of this hideous gray stone abbey, away from her private army, and her blank-faced nuns who all treated her like a queen, and fling her to the ground. Would her body be as beautiful as her face when he ripped that ridiculous black habit off her?

  She sat back in her finely carved chair and regarded him over her steepled white fingers. “Halric should have known everything there was to know about Wareham before he went there, but he did not. He should have known that Arthur’s brother had arrived to succeed to Wareham Castle. He should have stopped at neighboring villages and inquired, but he did not. He should have sent a soldier to study the castle before ever he went to Wareham, but he did not. I should have slit his throat, were I you.

  “And you, as his master, you should have ensured he knew what to do, instructed him if needed, but you did not. I cannot believe you have failed me yet again. I fear you are not a very good tool. Mayhap my loyal Abel will have to search elsewhere for a better one.”

  Abel was the man who led her private army, a hard man and vicious, not a dollop of mercy in him. On the other hand, Jason rarely showed mercy himself. He said, “The failures you speak about—they are about two different matters, so there is only one failure for each endeavor.”

  Contempt blossomed again on her white face, a face too white, too unlined, and her brilliant eyes narrowed on his face, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. How could she be so beautiful and yet have a daughter full-grown? But he knew, oh aye, he knew. Abbess Helen de Mornay was a witch. If she hadn’t left her lord years before, he probably would have killed her, before she killed him. He eyed a line of vials on shelves behind her filled with potions to make a man’s guts twist and shrivel as he said, hating the whine in his voice, “I am no man’s tool.”