The Valcourt Heiress

by Catherine Coulter

  Garron turned to see Miggins standing beside Merry, grinning from ear to ear. He grabbed her up and whirled her about. “What say you, Miggins, shall we leave the thieving lout in his gown?”

  “Aye, lad, he makes a fine old crone. But ye know, he hasn’t cursed so much the past two days. Ah, but his rage, Pali told me it still pours off him like rancid oil. I wanted to kick him and so my sweet Pali here stepped aside. I slammed my shoe in his ribs, dug my toes right in. Aye, the little coward yelled proper loud.”

  Garron said to Hobbs and Pali, “Thank you both for guarding the silver. It is Wareham’s future. Pali, that was a fine reward for Miggins.” He rose, dusted off his hands, called out to the dozen or so people in the lord’s bedchamber, “The silver is well guarded. Let us see what our old crone has to say.”

  As the procession walked down the narrow stairs to the granary, Hobbs cleared his throat. “A surprise awaits you, Garron.”

  Garron’s eyebrow shot up.

  “Nay, you will see,” said Hobbs. Each step they took down the stairs, the air became more chill and dank and fetid. There were no windows, just deep shadows even with the rush lights.

  Aleric unlocked the cell door and raised the rush light high. “There is Jason of Brennan, in all his glory.”

  Garron saw that Jason of Brennan had rubbed all the dirt seams off his face and the black from his teeth. He was close to Arthur’s age, young and comely, or he would be if he didn’t look so very miserable, filthy, and sullen. He hadn’t stripped off the old gown because it was too cold and damp to go without. It was a wretched room, and Garron was pleased to think of him spending the past week here.

  “At last I meet you, Jason of Brennan. I am Garron of Kersey, Earl of Wareham. And this, I believe, must be your husband?”

  He looked down at the old man as he slowly raised his head. He’d also cleaned the lines and seams off his face, rubbed the black off his teeth. Garron looked into Sir Halric’s face. How lucky can a man be?

  Pali said, “Your surprise, Garron. Aleric knew you would be pleased to see the whoreson again.”

  “I have been hoping Aleric was right. Let me tell you I find your disguises very clever, but it is over now. I wish the truth now, all of it. Jason of Brennan, you will begin.”

  Jason gathered as much spit in his mouth as he could and sent it hurtling toward Garron’s boot. It fell several inches short. He was heaving, he was so enraged. “I will tell you nothing, you bastard!”

  Hobbs said at his elbow, “I knew you wouldn’t want them starving and nearly dead, Garron, so I had Bullic feed them well. Now when you break them, it will be all the sweeter.”

  Hobbs knew him well.

  “Sir Halric, the last time I saw you, you were running away from me.”

  Sir Halric merely stared at him, said nothing at all.

  Garron studied Jason of Brennan’s face again, then he turned on his heel and walked out of the cell, calling back over his shoulder, “I will see you and Sir Halric again in two days. Perhaps you will feel like talking to me then.”

  As the cell door clanked shut, Garron heard Sir Halric groan, heard the murmur of low, angry voices.

  For two days, Garron said nothing more about the men, merely instructed Bullic to continue to feed them well.

  Garron was eating bread and cheese the following morning, when he saw Merry staring at Elaine, her eyes narrowed. “What is this? Has Elaine displeased you?”

  She looked quickly over at him, shaking her head. “Nay, I worry about her, that is all. Why is she speaking to that soldier?”

  Garron said mildly, “That man is Lussy, one of the king’s finest soldiers. As you well know, her husband was killed by Jason of Brennan’s men. Lussy is a good man. I’m thinking she might like him. What is amiss with you, Merry? You have always liked Elaine.”

  Merry was slowly shaking her head, her lips seamed. “I don’t believe that is her purpose. I heard her say your name plainly. She is speaking to Lussy about you, Garron. ’Tis you she wants, not Lussy. I know it.” At his baffled look, she raised her hand to her forehead and rubbed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. ’Tis a pain in my head that is making me miserable and foolish.”

  “Have you no recipe to cure yourself?”

  She looked utterly blank.

  “The pain must be very bad indeed to make you forget your Leech Book of Bald,” he said patiently. “Consult it for a curative potion. Would you like Miggins to help you? She does not read, but she could surely follow your directions.”

  “Nay, I can do it by myself.”

  He watched her walk away from him. He’d been about to ask her if she would wed with him on the morrow, but he hadn’t. There was indeed still something very wrong with her. He continued to watch her cross the great hall. She didn’t pause to greet a single woman she passed. He frowned. She truly believed Elaine to be interested in him. It made no sense, and he thought again about the drug her mother had fed her. It had changed her utterly.

  He heard Aleric yelling something at Gilpin. Three minutes later, he was laughing so hard he was holding his belly. Gilpin had tied Eric the goat to Aleric’s new bed. Smelling the fresh lumber, the goat had chewed through one of the bed legs.

  Without conscious thought, Garron found himself watching Merry throughout the day. He realized she seemed distant from the women, very unusual for Merry, who always had her nose pressed into every single task being performed at Wareham. But what was very strange indeed was that the women didn’t come to her as they used to. And the laughter, it had become more and more rare since they’d come back to Wareham. Today, he thought, it was simply gone. He thought again of her mother’s drug. What had the witch done to her own daughter? She was simply different, and it had nothing to do with her loose hair, which she wore long and free all the time now, or the smell of her hair.

  But there was so much to be done, he had no time to dwell on it. The silver was discussed and counted and discussed more and recounted. He and Burnell agreed to the number of silver coins Burnell would take back to the king. Rather, Burnell announced the amount and Garron, having no choice whatsoever, and thinking about another barony, agreed. After all, it had been his brother’s silver in any case, not his. Or Arthur had stolen it, probably from Jason of Brennan’s father, Lord Ranulf, but who knew? It was manna from heaven for him, no matter the number of coins remaining to him after the king’s large hands delved into the piles.

  On the morning of the third day, Garron, Aleric, Pali, Hobbs, and Gilpin went again to the cell in the granary.

  48

  Garron looked through the bars at the two men who lay silently in their filth. He’d wanted to break their wills, not kill them. He judged them to be ready.

  He walked into the stinking cell. Neither man looked up. Neither man spoke. They looked broken enough. “Aleric, bring our two ancients up into the inner bailey, I wish to see them clearly in the sunlight, admire their lovely gowns. Ah, they stink. We’ll let them bathe in the well. Merry made some lavender soap, they can use it.” And Garron turned on his heel and left the granary, whistling.

  He and all his people watched Pali and Hobbs strip the two men down to their skin. There was laughter when the men threw buckets filled with the cold water from the castle well at them, and they yelped and tried to duck and cover themselves at the same time, but with the continuous hooting and shouting of coarse remarks made by both men and women, they soon realized it was pointless. So they set about scrubbing themselves. The lavender soap was sweet smelling indeed.

  Merry said to Garron, “This man, Sir Halric, he looks paltry.”

  “Aye, he does.” Garron stood, arms crossed over his chest, and he never took his eyes off the two men. “But then you spent a good deal of time with him.”

  “Jason of Brennan is young enough and comely, just as my mother told me.”

  He said lightly, “But you’ve seen him before, Merry, don’t you remember? He came to Valcourt with your mother.”
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  “Aye, I was but giving you her report of him.” She turned and lightly ran her fingertips up his arm.

  “Mind your virtue, Merry,” he said, then turned back to the two men. He said easily, “I like the smell of the soap. What is the scent?”

  She cocked her head at him. “How should I know that, my lord?”

  Because you made it. He became very still. Once the two men were dressed, this time in trousers and tunics from the goods they themselves had brought to Wareham, Garron said, “Aleric, bring them into the great hall. It is time for them to share their deepest secrets with me.”

  Garron sat in his new beautifully carved lord’s chair. It was the first time, he realized, that he’d ever in his life sat in judgment. He breathed in the fresh oak and let the power he knew was his alone settle into him. Robert Burnell stood off to one side, not saying a word. Probably thinking about his silver coins, Garron thought, probably wondering how he could claim more.

  “Jason of Brennan, I would like you to meet the person who brought you down.” He nodded to Miggins, who flung her head back and proudly walked to stand beside his chair. She gave Jason a big grin and waved a gnarly fist in his face. “I got ye, ye little bastid, none other, jest me.”

  Trousers gave a man courage, and so Jason of Brennan yelled, “Old crone, I’ll gullet you when I am free.”

  Robert Burnell called out, “You will never again be free, sirrah. Best not make threats when your miserable life hangs in the balance.”

  Jason of Brennan knew very well this was Robert Burnell, trusted above all others by the king. A scrawny man, he thought, his head covered with thick, dark hair that curled around his ears, not a single white strand threaded in. His father had once talked of knowing Burnell in their youth, and that meant Burnell was old enough to have white hair, and why didn’t he? Jason’s father had a mane of white hair. He saw Burnell’s bony fingers were covered with ink. His black robe looked musty and old. When all was said and done, Burnell was naught but a miserable scribe, Chancellor of England or not. But he had the king’s ear and that meant there would be no mercy, he knew it. He screwed up his courage and said nothing more. Sir Halric stood quietly beside him, the man seemingly as stolid as Jason’s father.

  “I would like to hear the truth now,” Garron said, looking from one man to the other.

  Neither even looked at him.

  Garron drew his stiletto as he rose from his chair. “You wish me to remove an ear, Jason of Brennan? Will that encourage you to spit out the truth?”

  Jason of Brennan said nothing, but his heart began to pound hard and hot.

  “I do not know if losing an ear will make you hear less. Do you wish to take the chance?”

  Jason of Brennan continued to say nothing. He looked at Garron, and once again, he spit at him. This time his spittle landed on Garron’s tunic.

  Garron’s knife moved so swiftly, it seemed a blur. Garron sliced off his right ear, cleanly and quickly. Jason yelled in shock, grabbed his head, and fell to his knees, keening.

  Garron stood over him and calmly wiped off his blade. “You will tell me the truth now, or you will lose your other ear as well.”

  Jason began to sob, deep in his throat, and rocked back and forth on his heels. “You have made me a monster, a freak!”

  Robert Burnell cleared his throat. “Listen to me, you miserable whelp, you will speak the truth now or I will take both you and Sir Halric back to the king. Lord Garron knows naught of torture, thus you lost your ear fast, with no fuss, no real pain, no undue mutilation, so quit your weeping. If you wish to bear unspeakable pain, pain that makes your tongue swell in your mouth so you cannot breathe, I will give you over to the king’s men. Stop your howling, do you hear me? By all the saints’ wooden crosses, you sicken me. You are a man, act like one!”

  Jason of Brennan seemed not to hear.

  “Jason,” Sir Halric said quietly. “Get hold of yourself. Tell them the truth. It matters not now. Nothing matters any longer.”

  Slowly, Jason raised his face to Burnell. Blood streamed down his neck, soaking his tunic. It was Merry who silently walked to him, and gave him a folded cloth to press against his head. Garron said nothing, merely watched her from where he sat again on his lord’s chair.

  Burnell said, “I have known your father for many years, Jason. He was always a hard man, even when we were young, but he was also a man of great bravery and principles, a man who has always supported the king. As you know, your father traveled with the king to the Holy Land. He never left the king’s side. The king trusts him.

  “I knew there was strife between you and your father, but not the cause for it. You must have shamed him greatly, even as you shamed yourself.

  “Speak the truth now, Jason, or I will return you to London and turn you over to the king’s men. You would not do well under their tender mercies.”

  “I was but trying to make amends.”

  “Amends to whom?” Burnell asked him. “Stand up, you pathetic scoundrel!”

  Jason tried to rise. Garron said nothing, remained expressionless, when Merry moved quickly to help him. Once upright, Merry stepped away from him. He squared his shoulders, but his voice was only a whisper when he began to speak, liquid with misery and tears, “I am guilty of naught save trying to find my father’s silver coins so that I may return them to him. The silver is not yours, Garron of Kersey, nor was it your damned brother’s, who stole it!”

  Garron sat forward in his chair, his hands fists on his knees. His knife was back in its sheath at his belt. “You claimed Arthur stole the coins from you. But now you are claiming the hundreds of silver coins do not belong to you, but to your father? And you were trying to steal them back for him?”

  “It is the truth. I have no reason to lie, not now.”

  Burnell said, “How could Arthur possibly have stolen such a vast number of silver coins from your father? How did Arthur even know of the silver?”

  “I don’t know how he managed it, but he did. He struck my father down in his solar, where he’d hidden the silver. My poor father never even knew who had done it. Ah, but I knew, I knew, for there could be no other.”

  Garron grabbed Jason by the neck and shook him like a rat. Jason of Brennan struggled, but every shake made the pain of his lost ear send agony through his head. He tried to kick out, but Garron’s rage was powerful. “I suppose you believe you can say anything about my brother since he is dead?” He drew his knife. “I think you’ll lose your other ear now, you lying whoreson.”

  “No!”

  Garron froze. It was Merry’s voice.

  He looked over Jason’s head at her white face. Sunlight was pouring through the open doors into the great hall, turning her hair to fire. Slowly, he nodded to her to speak.

  “My lord, there is no reason to mutilate him further. He will tell you what you wish to know.”

  Garron said, “You will be silent now, Merry, this has naught to do with you. You, Jason of Brennan, you will speak now or I will slice off your other ear.”

  He watched her shoot a look at Jason, then she slowly lowered her head.

  Jason was holding his palm against his bandaged head, blood seeping out between his fingers. He shouted, “Your damned brother is not dead! How do you think I knew where to look for the silver? Arthur finally told me where he’d hidden it. You’re not an earl, you puffed-up bladder, you’re nothing at all!”

  Garron roared out of his chair, grabbed Jason around his throat, and lifted him off the stone floor. He stared at Jason’s face, white as death, the red blood snaking from beneath the white bandage, turning black against his neck. “You are saying my brother is alive?”

  “Aye, he’s alive.”

  Miggins screeched, “Thass a lie! Ye filthy mongrel, I saw Lord Arthur’s face fall in his trencher! He was as dead as all the poor souls ye butchered when ye came as the Black Demon to Wareham! Ye poisoned him! We buried him! Ye hear me? We buried Lord Arthur!”

  “Nay,” Sir
Halric said, “Jason does not lie. Lord Arthur was not dead. One of his men in my pay fed him a draught that gave him the look of death. We stole him out of Wareham, and another was wrapped and buried in his place. We took him away so we could question him.”

  “And just where,” Garron asked quietly, “did you obtain this draught that gave my brother the look of death?”

  Sir Halric said, “This mangy little liar claimed the credit, but that is absurd. It was all the witch’s plan.”

  Jason yelled, “Aye, it was all from the witch.”

  “Was it also the witch’s idea to plant a traitor in Wareham to open the postern gate so you and your men could enter?”

  “Aye.”

  “But why did you kill everyone? Why did you destroy my home?”

  “It wasn’t my fault that I had to kill so many. No one would tell me the truth!”

  “How could anyone tell you anything at all since only Arthur knew where he’d hidden the silver? How did you even know the silver was here?”

  “His men helped him, mayhap women too. Aye, I knew the silver was here. It was Arthur’s damned home. Of course he brought the silver here. He deserved nothing, do you hear me? His people deserved nothing! They lied to me just as he did!” Suddenly his rage overcame his desire to survive. He screamed, “By Saint Bartholomew’s gilded heart, I hate this place! I delighted in killing all your brother’s people, do you hear me, worthless wretches, all of them!”

  There was stark silence in the great hall. Then Garron heard murmuring amongst his people, his people who had lost so many to this idiot.

  Garron said, “We will speak more of that presently. What did you do to my brother?”

  “I did nothing to him, merely took him to a cottage near my home. I waited and waited, but he didn’t wake up from the drug. I had no choice but to go again to the witch, and she gave me another plan.” Jason whirled on Sir Halric, and his voice was bitter as salt on ice. “You did not argue about the ruse, did you? You said you believed you could convince the starving beggars within these walls to let you in to help them. You did not suggest we should continue to wait to see if Arthur woke up. It was all your fault, damn you, not mine. And you failed yet again, just as you did the first time.”