The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “I was bent over the chamber pot for two days because of that milk. By God, you were a holy terror,” Garren said. “No wonder I hated you.”

  “I hated you too. You were mean and bigger than me,” Merton stated. “I had to get my revenge somehow.”

  “I wasn’t mean,” Garren said in his defence. “I was your brother, and besides, you never used to do such terrible things to Budic, and he teased you as much as I did.”

  “He never teased,” Merton contradicted. “I learnt very early on to stay away from him.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Garren stopped walking and looked at his brother. “I know from experience he could be heavy with his fist.”

  “What difference would it make if he did? You didn’t care,” Merton challenged. “As you have already said, you hated me.”

  “I am sorry,” Garren apologised “I should have protected you from him.”

  “I didn’t need your protection. For the most part, I could take care of myself. And when I couldn’t, I had Alden.”

  “I am sorry anyway. I should have been there for you. I am ashamed to admit that, after our parents died, I agreed with Budic when he said you would be better off in the care of the monks. He said it was Father’s wish for you to become a priest.”

  “Budic has always been a lying bastard,” Merton stated.

  “He has. I am glad Alden stood up for you. I am glad he put his foot down about you entering the Church. I cannot imagine you ever exchanging a sword for a cross.”

  “What did you say?” Merton asked quietly, his voice held a touch of wonder to it.

  “I said—”

  “No, it doesn’t matter. I heard you the first time.” Merton smiled. He would go to Brittany, and he would have his revenge. He didn’t need a sword because Tegan was right, he had something far more powerful at his disposal. He had Sampson. And Sampson had God. It was time to exchange his sword for a cross.

  31

  “You haven’t stopped smiling since we left the Hall,” Garren observed, glancing sideways at Merton.

  Merton’s grin widened. “Maybe I have found a reason to smile at last.”

  “Do you want to share it with me?” Garren asked. “I could do with a bit of good news.”

  “Not particularly,” Merton answered. For the time being, he wanted to keep this ghost of an idea to himself. He didn’t want anyone telling him that he couldn’t do it. He could do it. And he would. “And what is all this need for good news?” Merton asked. “I thought your day was going rather well. You have pledged your troth to Alden. You are back in the ancestral lands…”

  “I spoke to the Bishop about Josephine.”

  “Ah. Yes. I can see why that would upset your day. He didn’t have any words of encouragement for you,” Merton guessed.

  “He said there was nothing he could do. Their marriage has been consummated. He said Josephine must go back to her husband right away. I cannot send her back to him. I won’t. I have to protect her and the child.”

  “It is a noble thing that you want to do, and I can understand, after Anna, why you want to protect Josephine. But, if you decide to travel down this road, you risk bringing the wrath of the Church down on your head. They will cast you out, regardless of your brother being the King of Cerniw. In fact, they would want to make an example of you because your brother is the King of Cerniw. Take it from someone who knows. The Church, once angered, can be a formidable opponent.”

  “I know what I risk,” Garren muttered.

  “Do you?” Merton asked. “I wonder. It is not easy being an outcast.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Budic will kill her and the child if I send her back to him. I will not abandon her, not when she needs me.”

  “Budic has been known to exaggerate, especially when he is angry,” Merton pointed out. “He has always been full of piss and wind.”

  “But what if, in this, he isn’t? What if he means it? I will not risk her life. I won’t let what happened to Anna happen to Josephine. I will not stand by and do nothing.”

  “Then you risk the Church’s condemnation. The Church will favour Budic, for he is her husband. I am not saying they are right, but that is the way of things. They will condemn you, they will condemn Josephine, and they will condemn the child. The Church, despite its doctrine of forgiveness, can be a little short on mercy.”

  “But with my protection, the child will live,” Garren argued. “Josephine will live. I am determined in this. I am going to keep her with me, regardless of what the Church says.”

  “You will be accused of living in sin and if the child were to die—”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You care about her greatly,” Merton said, with sudden realisation. “Are you and she lovers?”

  “These things happen,” Garren answered, looking a little ashamed.

  “To you, apparently,” Merton stated in astonishment. “First Anna, now Josephine. Is it just Budic’s wives that you—”

  “Do you mind?” Garren interrupted, a look of concern on his face.

  “Do I mind?” Merton frowned, not understanding the question. “Why would I mind? What you and Josephine get up to is none of my concern.”

  “She told me…about the two of you, about what happened.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Merton answered, his voice faltered a little while he spoke. “She lied to me.”

  “And you to her,” Garren replied. “She told me about Brianna.”

  “I bet she did,” Merton said, his voice hard. “Did she also tell you that she didn’t tell me that she was pregnant? Or did she miss that part out?”

  “Galahad—”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” Merton warned, looking at his brother with a pained expression on his face. “I don’t want to talk about her. Josephine has her life, I have mine.”

  “So what are you going to do, ignore her? I saw how it was between the two of you on our journey here. You didn’t look at her once.” Garren stated. “Is it easier to turn the other cheek and pretend it didn’t happen? It happened, Galahad. You abandoned her. You gave her away in marriage to another,” there was judgment in Garren’s voice.

  “Is that what I did?” Merton asked, and then he scoffed and shook his head.

  “If I am to go through with this, if I am going to go against Budic, I will need all the allies I can get. I will need you. We both will. I think the two of you should sit down and talk,” Garren counselled. “So that the bad feelings can be put aside and we can all move on.”

  “Talk?” Merton scoffed again. “Josephine and I have nothing left to talk about. Brianna is dead. I never saw my daughter, Garren. I didn’t even know she existed until after she was dead.” Merton watched the expression on his brother’s face closely. “But you already know that.”

  “Josephine was young and foolish. We all make mistakes in our youth. The past cannot be changed. I am sure she regrets not telling you.”

  “I am sure she does,” Merton replied scathingly.

  “If she apologised, then would you—”

  “You are flogging a dead horse, nothing would induce me to sit down with her. I don’t want anything to do with her,” Merton stated.

  “I see,” Garren sighed his annoyance, although he decided not to pressure Merton any further. With time, maybe Merton would come around to his way of thinking. “May I ask you something?” he said instead.

  “You can ask. I might not answer,” Merton replied.

  “When the bell tolled for you, what did it feel like?” Garren asked quietly.

  “The Pope himself tolled the bell, and shut the book, while his priests dashed the candles to the ground, extinguishing the flames. Or so I am told, I wasn’t there. He then issued a warrant for my arrest. Dead or alive, it mattered not to him. He just wanted to boil my head, put it on a spike and announce to his congregation that he had rid the world of The Devil. It was his moral duty to condemn me. To be honest, at the time, I w
as more concerned with preserving my mortal body than worrying about my immortal soul.”

  “And now…?”

  “So be it. I don’t care,” Merton’s words were flippant, but he realised they were true. “I really don’t care.” He had gone past caring what other people thought of him. And despite spending so much time with Sampson, his opinion about the Church had not changed. These last weeks with Tegan had confirmed how much he had moved away from the Christian teachings of his youth. “God and I will never be friends.”

  “I thought that—”

  “You thought that because I lived with a bunch of monks, I was looking to repent?” Merton shook his head. “No. I wanted to get out of Cerniw, away from you, away from Alden. Away from everything I knew in a desperate bid to try to forget. Turns out that didn’t happen. You cannot run from your past.”

  They fell silent after that, although Merton could tell that Garren wanted to ask more questions, but for some reason, he held back.

  Alden was already mounted when they reached the stables, and his horse was restless, tossing his head and champing at the bit. Alden looked as impatient to be off as his horse did. Merton resisted the sudden urge to walk slower.

  Alden’s knights were also busy taking their mounts from the grooms. Merton and Garren waited patiently for their horses to be brought to them. A groom, who looked like he had been rolling in the hay and smelt of something far less pleasant, led two very beautiful horses their way. Garren’s horse was a young chestnut mare with four white socks and a blaze running down the length of her face. Merton’s horse was a dark bay destrier that Alden had brought from a dealer in Fylde a couple of years ago. Merton had ridden the horse several times before and had been impressed with his paces and his somewhat unpredictable temper. Alden had gifted the animal to him, but at the time, Merton had Caleb, he had no need for another horse.

  “Hello again,” Merton spoke softly to the stallion. “You are a little different to the horse I came on, but just as much trouble, if not more. Be kind to me, can you do that?”

  “Do you need a leg up?” Garren asked, for Merton’s horse was tall and broad, with a long shaggy black mane and a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Merton said when he saw that there was nothing in the stable yard that he could use as a mounting block. “You remember what I said?” he spoke to the horse again. “Be kind,” Merton grinned as the horse blew softly in his hair. “You and I are going to be good friends, I can tell.” Merton passed his walking stick to the groom. “Here, take this. Once I am up, you can give it back.”

  “You won’t need a stick on ’im,” the groom warned. “If you do, you will end up in Penn an Wlas.”

  “The stick is for me, not for him,” Merton answered. He had never beaten a horse in his life although he had certainly threatened it enough times with his last steed. He had no intention of breaking a habit of a lifetime today.

  “Then p’rhaps you would favour a different ’orse,” the groom replied with a very concerned frown, for this was a warhorse, he wasn’t a pleasure ride. “Tebel-el needs two strong ’ands ter control him.”

  “Tebel-el?” Merton asked, amused and not at all offended by the groom’s lack of tact about his one hand. “His name has been changed?”

  “The Devil is as the Devil was,” the groom stated with concern.

  “Is that a fact?” Merton asked the groom. Garren coughed, and Merton caught the humour in his brother’s eyes at the groom’s statement.

  “Aye, that is what they say…”

  “The Devil? He is called The Devil?” Merton stated with a grin. “We make a right pair then.”

  “Me Lord?” the groom questioned, not understanding.

  “Are you new here?” Merton asked, for he did not recognise the groom.

  “Aye,” the groom answered. “Been ’ere ’bout a month.”

  “Then let me assure you, this horse and I are old friends. We will be fine. Do not fret. I will bring him back in one piece.”

  “Begging yer pardon, me Lord, but twernt him I were worried ’bout.”

  “My Lord may not be able to walk too well, but he was born in the saddle,” another of the grooms said, coming forward. He looked pointedly at Merton. “Isn’t that right, my Lord?”

  “Yes, Yestin, it is,” Merton said, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to convince a groom to let him ride his own horse, but on the other hand he was concerned that he was so easily recognised. Perhaps Tegan’s lotions were helping with the scars on his face a little too well.

  “We haven’t seen you ’bout for a long time, my Lord,” Yestin continued conversationally. “Heard you had some trouble, and that you were injured.”

  “As you can see, I was,” Merton answered carefully, wondering how much the groom knew.

  “I’ll help my Lord mount up, you go on and sort out the tack, some of it is in desperate need of a polish.”

  With a snort of disgust at being thus dismissed, the other groom handed Yestin Merton’s stick and then marched back to the stables.

  “I heard you were dead,” Yestin said conversationally, although he kept his voice low. “The King held a Mass. Glad to see you’re not.”

  “Merton is dead. They call me Galahad now.”

  “Begging your pardon, but if it were a change of identity you were after, I recommend you go far away from here. We know you, you see. Your face may be scarred, but I knew who you were as soon as I saw you.”

  “Galahad, are you coming or not?” Alden called.

  “I’ll give you a leg up,” Garren said, his voice concerned.

  “Thank you,” Merton said, gathering up the reins. On the count of three, Garren heaved Merton into the saddle.

  “Yestin,” Merton leaned down a little to speak to the groom. “Could you get a mounting block made for me?” He didn’t want to rely on others to help him into the saddle.

  “I’ll set one of the lads to it right away. Here’s your stick,” Yestin handed the stick back to Merton.

  “Thank you.”

  “And your secret’s safe with me, my Lord,” Yestin promised.

  “Are we going?” Alden asked.

  Garren mounted his mare fluently. “Lead the way, Sire. We must not keep the good women of the Church waiting.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Merton said under his breath.

  The ride to Penventinue had not been a pleasant one. Alden rode on ahead with James and a few of his loyal knights. Merton and Garren had dawdled at the back of this small procession. Before all of this had happened, Merton would have been up the front with Alden and James. He would have been joking and laughing with his brother and the knights. But not anymore. It was hard not to notice that the knights were trying their very best not to look at him. They were uncomfortable in his presence. Superstition ran rife in an army — a beaten and deformed warrior, such as he was, was considered bad luck. Merton could read their minds, for he once thought the same way as they did. But now his opinion had changed, funny how a life-altering injury could do that.

  Merton shifted in the saddle, trying to make himself comfortable. His arm ached terribly. The groom had been right — Tebel-el did need two strong hands. Merton was keeping the beast under control…just. But Tebel-el was as skittish as a colt and just as unpredictable.

  Garren rode by his side, but they had not been keeping conversation going, and Merton was glad for that. He didn’t feel in the mood for small talk. It was taking all of his concentration to stay on the horse.

  They followed a rough track through the cliffs and down to the beach. The tide was out, and the sand was wet. Merton’s horse snorted and began to paw at the sand in excitement.

  “Watch he doesn’t roll,” Alden warned sharply. It was the first thing Alden had said to Merton during the entire journey.

  Merton swore under his breath as he felt Tebel-el bunch up his muscles as if he was preparing for something big.

  “No you don’t,” Merton stated
, kicking the horse on, and tightening the reins. But Tebel-el was having none of that, and without any ceremony, he knelt down in the sand, for the temptation was too great to resist. Throwing his leg quickly over the horse’s neck, Merton managed to scramble, in a chaotic and undignified manner, from the horse’s back and onto his feet before the stupid beast rolled over.

  Pain shot through Merton’s back and down his legs, and for a moment he couldn’t stand up straight. “Bastard,” Merton hissed between his breath, his hand on his thigh, as he watched the horse roll in the sand with sheer abandonment.

  “Are you alright?” Alden asked, riding towards him, a look of horror on his face.

  Merton swore again and tried to straighten. An unhealthy clicking sound came from one of his hips, but that was a good thing, for it felt like something had loosened in his back. He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the pain that travelled down his arm to the tips of his fingers.

  “I’m fine,” Merton lied as he managed to straighten. He glared at the horse whose hooves were currently waving around in the air. The animal rolled back over, snorted, and with a look of sheer contentment, got back to his feet. He then gave an almighty shake, sending sand everywhere.

  Merton raised his hand to cover his eyes from the sand and then hobbled back over to his horse. Tebel-el put up no resistance at being caught. He had obviously had his fun for the day. Merton grabbed the reins and searched for his stick. The horse had rolled on the stick, but thankfully instead of breaking, the stick had become embedded in the sand. Merton kicked it free, and with difficulty, he picked it up.

  “You should smack him,” James growled the advice. “Teach him some manners.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Merton said, as the horse nudged him with his nose, searching for a treat. “You daft fool,” Merton mumbled, pushing the horse’s sandy head away. “I don’t have anything for you, and you certainly wouldn’t deserve it if I did.”