How to Marry Your Wife (12 page)

Chapter 20

Merry slipped once again on the slimy weeds that covered the rocks along the water’s edge and he held her upright. Unrelenting waves crashed against a sheer black wall as they approached a small cave, still yet a dot at the bottom of the cliff. Above, the parapets and turrets of Scarborough loomed so high they disappeared into the afternoon clouds. Her reasoning was sound that guards above would take no notice of two approaching by sea. Otherwise, arrows would be raining down upon them by now.

Thomas unbuckled his frog and repositioned it high across his chest to keep his sword from the salt water. “Say again, how we’re supposed to enter?”

“Asking repeatedly will not change my answer.” Her teeth chattered. A muslin undershirt, now wet and see-through, was hiked high, tucked into a belt at her waist with her bare legs turning blue.

He glared at her. “Forgive me, as my mind grows more diseased the longer I’m in your company. What in Hades are we doing out here?”

“When we get to Scotland, I’ll have to lock you in the tower and feed you under the door as the poor madman you’ve no doubt become. There’s an entrance straight ahead.” She squealed and held onto his waist as a wave washed over her head. Her green wool dress that she’d held high until that moment got lost in the wash. Seaweed lingered in her long locks. “Damnation. Yet another fine look I shall bring to Edward’s court. First there was mud-troll and now I’m sea-nymph.”

He pulled her closer, cupped a wet breast, and licked the salt water from her ear. “You look flawless to me.”

The ground underneath changed to wet sand, then solid rock. At the mouth of the cave, crabs and various shelled creatures clung fearlessly to the edge. Others scurried back into the sea. Bending at the waist, he followed, fighting an overwhelming desire to flee as the walls closed in.

“The people in the village may remember me. That’s why we must enter by this means.” She descended into an even smaller hole in the back of the cave.

Christ’s wounds.
The walls drew nearer and his breath thinned. He had to waddle and shout over the echo of the ocean’s roar. “And once again, this conversation comes about. Why
aren’t
you welcome?”

She hurried forward. “No time for that. Here’s the first set of stairs. Anon, the ocean will come up quickly.”

The stairs, cut into the solid rock, rose steeply and he was grateful that no sharp edges cut into his hands and knees. He focused on the floor, picturing an open field filled with stag, instead of an ever-shrinking enclosure. “Remarkable steps. These are man-made?”

“Aye. Ow. Damnation. The door’s locked.” She stopped and his head butted into her fine firm arse. Below, the ocean splashed over the first of the stone steps.

If they did not find a way in soon, death was a certainty.
Deep breath in and deep breath out.
“Think, Merry. Do you have any recollection what the lock mechanism looks like from the other side?”

“Certainly. A sliding iron bar with a half-moon carved into the side.”

Her memory was almost magical. He’d ask more about it at another moment when drowning wasn’t imminent. The mist of the ocean wet his face. “The key. Where is it?”

Silence followed, then her voice brightened. “Feel against the wall toward the ceiling and find a crack. There should be an iron key within, dipped in wax.

Dying by sword’s edge bothered him not, but having water fill one’s mouth until no breath left? In a cave so close to hell? What chance would a soldier such as he have of redemption? With palms, he scoured the flat rock and found a fissure, but his fingers were too large to dig within it.

Keeping one hand in place, he tugged her down to his step, and directed her there. The rising tide lapped over the step below. “Reach in.”

She squealed, jumped up and down, and placed a u-shape key in his hand. “Do you know how it works?”

“Aye.” Stepping up, he slid his hands over the surface of a wood door covered in pitch. A small hole rubbed at the pads of his palms. He poked the end of the key as deep as it would go, around the ‘U’, and cranked the handle. The key caught, he turned once more, and the door opened as he leaned in.

“Quickly, give it to me. I’ll put it back.” Her small fingertips moved up the length of his arm until finding what she searched for.

She returned to his side, just as water lapped over the top step. He shut the door against the sea, slid the bar into place, and sighed. “I do believe you forgot one thing—how fast the ocean rises.”

“Not at all. Last time I was here, I was going in the opposite direction. I forget nothing. My mind is beyond accurate, I assure you.”

He found her hand and kissed it. “Indeed. Does it remember if there’s a torch nearby? The imaginings of my mind are about to drive me daft. Did I ever mention how I despise enclosed spaces?”

“Reach to the right and up past the door.” She tugged his hand toward the wall.

He removed a remarkably well-tended torch, put it into her hands, and found his flame key. After several tries in the dark, a flare burst forth and lit the pitch. Long, narrow rock teeth descended from the ceiling and were met by similar formations from the cave’s floor; the shimmering mouth of a dragon.

God’s blood, he wanted out. “Which way?”

“Follow me. It’s beautiful, is it not?” She paused at the foot of another steep staircase where the wall would no doubt brush against his hips.

He grunted, trying to breathe and stop the drumming of his heart. He focused on the present danger. “Who else knows of this passage?”

“Only the governor of the castle and the king.” She began the steep ascent, lit another reed torch, and stuck it in a holder in the wall.

“So how did you come to know of it?” Thomas put one hand around her waist and pulled her behind him. His senses tingled as they did right before battle.

“My mother stole me out through this door to save me from my father,” she whispered as they ascended and her breath became labored.

He counted over a hundred steps and still no sign of the top. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“And yet you remember?”

“As if it were yesterday. Shh, now. We’re getting close to the door to the great hall. The flight above enters into the master’s chamber.”

Dim light filtered in through slits in the outside wall, where sea birds fluttered away squawking, leaving little mouths open, and peeping in multiple nests.

Thomas breathed in the fresh sea air and the hammering in his ears subsided. “We’ll take our chances with the upper floor. But before we enter, tell me, why did your father put you out as a child?”

“He claimed I was a witch.” She stared into his face, eyes wide.

Thomas stepped back for a moment and stared.
A child witch?
What rational man would think such a thing?

Then he knew.

The memories.

She could recall remarkably. Unnaturally.

Whereas Thomas considered it a gift from the Almighty, others would no doubt consider it an unholy curse.

“Your unique abilities at recall?”

“Aye.” Her voice cracked.

He squeezed her hand. “Oh, no. None of that, wee-witchy. A lucky man I am, for I shall never need wonder where I left my whetting stones, nor my shaving knife, nor my favorite child. We’ll talk more of this later.”

At the small landing at the top of the stairs, a similar wood block as held the door below barred their way. He slid it slowly aside, so as not to make a noise, and opened the door a crack.

She squeezed in front and turned a bright shade of crimson. “Oh, dear.”

He stifled a laugh. A young man about Merry’s age thrust his manly spear into a truly buxom woman.

“Who is he?” Thomas took his sword in hand while the two grunted and bucked together.

“I believe that’s my brother.” Merry backed away and averted her eyes.

Breasts bounced and the bed, hung by chains, swung.

“Friend or foe?” Thomas’ rod grew hard thinking about Merry in the same arched position.

“Friend. At least I think so. It’s been so many years. Who can be sure?”

The young man groaned and pieces of feathers and straw flew across the room. The deep red curtains about the bed fluttered as if in a strong wind.

“Then we’ll let him finish.”

With contorted face, her brother shouted, the wench screamed, and they were done.

Chapter 21

Thomas crashed open the door, crossed the Oriental rug, and kicked a heavy sword to the far end of the room. Her brother shot up stark naked. All the while, the wench in his arms screamed hysterically.

Merry turned to the buxom girl, who was making a noise more suitable for a peacock. “For goodness sakes, shut it! Niko, make her stop or we’ll all go deaf.”

Her brother put one hand over the screecher’s mouth and grabbed a blanket to cover his lower half. He eyed his weapon across the room and scrunched up his face. “Merry? Is it truly you?”

Niko jumped down off the still swinging bed, hugged her to his chest, and the room swam around in circles. “By the blood of Christ, it must be you. I’ve not heard my name spoken thus in years. But who is that? And by all the souls in purgatory, what’re you doing in my chambers?”

Thomas sheathed his sword, gave a big grin, and held out his arm. “Lord Thomas D’Agostine, Merry’s husband. Please forgive the intrusion. But after all, I did let you finish. And a truly inspiring performance it was.”

After shaking sword arms with her husband, Niko slapped the flabby arse of the woman in his arms. “Get.”

The wench held a linen tunic across her front, shrieking once again, and raced away.

“Would you mind if I don my clothes?” He pointed to a bright red tunic laid over a thickly upholstered chair.

“I do wish you would. I’ve already beheld more of my brother than I ever needed. Other than that, it’s wonderful to see you again.” She grinned.

“I believe I’ll say the same to you. Would you like a covering or does your husband prefer you go about mostly naked?” He raised thick red brows, set eyes fondly upon her, and tossed her an outer dress that laid upon the floor next to the bed.

Scooting behind her husband, she dropped the wet linen covered in seaweed and put the welcome dry cloth over her head.

While she searched for a belt, Niko asked, “Do you mind if I grab my sword?”

“Not at all, please do.” Thomas nodded at it while tugging her close to his body. He unsheathed his sword again and held it high.

“I don’t suppose I could ask you to drop yours?”

“You suppose correctly. There’s this small business of Merry’s welcome that should be cleared up before I do.”

While speaking, Nicholas donned his red tunic, buckled a jeweled frog, and sheathed his sword. He strode the way the wench had left and shouted down the hall. “Food. Fetch cheeses, bread, and a fine wine.”

The order was repeated several times, all the way to what was no doubt the kitchen staff. Grinning, he walked back to the center of the room and with a sweep of his hand, shoved aside a mound of parchment atop a round oak table. He pointed to the four gilded cushioned chairs and waited for them to sit before doing the same.

He tilted the seat back on hind legs and crossed arms over chest. “Before we begin, allow me to inquire. Are invading hoards about to follow?”

Thomas snickered. “Mayhap a few.”

He set his feet down and regarded Thomas eye to eye. “Ah. I assumed that might be the case. Heed your words carefully. Friend to Edward or foe?”

Thomas stood with hand upon sword. “Why would you need to ask in the king’s own keep?”

Nicholas waved with palms down. “Sit, sit. No offense intended. Things are not always what they appear to be in Scarborough. You’ll find that out for yourself soon enough.”

He nodded to his young page, who placed cheese and bread in front of them. A moment later, a pot of preserves arrived in the hands of a blushing maiden. Merry removed a knife from the sheath on her upper arm, cut a thick slice of bread, and lathered it with a deep red jam.

She sighed. “I suppose you’ll want me to start from the age of six?”

“Aye, but not yet.” Her brother stood, looked down the hall once again, and cracked open a panel in the wall. He stuck his head in and fully disappeared.

When he returned, he said, “Go ahead, but at a lower volume. The walls in this keep have many ears.”

She cleared her throat and swallowed. Bread stuck at the knot in her throat and her eyes stung from the memories that’d haunted her from the moment she’d stepped foot inside the keep. “Mother and father are both gone?”

Eyes the same shade and shape as hers stared back. His hair, too, was identical; the color of the setting sun. “Aye. Father is but a year into the grave and Mother passed to heaven soon after you were thought lost. She was never the same.”

“Did she say nothing before she passed?” She chewed on her lower lip to stop her chin from quivering, while staring at a tapestry of St. Stephen that had seen better days.

“You need to understand. Your name was forbidden to be uttered within the walls of the keep.” Her twin took her hand.

She pointed with her eating knife and jumped up. “And you never wondered why, Niko? Nor asked? Not even after the old bastard died?”

Thomas tried to sit her down, but she shoved at him. This needed to be settled. He took her blade and placed it on the table with a resounding thud.

Niko opened his mouth as if to say something harsh, then sighed. “I was only a wee bairn, too, when it happened. I’d no reason to disbelieve his story of how you wandered off after being accused as a witch.”

His eyes pierced her. “Tell me. Do you still? Remember everything with clarity?”

She flounced into the cushioned chair with a harrumph and glared back. “Aye. Every day, every moment as the sun traverses the sky and the moon that follows.”

“I’ve never heard of such a gift.” Niko wandered over to the window and stared into the distance.

“Or curse.” She spit out the words and crossed her hands over her chest.

Thomas picked up her dagger, put a bite of cheese on the tip, and offered it to her. “You’re cross and hungry. Eat.”

Nicholas turned to Thomas. “My father wasn’t an evil man, merely practical. When word got out that his daughter could remember with such detail, of course the people believed the worst. The church arrived for an inquisition. A sword to her neck would have been kinder than what that priest had in mind.”

Scowling, Thomas dug the tip of the dagger into a morsel of clam and chewed. “The Bishop of North Umberland?”

“Aye, you know of him?”

“Our paths have crossed. I believe he’s still sequestered in the estates of The Beast of Thornhill, praying upon his sins.”

Nicholas glanced back inside the room. “We’ll have to save that story for another day. So, Meredith, where’ve you been all these years?”

“Mother took me to Aunt Mary’s, where I stayed until thirteen. From there I was sent to learn the ways of a noble woman, Ann of the Green Meadows.

“Lady Ann? The woman who married The Beast? Ah, that explains it.” Nicholas opened the shutters fully and leaned out the hole. He shouted something to the man below.

“Explains what?” Thomas stood and she followed. An archer stood ready on the wall and at least fifty more stood there with bows drawn.

“Why he’s thundering toward my manor with a small army, helms down.”

She shoved at them both. “Say something, Niko. Don’t just stand there gawking. My son, your nephew is out there. Make sure no arrows fly. Hurry. Bows are taut.”

Nicholas leaned out to where an archer stood on a parapet just inches away, with fingers on the hemp string. “Stand down, I say. Stand down.” The command was repeated several times across the wall, a horn sounded, more shouting, and the drawbridge fell open with a clunk.

Merry raced down the familiar stone staircase to the lowest floor and out into the courtyard with Thomas and Niko close behind. Hens squawked, pigs grunted, and a flock of pigeons took to the air, as Marcus led a group of fifty or more men with at least ten wagons into the small space.

He gave a shrill whistle, men dismounted, and Merry rushed to the boys where they rode together on one of the chargers. The reins were held by old Sir Joseph, who grinned when they jumped down into her arms.

“Mama.”

“Aunty Meredith.”

Her heart broke as she squeezed them both into her breasts. “My loves. You’ve grown. I’ve truly missed you.” She backed off to check for bruises and scratches, but found no more than the norm. “You were good boys?”

Marc beamed and tugged on her hand. “Not boys. Squires in training. We’re going to be knights someday soon. Papa says so.”

With a grown-up frown, Tom greeted his father like a knight, hand to inner arm. “I don’t think you’ve taken good care of my mother. She’s all messy.”

Thomas turned his head to hide a smirk yet his eyes twinkled. “We’ll talk later and you can give me some advice.”

“See that you do. I’m hungry.”

“Me, too,” Marc chimed in.

“I’m hungrier, though.”

Marcus approached and tussled their scruffy mops. “Still with the arguing? One would think you’d had enough. If you want to be knights, find something of use to do. Then we eat.”

“Yes, sir,” they said and scampered off.

Her eyes misted and she wiped them with the back of her hand. “They’ve grown.”

Marcus towered over her. “It was time to untie the cord. You and my wife would have them in swaddling until they’re twelve. I have to say, however, the boy was right. I’ve seen you look better.” He scowled at Thomas, “I thought perhaps your band of jesters mocked me with their tale of how Merry saved your life, but mayhap I should believe them?”

“There’s much to catch up on. Call the leaders together. We’ll meet in the main hall as soon as the horses are tended.”