“Me? I am Gilpin, Lord Garron’s squire.” He showed no recognition of her at all, thank St. Coriander’s white gums. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t think he’d even seen her. Gilpin said, “Everyone can speak only of the Retribution. Can you tell me what happened?”
She kept her head down and chewed on the bread, one tiny bite at a time. “Nay, I’m sorry.” He reached out his hand to take the last bit of bread from her, and she jerked her hand back. “Nay, I am very hungry. Truly.”
“You don’t look to be on the edge of starvation like the others.”
He was right. She was a selfish stoat. Merry realized he was looking at her closely now. She also realized she’d not spoken as a serf. She said, “It were bad, this Retribution, thass all I know.”
“No longer,” Gilpin said, patted her shoulder, and strode off, a slight frown on his forehead. She watched him hand the small chunk of bread to a bent old woman.
She hung in the background, watched all the people eat their small portions, and found herself making lists in her head, something she’d done since she was a young child, something her father had taught her. She watched the new lord as he spoke to everyone, questioning them about what had happened, and reassuring them endlessly. She could feel the rage pulsing in him, hotter and harder than the rage he’d felt facing Sir Halric, that mangy devil. But he’d controlled the rage when he’d fought Sir Halric, and he controlled it now. She imagined he did what was necessary, what was needful, and then he moved to something else. He was dark, his hair black as the North Sea on a moonless night, his eyes a pale blue, unusual, she thought, and wondered if those pale blue eyes of his would see she was the boy he’d saved. He was the only one of the four men who’d seen her clearly. She heard him speak calmly, heard him jest with his man, Pali, whose legs were so long old Miggins told him they could lay planks on his legs and three men could sleep on him, all stretched out. His eyes were red and weeping, Merry saw, the spring season tears, she’d heard the healer at Valcourt call it, but she didn’t know the recipe the Valcourt healer had mixed in his potion’s kettle to help him.
When at last everyone was settled, she watched Lord Garron check the huge double doors himself and see the two thick wooden bars were set firmly in place. She watched him wrap himself in a blanket and settle in by his men near the great front doors. Everyone slept in the great hall, and so she huddled next to old Miggins, who belched once and snored throughout the long night, louder than Merry’s pet pig.
The next morning, after Garron and his men rode out to hunt, Merry sidled up to Miggins. She recognized the scrawny old woman as the leader here. She said in a quiet voice, “Look at me.”
Miggins squinted up at her.
“Who are ye, boy? I don’t know ye. Did you come with Lord Garron?”
“Nay. I followed Lord Garron and his men. He saved me from kidnappers. He does not know I’m here. Who are you?”
“I am Miggins. I don’t remember my first name. Mayhap ’tis Alice, but all know me now as Miggins.”
“Miggins,” Merry said. She drew a deep breath and spit it out. “I am not a boy.”
Miggins gave her a long look and slowly nodded. “Nor are ye jest any girl, are ye?”
“Of course I am. I am a girl of no account at all.”
“Then why would anyone kidnap ye?”
Good question. “All right, not just any girl. I swear I will tell you everything, but not yet. Is there a gown about I could borrow? These boy’s clothes are dirty, and they smell.”
Old Miggins eyed her up and down, studied her clear eyes. “Nay,” she said at last, “yer not jest any girl. There’s the Lady Anne’s gowns and chemises, hidden away by the master who wanted to give them to his mistress, but she died only two days after his lady wife, both of the bloody flux. Why did you follow Lord Garron here? Why didn’t ye go back home? Do ye know about the Retribution?”
Merry looked out over the great hall. “I know nothing of this Retribution or this Black Demon. I can’t go home because my mother wants to wed me to a man with a blacker soul than this Black Demon has.”
“So, I suppose ye also have to hide from those men who kidnapped ye.”
“Your master killed the men who kidnapped me, well, all but one of them, but I still have to hide from my mother. When your master saved me, he believed me a boy and so he will not recognize me. Since I hear he hasn’t been here in many years, he will believe I belong here. Can you help me?”
“Hmmm, seems hardly fair, does it? To have to hide from yer own mither, ’tis a putrid thing. Why don’t ye jest tell him the truth? Lord Garron is a fine lad, pure of heart, straight in his thinking. At least I pray he is.”
“I cannot take the chance. He would have questions. Please, Miggins, let me keep my secrets for a while. I swear to you I am no threat to you or to Lord Garron or to Wareham.”
Miggins scratched her dirty elbow as she studied the young earnest face, the cheek smudged with dirt. “Take off yer cap.”
Merry pulled off her cap. A long, thick braid fell out and dangled down her back.
Miggins nodded, raised a gnarly hand, and touched the braid. “I niver before seen such a beautiful color—hair redder than my pa’s sins. What is yer name?”
“Merry.”
“Merry? That has a nice sound to it. Nay, ye’re not jest Merry. Yer a lady.”
“It truly doesn’t matter. Please, just Merry. Mayhap you can tell everyone to call me Merry and not tell Lord Garron or his men that I’m a stranger at Wareham. I must be very careful. I don’t want anyone to find me. It would be very bad, especially for Lord Garron. Please, Miggins, will you help me?”
“We’ll have to see about that, won’t we now?” Merry could hear a sudden craftiness in that robust old voice. “What have ye to say to that? What will ye do if I give ye the mistr