Free Catherine Coulter by The Valcourt Heiress Page B

Lyle’s sword hand.
    “Welcome to my service. I have two other small keeps within a day’s ride of here, Furly and Radstock. I have no idea if this man—the Black Demon—and his men also attacked and destroyed them. As you can see, there is much to be done here. Look yon, all the barracks are destroyed. If you wish Wareham to be your home, you must needs assist in rebuilding it.”
    Sir Lyle said calmly, “My three men are hardy, my lord, all of them eager, as am I. I believe all of us would like to build for a while rather than lay waste to other men’s lands. My men are all trustworthy—well, for the most part.” Lyle gave a crack of laughter. “I saw both the outer curtain wall and the inner wall are sound and that is a relief. This Black Demon, I have never heard the name. Have you any idea yet who he is?”
    “Not as yet.”
    “Was your brother killed by this man?”
    “No, he was not. He died suddenly before this man arrived with his soldiers. Once all is set to rights here, I will discover his name and then I will kill him.”
    Sir Lyle nodded. “Aye, he should be killed. It’s easy to see the barracks were once fine indeed, and that was once a fruitful orchard. Allow me one sword slice of the fellow, my lord, when we catch him.”
    Those were fine words, Garron thought, but still, he simply didn’t know about Sir Lyle of Clive. Well, he would see soon enough. No man could hide what he really was for long. He would challenge both him and his men—no, now they were Garron’s men, and Sir Lyle was his man as well—with backbreaking work and tasks they’d likely never attempted before. He saw Aleric eyeing Lyle of Clive, his seamed face utterly expressionless, then turn to the three new men, asking names, getting a feel for what each man could do, and if they could indeed be trusted.
    Garron spoke to the two soldiers who’d gone to the king, saw they were both wounded, and called to Merry.
    When she was at his side, he said only, “They were my brothers’ soldiers. Now they are mine. They are brave men and both are hurt. Please see to them.”
    Even before Robert Burnell was settled into a makeshift chair, its rough-planked seat hurriedly covered with blankets, Garron heard the sound of a single hammer in the inner bailey. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life.

13
    C louds hung low, the air was chill, but it didn’t rain. Garron rubbed his hands together, told Tupper he was the porter and he trusted him to keep sharp, which made the old man square his meager shoulders. He stationed the king’s soldiers on the ramparts, then ordered the portcullis left winched up, the drawbridge down. During the day, two dozen more Wareham people straggled into the keep, all starving and in rags, but now, at the sight of all the activity, at the sight of all the sheathed swords, at the smells of cooking food, there were wondering voices, even one rumbling laugh, but most of all, there was hope. Garron had never thought much about the quality of hope before, but he realized now it was a tangible thing, something he could feel, even smell in the very air.
    A dozen soldiers, most wounded, returned as well. Merry cleaned and bound their wounds while Garron questioned them closely, but they knew nothing he didn’t already know.
    Aleric managed to mix the groups together, with no arguments or broken heads, and set all the men to work, each to his skill.
    What pleased Garron the most, he realized, was the young woman who came straggling into the inner bailey with two small boys, their dirty hands clasped in hers, along with three dispirited dogs, their tails down. Her name was Elaine. Her husband had managed to spirit his family out of Wareham and hide them in the Forest of Glen. Then he’d returned to fight.
    Elaine bowed her head. “My husband never returned to us.”
    Garron hoped Tupper or Miggins would know where the man was buried. While he spoke to the mother, he saw Merry give the two