The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7) - Page 33

“It is a man’s word that holds only threat.” She took a double step to keep up with him. “At least you do not sound like a drunkard any longer. What is so important that you must speak to me this very moment?”

He stopped suddenly as one of the three dogs dashed into his path. She nearly ran into him. “Do you know, I was thinking about all the noise in the inner bailey. Everyone will work until it is too dark to see, or it rains. Listen to the hammering, the sawing, all the cursing, the arguing, all the insults that turn the air blue

.”

“There is also laughter and two men are singing at the tops of their lungs. I must give them better rhymes to go with their tunes. Mayhap I can sing a duet with them. It is going to rain, very soon now.”

“Do not forget the families to arrive within the sennight, with children. All must be put in the great hall, I suppose. Speak to Bullic, tell him we will have at least two score more mouths to feed.”

“I did. He said he will be ready. Aleric assigned a detail of men to hunt each morning. When do you think the king’s men will return from Radstock and Furly?”

“In three days, if all goes well. I pray the keeps were not attacked. They would not have stood a chance, for their defenses are meager in comparison to Wareham’s, and just look at what happened here.” The three dogs were barking madly and he turned to see Ivo throwing them each a bone. “The great hall smells good.”

She nodded. “I had rosemary and lavender strewn on the fresh rushes. A great deal of lavender, actually, to soak up all the foul smells that have seeped into the stone floor over the years. As for the sweet-smelling jakes, since you drank so much ale, you will probably visit them soon, you and the Chancellor of England. Mayhap between your two brains, you can determine that Sir Lyle is the traitor. I cannot believe you actually assigned him and his mangy men to question the men we brought from Winthorpe.”

He smiled at the meaty sneer in her voice.

She grabbed his sleeve. “Listen to me, Garron—the man who attacked you didn’t have a chance against you. You are a warrior, you are brave and strong. You do not hesitate. But Sir Lyle of Clive, I simply know it to my bones, he is a very bad man.”

He studied her, his eyebrow arched. “You do not know that. I pray he is not bad because I need him and his strong arm. I find it odd that our very astute chancellor still believes you the priest’s bastard. It is so very obvious that you are nothing of the sort, that you are obviously a lady born.”

“He sees what he’s meant to see. Most do.”

“Discipline,” he said, “our chancellor wants me to see to your discipline. Come with me.” He took her hand and pulled her behind a newly rebuilt shed that held building tools. He pulled her close and placed his finger on her mouth. “Listen to me, Merry. As I said, the chancellor believes you should be disciplined. He has instructed me to see to it. I believe he wants me to thrash you.”

“You would not!”

He smiled. “No, I would not, but let me tell you this. If the chancellor continues to believe you a nagging fishwife, he could easily insist you return to London with him, to accept punishment from the king himself.” This wasn’t at all in the realm of possibility, but Garron saw she looked uncertain now, not quite so sure of herself. Good. “The chancellor is also a very intelligent man, a man I trust above all others. Let him drink away his woes, even only for a single night. His duties for the king always weigh heavily on him.”

“You would not let him take me back to London, would you?”

He hated that she was afraid, but he needed her agreement. He shrugged. “I would not have a choice. What would the king do to you? I do not know. So here is what we must do. When we emerge from behind this shed, I want you to rub your bottom, as if I’d walloped you but good, all right? You will tell anyone who asks you that this walloping was deserved discipline. And rub your bottom again. The chancellor will find out, and he will be pleased. He will leave you here with me. Can you do this?”

He watched her chew this over, and wanted to smile. Finally, she nodded. “Oh aye, I will not accuse him of idiocy anymore. I do not wish to be forced away from you, Garron.”

“You will mind your tongue?”

She nodded.

“Good. All right?”

When they walked back into the inner bailey, he smiled to see her vigorously rubbing her bottom.

“Ah, one other thing, Merry. Try your best not to sneer again in the chancellor’s presence or even behind his back, for I have learned the man sees everything.”

Both were aware of the silence around them, no hammering, no yelling, no little boys’ voices, not one of the dogs barking. One of Garron’s newly purchased cows mooed. He looked up to see nearly every one of his people staring at him, and Eric the goat stood not six feet away, chewing on an old leather strap dangling out of her mouth. And here came Miggins striding toward him, her ancient face seamed and set, her meager shoulders pulled back, mumbling to herself. This was all he needed. At least she wasn’t carrying a weapon.

Merry quickly rubbed her bottom again and tried to look pitiful.

Miggins waved her fist at him, “Ye whipped her, didn’t ye, my lord, ye, a big man, strong, used to violence, but this one here, she is only a dainty little mite, soft and yielding. Aye, ever so yielding. Be ye like yer brother, Lord Arthur? Be ye as rotten as he was?”

“Yielding? Where is such a girl, Miggins?” He made a show of searching the inner bailey.

“She’s wrong about that, Garron, I’m not this fragile useless creature. I am a warrior. I am a hero.”

“Aye, and now you’re a better disciplined warrior.”

Miggins shouted, “Mayhap not sweet and gentle, but she is innocent of men. Did ye jerk up her skirts? Don’t deny it, young randy lord that ye are. When I was young, my handsome Ulric always did the same to me. And then he licked me behind my knees.”

Tags: Catherine Coulter Medieval Song Historical
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