A Nymph Without Mercy

Garrick knew it had been coming. He had used far too much foxglove for any result other than death to eventually have followed.

But hearing the words of confirmation left him almost numb, and he found himself preoccupied with what Mairi might need of him.

Bonnie appeared close to hysterics and he ushered her in firmly. “I am certain this whole messy business was frightening to you. You will therefore go to your husband and you will cry. But you should have considered your future role before Cyrus suggested this plan! And you will not ruin it by giving us anymore undue attention. It will only lead to further suspicions than any of us can afford.”

The girl nodded fervently and she took a few steadying breaths. “Of course, m’lord.”

He did not correct her. It would take time for her to become accustomed to her new position as Cyrus’s wife in public, her manners of servitude ingrained from long years of labour and deference.

Her husband would have to be patient with her as she faced the nobles who would undoubtedly scorn her. At least in the beginning. She would have to prove her quality and ability to learn, taking her authority instead of bowing and begging for the respect that was necessary for her new station.

But she was not his responsibility.

“Tell Cyrus that I will require a private audience. There are a few matters that still have need of his attention.”

She nodded but seemed too exhausted to form any further enquiries so with a quickly bobbed curtsey she closed the door, seemingly to find comfort in the arms of her husband.

Much as it was his duty to soothe his own wife should the news prove overly taxing.

She had witnessed his violent profession before and had accepted it far more readily than he ever would have imagined.

But this was different. For the affront had been personal and so had the consequence, and no matter how he felt it was justified, it was reasonable to presume she would be upset by its necessity.

He did not know what to expect when he turned to study his Mairi.

She was sitting amongst the bedclothes, her dress hastily donned and not even laced in the back. Her posture was rather huddled with her chin resting upon her knees as she stared at him almost blankly.

He took a tentative step forward.

“Mairi?”

She blinked. “You think me so pure and innocent. Does that mean I am terribly wicked if I am glad? Does that mean I am tainted somehow because of him that I should be so?”

Garrick strode quickly to her side, tugging at her arms until she was gathered into his embrace, still slightly stiff but softening the more he coaxed and soothed. “Never. Never could you be, not because of me and not because of him. If there had been another way to keep this world safe from him you would have begged me to accept such an alternative. But there was none, and you know that good shall come from his demise.”

She shuddered and released a hiccupping sob that sent an ache through his heart.

Too many times he had dried her tears in these past days.

Too many times had she felt fear and loneliness.

No more.

They would leave this day, of that he knew.

He finished dressing quickly. His did not don his armour but instead left it in its neat pile. He could not appear as if he sought to flee, no matter how much he wished to do precisely that.

Mairi stared at him with wide eyes. It would be simpler to leave her behind, but as she watched him with that hollowed expression he knew he could not allow her to remain here alone. So he eased her off of the bed and tended to the laces of her gown, plying her with soft kisses as he did so, hopefully tangible reminders that all would soon be well.

She nearly collapsed against him, so strong was her gratitude when he placed his cloak about her shoulders and led her through to the outdoors.

“Are we leaving now? You have left your armour behind...”

He grimaced, hating to disappoint her. “Nay, Mairi, not quite yet. We must first see to Callum and about your new things. Then I must know for certain that there is a home waiting for us to christen.”

She smiled sadly and held firm to his hand, and he gave it a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

She should not fight any wisps of happiness she could find. Not because of this.

The air was cool but the sun rose steadily. Flags that usually held the crest of the reigning house had been replaced with black banners. Peasantry had begun to gather for the continuation of the games only to have servants sent into the throngs to announce of the king’s passing.

Most stared in disbelief, but Garrick noted with some satisfaction that none appeared horrified by the prospect.

It was a rare thing for a sovereign to be beloved by his people.

This one had not even made the attempt.

Garrick passed a grumbling lad, one who evidently had been looking forward to another rousing day of jousts and swordplay, only to be disappointed at the abrupt halt to the games.

“Which way to the smithy?”

The boy pointed down a lane, and as they approached Garrick grew encouraged by the black smoke that billowed from the forge. There was a plain but well kempt house beside it, and as they stood before it Garrick could plainly hear hacking coughs from within.

He frowned and turned to his wife.

“You shall remain here. I do not know what types of sickness affect one such as you but will not risk it.”

She shook her head. “If there is risk of infection then I will not have you risking it either. I would rather us be free for a lifetime than to try to force our departure and you perish in the endeavour.”

He made to argue, to remind her that it was his duty to see to her protection when a man came out of the stable, cursing as soot quite thoroughly covered his person. “Damn that fool boy! What’s he been doin’ while I’ve been abed?”

He stopped suddenly as he noticed Garrick and Mairi in the yard, and he wiped his hands carefully on his leather apron. “M’lord, m’lady. Can I help ya?”

Garrick tucked Mairi slightly behind him, unwilling to have her near the man should he still exhibit symptoms. “Are you better then?”

The man shrugged. “Well enough. The work still needs doin’ and I’m strong enough to raise my hammer. The wife’s got it now though but she’d rather me see to my tasks than wait on her. Says I make her nervous with all my fussin’.”

He was a gruff and burly man, evidently used to hard work and long days. He looked slightly shrunken from his sick days, but Garrick felt confident that he was well enough to see to Callum’s shoe without much issue.

“My horse is at the king’s stable and his shoe is loose. We have been unable to depart as we intended as none could fix it.”

He did attempt to keep the accusation from his voice but he was not certain he was successful. The tug Mairi gave at his sleeve confirmed that he still posited some blame.

The smithy rubbed his neck and looked genuinely contrite. “I’m terrible sorry, m’lord. The lad’s only just begun and I’ll start teachin’ him right quick so this will not happen again should you pass this way.”

Garrick held his tongue from providing his vehement denial that he would ever willingly return to this dratted kingdom.

He swiftly fetched his tools and followed a few paces behind them. Garrick supposed he was being courteous, but knowing a man wielding a hammer was only a few steps behind left him distinctly uncomfortable.

He kept many of his senses focused on any sounds of hurried approach but they returned to the stable without incident, his worry for naught.

Garrick wanted to go to Cyrus immediately and receive word on the availability of the house. He had purposefully kept from enquiring or listening to gossip regarding his parents over the years, and he supposed it was plausible that his father still lived and could claim ownership.

A matter easily rectified, but even now he felt a twinge of conscience at the thought.

He wanted a different life.

He wanted something quiet and happy with his little nymph at his side, not one bathed in blood and secrecy.

Callum however was not pleased by the burly man grabbing hold of his leg and he reared with a frightened and indignant neigh of displeasure.

Garrick approached slowly. “There now, Callum, that is quite enough of that. You have had a smithy look after you before and nothing dreadful occurred.”

The stable boy came forward cautiously with an apple core in his hand and he offered it to Garrick sheepishly. “Would this help?”

Callum eyed it warily but his stomach overruled his trepidation for he allowed the blacksmith to manipulate his foreleg while he munched on the treat.

“Ungrateful lout.”

He merely blinked placidly at Garrick’s insult.

“Aye, ‘twas wise not to use him. One good ride and the shoe would have come clean off. And would be a pity for such a beaut’ like him to go lame from something so simple.”

Garrick rubbed Callum’s neck soothingly as the smithy worked, and soon his shoe was fastened properly with promise of more oats and a good brushing before they departed.

For whether he took her to his shabby little cottage or to his ancestral home, they would not spend another night in this kingdom.

The castle was sombre, despite the enmity that Garrick suspected many of the servants felt toward their employer. A few of the nobles did indeed appear morose at the turn of events, and as Garrick led Mairi to the throne room he caught many whispers of their shock and dismay that he should have perished.

It took a good deal of self-control for Garrick not to glare at them for their absurdity.

The man was not worth mourning, no matter what they thought.

He did manage to glean that the king was violently ill before his death, and although there were brief mentions of it possibly being unnatural—mostly by wide eyed ladies who seemed to enjoy the prospect—it was supposed that the suckling pig had some kind of taint, apparently not uncommon in these parts.

Cyrus looked harried, surrounded by older men that Garrick supposed were counsellors of some sort. The fact that they let Drostan onto the throne at all belied any wisdom they might have relayed.

He appeared visibly relieved at Garrick’s approach, and he wanted to cuff him.

“Lord Garrick! I believe you are here to settle your account. My uncle never did receive opportunity to provide you with your full payment.”

Garrick’s lip curled. “Indeed.”

He was not seated on the throne but instead utilised a rather plain chair lower on the dais. Garrick briefly wondered if it was for appearances or if he truly was wary of taking the throne that by all rights should have been his long before.

Not that it truly mattered to him. Cyrus might prove a more faithful husband than the previous king, but Garrick had no illusions that he would prove capable of justice in all things. A place of authority rarely pleased all parties, and it was only a matter of time before either the peasantry or nobility voiced their upset at his regulations.

Garrick would be satisfied watching from afar.

But now Cyrus rose and pushed through the clerics and noblemen who sought his attention, striding forward and ushering them through to a small antechamber.

“They are demanding I see to the funeral arrangements!”

Garrick crossed his arms. “Would you prefer he remain in his bedchamber until he rots?”

Cyrus glared, but with a lone eyebrow raised in question he seemed to deflate. “I did not think it would be like this. I have known all my life that I would rule but I thought it would be by right, not because of a lie.”

To his surprise it was Mairi who interjected. “There is no lie; not in this. You may grieve the man your uncle should have been and work to make your kingdom a better place, your wife by your side. Surely it is not wrong to dethrone tyranny.”

Cyrus hung his head, and Garrick could easily see the guilt taking hold of him. “Remember this feeling and may it make you a better ruler. There is nothing pleasant about death, no matter how justified it might be. But dwelling upon the past will only corrupt your future—and that is something that would truly make this entire grisly business a waste.”

He nodded, and clearly required more comfort than Garrick was willing to give—or allow his Mairi to provide. He had spoken true that they had an account to settle, and now would be their only opportunity. “What do you know of Endelmoor?”

His brow furrowed for a moment before he answered slowly, “The large estate at the end of our boundaries? It has been in probate for some time.”

Garrick closed his eyes, relief flooding through him. It was a testament to Cyrus’s education that he would have even known of the house, but all he could think of was that this meant that his father had perished, and hopefully his mother with him.

“Was no other heir found?”

He had often wondered if they had more children after the blight on their marriage had departed when he fled their cruel ways. Did he have a brother or sister somewhere, forced to endure his same punishment for the sake of inheritance and bloodline?

Cyrus shook his head. “It was a small family. I believe my grandfather was the one who appointed Johan to look after it upon the lord’s passing, but without proof that the legitimate heir was deceased...”

He glanced at Garrick then, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Was it you?”

He ignored him. “I will accept the property as payment for this little endeavour as well as forgive the amount your uncle owed me. Are you in agreement?”

Cyrus took a step back. “I can hardly pronounce a change in ownership that even my grandfather, a man widely respected, refused to! Especially not on the same day my uncle...” He took a deep breath and regained his composure. “You do not think it would be suspicious? That a man known for his propensity for murder should ride away with the deed to an ancient estate on the same day as the death of the king?”

Garrick rolled his eyes. “Your uncle announced that I was due payment, much as you have done. Before any death came to this household. I hardly think it a matter of grave concern lest I would not be demanding it!”

Mairi took his arm, reminding him of her presence as she whispered, “Garrick, there is little need to shout.”

He pursed his lips and huffed. “That is my payment. If it would soothe your already rumpled conscience then know that I have a legal claim to the estate. You will find no other man begging for his inheritance once you have placed your seal upon the title.”

Cyrus blanched. “Does that mean you have... dispensed with the true owner?”

Garrick’s patience was growing thin.

“Perhaps. In either regard, you are safe from further scrutiny. Think of this as your first official act—righting a grave wrong from years long past.”

He was quiet for a long moment, and to Garrick’s annoyance his gaze settled on Mairi. “Do you believe that I should allow you to return there? Is your husband an honourable man who will do well by those tenants that still inhabit the land?”

Garrick’s eyes narrowed. He had proved himself honourable by fulfilling his word. The king was dead and their wives were safe from further harassment—surely that was sufficient.

But as he saw Mairi rise to her full height—as inconsequential as it might be—and looked Cyrus in the eye, he saw the regal beauty that no one would dare question. “My Garrick is of the finest quality. He believes in justice and fairness and if he asserts that his claim is genuine for this land, then you would be in error to keep him from it.”

Garrick smirked over her shoulder and he watched with satisfaction as Cyrus seemed to appreciate the unintended undercurrent of her words. She had meant that Cyrus himself would be dishonourable to keep the rightful heir from his ancestral lands, but he could clearly observe that the man well assumed that Garrick had little qualms of dispensing with obstacles, no matter their station.

And Garrick would certainly not correct him.

“I will draft a letter then for you to provide the caretaker, assuring him of your right to the property.” He glanced down at his smallest finger, a golden ring adorning the digit that had not been there before. “It seems strange that this was the first thing they gave to me upon news of his death. How quickly a kingdom embraces a new ruler upon the death of its previous master.” The signet ring was smooth and worn with age, although it fit well on Cyrus’s finger, evidence of his birthright. “Do you think they shall be so swift to forget me?”

Garrick wrapped his arm about Mairi knowing their interlude was coming to a close.

“Kings are either remembered for their cruelty or their benevolence. You must decide which legacy you would rather leave behind.”

True to his word, Cyrus penned a short letter to Johan, a cleric who apparently had been charged with overseeing the property until an heir could be presented at court. And with a press of the signet upon the puddle of crimson wax, Garrick was appointed with what had long since been denied him.

Cyrus handed him the paper, rolled neatly and fastened with yet another seal to prevent tampering. “I know you are anxious to depart but I wondered if I might entreat you on one more matter. It shall be the last, I swear it.”

Garrick sighed heavily and eyed the door. His pocket nearly burned with his restored inheritance and he did indeed desire to be free of this oppressive castle. But Mairi was looking at Cyrus expectantly, almost as if she wished to put him further at ease.

“What is it you want?”

Cyrus fiddled with the stack of parchment, eyeing the door that led to the throne room with obvious apprehension. “Will you remain until I have announced Bonnie as my wife? While many witnessed her... shaming, Drostan ensured that he made her appear as a mistress and not my wife. I cannot allow her to remain a servant any longer, and I shall not deny her place by my side. If things become dangerous, I do not know that there are guards who are loyal to my new position.”

Garrick cocked his head. “And you think me loyal?”

Cyrus grimaced and gestured to his wife by his side. “I think you have an understanding of great love.”

Mairi rested her head against his chest, nestled as she was beside him. He glanced down at her, wishing to know her opinion. His first impulse was to deny the request as he had no desire to fend off the entirety of an unruly guard, dismayed at learning their queen had been naught but a serving maid for the whole of her existence.

“What say you, little nymph? Should you like to see the show?”

She nibbled her lip. “Will you be hurt?”

He chuckled lowly and gently tugged her lip free from her teeth. “You still doubt my skills. Perhaps a demonstration would not be remiss.”

He returned his attention to Cyrus, and nodded. “But you do it now. I wish to be far from here by nightfall.”

The new king was visibly relieved. “Thank you.”

They returned to the throne room, the clerics and nobles from earlier evidently having argued in their absence if their red faces and stunted breaths were any reliable indication. “Your grace, the matter of your uncle’s funeral is of most pressing import!”

Cyrus ascended the steps of the dais, hesitating before the chair that he had previously called his own. He glanced down at Garrick and Mairi for a moment before gathering his courage and climbed the rest of the stairs to the main throne.

No one uttered a word as he sat down.

“If someone would be so kind as to fetch Bonnie, I would be very pleased.” A lad bolted from the room, eager to enter the new master’s good graces. “Drostan’s funeral is of course of great import. But as my own dear father’s funeral was long ago as well as that of my grandfather, I would beg you to leave me to my grief and make plans befitting the kind of man and king he was.”

They all blinked stupidly for a moment, looking between them as they tried to discern his sincerity. “Of course, your grace. We would be happy to see to the arrangements.”

Cyrus relaxed slightly. “Excellent.”

The door opened quietly and the lad reappeared, this time with Bonnie in tow. Garrick did not think she looked much improved from when he had seen her earlier that morning but at the very least she had put on a dress with less holes in it and combed what little hair she still possessed.

Cyrus rose and beckoned her forward, his hand extended in greeting. “Come here, my love.”

Garrick watched with amusement as many aristocratic mouths dropped open at her approach, the very same girl that had been announced a whore amongst their ranks, now shuffling forward to her place by her husband. But despite his appreciation for disrupting the ridiculous conventions that would have parted them, he still kept careful guard to ensure none would make any violent attempts to disturb the union.

He held no great affection for the couple, but he was beginning to see the world in slightly warmer terms. Their marriage had been foolhardy and possibly even absurd for the good of the realm, but there was no mistaking the adoration that shone in both their eyes as their hands met and he presented her to the court.

“This is my wife, Bonnie, who is now to be Queen of Calidore. Are there any objections?”

Garrick had never heard his voice sound so hard. When he had first broached the subject of his uncle’s murder, he had spoken calmly and unemotionally. But this...

This was a challenge.

And from the way they bowed their heads and whispered their fealty, the hapless beings that they were, Garrick knew that none would accept it.

One man in particular stepped forward, dressed in a long grey robe that bespoke of his high rank. “You are the true born heir to the throne, your grace. May your marriage be prosperous and you be blessed with many sons.”

They left then, the image of Cyrus and Bonnie hand in hand before their new subject vivid in both their minds.

They purged their room of any remnants of belongings and bade a little serving girl to bring them a basket of foodstuffs before returning to the stables and preparing Callum for the journey yet to come.

For Garrick was bringing his little nymph home.