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Garron realized he really didn’t much care. “I suppose there is nothing to be done. I ask but one favor, sire. I wish to fight Jason of Brennan. I want to kill him for what he has done. The witch? I would also slit her throat if you agree to it.”
The king poured two goblets of fine wine from the Rhineland, and handed one to Garron. He looked at him closely as both men drank the sweet red wine.
“I will certainly let you question the abbess since you have intimate knowledge of her. Then we will see. As for Ranulf, I know him well, as did my father. He will tell me the truth.” He added, smiling fiercely, “And then we will see about Jason of Brennan’s future.”
52
MEIZERLING ABBEY
The king’s men, led by Sir Dancy of Archencourt, were conducted to the chamber where, they were told by the Abbess Helen of Meizerling’s master-at-arms that she was within, conducting her work. He was not happy, but had no choice but to obey the king’s command. He feared his very fine world was teetering, given the severity of Sir Dancy’s expression, the harshness of his words.
Helen sat at her vast worktable, a quill poised in her hand above a sheet of parchment. When she saw the men enter, she slowly rose.
Sir Dancy could but stare. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this incredible creature with her golden hair uncovered by a nun’s wimple, and milk-white skin, eyes the color of a foggy sky, was not it.
“L-Lady Helen? Abbess Helen?”
Helen heard his surprise, his admiration, and smiled. She took a graceful step forward. “I am Abbess Hel
en. How may I assist you, sir?”
Sir Dancy bowed. He remembered Garron’s words, remembered how he’d not really believed him: Be careful, Dancy, do not ever be alone with her, keep your men around you. Do not take any drink from her. She is more dangerous than I can say.
And Sir Dancy thought, staring at her, feeling lust rise in his blood, This glorious creature is dangerous? Surely not.
“I arrive from the king, madam,” and he handed her a rolled parchment. It never occurred to him to ask her if she could read. He watched her unroll the parchment, her hands so white and graceful, and read what Robert Burnell had written from the king.
After a moment, she looked up at Dancy. “I require two hours to prepare.”
Dancy nodded. “I am instructed to accompany you to your bedchamber, madam.” He remembered Garron’s words and nodded to all his men to fall in behind him.
So many men, she thought, too many. Ah, but she would have the king alone. Surely she could bring that to pass.
Merry listened to Sister Maude and Sister Alice speak outside her cell door. They brought her food twice daily and waited until she had finished, then removed the tray, saying nothing to her, no matter how innocent her questions. They must really fear her mother to obey her exactly. But now, now—the king had sent men to take her mother back to London, and the sisters were whispering about it. Were they pleased? Did they hate her as much as Merry did, or were they more afraid of her than anything else?
She remembered standing at the edge of the forest, near the old woman’s cottage, the meat in her hand, when she’d heard that loud whooshing sound. She could see herself whirl about, but there was no enemy, only the dark forest in front of her. And then something had slammed down on her head and she’d collapsed. Had she heard an old woman’s cackle? Was it the woodcutter’s widow who’d struck her down?
And she’d awakened here in this small cell. Yet again, her mother had bested her, and she’d wanted to weep at her failure.
The king had ordered her mother to come to London, to him, and she thus had no choice. What had he found out? Had Garron uncovered the truth? What had happened?
Now she had another chance.
The witch is leaving. She smiled into the dim light and readied herself.
53
LONDON
Garron looked from Abbess Helen of Meizerling to Merry, who now stood beside her. He watched Merry slip her hand into her mother’s. He watched Helen look down at her and give her a faint smile. Beautiful, vibrant Merry, who wasn’t his Merry, and he knew in that instant that the witch had done something lasting to her own daughter—or was it something else? Was she an imposter? But how could that be?
Lord Ranulf stood straight as a soldier and watched with no outward emotion as his son and Sir Halric were brought into the king’s chamber. Jason saw his father and started forward, but a guard grabbed his arm and held him back. His father nodded toward Sir Halric, which made Jason hiss like a snake.
Garron looked at the man responsible for so much death and misery, the man who’d tortured his brother, and thought, I shouldn’t have cut off your damned ear, I should have stuck my knife through your neck and been done with it. Would the king allow him to take vengeance? He knew in that moment he would fight him, it didn’t matter what the king said.
Robert Burnell, at a nod from the king, said to Lord Ranulf, “You will step forward, my lord, and you will tell us who Arlette is and how she gathered such a huge number of silver coins. You will not speak nonsense about Druid priestesses and curses. You will tell the king the exact truth.”
Garron studied Jason of Brennan’s father, Lord Ranulf, Earl of Carronwick. He was tall and sturdy, well muscled, very fine of face, just like his son. He wore a black tunic and mail, dusty from his travel to London. He said in a pleasant, deep voice, “Sire, I wove a fantastic tale for my son because he was just a lad when he first saw the silver coins, and would not have understood the truth. I threatened him with curses and punishment to ensure his silence, and he did remain silent until he lost his wits in drunkenness, and told Arthur of Wareham.
