tire roasted pheasant in his mouth while running at full speed. He said, “In any case, Lord Vellan, a spirited old man with more fire in his gut than strength in his arm, has petitioned me repeatedly for his granddaughter to be made his heir, and the Baroness Merryn de Gay of Penwyth. That is ridiculous, of course.”
The king smiled, all bonhomie and goodwill, “Aye, I’ve decided it’s to be our young knight here.” He looked at Bishop straight on, rubbed his large hands together. “You will wed Lord Vellan’s granddaughter, Merryn. As of today, I proclaim that you are the old man’s heir. It’s an important holding, of credible strategic importance. I trust that you will protect it with your life. It is also not too far distant from St. Erth, close enough so that Dienwald may call upon you if my dearest Philippa entangles herself in more difficulties. I had believed that children would divert her, but the three babes—twin boys, one named after me, and a little girl named after my glorious Eleanor, and the little boys look like me, which is a good thing, I say—all three sit and clap their hands when she tells them her tales of derring-do. The little girl is the image of her mother, bless her.” The king looked down at his slippers, at least a foot long, and wondered if the twin boys would gain his height. Actually, if they only gained their mother’s height, that would be sufficient.
“You have told me quite a lot, your majesty.”
“Aye, but your brain is clever enough to pick what meat you wish from the bones.”
Bishop nodded, but still, he couldn’t quite believe what the king had just said. He said, carefully, “You wish to make me heir to Lord Vellan de Gay, your majesty?”
The young man was honestly surprised, overcome, really, and that was nice, as it boded well for his unstinting loyalty to his king. Edward nodded, pleased with his self-serving generosity. “That is exactly what I mean. You will become Lord Bishop de Gay of Penwyth. You have four brothers to carry on your father’s name. There is no need of yours. The de Gay line will not die out.”
The king wants me to be the girl’s fifth damned husband? The king was sending him to his death before he’d even enjoyed a single marriage bed. The king wanted to reduce his bones to dust before Bishop would fully realize that Penwyth was his, all his. He would be Lord Bishop de Gay of Penwyth, the fifth husband, for how long before he died?
Struck down by an ancient Druid curse.
This was not good.
Robert Burnell handed Bishop a piece of parchment. “This is the curse, Sir Bishop. It has to date killed four men who took Penwyth and married Lady Merryn.”
“Read it aloud, Sir Bishop,” the king said.
Bishop cleared his throat. “It appears to be two separate curses, your majesty.”
“Aye, I know it. Read them.”
Bishop read,
“The enemy will die who comes by sea.
The enemy by land will cease to be.
The enemy will fail who uses the key.
Doubt this not,
This land is blessed for eternity.”
He looked up. “What is this key?”
Burnell said, “No one knows. Lord Vellan said it came down to him in exactly that way.”
“Read the rest of it, Sir Bishop.”
And Bishop read,
“Maiden’s heart pure as fire
Maiden’s eyes, green as desire
Maiden’s hair, a wicked red
Any who force her will soon be dead.”
“Lady Merryn de Gay—she has red hair and green eyes?”
“Evidently so,” the king said. “Keep the curse. You may need to give it an occasional read.”
Bishop carefully folded the parchment and eased it into the knife sheath on his belt. He was wondering if the king secretly hated his daughter and was thus sending her savior into the maw of almost certain death. A spirit felling him in his tracks, as Robert Burnell had said? Or by poison, at the old man’s hand? Or maybe it was the girl herself ridding Penwyth of usurpers and herself of unwanted husbands?