The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

But he’d had no choice but to ally himself to her, no choice at all. He’d been desperate.

“I am no tool,” he said again.

She laughed once more, and he swelled with rage. Be calm, be calm, all is not lost. She can find no one else in time. He dredged deep and found a smile. “There is good news, my lady.”

An arched eyebrow shot upward even as she said with utter indifference, “I hope your good news is sufficient to convince me not to let Abel kill you.”

“It is,” he said shortly, hoping his voice sounded firm, hoping he sounded like a solid man, one who knew what needed to be done, and could do it. “Halric said there was a girl standing beside the warrior on the ramparts at Wareham.”

“A girl? I don’t suppose she was ill-kempt and starving either, was she? No, of course not. And how exactly is this good news to me?”

“Halric recognized her.”

Abbess Helen stilled.

“Aye, it was your daughter, madam. Halric has no idea how she came to be at Wareham.”

Lady Helen looked away from him, into the shadows that were warm and comforting, and wished this vain young cock would leave so the shadows could seep into her and ward off the cold. She forced herself to look at his handsome face. “So after Halric lost Marianna in Clandor Forest to a fierce warrior he did not know—and his vast army of men—she somehow made her way to Wareham, not all that distant from Clandor Forest. I do not suppose it was difficult for my daughter to sneak into Wareham, what with all the people either dead or nearly starved.”

She closed her eyes and looked beyond her abbey walls, beyond the acres of trees, past the small villages, until the savage North Sea finally came into her mind’s eye, and atop a promontory sat Wareham Castle. It was not difficult to see her daughter slipping in amongst those starved mongrels, blending in, helping them.

In that instant, she realized this was not what had happened at all. Everything was clear now.

Abbess Helen contemplated Jason of Brennan as he now paced in front of her worktable, turning to stride to the far shuttered windows, then back again. Did he want her to admire his excellent form? The strength and sturdiness of his back? Indeed, he was a handsome man, a man Marianna should have admired, but she hadn’t. She’d detested him so much, she’d run away. How had she realized so quickly that he was a callow creature, no honor in him that she’d ever seen, only self-interest and greed and a marked need to cause pain whenever he could, failings of most men Helen had observed? Evidently she had.

Still, Helen was amazed that this particular man, whose father, Lord Ranulf, the Earl of Carronwick, a man she’d always avoided because he was far-seeing, was so blind, so stupid, so unlike the man who had sired him. “You honestly don’t know what happened, do you?”

Jason stopped in front of her table. He hated it, but slowly, he shook his head.

Lady Helen said very softly, “Garron of Kersey naturally traveled to Wareham to assume his brother’s title and lands. The man in your pay at Wareham, the steward, was it not? You instructed him to tip the potion into Arthur’s ale, and so he did. You should have known Arthur’s brother would arrive quickly. Is it not obvious to you that Lord Garron was the ferocious warrior who rescued Marianna from Halric and his men? Is it not obvious to you that he must have taken her to Wareham with him?” She examined her fingernails, noticed that one was blackening, doubtless from her recent experiment with noreweed and warboil. “Is it clear to you now?”

“That is impossible, madam. I told you that Halric dressed her as a boy. No one would recognize her. Why would he take a scruffy boy with him to Wareham?”

She was tempted to hurl the lovely black onyx statue of Minerva that stood on her worktable at his head. “So she revealed herself to Lord Garron. Did she confess to him who she was? Probably not, she is too afraid of me, probably too afraid of you as well. Is she now his leman? I must doubt it because she has shown no interest in men, according to Ella, my own faithful servant who stayed behind at Valcourt to take care of her.”

“She took no interest in me either,” Jason said, and he sounded astonished that such a thing could happen.

Helen continued to examine the black fingernail, a frown on her smooth white brow. She said, more to that fingernail than to him, “Marianna draws people to her, it is a special gift she has. She calls forth their loyalty, their trust. She has managed to do the same thing at Wareham. Did you not tell me that you and your men destroyed Wareham, that you ensured all those who were left alive could not leave the castle?”

“That is correct.”

“Marianna would kill herself to fix things. She is very good at it. She arranges, she cajoles, she makes her infernal lists. She has taken over Wareham, and Lord Garron, doubt it not. I do wonder if Lord Garron now knows who she is.”

Helen looked toward a vial that held pulverized toad mixed with ox blood and a pinch of ground swamp panwort, said to bring clarity to the mind. She let herself sink into that clarity and saw a little rat of a girl with flaming red hair, yet her mother didn’t have red hair, nor did her father, Lord Timothy. That hair of hers was a curse from the Devil. Not more than six years old she was. She drew away from the vision when Jason of Brennan said, “Halric, once he realized who she was, believes she recognized him as well. She knows, madam, and that must mean that Lord Garron now knows as well. Surely she would not keep him in ignorance.”

“She knows only of Sir Halric. How could Marianna know he is your minion?”

He hadn’t considered that. He felt relief wash through him. “Aye, that’s right. She never saw us together. He told me he never said my name to her.”

“Nor does she know you do my bidding, now does she? And that means Lord Garron is ignorant of that fact as well.”

He felt the quiver of insult and drew himself up. “I am my own man. I only do your bidding because I have decided it is in my own best interest to do so.” He gave her a sneer, knowing it would enrage her, but not enough to smite him, he hoped. “I promise you, madam, I will kill Lord Garron, I will find where Arthur hid the silver coins he stole from my father and present them to you, and then I will wed your daughter.” And then I will have Valcourt and the king will have no choice but to accept me. And why would he not? He thinks highly of my father, trusts him, so why would he not accept the son, particularly after he is already the master of Valcourt?

And you, madam, even after I give you the silver coins—if I decide to give all of them to you—you will still be here amongst these ancient evil-soaked stone walls, these brooding shadows drowning the light, and your

strange chants and black smoke, and screams, so many screams, and mayhap one day you will fall into them and disappear.

Jason smiled now. “Mayhap, madam, you will be a grandmother within the year.”