She laughed, a melodious sound, soft and lovely. She gave him a look of amusement. “Nay, of course you are not. You, Jason of Brennan, are a woman’s tool. You are my tool, defective though you be, you are still mine, until I decide otherwise.” She paused a moment, looking toward the shadows, into them, he believed, and he knew he saw those shadows roil and twist. He forced himself to stand perfectly still, to show no fear, for he knew to his guts that would be fatal. He stared at the powerful abbess who had ruled Meizerling for more than fifteen years now, mayhap the wealthiest abbey in all of England, filled with learned parchments and beautifully illuminated manuscripts. She even had several women scribes, something that he’d never heard of before. Her damning words flowed into him, reduced him to nothing at all. He drew himself up again, taller this time. He was a man, he was strong, he wasn’t anyone’s tool, man or woman. Abbess or no, she was still a woman withal, yet in odd moments of honesty, in this terrifying chamber with its deep shadows that held evil, he knew he was afraid of her, and he hated himself more for that than for his excuses. At odd moments, he wondered if she even needed the six ever-vigilant soldiers who stood alert and at the ready outside her door, ready to pour into the room and kill anyone she pointed to. Could she point a long white finger at him, the one with the massive emerald set in finely worked silver, chant a few words, make that stinking sulfur smell fill his nostrils and choke him?
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.”
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?”
“Aye, she is all of those things. But to murder my father—that is difficult to accept. My father died one day before my mother arrived at Valcourt with her own private army and Jason of Brennan at her side. I hope you’re wrong. I hope she did not murder my father. That would bespeak evil beyond reason. Since I am of her blood, it scares me what could be inside me, waiting to reveal itself.”
“Don’t be a dolt. You are so far from being anything bad or frightening, and that makes you vulnerable. Now, listen, whether she did or did not kill him, I see now that I have no choice. I must take you to King Edward. He is the one to make all decisions about who will assume authority over Valcourt. He is the only one to protect you.”
She’d known, oh aye, she’d known what he would decide, for after all, he was the king’s man. She said calmly, her stirring a bit slower now that the mixture was cooling, “So I will no longer be my mother’s pawn, I will be the king’s paw
n. It is he who will sell me, not my mother.”
“By Saint Florin’s boils, don’t sound so put upon, you know it is the way things are done. Marriage is about alliances and property. Had your father not died, had your mother not interfered, the king would have decided your future and Valcourt’s. It is his responsibility, surely you understand that. The king would hardly wish to have a man not of his choosing take over Valcourt, it is too important a holding. I doubt not the king will want you to stay at court, under his watchful eye.”
“You mean he will dangle me in front of his toadies? I do not wish to visit the court again.”
That stopped him cold. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”
She touched a fingertip to the thickening liquid and tasted it. She nearly gagged it tasted so bad. She swallowed once, again. “This mixture is so vile, it is bound to cure anything.”
“Merry—”
She reached for two open jars, carefully poured in the mixture, covered both jars with heavy cloth, and tied string around them. “When I reached my fifteenth year, my father sent me to be one of Queen Eleanor’s ladies. I stayed for ten full months at court. I hated it. Not Queen Eleanor, for she was very kind to me, but the courtiers, both the men and the ladies, they would smile at you and tell filthy stories about you behind your back. It is an awful place. When I finally begged my father to bring me home, he did.”
Garron had watched the courtiers play their interminable games until he’d simply paid no more attention. A fifteen-year-old girl would not have stood a chance. “Did any of the men try to seduce you?”