How to Marry Your Wife (17 page)

Chapter 31

They slithered through long grasses in order to get a view of the Scot’s camp. Merry sat upon her saddle, motionless, staring into the fire. Her full plate lay in her lap untouched. It’d been seven days since the boy’s rescue and with each one she grew thinner. At this rate of decline, she’d never make it to Carlisle.

Thomas leaned and spoke into Nicholas’ ear. “I need to talk to her.”

“Are you mad? We agreed we’d rescue her once we reach Carlisle.” He raised his head above the grasses, cursed, dropped back down, and scratched at his beard. “But I agree, she’d no doubt fare better with some encouragement.”

The young one, who’d shown too much interest in her, led her to a fur and pushed upon her shoulders. Like a well-heeled hound, she obeyed and lay upon her back, now gazing lifeless at the stars.

His heart constricted and he swallowed hard. “Tonight.”

When the army of mercenaries quieted, he snuck closer, and waited for the fire to burn to embers. A lone owl hooted over the madman’s mumblings and the camp slept.

He edged up to her on the far side of the sleeping guard and cupped his hand over her mouth. “Shsh, Merry, it’s me.”

Her eyes reflected the light of the half moon and sparked to life. “Thomas?”

“Aye, wife.”

“The boys—”

“Are safe in a priory, well-guarded. Nicholas is with me.”

She reached a soft hand to his cheek, tugged his beard, and brought his lips to hers. “If you’re a dream or I’m in heaven, come join with me. I miss you so.”

“I am not and cannot. Promise me to take heart. You’re my soul, trolly-troll. I swear I’ll claim you in Carlisle. You must not leave me now. We’ve come so far. Just a few more days.”

The red haired boy on guard stood, stretched, and Thomas dropped flat to the ground. “I must go. I’ve not the men to save you. Not yet.”

As she had for days, Merry woke to the sound of men. Men making jokes, men pissing, men putting upon armor, men grunting, and men shouting. No wonder women joined nunneries. She sighed. At least none had tried to force himself upon her. She rolled onto her knees and began her morning litany in a low voice. “Holy Mary, moth—”

A memory niggled at her like an almost-sneeze.
Think, think, think
.
Thomas?
Was last night a dream?
She moaned. She’d finally gone mad. Perhaps a welcome death would follow soon. She opened her eyes and a gold cloak button lay upon the ground near where she slept.

With tears stinging her eyes, she clasped Thomas’ small token to her heart. Last night was nay a dream. Careful not to be seen, she put the gold into her purse. She stood, the morning’s new guard gave her a brief nod, and she strode away from the men to find somewhere to piss.

A small copse of trees would provide cover. When she squatted, she recognized the bird call that warbled above as her husband.
Oh, blessed Mother of God
. He followed.

The dew on the green leaves sparkled and the orange sky intensified until she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. A small hare stopped to stare at her, with nose and ears twitching, as if to ask of her well-being. She hurried back for breaking-of-fast, unable to hide the joy that leapt in her heart.

Gnawing upon a leg of a hen, Brian broke into a wide grin as she approached. “Lady Meredith? You seem much improved this morning. Here, eat.”

“Thank you.” She finished it all and washed it down with a skin of thick mead. With that, they mounted as they’d done for more days than she could count and Brian rode alongside. “We may reach Carlisle in just two more days. Then I will ask for your hand, proper.”

Merry hummed to herself and nodded, trying not to look as if angels danced before her eyes.
Thomas is going to save me and he has not abandoned me and the boys are well. La dee da.

“I’m glad to see that you finally find some good in our union. Bonnie lasses and strong lads ye will bring forth from my seed that will burst deep into your folds.”

Heavens above. No seed.
It was time to find a more suitable subject. “Tell me, where will we live, once married?”

“Where the air always smells clean, mountains wrap you in their blanket, and everything is bonnie green.”

“Does your family have a keep?”

“Aye, but Annandale will offer me a small one nearby for taking such good care of you. You’ll see to it that he does, won’t you?” His gaze lost its friendliness and his tone gave hint of a more sinister warning.

“Of course, of course. What’s he like, my grandsire?”

His alarm increased. “You’ve never met him?”

“I’ve met Robert, my father. Just not
his
father.”

He moaned. “Do you know nothin’? Robert Bruce has turned English, fighting so long in Wales for Edward. Annandale is the only Bruce that’s still a true Scot.”

“But I heard say again and again he’s sworn fealty to Edward.”

The boy tsk-tsked. “You’re but a wee lassie. I’ll try to explain, but then we’ll ne’er speak politics again, understand? You might say the wrong thing to the wrong person and . . .” He slit his hand across his throat and grimaced.

She focused ahead to keep from rolling her eyes. “I thank you.”

“Robert Bruce, your father, fights with Edward in Wales and has been at odds with your Grandsire Annandale for years.”

“Why?”

Brian sighed deeply and continued on with a condescending tone. “Because Annandale should be on the thrown of Scotland, not Alexander, and his son refuses to support him.”

She almost blurt out that in fact, if you studied the hierarchy, Alexander’s line was the most direct. She made a dull face. “Can you explain more fully?”

“Holy God. ’Tis no use. When we get to Carlisle, just keep your bonnie mouth shut. Let me do the speakin’ for you. Whatever you do, say naught of love for yer father. Do y’ken?”

She nodded and he patted her head like a good hound. She seethed. Two more days to Carlisle. How would she manage without first gutting this boy from chin to pintle?

Chapter 32

The turrets of Carlisle towered high, with bright banners flapping and snapping in the wind. Five knights dressed in Annandale’s crest stood at the open gate, checking papers and generally being a nuisance. One of the guards eyed Thomas and Nicholas with a haughty scowl as they dismounted.

Thomas fumed. His Templar tunic might be torn and stained, but it held more honor than those worn by the tax collectors at the entryway. He winked, threw a rude hand gesture, and shouted, “Good day to ye, lads.”

Nicholas nudged him. “Don’t start anything. Not here.”

In front, at least ten wagons loaded with wares waited at the main gate, along with nigh onto fifty persons of different status. Some laid out blankets alongside the bricked pathway and slept while their horses grazed at a few sprigs of green grass.

“Have I ever mentioned that I abhor long queues?” Thomas scratched his beard.

The leader of the idiots approached with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “We don’t allow ruffians within the walls.”

Thomas pointed to himself and mouthed the words, “Who? Me?”

The guard pushed at him. “Aye, you. And him, too.”

Brushing off his tunic, Thomas glared back, and pointed a thumb at Nicholas. “You’d insult the grandson of the Steward of Annandale?”

“I know them all and he’s not one of them. Mount up and be gone.” With the common sense of a jester, he drew out a rusty sword. In the turrets above, archers talked and lazed about, none taking interest.

Nicholas reached into his tunic, pulled out his father’s seal on a gold chain, and held it aloft to the nose of the enforcer.

The guard brushed it aside with a sniff and a spit. “That proves nothing. Such things can be stolen and bought for a price.”

Reaching deep into his saddlebag, Thomas unfurled his sealed parchment, and read, “By Royal Decree, Most treasured trader of King Edward. Grant ye access to Sir Thomas D’Agostine—”

“That holds no weight here either, merchant.”

“Oh, for the blood of Christ.” Thomas drew his sword and knocked the dolt to the ground with the flat side of his blade. When the other four minions rushed forward, he rendered them just the same. Before archers could take aim, Thomas grinned at the crowd in line, and tossed a handful of coins high in the air. Those from the lower classes shouted, jumped, and scrambled around him in happy mayhem. He laughed and moved forward through the gates within his shield of wagons, serfs, and grinning nobles.

Nicholas grumbled, yet hid a grin. “You could’ve warned me,”

“What? And spoil the surprise? Wait, there’s more amusement yet to come.”

A loud clanging sounded from within the barracks and more brightly dressed guards swarmed with weapons high.

Nicholas sheathed his sword and raised his hands. “I hope you like dungeons.”

Throwing up the last of the coins, Thomas shrugged and smirked while good people continued to surround them. He shouted over the din of the blessings. “That never fails.”

The less than amused guards shoved them through a courtyard of tens of booths, some no more worthy than crate and plank. Merchants sang out their goods as they wove through a myriad of shoes, candles, iron spoons, bright wool, and colorful pottery. After passing a lifetime’s worth of wares, the entrance to the main keep finally appeared. A brightly painted door towered overhead with scenes of the taking back of Jerusalem. Christ proudly led the charge, dressed in a Templar tunic.

A page ran off and returned in moments. He bent over, huffing and wheezing. Once he caught his breath, he opened the door wide with a grand sweep of one arm and motioned them in. Thomas, Nicholas, and the multitude of armed tax collectors strode through a marble hallway lined with over fifty statues, countless tapestries, and treasures. Sensing a battle, jeweled men and high capped ladies followed, eager to hear what was about to unfold.

At the end of their journey, a large man sat upon a throne-like chair. His thick gray hair curled over the edge of his ermine lined cloak. The Earl of Annandale stood and boomed, “Nicholas lad, is that you? Why have you stayed away so long?”

Nicholas eyed his grandfather and frowned. “Scarborough has kept me
detained
.”

The big man laughed heartily, but the mirth did not meet his eyes. “I see you have managed to
free
yourself from your duties.”

Thomas stepped forward and swords slid from sheath in unison. “Enough banter. I demand you release my wife, the Lady Meredith.”

Archers on either side of the dais drew bows taut. Sharp intelligent eyes narrowed and regarded him. “Have we met, Master merchant?”

“Sir Thomas D’Agostine, Templar Knight, Most Treasured Trader to Edward, friend of the Beast of Thornhill, rightful holder of the castle at No-Man’s-Land, and husband to your son’s daughter.”

“You may approach.” Annandale’s voice echoed in the large hall. More members of the court, who’d been conversing in small groups, moved in closer. The silence in the room was such that a drop of water would’ve made a great splash.

Eying the archers, Thomas decided to stay put. “I believe you can hear me quite plainly from where I stand. I ask that you release my wife, your granddaughter.”

Annandale sat back down and crossed arms over mailed chest with the smile of a fox. “As all are aware, one of my son’s unfortunate offspring was lost in the woods years ago—a tragic accident. Her brother, here, has been a faithful serf for one of such a lowly birth.”

Nicholas growled under his breath at the insult, but held his tongue.

Addressing the crowd, palms up, Thomas continued. “Then what harm could it do to fetch the woman whom you hold captive so that we can question her? I’ve followed her all the way from Scarborough, where mischief runs deep. Mayhap you’d like me to share what I’ve heard there?”

Annandale was quick to his feet for such a large man. “Seize them and place them in the dungeon.”

Thomas cursed, pulled out his sword, and stood back to back with Nicholas, who muttered, “Well done.”

“Then
you
say something, oh, mighty smooth-tongue. He’s your kin.” Thomas wondered if death would come by sword or arrow.

“When my father arrives with King Edward, I’ll let it be known how we’ve been treated.” Nicholas knocked aside a sword that slashed down from one of the braver guards.”

“Not if you’re dead. Take them away.”

Thomas, holding his own against three, clenched his teeth and shouted, “Hold!
Especially
if we’re dead. A sealed parchment—” His sword swung and it clanged against the attacker. “Is to be delivered to Edward—” He thrust and met mail, sucked in a deep breath, and raised his sword high. “If we die. No more amusement or I will begin to fight in earnest.”

The guards and archers looked to Annandale, whose red face blended with colors of his cloak. Thick gray eyebrows turned down and his mouth pursed. “Drop your weapons, all.”

The guards let go and Thomas sheathed his sword, grinning at the disgruntled guards. “I wish to see my wife and I’d have you return my lands.”

“My granddaughter is indisposed. She says you have put her aside and has annulled your marriage. You’ve no rights to her. I’ll give you the hospitality of my village, but not of her. As for your lands? Get them back yourself if you want them so badly. I tire of this conversation. Be gone before I change my mind.”

Thomas turned on a heel without ceremony. He wouldn’t bow to a would-be king, a man who’d plot against the rightful heir to the throne of Scotland; a man who no doubt had eyes on England itself. The man who held his wife, damnation.

Later, Thomas sat at the inn with his back to the wall, facing the door while he ate a tasteless meal. His men were scattered about the room, alert. “I need to see her.”

Nicholas threw a bone upon the floor, and picked up another piece of hen. “Patience. I’ve friends inside the keep. They say she’s put up like a queen, but there’s rumors of a quick wedding.”

“By God, he cannot. She’s already my wife.” Thomas kicked at the bottom of Nicholas’ chair.

He caught his balance by dropping his food and grabbing the edge of the table. “No doubt the annulment was done before we left Scarborough.”

Thomas bit down hard, caught the inside of his cheek, and cursed. “How long do you think we have before he arranges a wedding?”

“Not long, my friend, not long.”