There, she’d said it aloud.
He said, “Aye, but I’m not yet certain what it all means.”
“You will tell me when you are.” She wanted to leap to her feet and do a little dance, maybe even sing a little rhyme. He trusted her. And he needed her to be with him. But why did he need her with him? “The curse,” she said, “it always came back to that. All this strangeness, this quest of yours. Maybe my grandmother didn’t poison Sir Arlan.”
“Stop worrying about it. We’ll find out the truth.”
She nodded. She had no idea now what to believe. One thing she was very certain of—she wasn’t at all afraid, not of him at any rate. She knew Bishop would protect her if attacked, knew to the soles of her leather shoes, finely stitched by the weaver Crake, who was so old his hands shook as he sewed.
“Merryn, did your grandmother and grandfather write the Penwyth curse?”
“Not that I know of.” She paused a moment. “There were whispers, of course. And I wondered because the second part of the curse spoke so specifically to me—red hair, green eyes. But I truly don’t know.”
He nodded, gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to bring her hard against him, but he knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the time. He was being pushed and prodded to ride ever northeast. And so they rode throughout the morning, staying close to the beach. The sea was beautiful, the water glistening beneath a bright sun as far out as she could see, and the sea air settled on her skin. As the afternoon lengthened, fog billowed from the water over the land and over them as well. Bishop pulled Fearless back from the cliffs because of the thick fog.
The sun was lowering behind them when Bishop said, “If there is a curse and we don’t get rid of it, then you will die alone and sad, just as Crooky said. No man could risk wedding you.”
“I know. But there is a solution, Bishop. You must ask the king to make me Grandfather’s heir. I can protect the western end of England from all possible invaders. Truly, my father and grandfather taught me strategy, taught me to use a bow and arrow, to throw a knife. It’s true that I do not wield a sword well—they are too heavy for me. But I have guile, Bishop. I have incredible guile. If the French wish to invade, why, I’ll drive them into the sea.”
“I’m strong, Merryn, and I can wield a sword, and yet I have eleven soldiers always with me.”
“Except for now.”
“Yes, that’s true, and I am taking a risk, not just with my own life but also with yours. So who will be your soldiers, Merryn? Who will fight for you to protect Penwyth? Surely not all those old men?”
She was silent.
“A man-at-arms must be able to draw back a bow and aim it as he holds it steady; he must be able to fight on horseback; he must be able to see the enemy creeping up on him and fight him with his bare hands if necessary. He must wield an axe, and as you know, they are heavy, those axes. All those old men must die one day, Merryn, and then what will you have?”
“They have never died for as long as I’ve been alive.”
“You are only eighteen.”
“None died during my father’s lifetime, either.”
Silence fell between them and time passed.
He said, “Let us say that you do stave off any enemies of Penwyth and England. Who will come after you, Merryn, when you die? What will happen to Penwyth then?”
She remained silent. He heard her whisper, “Must I laugh because there’s nothing else to do?”
17
SOMETHING WAS PUSHING him ever forward, and the shortest way to the northeast was along the coast. Just as something was pushing him away from taking her virginity.
They skirted villages, several small keeps of no particular significance. Bishop was wondering where were all the thieves and bandits and assorted other people who would whistle even as they killed him, when Merryn saw dust rising in the distance and pointed. “A band of horses,” he said. He couldn’t afford to fight now, couldn’t afford to be killed, because Merryn would be helpless. He slowed Fearless and rode him a bit inland into a small copse of larches. Bishop dismounted and stood by Fearless’s head, holding his nostrils to keep him from whinnying. They waited silently until the dust cloud disappeared to the south.
Then they rode, stopping but once so Fearless could rest. They were drawing close, Bishop felt it in his bones.
“Will you know once we get there?”
He smiled over her head. “I’ll know.”
“How will you know?”
“I’ll know.” That was exactly what the prince would have said. Bishop nearly fell off his horse. What was going on here? He was suddenly afraid that he would know exactly where he was when he got to where he was going.
He tightened his hold around Merryn.