Catherine Coulter (25 page)

Blanche looked to see that Gilpin was at least ten paces behind them, flirting with Mathilda’s maidservant. “He marries you because he has no choice. You removed all his choice when you whined to the queen.”

“Don’t be a dolt, Blanche. Think of all the wealth I bring him.”

“But he does not like you, that was quite clear to everyone. He thinks you a silly little girl with naught but dreams of daffodils in her head.”

“Daffodils? They’re very pretty, are they not?”

“Don’t you try to distract me. You and your ignorance and your wicked red hair—how could any man admire you if you didn’t bring more coffers of silver with you than the King of France?”

“I don’t believe there will be any silver. Valcourt’s wealth lies in its prosperous land.”

“What do you know of anything?”

“I know about Arthur’s silver. I plan to find it and give it to Garron as my wedding present to him.”

“Silver? What silver? Who is Arthur?” Blanche’s voice, once filled with scorn, was now filled with reluctant interest. She pulled Merry to a halt, her fingers tight around Merry’s wrist. She shook her. “What silver?”

“Garron’s older brother Arthur had a stash of silver coins. The Black Demon attacked Wareham to find it. He failed.”

Blanche shook her head. “Doubtless one of your silly tales. You are good at distracting people, but now I wish to speak of Garron. Surely he does not like your wicked hair and those stupid little braids. The braids make you look plain.”

Merry remembered a priest who had crossed himself when he’d seen her and muttered about the Devil. How could hair be wicked? Why would the Devil care?

Blanche leaned close. “Indeed, why would Garron want someone as ugly as you are? If you had a single wit in your head, you would know he wants me. That is what he told me last night.”

Why don’t I have a damned knife?
“You should not tell falsehoods that are so easily disproved, Blanche.”

Blanche had the gall to laugh in her face. “I refused to bed with him again, you witless girl. But that is what he told me, his voice all low and hungry. You will never have the man, not the man I have known. You will have only the man who marries the heiress who will doubtless beat you if he has a brain in his head for you surely deserve it. You never shut your mouth.”

“I have a question for you, Blanche. Why would you care? You have your own husband.”

“Aye, I do, but he is so old, he has no more teeth in his mouth. Can you imagine a man trying to gum you?” She shuddered.

“No, I cannot. So that is why you spend so much time at court?”

“Of course. He is so old all he does is cackle over his porridge. Ah, but Garron, he has a mouth full of white teeth. He smells good, he tastes good. Last night, he was humming a song he said you wrote whilst he was kissing my neck,” and she walked away, smoothing her beautiful blue silk gown, her laughter sounding behind her.

Garron nuzzled that cow’s neck?
She would wager Arthur’s silver he hadn’t done that. Garron was the kind of man who worked alongside his people until it was too dark to see. He was fair-minded, he would be a fine master for Valcourt. Did he not make lists? Good lists? And what did that say about the man?
He kissed the cow’s neck whilst singing one of my songs?

She did not see Garron that evening because he and the king were continuing discussions on the marriage contract—rather, she suspected, the king was dictating to Garron what he wanted and Garron was trying to salvage what he could without disagreeing overly since he did not want to lose his head for an impertinence the king would decide not to forgive. Merry suspected it weighed in Garron’s favor that the king knew him to be an honest man, and when he added a wife, he could expect an heir. Continuity was important to the king.

All the contracts would be completed by the morrow, before the Bishop of London wedded them. They would bind Valcourt and Wareham together. Both holdings would flourish. She imagined her son would take charge of Valcourt when he was old enough.
Her son.
She touched her hand to her belly. Could it be possible that she already carried a babe?

Since she didn’t want any more embarrassing questions from the queen’s ladies, she went to her small chamber and snuggled down into the soft feather mattress, pulling the covers to her chin.
Tomorrow
, she thought, tomorrow she would become a wife, Garron’s wife.

Maybe, before they left London, she would have a chance to smack Blanche’s white face.

Her last thought before she fell asleep was of her mother and what she would do when she discovered her chick had married a man of her own choosing.

Her mother stood over her, her incredible golden hair untouched by gray, just as her face was untouched by lines. “What a little adventuress you are, so resourceful. But no more. You will now do as you’re told.” There was no expression on her face as she spoke, but oddly, her eyes seemed to burn, red and hot, and suddenly her own eyes were burning and it hurt and
—

Merry jerked up, coughing and gagging as the bitter smell filled her nostrils. She was shoved back down and a rough cloth was stuffed into her mouth.

She fought like a wild woman, sending her fists into soft flesh, kicking with her feet. She heard a grunt and a cry of pain. A fist struck her jaw. Still she fought, but she couldn’t seem to control her hands or her feet. She felt slow and clumsy. She felt a strange numbing sensation sweep through her. Finally, she fell back into silence and blackness.

G
arron awoke to soft hands stroking down his belly. “Merry, nay, you must stop. You shouldn’t be here.”

The hands closed around him and he lurched up, grabbing for her hands. “Merry? No, we must wait. We will wed on the morrow. Go back to your chamber.”

“One last time.” Her hair curtained her face as she leaned down and kissed his belly.

She was kissing him? Where had she learned that? “Merry?” The kisses continued downward. In near pain now, Garron grabbed her hair, and immediately came wide awake. It wasn’t Merry’s hair. He jerked up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Garron, come back.”

The room was dark. He grabbed the honey-scented taper and walked to the fireplace. He went down on his haunches on the hearth to press the wick to the still glowing embers. He raised the lit candle and looked at Blanche’s face. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright, her skin flushed, her dark hair spilling about her face and shoulders. He realized he was naked. That wasn’t good at all. He set the taper on the chest at the foot of the bed, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around himself.

She laughed. “There is no reason to cover yourself. I have seen you, Garron, all of you, many times, felt you and kissed you. Do you not remember how you always moaned into my mouth?”

“Whatever I remember, it makes no difference now. I am to be wed on the morrow, with the king’s blessing and in his presence. Do you really believe I would want to bed another woman?”

“Why not? No one will know.” Blanche shrugged. She was wearing a bedgown that looked like a spiderweb, pale and soft, and he could clearly see her breasts. She said deliberately, “You are not yet hers.”

He shook himself.
Hers?
“What do you mean? A man remains a man while a woman becomes the man’s possession.”

What a ridiculous thing to say.
On the other hand, she had baited him. Blanche pulled her bedgown slowly up over her head, let it pool at her feet, let him look his fill. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d frozen him to the spot. He looked to be in pain, yet he didn’t move. He quickly turned his back to her. She wanted to clout him. Instead, she managed a laugh, picked up her gown, and pulled it back over her head, letting it settle light as a butterfly’s wing against her skin. “Garron, I have no wish to wed you and become a possession, let that arrogant little girl wear your yoke. All I wish to do is enjoy your body one last time.”

“No, I cannot. I will not.”

“All right. But you know, Garron, when next you visit the king, you will doubtless be bored with her. Then we will see if I still want you. Come, what is wrong with that?”

Wrong
. Something was very wrong. Oh God, it was Merry. She was screaming, screaming. He ran from his chamber, holding the blanket around his waist with one hand and the lit taper in the other. He kicked Gilpin in the side with one bare foot, leaped over him. “
À moi
. Now!” The stone floor beneath his feet felt like ice, but he paid no attention, ran faster. Gilpin was soon behind him, running as fast as he could, not knowing what was happening. “My lord, what is the matter? Why are we running?”

“It’s Merry,” Garron shouted. “Something is wrong with Merry.”

Gilpin heard a laugh behind him and turned to see Lady Blanche of Howarth, her gown flowing around her, waving a white hand as she quietly closed Garron’s bedchamber door behind her and turned to walk away in the opposite direction.

That wasn’t right
, Gilpin thought as he tried to catch his master. What had happened? How could his master know something was wrong with Merry?

It seemed an eon passed before Garron pounded on Merry’s door. There was no answer. He didn’t hesitate, and slammed the door open. He raised his taper high, saw her narrow bed was empty, a blanket hanging off the side onto the floor.

“No,” he said, “no, this isn’t possible. Gilpin, get yourself dressed and fetch Whalen, the captain of the guard. Tell him Marianna de Luce de Mornay of Valcourt is gone, kidnapped. Hurry!”

Gilpin, ashen-faced, ran as fast as he could.

Within ten minutes, Whalen was sending out his guards to search the White Tower.

 

 

 

T
he king didn’t want to leave his fine dream. The ground around him was strewn with the bodies of warriors he himself had slain, his tunic soaked with their blood. He was faster than the wind, stronger than his prized destrier, so skilled he needed no soldiers to assist him. He was smiling because he’d won, he’d saved England—he heard a man’s voice in the antechamber, it was too loud. He’d take his sword to the lout, he’d—

“Garron! What is wrong?” The queen’s voice.

Garron didn’t even see she was suckling her baby. “It’s Merry, my lady, she is gone, taken. My lord, you must awaken, you must.”

“No,” the king said, “surely there are more villains for me to dispatch. Will you be quiet?”

“My lord,” Eleanor said, lightly touching his shoulder, “these villains are here. Garron needs you. Merry is gone.”

The king lurched up in bed. “What did you say, Eleanor? Merry is gone? What nonsense is this? Who would take her? Why did she run away?”

“Nay, sire, she didn’t run away. Someone took her.” Garron stood in the doorway, fully dressed, his sword in his hand, his eyes wild. “Whalen and his soldiers are searching for her. I don’t understand it—who could have taken her?”

The king was known to move very quickly, both his body and his brain, and so he did. “Was it her mother or Jason of Brennan?”

“Either, both, I don’t know yet.”

“One of the louts fell asleep. Whalen will discover who it was.” He paused a moment. “You told me her mother, Abbess Helen of Meizerling, is reputed to be a witch. Do you think she spirited her away, somehow removed the guards’ memories?”

“I don’t believe witchcraft had anything to do with it. I smelled something sweet in her chamber, a drug of some sort.”

Two of the king’s servants bolted into the chamber, panting, one of them pulling a short tunic over his head, the other holding clothes for the king. Within moments, Edward was striding into the antechamber. “You were not in her bed with her, were you?”

“I was not.” He thought of Blanche, and for an instant, he wondered if she’d known what was happening, if she’d been sent to distract him.

“Then how did you know something happened to her?”

Garron drew up, felt his heart begin to pound. He said slowly, “I don’t know how I knew. Really, I do not, it’s just that suddenly, from one moment to the next, I knew something was wrong, knew it to my heels. I got to her chamber as quickly as I could but she was already gone. They cannot have gotten far.”

Burnell had slipped into the antechamber, wearing a bedrobe as black as a sinner’s heart, a black scarf wrapped around his neck. He was frowning, shaking his head. “What you said, my lord, it makes no sense. You must have been dreaming, and it awakened you. You said you simply knew something was wrong? Surely not. Ah, were you dreaming about her?”

“I wasn’t asleep, I was wide awake.”

Burnell clasped Garron’s arm. “Are you ill to be awake in the middle of the night?”

“I was not ill. I was simply awake. I have only six men with me. If her mother has taken her, know, sire, that she has her own private army. I wish to borrow some men, and ride immediately to Meizerling.”

“Would her mother take her that far? That is a full day’s journey from London.” And the king was frowning toward the doorway where the queen stood, holding the babe in her arms, rocking her. She said, “If her mother took her, surely she would expect you would immediately think of Meizerling Abbey. Would she not hide her elsewhere? I would, were I she.”

The queen was right. “All right, then I must go to Jason of Brennan’s holding. But I do not know where it is.”

Burnell said, “I remember some two years ago, Jason of Brennan’s father, Lord Ranulf, gave him a small keep called Swaines. It is but a half-day’s ride from London.”

Garron nodded to Burnell. “If Jason took her there, I know I will find her mother there as well. I have no doubt the two of them decided together to kidnap her.”

The king looked amazed. “And they decided to kidnap her out of the White Tower? Out of her bedchamber in the White Tower? That is indeed a great show of audacity.”