He met her at the portcullis, not smiling now. “I was also told my brother abused Lady Anne.”
Her jaw dropped. “Surely not! No man would, that is, well—”
Garron eyed her a moment, wondering yet again who she was, what she was, and why Miggins, and all the Wareham people for that matter, was protecting her. He turned at a shout from Tupper. He looked up at the ramparts to see the old man’s face so filled with fear he looked ready to fall over. “My lord! ’Tis a band of men, nay, an army of men, at least one hundred of them, mayhap more, all vicious looking and hard, waiting to sever all of us in two equal parts. ’Tis the Black Demon come back to butcher the rest of us and crow over our severed bodies. One Retribution wasn’t enough for him. They’re riding like the hounds of Hell toward Wareham! At least God will receive us with full bellies.”
Tupper crossed himself, eased his old bones down to his knees, and started praying, loudly.
Garron shouted as he ran to the ramparts, “Keep the drawbridge up and the portcullis down and all will be well. Aleric, get our men in position. Keep our people calm.”
He climbed the wooden stairs that led to the ramparts, broke into a run along the thick-planked walkway that went around the perimeter of the castle. He couldn’t wait to see the man who’d tried to destroy Wareham. He couldn’t wait to carve him into little pieces.
Well, damnation. He stared down not at a hundred soldiers riding at Wareham like Arabs from the Holy Land, more like thirty, all of them seated quietly on their m
ounts in front of his castle. Their leader wasn’t wearing mail. He was wearing a dark gray cloak and, of all things, a thick woolen scarf wrapped around his head. Garron recognized that scarf.
“My lord Garron! ’Tis I, Robert Burnell. I come directly from our mighty and beneficent king. May I enter?”
Garron grinned. “Is it really you, sir? A moment—we will lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis.”
Merry stood in the shadow of the deep steps leading up to the great hall and watched the soldiers ride into the inner bailey. She watched Garron step forward and help the man in the shawl to dismount.
“That is Robert Burnell,” Gilpin whispered to her. “He’s the Chancellor of England and, more importantly, the king’s secretary. Lord Garron says he’s the king’s fist, and his ears as well. Lord Garron says there’s always a candle lit in his chamber and he works harder than the lowliest serf.”
She started to say that all at court knew Robert Burnell’s habits, but held her tongue. “Wasn’t Hobbs going to see him in London?”
“Aye. I wonder why he comes here?”
Merry started to take a step forward, then realized it was the very last thing she should do. She was nothing, no one. When the soldiers parted, her jaw dropped. She saw at least a dozen pack mules laden with corded bundles. Everyone was gathering in the inner bailey, clustering around her, talking, pointing toward those mules, so excited they were very nearly bouncing on their feet. She heard Miggins break into a cheer, and soon everyone joined her. As their cheers rang through the inner bailey, several of the soldiers’ horses moved restlessly, and Merry saw the soldiers looking at each other as they quieted their mounts, then at the ragged lot of people cheering them. One soldier, ugly as a tree stump, waved a fist in victory and laughed. The cheering grew louder.
Garron waited until his people quieted, then took Robert Burnell’s hand in his. “I am delighted to see you, sir. One of my men was leaving this morning to go to you in London. About this,” he said, and waved around him. “As you can see, we are in a very bad way here. But what brings you here? Dare I inquire about those heavily laden mules?”
Burnell, who would rather have ridden a pack mule than the huge destrier the king deemed to be worthy of him, beamed. “Our king sends you bounty.” He waved his ink-stained fingers toward the long line of mules. “Two days after you left, several soldiers from Wareham arrived to tell us what happened here. Our dear king knew you would be in sore need, and he acted quickly. Mayhap it was our beautiful queen who acted more quickly, but no matter, all the mules were packed in haste. We made excellent time.”
“You said my brother’s soldiers came?”
“Not your brother’s soldiers since he is dead.” Burnell looked about him at the devastation. “Your soldiers.” He sniffed the air, studied the huddled people, then pulled the scarf from his head and wrapped it around his neck. “They did not know the name of the man who attacked Wareham, just called him the Black Demon, of all things. They said those who did not manage to escape were slain, and all was destroyed. I see they did not exaggerate. We brought the two soldiers back with us, though they are in a bad way. You may question them yourself. They also told of torture and the search for Lord Arthur’s silver coins, coins this Black Demon said your brother had stolen from him.”
Garron looked at the two men, who seemed exhausted to their filthy boots, then to the mules and back again to Burnell, who was rubbing his buttocks. He saw Merry standing in the middle of his people, Gilpin at her side. “Merry, come here and meet the Chancellor of England and our king’s secretary, Robert Burnell.”
Garron hadn’t thought about it, just opened his mouth and the words had fallen out. He watched her walk gracefully to Burnell, give him a smile and sink into a deep, very graceful curtsey. She was wearing a dark blue wool gown, a blue ribbon in her braids. He did not realize the gown was two decades out of fashion. Merry said, “Sir, it is an honor.”
Burnell stared at the lovely girl with her too-short gown that his brave mother could have worn, and thick fiery red hair braided up atop her head, hair his mother would have called a curse from Satan, threaded through with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes. She looked familiar. Aye, this girl reminded him of someone, and this someone, he realized, heart speeding up a bit, had something about her that alarmed him. Was it her red hair? He simply couldn’t remember. Alarmed him, the king’s secretary, the king’s right and left hand and mayhap on occasion all his digits as well? No, that couldn’t be right. Who was she?
Burnell arched a thin dark eyebrow. “I had not realized you had wedded, my lord. The king said nothing of it to me. Indeed, how could you have found both the lady and the time in so few days? This could be a disaster.” And he crossed himself, twice.
Garron nearly jumped a foot off the ground. “Nay, she is not my wife, sir, she merely resides here at Wareham. I am told she is the daughter of Wareham’s priest who was killed. She”—Garron paused a moment—“is smart.”
Burnell studied the strong young face, the intense blue eyes, the dark red eyebrows. Her skin was as white as the snow he’d seen three winters ago in York before human boots had blackened it.
“But priests do not wed, Garron.”
“No, they do not.”
This girl was a priest’s byblow? So, he was wrong, there was simply no way he could have seen her before. There was nothing in this girl to alarm him. His mind was getting rusty with the years. She was smart? What a thing for a warrior to say. Burnell never looked away from her. “Ah well, these things happen, do they not?” But it gnawed at him. Who did she remind him of?
“So I have been told, sir, many times.” Merry searched his face, knowing from the way he’d looked at her, that somewhere in the depths of his brain he remembered her.
Burnell waved at the men behind him. “Our dear king, our bountiful lord, sent these soldiers to protect the mules, Garron, and mayhap his lowly secretary as well. Four of the men are yours if you decide you can use them. The king said you could pay them since his, the king’s, ah, generosity, does not extend that far.” Actually, it was simply a timely accident that had brought Sir Lyle of Clive and his three men to London, so, in truth, the king had done very little, but Lord Garron need not know that. Actually, he had done nothing at all, merely nodded when Burnell told him what should be done. He said now, scrupulously honest as a man could be when he served a king, “It was our gracious queen who had household goods packed for you. As I recall, our king snorted a bit when he counted the number of bundles and the number of mules required to bring you all this bounty, but he allowed it as you served him well for three years. The queen had also just presented him with another royal princess, and that softened him. He, ah, has demanded that you return the mules to him.”