Page 51 of The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

Why not? Merry called out, “I did not gullet him, Gilpin, I am not an enemy.”

There was dead silence, then Gilpin stuttered out, “ ’Tis you, Merry? How can this be?”

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Everyone always knew everything, no matter the size of the keep, and so it was ridiculous to wait to come down, but she did. When she finally slithered around the final turn of the stairs, the women who saw her stopped talking. Then conversation became louder.

No hope for it. When she stepped into the great hall, Elaine looked her full in the face and gave her a big smile. Then, one by one, the other women did as well.

They didn’t mind that she’d bedded the master? Evidently not. Evidently they approved. She grinned hugely at all of them and did a little skip.

Since it was eight o’clock in the morning, all the men and soldiers had already eaten Eric the goat’s cheese and Bullic’s fresh brown bread and drunk ale, and gone outside to work, as she’d known, except for Sir Lyle. He sat alone at one of the new trestle tables. He didn’t smile when he looked at her. And there was Gilpin, sitting in the sunlit doorway, polishing Garron’s armor. She looked around the great hall, ignoring Sir Lyle. The air was sweet with lavender and honeysuckle. Lisle lightly touched her old hand to Merry’s shoulder. “Come have some fresh bread and cheese. We’ve waited for you.”

They’d waited for her? It was amazing. She felt incredibly blessed.

Women’s voices filled the hall. One of the loudest was Miggins, yelling at Gilpin to stop his flirting with the new smithy’s daughter, who was only fourteen and too innocent for the likes of him. He started whistling and winked at Miggins.

Merry laughed at his show until she realized—she was no longer innocent. It was a very strange feeling. She supposed she’d expected to look different somehow when she gazed at herself in the polished silver mirror, but she hadn’t. She should have looked tired, but she didn’t. She looked, quite simply, happy.

When she’d awakened in Garron’s bed that morning, he’d been gone, but it hadn’t mattered. She felt wonderful except for the soreness. Did he feel wonderful? Was he sore? She didn’t know how that worked.

She wondered what he was thinking, what plans he was making. Would he still insist they go to London? Had he made a list? Would he show her his list?

None of the women said a word to her about sleeping in the master’s bed the previous night. Gilpin looked at her from the corner of his eyes, and continued whistling. It was a huge relief, but she still felt embarrassed. She had given her virginity to a man who was not her husband. Surely she deserved a bit of damnation, but she didn’t care. And still, Sir Lyle watched her. He drank the rest of his ale, then lazily rose from the bench and strode over to her. “I wish to speak to you.”

“Short of covering my ears, I cannot stop you.”

“You do not wish me to speak in front of all these women.”

“Why not?”

He drew himself to his full height, not all that impressive. “I know you are not a priest’s bastard. I do not know exactly who you are, but I will know soon, and I will denounce you to Lord Garron. Even though you went to his bed, he will send you away from Wareham.”

She gave him a sunny smile. “I do not know exactly who you are either, Sir Lyle, but I will know soon and then Garron will know, and I’ll wager he’ll kill you dead.”

His face darkened with rage and his hands fisted. He looked ready to strike her down. She felt a bolt of fear, but then Miggins was standing at her side. “Here’s some sweet bread for ye, mistress, jest out of Bullic’s clean oven. I dripped a bit of honey on top.” As she spoke, Miggins slid herself between Sir Lyle and Merry.

“Thank you, Miggins.” Merry took a bite of the bread. It tasted like fear. She forced herself to swallow, and smile. “It is delicious.” All the women were listening now, leaning toward her. What would happen, she wondered, if Sir Lyle struck her? Would the women attack him? She saw them moving even closer.

“Miggins, how is your cough this morning?”

“Nearly gone, mistress, nearly gone. The potion ye gave me was powerful bad, it made my innards creak and groan.”

“That means it’s working.” I hope. “You must drink more this morning.”

“Oh aye, I’ll drink yer potion. Mayhap I’ll give some to Sir Lyle, mayhap it will ease his humors. Ye really should step back from the mistress.”

“She’s naught but the master’s harlot. I would not drink anything she has brewed.”

Miggins didn’t move. “Ye must needs step back from the mistress, Sir Lyle.”

“Aye, she’s a harlot. Everyone knows he took her to his bed last night.”

Miggins smiled with her three remaining teeth. “I begin to question yer brains, sirrah. Step back else ye might find yerself on yer back with all our heels digging into yer chest.”

He looked around at the sound of the women’s angry voices. He said over Miggins’s head, “This flock of vultures would not dare to touch me.”