The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

Garron rose from the bench. “Thank you for telling me. I will be careful.”

He supposed he should inform Burnell, but at the moment, he could not get his brain to take it all in. He needed time to think. He flicked his fingers toward Merry and together they walked to the great hall doors, open to the cool evening air. For the first time, Garron realized that this girl beside him wasn’t a small, mincing maid. Nay, she was tall, the top of her head coming nearly to his nose. She was long legged, capable of covering a lot of ground. And she stood straight, her chin up, as if she had worth and value, and she no longer sought to hide it from him.

She followed Garron to the ladder that led to the narrow walkway atop the inner bailey ramparts. The outer curtain walls at Valcourt were eight feet thick. These walls were perhaps two feet less. When she reached the top of the ladder, he took her hand and pulled her up.

She straightened Lady Anne’s skirts and turned with Garron to look at the half moon hanging over the Forest of Glen, at the stars studding the black sky. Merry drew in a deep breath, felt the cool night air stir around her. Rain was coming. It felt heavy, like a cloak weighing on her shoulders. She breathed in the smell of the sea and tasted salt on her tongue.

“I am surprised they didn’t destroy the ladders. Look yon, the ladders to the ramparts on the outer walls are also intact.”

“I wondered about that as well.” He paused a moment, then turned to lean his back against the rampart wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I could threaten to toss you to the ground if you don’t spit out the truth now. It is a long way down. Or I could give you over to Aleric. He has a gift for convincing men—and women too, I suppose—to tell him what he wishes to know. What do you think?”

“I think—I think that would be wasteful of you, my lord.”

Wasteful? Garron nearly laughed at that. Yet he thought he heard a tremor in her voice. Was she afraid of him? Well, she didn’t know him. He could be one of those men who spoke calmly, even kindly, before they struck. Or maybe she wasn’t afraid of him at all, he simply didn’t know.

He held out his hand to her. She eyed it a moment, then took it. As they walked the rampart walkway to the seaward side of the castle, Merry realized she didn’t want to tell him she was the Valcourt heiress. He was the king’s man, first and foremost, and that meant his loyalty was to Edward. The king might not force her to wed Jason of Brennan, but she had no doubt he would select a man who would bring him great gain, be it silver or loyalty and men. He would sell her just as her mother planned to do. Well, it was the way of things, now wasn’t it? Marriage was about building wealth, gaining land and power, establishing or strengthening alliances, nothing more, nothing less. But it terrified her to be the one bandied around. She didn’t want to return to Valcourt, not yet; she wasn’t ready to lower her head, accept a yoke on her neck, and accept her fate.

What she had here at Wareham, it made her swell with pleasure and pride. She was important here. She was making a difference, people looked to her, counted on her. Please, God, let me remain here for just a little longer, mayhap a fortnight longer, then when it ends, I will not complain. Well, she knew herself, now, didn’t she? She would complain, but not in a prayer to God.

She found herself wondering if a Wareham carpenter still lived, and perhaps a stonemason, and a smith as well? Well, that was Garron’s problem, not hers, blessed be St. Leonard’s crooked teeth.

“Wasteful, you say?”

She looked up at him, his profile silhouetted in the dim light, and she saw him fighting Sir Halric and remembered she’d known he would win, known it to her soul, and he would have if Sir Halric hadn’t run. And he’d also seen through her quickly enough, known she was lying, and now he wanted the truth. He turned to give her a lazy look, no threat in it at all, and it was hard to look away from him, from his dark hair blowing off his forehead in the night breeze, to his eyes, so much lighter than hers, such a light blue to rival a summer sky.

“Aye, wasteful, my lord. Aleric believes me useful as well. On the morrow, I will help Pali stuff mattresses. Mayhap one will be for you.” She frowned up at him. “You are very young.”

“Not so young. You already know I am just turned twenty-four.”

“How old was your brother?”

“Arthur was my senior by six years, far too young to die. Do you agree with Tupper and Miggins? Do you believe someone poisoned him?”

“How can I know?” Her face froze. Lie, but make it

smooth and easy. “Actually, I wasn’t in the great hall when it happened. I was in the cooking shed, so I know only what they have told me, still—”

“You are a very bad liar. You need lessons. No, no, don’t lie more. You told Miggins and Tupper to tell me, did you not?”

“Well, of course. If it was poison, I did not want you to be ignorant of the danger to you. Do you have other brothers and sisters?”

A dark eyebrow shot up, but he merely shook his head at her. “Thank you, I will be careful. There were three other sons and two daughters besides Arthur and me, but they died.”

“Life is many times difficult,” she said, “particularly for babes.” And for everyone else as well, she thought.

He stopped and they both looked toward the North Sea, the calm flat water glistening. Below them was the hidden postern gate leading down to the beach. She said, without thinking, “You are quite well made, my lord.”

The dark eyebrow shot up again. “Young and well made?”

“It’s the truth, as well you know.”

“Do I? Are you trying to distract me?”

“The truth is never a distraction. It wasn’t a compliment, merely an observation.”

“Give me more of your observations.”

“You smell good.”