Page 47 of The Unwilling Bride
It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Sir Jowan anywhere, or Kiernan. Or Lord Algernon or her uncle. They must have stayed at the castle. “If we have to rebuild, how long do you think it will take?”
Merrick shrugged his powerful shoulders as he picked his way through the debris toward her. “As I said, I’m no mason,” he answered, running his hand over his eyes, smearing the sweat and soot more.
“You should go back to the castle, my lord. You need to eat and rest.”
“And wash,” he muttered, looking down at his smutty chest.
He ran his gaze over her. She had no girdle to cinch her waist, so it hung loose about her, nor had she covered her hair, which had to be a mess. “You must be very tired, too,” he observed.
She didn’t disagree. With a nod, she turned to go back, then stepped on a piece of wood and nearly fell. His strong hand gripped her arm to steady her, his touch warm and, this time, welcome.
“How is Peder?” he asked, letting go.
“Much better. I think he simply overtaxed his strength. Although he’s a strong man, he sometimes forgets he’s no longer young.”
Merrick nodded, but her news didn’t seem to please him. “When you were tending to the injured, did you hear anything about how this fire may have started?”
She shook her head.
“I believe the shed caught fire first and it spread from there,” he said. “But a fire should not have started there.”
“You think it was set deliberately?” she asked, hoping he’d have some other explanation.
“Yes. To hurt Tregellas. To hurt me.”
That had a familiar, horrible ring to it. His father had often cried that the whole world was out to destroy him, and all men wanted him dead. Yet Merrick did have some cause for his fears. When he was younger, someone had set upon his cortege and murdered everyone else in it. Perhaps they were thieves, but perhaps they were assassins. She wondered, and not for the first time, who might have sought his death and how Merrick had managed to escape.
“Perhaps the fire was an accident,” she proposed with more hope than faith. “A stray spark from the miller’s chimney landing on a bit of chaff.”
“The shed had no windows and the roof was made of slate.”
“Under the door, perhaps?” she suggested, knowing she was grasping at straws, but still reluctant to consider the alternative.
Merrick’s expression told her he didn’t think that likely, either. “Angry or evil men will do anything to have revenge or advantage, and don’t care that innocents suffer,” he said grimly.
“How could burning down the mill be to anyone’s advantage?”
“It would weaken Tregellas. We’ll have to grind our grain elsewhere until the mill can be repaired or rebuilt, and that will cost money that could be spent on men orarms. I’ll have to pay for the repairs, again taking money that could be spent on defense or men or horses.”
“Is there anyone you suspect?” she asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
“There are those who believe I’ll be as bad an overlord as my father. There are those who fear I’ll join in a conspiracy against the king, or others who fear I won’t. There could be others who would simply have me vulnerable. There may be more, with more personal reasons. Talek, for one.”
“He’s gone. You banished him.” Yet even as she protested, a sickening wave of dizziness and nausea overcame her when she thought of the garrison commander’s wounded pride.
“It’s possible he didn’t go far.”
Putting her hand to her head, she reached out toward a charred strut to keep herself from falling. Merrick’s powerful arm encircled her waist and held her close.
“I shouldn’t have kept you here,” he said, starting for the door and all but carrying her.
For a moment, as in her dream, she wanted to surrender. To lean against him and let him take full command. To go to the castle, where she could be safe and secure as his wife-to-be and let him deal with the aftermath of the fire, including finding out who might be responsible. But she weakened only for a moment, because she’d felt responsible for the people of Tregellas for too long to stop now.
She gently extricated herself from his grasp. “I mustsee that the injured get to their homes or the castle, as need be.”
When she saw Merrick wince, she suddenly remembered the cut from Talek’s spear. She looked at his arm. “What happened to your stitches?” she cried, staring at the welt.
“I took them out.”
