The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

He laughed now, though his fear for her was still a knot in his belly. The fear was gone from her eyes. As a matter of fact, she looked proud as Gilpin had the time he’d managed to trip a man who’d tried to slit Garron’s throat in Marseilles.

Ah, but that villain could have so easily slid that knife into her neck and she’d be dead, and—No, he wasn’t going to say any more about it. “Aye, you’ve proved yourself to the world. You were a warrior. Tell me, Merry, have you ever seen Sir Lyle before?”

She frowned, shook her head.

Did he himself trust Sir Lyle? Down in his gut where it counted?

An hour later they were back at Wareham and greeted with loud cheering and great excitement when all the laden pack mules were in the inner bailey. Garron turned the twenty men he’d brought back with him from Winthorpe over to Aleric. Their families would be arriving within a sennight. Until dwellings were constructed, the great hall would be full to bursting.

He did not go to the granary to visit his two prisoners until it was nearly time for the afternoon meal. Merry was on his heels the instant she realized what he was going to do. “Leave me alone with them, I will make th

ose worms tell you the truth,” she said, chin up.

Ah, the arrogance, he thought, and found himself smiling at her. “No, Aleric and I will question them first. If we fail, you may be certain I will call upon you. They have enjoyed several hours by themselves to consider their sins and their fingernails. It’s very dark down there, the walls oozing damp and cold. It should make their tongues loosen.”

“But—”

He patted her hand, and left her. He and Aleric walked down the stairs, and Aleric unlocked the granary door and shined a rush torch inside. The two men lay on filthy straw, their backs against the cold stone walls. Both appeared to be asleep.

“Do you think they’re ready for your fine care, Aleric?” Garron called out, his voice echoing back to him.

There was no movement from either man.

Garron frowned, then he cursed and ran to where they lay. They were dead. Both had been garroted, the ropes still around their throats.

He cursed until he was repeating animal body parts. “They’re cold to the touch, Aleric. They were murdered not long after we arrived home.” Garron rose slowly to his feet. “We have a traitor right here in Wareham. By all the disciples’ martyred sisters, I do hate traitors.”

Garron wondered what Robert Burnell would have to say to this.

Burnell had plenty to say when Garron told him during dinner. He carefully laid down the pheasant bone on his trencher. “I cannot accept this, I cannot. Yet another traitor here at Wareham?”

“Evidently so, sir. Since both the prisoners are dead, there is no way I can determine who hired them. Tell me about Sir Lyle.”

“Sir Lyle? Come, Garron, that is not possible, surely it is not. I cannot credit it, I cannot, for it would mean I was duped, and surely that cannot happen.”

“Then mayhap it was one of the king’s men you brought with you, sir. My own men and I have been together since I was a green lad. There is no one else. Miggins or Tupper would have told me if there was a stranger lurking around.”

Burnell ruminated. “It cannot be Sir Lyle. He asked to see me when I was preparing to journey here to Wareham. He said he owed allegiance to no man and when he’d heard you were the king’s man, a fair man withal, he said he wished to swear fealty to you. The king himself said he’d heard Sir Lyle was stout and loyal. Others agreed with him. I had not met Sir Lyle so I did not know, but I liked how he looked me straight in the eye and kept himself sharp and straight in his manners and speech. Ah, mayhap it was one of his men, ah, that is it. But Sir Lyle? Ah, if he is false, it means I failed my precious king.”

And you surely failed me as well.

Burnell was tapping his fingertips on the table. “I saw that Sir Lyle was distraught when he heard you telling me of the attack on you and Merry. I saw his anger, his confusion.”

“Aye, I saw it too when he first came with Aleric right after the attack.” Garron looked over at Sir Lyle. He was sitting at a newly made trestle table, hunkered down next to his three men, a roasted pheasant leg in his hand. He said, “I saw Sir Lyle speak to his man Solan, and the man disappeared. When I asked Sir Lyle about Solan, he told me Solan suffered from belly cramps. He looks fit enough now.” He paused a moment, chewed on a hunk of brown bread, tasty it was, slathered with rich butter. “Merry distrusts him.”

Burnell said, “The priest’s bastard? She distrusts a knight?”

“Aye, she does.”

“She is making up tales, exaggerating. I mean, just look at all that red hair.”

Garron called out, “Sir Lyle, attend me!”

When Sir Lyle stood quietly beside him, Garron asked him, “Where did your man Solan go today?”

“Solan? Do you not remember asking me that before, my lord? Do you not remember I told you that his belly pained him? I had warned him, but he wouldn’t stop eating the winterberries. I sent him to lie down under a tree. He is himself again. He, like I, like all my men, is much disturbed by the murder of the two prisoners. He does not know who it could be.” Garron watched Lyle look briefly toward Merry, who sat silently next to Elaine and her sons. There was no expression on his face, but his eyes—they were filled with suspicion and something else. What was it? He didn’t know. What was he thinking? Merry was nothing to him, nothing at all.

Sir Lyle turned back to him. He was smacking his fist against his open palm, once, twice, three times. “And now the two assassins were garroted right here at Wareham—by all black hearts that roam the land, my lord, it is difficult to accept that there is a traitor here, within Wareham’s very walls, someone disloyal to you. If you wish, I will join Aleric and Pali and question all the new workers who came from Winthorpe back to Wareham with us. I am hopeful one of them is the traitor.”