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Godfrey's words died as he finally glanced over and spotted Merry with Edda. He gave up pushing at Alex then and let him drop back to the ground in a heap as he turned to stare at her in horror.
"What is she doing here?" he asked with alarm, stepping in front of Alex as if to hide his body with his small frame.
"What do you think she is doing here?" Edda snapped with disgust. "She read the letter from your father and connected the names. Evelinde told her my sister was Lady Duquet," she added grimly. "Certainly Alex never recognized the name."
Godfrey bit his lip and then glanced to Merry, "My lady, I--"
"Oh, please," Edda interrupted with disgust. "Do not tell me you intend to grovel and plead for forgiveness. You are trying to kill her husband. She will hardly thank you for that when the little fool is so obviously in love with him."
Godfrey fell silent, his gaze returning reluctantly to Alex's prone form. Afraid he would now continue with his efforts to throw Alex off the wall, Merry asked quickly, "So you were the one behind the accidents and fire on the journey?"
"I thought you were in the wagon with Una when I set the fire," Godfrey said quickly.
"That is not what she asked," Edda said with amusement and then told Merry, "Aye, it was him. He is a good boy, more than eager to help out his auntie for my silence and a few coins."
That caught Merry's attention, and she glanced back to the woman to ask curiously, "Silence on what?"
"Our little Godfrey has something of a gambling problem. He got himself in some trouble earlier this year when he accompanied my sister and her husband to court and got himself in deep with usurers."
"Was he not in Tunis with Alex this last year?" Merry asked with surprise.
"Nay. Godfrey replaced Alex's last squire, who was finished with his training when he returned from Tunis," Edda explained.
Alex hadn't mentioned that, Merry thought with a small frown. But then why should he? She was sure there was much he had not mentioned and she hadn't thought to ask about.
"At any rate," Edda continued, "Alfred paid off Godfrey's debts and exhorted him to stop. Godfrey, of course, promised he would, but both Alfred and my sister were fretting that he would not be able to resist, and so I suggested he be sent here to be trained by Alex. I pointed out that here, far from court or even a large town for quite a distance, there would be little temptation for Godfrey to break his promise. And I, of course, would keep an eye on the boy." She grinned, and Merry felt pity for the sister who had been foolish enough to trust her son's well-being to this woman.
"And no one mentioned the connection between ye to Alex?" she asked quietly.
Edda pursed her lips as if in thought, and then clucked. "I do believe I may have forgotten to mention that. I may even have suggested to my sister that they might not wish to mention it, either...just so that Alex did not start asking questions, learn of Godfrey's gambling problems, and reject the request, of course."
"O' course," Merry said dryly.
"They thought it all a wonderful idea and petitioned Alex at once. He accepted, and Godfrey arrived here just the day before you." Edda smiled at the lad with satisfaction, to which he scowled in return, which made her laugh as she turned back to Merry. "Unfortunately, even in the village here there is gambling. Cockfights and other low-class games of chance that anyone who wishes may bet on." She shrugged. "He soon found himself unable to resist the temptation of gambling and in trouble again owing money he did not have. He came to me, of course."
"And ye were ever so helpful," Merry suggested dryly.
"Of course. He is my nephew. I promised to pay off his debts and not tell his father--who would surely disinherit him this time--all in exchange for one little favor."
"Little?" Merry scoffed. "Ye've blackmailed the boy to commit murder. And you!" She turned on Godfrey. "Diya really think being hung fer murder is better than taking a beating from the local moneylender?"
"Nay," he said grimly. "But 'tis better than being disinherited and left a pauper without title, home, or wealth...and then I will only be hung if I am caught."
"Ye're caught," she said coldly, and was satisfied by the fear that flashed in the boy's eyes if only for a moment before he glanced to his aunt.
"Aye. You are," Edda agreed. "What are we going to do about that?"
Godfrey hesitated, his eyes sliding back to Merry, and she thought she saw a brief struggle on his face, but then he said, "Kill her, too."
"Nay. Then I shall surely be left homeless and penniless," Edda said, and then added grimly, "And trust me, nephew, does that happen I will not keep my mouth shut about your gambling here."
"Well, we cannot let her live," Godfrey argued, his brief moment of regret apparently gone. "She will see us both hanged."
"And if she dies without producing an heir, the castle will go to Evelinde and her husband and they shall surely cast me out," Edda snapped. "'Tis why it was done this way if you will recall. She was to get with child, then Alex was to die, and she was to follow once the babe was born and I could remain as his or her guardian and Lady d'Aumesbery for a good twenty years more, or longer if I could manage it. I will remain Lady of d'Aumesbery."
Merry's eyes were wide as she suddenly understood what had seemed so incomprehensible before. "Ye were dosing Alex to make him randy, not appear drunk and cause trouble between us."
Edda waved that away with irritation. "The slurring and staggering were an unfortunate side effect. The tonic was a combination of things to make him bed you often and well and get you with child. I also dumped some emetic in the soldiers' ale in the barracks to ensure they became ill so that Alex had to delay the trip. And I was giving you a tonic as well to strengthen you to accept his seed." She smiled slightly and added, "However, your tonic had no side effects, unpleasant or otherwise."
Merry's eyes narrowed at these words, but she merely said, "That is why ye were askin' about me being with child ere we headed to Scotland."
Edda smiled. "On your wedding night you told me you'd last had your woman's time two weeks earlier. When three weeks passed after the wedding and--no doubt--repeated beddings without its return, I knew my tonic had worked and you were with child." She shrugged. "There was no reason to delay killing Alex. An accident on his journey to Scotland seemed the safest bet." She turned angry eyes to her nephew and added in harsh tones, "However, the boy messed that up like he does everything."
While Godfrey stiffened and puffed up with outrage at the angry words, Merry had no interest in them whatsoever and asked, "But why continue on with the tonic on the trip then if ye thought I was carryin'?"
"There was extra left over," Edda said with a shrug. "I had made up an awful lot, expecting to have to dose him for longer than I did, and it did seem beneficial that the side effects made him clumsy and slow thinking. I thought he would be easier for Godfrey to handle did he continue dosing him. Howbeit," she added, turning a glare on the lad, "he messed that up, too, dosing himself by accident."
"I told you, it was not an accident. I slipped into the tent and dosed Lord Alex's wine while they were out checking the cut I gave her mare--"
"The cut was yer doing?" Merry interrupted.
Godfrey nodded. "Just a small one, a nick. I had to point right at it before Allan even noticed it," he added with disgust. "But then you two came out to look as I knew you would and I slipped into the tent to put the tonic in his wine."
"Too much tonic," Edda said grimly and complained to Merry, "He doubled the dosage I told him to use and then was foolish enough to drink it himself."
"You told me two portions," Godfrey argued.
"I told you one."
"Two," the boy insisted, and then added, "And I knew what I was doing when she pressed the tonic on me, but what could I do? Admit there was tonic in the wine and refuse to take it?"
Edda opened her mouth to snap back, but paused and turned a confused and suspicious glance Merry's way as she suddenly began to laugh. "What are you finding so
funny, Merewen Stewart?"
"Merry d'Aumesbery," she corrected, sobering only slightly, and then explained, "I am laughing because the two o' ye are ridiculous. Ye're a pair o' jesters, too clumsy and foolish to succeed at anything."
"Is that right?" Edda asked grimly. "And yet your husband is about to die."
