The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

Abbess Helen wanted to laugh at his paltry attempt to insult her. She marveled at his overflowing male vanity and was amused by what he was thinking, so clear his thoughts were on his face, his pleasure at the vision he created of himself as the Earl of Valcourt. Of course, he also saw himself besting her, keeping the silver for himself, but this would never happen, particularly since she held powers close to her breast, powers he couldn’t begin to comprehend, powers beyond this world. And mayhap the next as well.

Her husband, Lord Timothy de Luce de Mornay, Earl of Valcourt, had male vanity in full measure until he finally closed those damned knowledge-filled eyes of his for the final time, and she’d known she’d won because he hadn’t had the time to marry off Marianna to spite her. She’d never known what he was thinking, not like she did most men, not until he wanted her to know. Nearly twenty years flowed through her mind and it was weighed down with her hatred of his knowledge of her, her failure to control him. She remembered clearly the look on his face when he’d realized what she was, and she’d known it was too soon, too soon, she had not secured him yet. But she had gained what she’d wanted, what she knew she must have. And that was a victory over him.

And she’d cleverly spread the story that Lord Timothy was a monster, that she’d had to leave her young daughter to escape him, taking with her the vast wealth she’d brought to the marriage, and come to Meizerling Abbey, and who could blame her for that, even though she was but a woman, a wife, obedience supposedly the first commandment for a woman? But none would quibble with the religious life she’d chosen. And she’d taken over Meizerling within the year, changed it utterly, and now it was known as a center of learning, of science, and, as very few knew, a center of other sorts of knowledge as well.

Meizerling was her kingdom. Only hers. And she would dispose of Valcourt and Marianna as she wished. Of course there was another option as well, one that just might be delicious. She would think carefully about that.

She smiled at Jason of Brennan. “So you still hope to wed my daughter?”

“Of course. I must simply determine what is best done now.”

“Will you slip your knife into Sir Halric’s heart?”

Jason wasn’t about to tell her that Halric made his own rules, went his own way, that he was something more than simply Jason’s man, and that knowledge always stayed his hand, but he realized his acquiescence was what she wanted. He saw the arrow wound in Halric’s neck, saw his own knife digging in, widening it. Slowly, he nodded.

Her eyes were narrowed on his face. Could she tell he was lying? Could she see into his brain and simply know? He felt a slap of stark fear, and said again, “Aye, I will stick my knife in deep.”

“Then I will tell you what you must do and pray for your sake that you do not again fail me.” When she finished, Jason gave her a long look, nodded, turned on his booted heel, and left the chamber. He heard her laugh. “No more failure or I will turn your hair white and your nose will fall off!” He looked back only once over his shoulder, and would swear the roiling dark shadows now surrounded her worktable, drawing ever closer to her to embrace her like a lover, and the stench of sulfur was stronger, now coming toward him to curl into his nostrils.

He closed the chamber door and ran. He didn’t remember until he’d ridden away from the shadow of the great abbey: Sir Halric had carried his standard, one of his soldiers had told him that, and wasn’t that a mistake? Jason was glad he hadn’t told the witch. He believed she would have smote him dead on the spot. Was it possible that Marianna recognized his standard? Given his spate of recent bad luck, he wouldn’t doubt it.

But there was still something the witch didn’t know, something he would not tell her.

27

WAREHAM CASTLE

Garron found her in the small solar beside the lord’s chamber. There was a single window, the deer hide pulled back to let in the sun. There’d been no glass window in this room for the Black Demon to shatter.

He watched her carefully remove a pot from atop a fire and carry it to a small table. He watched her carefully stir as she read her herbal. She didn’t look up at him. “Good morning, Garron. I cannot stop stirring or the herbs will do something bad, exactly what I don’t know. I feel so very ignorant. What if I make a mistake and kill someone?”

He waved that away as he came closer. “What is it?”

“It is an infusion for Miggins’s cough.”

“It stings my eyes.”

She nodded, still stirring, studying the brew. “It is aniseed and sundew. It is the aniseed that stings your eyes. The thyme smells tart. I have never made this recipe before. I am being very careful with all my measurements, but it is difficult, Garron. I hope it will help her and not burn her throat out.”

As she stirred, Merry’s heart beat slow hard strokes. At his continued silence, she said finally, still not looking at him, “It has been a day and a half since you returned, a day and a half since you have spoken to me of anything other than improvements on Wareham. Have you decided what to do?”

“You said your mother sold you to Jason of Brennan. I gather your father, Lord Timothy, is dead?”

She nodded. “About the same time your own brother died.”

“Why did your mother have to sell you if Valcourt is so very wealthy?”

“There is no cache of ready silver, since Valcourt’s wealth lies in its lands and farms and towns. When I was a babe, she left me and my father and took her family’s silver with her. She requires a great deal of silver for Meizerling Abbey. She must have determined that selling me to Jason of Brennan was the best way to get it. She acted quickly, found a man she could buy before the king could even be told of my father’s death and bestow Valcourt on one of his favorites. Or perhaps she had been planning this a long time and Jason of Brennan stepped through her door.”

“You said Meizerling Abbey. I have heard of it.”

“My mother’s name is Lady Helen, or most properly, I suppose, Abbess Helen of Meizerling.”

“I have also heard talk of your mother, how she has made Meizerling a learning center where men may come and study.” He’d also heard a story about a monk who had visited Meizerling and fled in the night, telling how he came upon the abbess kneeling in front of a strange statue that sat tall and skinny in the middle of a black circle, and she was chanting strange words to it. The monk claimed the Devil had appeared, framed by billowing black smoke. That story alone could scare the lice off a cow. It sounded ridiculous to Garron, a nightmare image to frighten children. “So when your father died, she moved quickly. Too quickly, I think. How did your father die, Merry? Was his death unexpected?”

She stared at him, her brain frozen. “You believe she made a bargain with Jason of Brennan, and killed my father?”

He shrugged. “Is she smart? Can she plan well? Is she that ruthless?”