The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

Sir Lyle shook his head. “I am very sorry, my lord.”

Once they were clear of the forest, it stopped raining.

41

LONDON

It was early evening when they rode through the massive gates into the White Tower’s vast inner courtyard. So many people were there, waiting to hear what had happened. But what could he say? That he’d been drugged by a witch who was Merry’s mother?

He said only, “We failed to find her.”

Garron imagined Arnold and John would have quite a lot to say once they’d poured some ale down their throats, but now they spoke only of finding a strange tower in the forest, abandoned and empty. They said nothing about how he’d acted when he’d come out of the enclosure.

As for Gilpin, he gave Garron a sorrowful look and shook his head. “That empty tower. We all had hopes of finding Merry there, but alas.”

“Do you remember when I went in the tower alone, Gilpin?”

“No, my lord, you are not remembering aright. Naturally I would not let you go in that strange place alone, my lord. No, all of us went in and found the tower abandoned.” But Gilpin was frowning, and looked bewildered. He knows there is more, Garron thought, but somehow he no longer remembers.

It didn’t matter. Garron knew Gilpin was very worried. Would he ever remember? Or perhaps, he thought, he had himself dreamed all of it. Maybe all there was, was this abandoned ruined tower, built even before William had come to English shores. No, he couldn’t accept that. He knew she’d drugged him, she’d planted the illusions in his brain, made them so real he could touch them, taste them, feel them in the air itself.

Garron met with the king and queen. He knew he would be believed mad if he spoke about the witch who was Merry’s mother, how she’d drugged him, how she’d made him see things that weren’t there, and so he, like Arnold, John, and Gilpin, told them about finding an abandoned tower, but not Merry.

The queen wept. Most of the queen’s ladies wept with her. Blanche waved her white fingers at him.

Silence filled the White Tower. There was simply nothing more to be done.

Garron fell into an exhausted sleep. Merry was standing beside that bed in her nightrobe in the sickle-shaped room. She was holding out her hand to him, speaking to him, begging him, he knew it, but he couldn’t hear what she said, nor could he seem to move to her. He heard her calling his name, so clearly, so close.

Garron jerked awake, his heart pounding. He knew she was in trouble but there was nothing he could do about it.

The next morning, Garron, with Gilpin, Sir Lyle and his two men, and a dozen of the king’s soldiers, prepared to leave for Jason of Brennan’s keep, Swaines, only a three-hour ride, Burnell told him, in the opposite direction from the forest and the witch’s tower.

Merry. He knew to his gut she wouldn’t be at Jason of Brennan’s keep, but surely Jason had to know where her mother was keeping her. If he didn’t find her, he would journey on to Meizerling. Would the witch even be there? If she was, would she admit she’d practiced magick on him? Would she admit she’d drugged him? Would she admit she held her daughter somewhere?

The heavy rains were past. It was a fine morning, warm, the sun was bright overhead. He was preparing to mount Damocles when he heard Gilpin yell, “My lord! My lord, wait! She is no longer gone! She’s back!”

“What? What did you say, Gilpin?” He turned, impatient, on edge.

“She is here, my lord! Merry, she’s here!”

His brain went blank. “What did you say? You said Merry is here?”

“Aye, she said her mother let her leave! Look, she is coming right now!”

Garron looked up to see her running toward him. She was wearing a bedgown, a robe pulled over it, holding the skirts high in her hands. He saw her face, saw her hair wasn’t braided, but was loose around her face and down her back, bright red beneath the sun. It was Merry and she was laughing and crying at the same time and running as fast as she could to get to him. For a moment, he simply couldn’t believe it, then he was running to her. He caught her up against him and buried his face in her hair. She was real, he could feel her heart pounding against his chest. She was really here, she’d come back to him. He raised his head and looked down at her, cupping her beloved face between his two large palms.

“How can this be? Is it really you and not some phantom come to haunt me?”

He felt her warm breath on his face as she leaned up to kiss his chin. “Aye, my lord,” she whispered, “I am a phantom come to bedevil you, for all your allotted worldly years,” and she kissed his ear, his nose, his mouth.

He said her name even as he kissed her deeply, his hands wild on her back, lifting her hard against him. He didn’t want to let her go, ever again. He would help her bathe, he would accompany her to the jakes, he would—Garron became aware of a crowd of men gathering around them. She saw Sir Lyle standing off to one side, looking on, a quizzical look on his face. Slowly, Garron let her slide down his body. He smiled down at her, then looked at those around them. “I thank all of you. She is somehow returned to me. When I learn how my betrothed managed this remarkable feat, I will tell all of you.” And he picked her up in his arms.

“My lord!” It was Robert Burnell, his robe flapping around his feet. “I heard the hei

ress is back. Is this she? Really? I mean, I see all that wicked hair of hers, but how can that be? You could not find her, no one could. How could she suddenly appear?” Robert Burnell, the Chancellor of England, pulled up short and crossed himself.

“She has told me she is a phantom come to bedevil me,” Garron shouted with laughter, and carried her away through the crowd.