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Merry remembered a priest who had crossed himself when he’d seen her and muttered about the Devil. How could hair be wicked? Why would the Devil care?
Blanche leaned close. “Indeed, why would Garron want someone as ugly as you are? If you had a single wit in your head, you would know he wants me. That is what he told me last night.”
Why don’t I have a damned knife? “You should not tell falsehoods that are so easily disproved, Blanche.”
Blanche had the gall to laugh in her face. “I refused to bed with him again, you witless girl. But that is what he told me, his voice all low and hungry. You will never have the man, not the man I have known. You will have only the man who marries the heiress who will doubtless beat you if he has a brain in his head for you surely deserve it. You never shut your mouth.”
“I have a question for you, Blanche. Why would you care? You have your own husband.”
“Aye, I do, but he is so old, he has no more teeth in his mouth. Can you imagine a man trying to gum you?” She shuddered.
“No, I cannot. So that is why you spend so much time at court?”
“Of course. He is so old all he does is cackle over his porridge. Ah, but Garron, he has a mouth full of white teeth. He smells good, he tastes good. Last night, he was humming a song he said you wrote whilst he was kissing my neck,” and she walked away, smoothing her beautiful blue silk gown, her laughter sounding behind her.
Garron nuzzled that cow’s neck? She would wager Arthur’s silver he hadn’t done that. Garron was the kind of man who worked alongside his people until it was too dark to see. He was fair-minded, he would be a fine master for Valcourt. Did he not make lists? Good lists? And what did that say about the man? He kissed the cow’s neck whilst singing one of my songs?
She did not see Garron that evening because he and the king were continuing discussions on the marriage contract—rather, she suspected, the king was dictating to Garron what he wanted and Garron was trying to salvage what he could without disagreeing overly since he did not want to lose his head for an impertinence the king would decide not to forgive. Merry suspected it weighed in Garron’s favor that the king knew him to be an honest man, and when he added a wife, he could expect an heir. Continuity was important to the king.
All the contracts would be completed by the morrow, before the Bishop of London wedded them. They would bind Valcourt and Wareham together. Both holdings would flourish. She imagined her son would take charge of Valcourt when he was old enough. Her son. She touched her hand to her belly. Could it be possible that she already carried a babe?
Since she didn’t want any more embarrassing questions from the queen’s ladies, she went to her small chamber and snuggled down into the soft feather mattress, pulling the covers to her chin. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow she would become a wife, Garron’s wife.
Maybe, before they left London, she would have a chance to smack Blanche’s white face.
Her last thought before she fell asleep was of her mother and what she would do when she discovered her chick had married a man of her own choosing.
Her mother stood over her, her incredible golden hair untouched by gray, just as her face was untouched by lines. “What a little adventuress you are, so resourceful. But no more. You will now do as you’re told.” There was no expression on her face as she spoke, but oddly, her eyes seemed to burn, red and hot, and suddenly her own eyes were burning and it hurt and—
Merry jerked up, coughing and gagging as the bitter smell filled her nostrils. She was shoved back down and a rough cloth was stuffed into her mouth.
She fought like a wild woman, sending her fists into soft flesh, kicking with her feet. She heard a grunt and a cry of pain. A fist struck her jaw. Still she fought, but she couldn’t seem to control her hands or her feet. She felt slow and clumsy. She felt a strange numbing sensation sweep through her. Finally, she fell back into silence and blackness.
34
Garron awoke to soft hands stroking down his belly. “Merry, nay, you must stop. You shouldn’t be here.”
The hands closed around him and he lurched up, grabbing for her hands. “Merry? No, we must wait. We will wed on the morrow. Go back to your chamber.”
“One last time.” Her hair curtained her face as she leaned down and kissed his belly.
She was kissing him? Where had she learned that? “Merry?” The kisses continued downward. In near pain now, Garron grabbed her hair, and immediately came wide awake. It wasn’t Merry’s hair. He jerked up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Garron, come back.”
The room was dark. He grabbed the honey-scented taper and walked to the fireplace. He went down on his haunches on the hearth to press the wick to the still glowing embers. He raised the lit candle and looked at Blanche’s face. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright, her skin flushed, her dark hair spilling about her face and shoulders. He realized he was naked. That wasn’t good at all. He set the taper on the chest at the foot of the bed, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around himself.
She laughed. “There is no reason to cover yourself. I have seen you, Garron, all of you, many times, felt you and kissed you. Do you not remember how you always moaned into my mouth?”
“Whatever I remember, it makes no difference now. I am to be wed on the morrow, with the king’s blessing and in his presence. Do you really believe I would want to bed another woman?”
“Why not? No one will know.” Blanche shrugged. She was wearing a bedgown that looked like a spiderweb, pale and soft, and he could clearly see her breasts. She said deliberately, “You are not yet hers.”
He shook himself. Hers? “What do you mean? A man remains a man while a woman becomes the man’s possession.”
What a ridiculous thing to say. On the other hand, she had baited him. Blanche pulled her bedgown slowly up over her head, let it pool at her feet, let him look his fill. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d frozen him to the spot. He looked to be in pain, yet he didn’t move. He quickly turned his back to her. She wanted to clout him. Instead, she managed a laugh, picked up her gown, and pulled it back over her head, letting it settle light as a butterfly’s wing against her skin. “Garron, I have no wish to wed you and become a possession, let that arrogant little girl wear your yoke. All I wish to do is enjoy your body one last time.”
“No, I cannot. I will not.”
