The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

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Merry sat on a fat cushion at the queen’s feet, Garron stood beside her, not about to let her out of his sight. The queen couldn’t seem to stop stroking her hair, long and loose down her back.

The king lounged opposite her in an opulent chair he’d brought back from the Holy Land, a gift from Sultan Baibars himself, his long legs stretched out in front of him, jeweled leather shoes on his big feet.

The queen laid her hand on Merry’s shoulder. “It’s time for you to tell all of us what happened.”

Merry lightly placed her hand over the queen’s. It appeared to steady her. “My lady, it is all very simple, really. My mother sent two men to drug me and bring me to her. When I awoke, she told me I would marry Jason of Brennan. I told her he was the Black Demon, that he’d devastated Wareham and killed many innocent people because no one would tell him where Arthur’s silver coins were hidden. I told her I wished to marry Garron, that he would make a fine lord for Valcourt as well as Wareham.” She paused a moment, then looked up at the king through her lashes. Garron stared at her. He’d never seen her do that before. It was remarkably effective. The king blinked and sat forward in his chair. He never took his eyes off her as he handed her a stuffed fig from a silver platter a servant held beside him.

“And what did your mother say to that?”

Merry smiled as she took a small bite of the fig. Her head tilted just a bit to the side, cascading her hair over her shoulder, to curl around her breast. “Sire, she finally acknowledged she was satisfied with my selection. She gave me her blessing and sent me back here with the two men who’d taken me in the first place. She prays you will not seek to punish her since she was merely concerned that I was being forced into a marriage that didn’t please me. All her recklessness, sire, it was only because she felt she had to rescue me, to spare me unhappiness.”

Garron stared at her, disbelieving the mad words that had come out of her mouth. Whose mother are you talking about? Why are you defending her? Your damned witch mother doesn’t care about anyone’s happiness, you know that. Don’t you remember how you had to run away when she first brought Jason of Brennan to Valcourt?

Had her mother fed her a drug that had somehow rearranged her memory? Was there such a thing?

One of the king’s elegant brows went up. “Rescue you? Your mother rescued you only to force you to wed with Jason of Brennan, the man who tried to destroy Wareham for these silver coins I never heard of until recently, a portion of which rightfully belong to me—the Crown.” He sat forward, sudden greed lighting his Plantagenet blue eyes.

“Never fear, sire, if the silver coins do exist, if we ever find them, you will receive your fair portion,” Garron told him.

Edward nodded for Merry to continue. “You said your mother believed she was rescuing you?”

Merry nodded. “Sire, my mother believed Jason to be the better husband for me until I finally convinced her how very fine Garron was, and at last she believed me.”

“Did you make her a list of all my good qualities, Merry?”

She cocked her head to one side. “A list? Why would I make a list, my lord?”

He cocked his head at her in turn. “It is what you do. Always.”

“Ah. All your good qualities are imprinted on my brain, each and every one in splendid detail.”

“Did you tell her I was valiant?”

“I do not believe so. Don’t you believe ‘valiant’ is a rather foolish word?”

“Not at all,” the queen said comfortably. “All know my lord is the most valiant ruler in all of Christendom.”

The king turned in his beautiful chair to say to Burnell, “Do you agree, Robbie? Am I valiant?”

Burnell was staring at the fast-disappearing stuffed figs. “If you will allow your miserable servant to avail himself of a single stuffed fig, sire, I will announce to the pope that no one can exceed your majesty in every excellent quality that exists.”

“Do you even remember the particular quality we were speaking about, Robbie?”

“I will, sire, very soon now.” The king laughed and motioned the servant to offer the silver plate to his chancellor. Garron believed Burnell would swoon. His eyes drifted closed as he slowly chewed. “Aye, sire, I remember. Not only are you the most valiant, you are also the most generous of lords.”

The queen laughed and began stroking Merry’s hair again.

The king looked complacent.

The queen continued, “Do you know, Garron, that Merry already knew how to make lists when she came to me? I but refined her skills. She left my service a master.”

“Aye, I did indeed.” Suddenly Merry jumped to her feet. She lightly touched her fingertips to the queen’s shoulder. “I thank you, my lady. I believe I wish to have my betrothed stroke my hair now.” She turned to the king. Once again, she gave him a look to burn a man’s feet. The king, unruffled this time, said easily, “You are tired. Go rest, but do not lie beside your betrothed else you won’t be a maid at your wedding.”

The queen laughed. “Aye, that is the truth, but a good head rub is a very nice end to the wild adventure you two have enjoyed. Go.”

“Your wedding,” Burnell said, and took another fig. “What do you wish to do?”