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Garron had taken off his helmet and his black hair shone beneath the bright sun.
Voices swelled around her.
“Lord Garron is home!” yelled Lilo, a young daughter of a carpenter they’d hired from Winthorpe, who appeared to worship Hobbs, always standing near when he spoke in his beautiful musical voice to the horses.
Word spread fast. Soon, all Wareham’s people poured out of the great hall, out of the outbuildings to gather in the inner bailey. Workers waved their tools, joining in the cheers.
Damocles reared on his hind legs, not at all nervous with all the noise; rather, Merry thought, he was announcing his arrival, ready to be admired. Merry came down the great hall stone steps and moved to stand a step behind Miggins. She wanted to cheer with his people, but could not.
Garron was home at last.
Her time was up.
Garron saw a flash of bright red hair. He saw Merry lurking behind Miggins on the stairs. Why wasn’t she coming to greet him? He smelled the now familiar scents of home, and grinned from ear to ear at the sight of all Wareham’s people, all here to welcome him home. It was the first time in his life he’d received such a welcome. It warmed him to his booted feet.
It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brilliantly down upon his land, his castle, his people, his cows, her glorious red hair with the small hidden braids. “Merry,” he shouted, “bring yourself here now!”
He knew, she thought, somehow he had found out and now he was going to denounce her in front of all his people. She heard Eric the goat make small belching noises, saw Errol trying to pull a stick from the goat’s mouth. She felt a shove at her back. Elaine said, “Go, Merry, the master is home. You will tell him all we’ve accomplished in his absence.”
Merry threw her head back, smiled, and strode to where Garron was dismounting Damocles, who was still flinging his mighty head up and down. Garron stroked his long neck to calm him even as he listened to Hobbs speaking quietly to him.
Then he looked at her coming toward him, and smiled, simply couldn’t help it. The fact was, days ago he realized he didn’t really care who she was, where she came from, what her lineage was, he only knew she was here and she was smiling at him, and—Something was wrong.
“What is the matter with her, Aleric? Has something happened? Is she ill?”
“She will tell you, Garron.”
Garron didn’t think. He took three steps toward her and lifted her high, then swung her around. His people cheered and laughed and cheered some more.
He realized she was his as much as Wareham was his, and it felt very good. It felt right. He slowly lowered her, leaned his head down, and kissed her.
She was always talking, laughing, but now her lips were seamed tight. She’d turned to stone, and that was surely a blow to a man’s pride.
He frowned, set his forehead against hers for a moment, and said low, “I will see to it that when I kiss you the next time, we will be alone,” and he set her away from him. He turned to Aleric. “Six days, Aleric, and all looks nearly whole again.”
Aleric said easily, “Come into the great hall and I will tell you about how a man named Sir Halric visited us with several dozen soldiers and archers and demanded to be let in. He obviously believed all of us to be dying or dead. He offered to give us food if we let him in.” He paused a moment, looked briefly to Merry, and nodded. He stepped back to give them privacy.
Garron stilled. “Merry? What do you know of this? Who is Sir Halric?”
She said, “Evidently Sir Halric did not know you had returned to Wareham. I recognized him and Jason of Brennan’s standard as well.”
“How is this possible?”
“Jason of Brennan’s standard is horrible—two black eagles with their wings folded down hovering over a pile of bones.”
Garron looked back at Aleric. “Do you believe Jason of Brennan is the Black Demon?”
“It would seem so,” Aleric said. “He sent Sir Halric because he didn’t believe it would be difficult to gain entry into Wareham.”
Garron asked, “Did you hide the archers behind the rampart walls?”
“Aye, I did. It is a fine ploy. When the enemy shot their arrows at us, all our people merely covered their heads. I covered Merry’s head with my own shield. It was Hobbs who shot Sir Halric in the neck, not a death shot, but
he bled like a pig. I will wager the bastard is cursing us for his pain.”
Garron said to her, “You were on the ramparts wall with Aleric?”
She nodded.
