Alberic paused, dipping into the shadow of the wall as he was so used to doing. Hiding was second nature to him. He watched a large figure cross from the large western tower and into the stable block. Puzzled, he tried to follow but stopped short of the wooden steps into the structure. He could not risk entering the stables and being cornered. He stood there a moment, unsure what to do, unsure of what he had seen. But he knew he must seek Bertram.
Bertram and Alger were still in the solar, deep in discussion. Lon had since vanished. Alberic paused at the solar door and removed the soiled cape that covered his head.
“My lord?” he said.
Bertram looked up from his conversation with his brother, somewhat annoyed to see the dirty spy standing in the doorway.
“I told you to leave.”
“I was, my lord,” Alberic took a hesitant step into the room. “But… I saw something….”
“Well, what is it, man, and be quick about it.”
The spy wasn’t sure where to begin. “As I was leaving, I saw a man come from the western tower and enter the stables.”
“What man?”
“He was large, quite large. Young and strong, with light-colored hair.”
Lon looked at his brother. “He must mean le Mon. If he has left Derica’s side, then she must be doing well enough.”
“Now is our chance to see to her ourselves.”
“Agreed. The man was as unmoving as a guard dog.”
“My lord?”
The spy was demanding attention, interrupting their conversation. Bertram snapped at him impatiently. “So you have seen my daughter’s intended. What of him?”
Alberic appeared taken aback. “He is to marry your daughter?”
“Yes, what of it?”
The spy would not be intimidated; he was, in fact, growing suspicious and disturbed. “I know that man, my lord.”
Bertram’s temper took a strange, cooling twist. “You do?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where do you know him from?”
Alberic thought carefully on his reply. “As you know, my lord, I have been in the service of the prince for many years. I have seen many things, and many people. Those of us who covertly serve our masters tend to hear of one another, if only by reputation. It is wise to know one’s enemies. Sometimes, however, we are fortunate enough to put a face to the name or reputation.”
“Get to the point.”
“What do you know of your daughter’s intended, my lord?”
Bertram’s temper flared again. “Alberic, if you do not tell me your meaning, I will throw you from this room. You waste my time.”
The spy cocked a long, dirty eyebrow. “I think not, my lord,” he said coolly. “I think you betray your prince.”
Bertram moved for him, but Alger stopped him. In spite of the insult, he suspected there was true motivation behind it. “Explain yourself before I let my brother gut you.”
“Gut me and you will not know who your daughter’s intended truly is.”
“Le mon?” Bertram glanced at his brother, a thousand unspoken words of doubt and fear in his expression. “Who is he?”
Alberic put his filthy hood back on and turned for the door. His plan was to go directly to the prince with what he had just seen. But he would do de Rosa the favor of letting him know that his fate would soon be sealed, and his loyalties questioned.
“That man,” he said slowly, “works for William Marshal.”
“My lady?” Came the whisper. “My lady, are you awake?”
Derica heard the murmuring, a soft voice in her ear. She sighed deeply as she emerged from her warm slumber, opening her bleary eyes to see Aglette’s pale face. Blinking, she struggled to orient herself in the bright room.
“Aglette?” she yawned. “What is it? What time is it?”
“ ’Tis nearly noon, my lady,” Aglette said. “Something awful has happened!”
“What’s so awful?” She gasped as she moved her arm the wrong way; it was stiff and sore but, thankfully, had no signs of poison yet. She looked around the room. “Where is Sir Garren?”
Aglette was obviously distraught. The more lucid Derica became, the more she realized her servant had been crying.
“He is in the vault,” Aglette whispered.
“What for?”
Aglette burst into sobs, struggling to contain them. “I have heard they are going to kill him!”
Derica was instantly awake. “What on earth for?”
The maid shook her head. “I do not know, my lady. I only heard from the soldiers that your father and brothers captured him early this morning and placed him there.”
Derica was seized by confusion and anger. Sitting up, she bolted from the bed as fast as she could, looking for some manner of clothing to wear. The room was swaying and moving was difficult, but she would not let it stop her. She had to find out what had happened to Garren.
“Please, my lady,” Aglette begged. “You are unwell. Perhaps you should….”
Derica waved her off harshly. “I swear that my family is no better than a pack of mad dogs. The moment Garren is alone, they descend upon him like vicious beasts.”
She yanked off the gown she wore with the tattered, bloodied sleeve and struggled to step into a garment of soft gray lamb’s wool. Aglette rushed to help her, both of the struggling to pull the sleeve over her bandaged arm. Fortunately, the sleeve was loose enough that it fit, but barely. The tight material caused Derica some pain, but she fought it. She had no time for her discomfort.
Aglette tried to run a comb through her long, tangled curls, but Derica would have no part of it. Fumbling a pair of slippers onto her feet, she moved from her chamber as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. Aglette stumbled behind her, fastening the dress so that it would stay on her mistress. By the time they entered the ward, Derica was flushed and weak, but her determination speared her on. The day was bright and cool, and she received some curious looks from soldiers and peasants alike as she sprinted across the bailey in a disheveled mess.
The vault of Framlingham was located in the bowels of the gatehouse tower, an enormous place that smelled like rot. A soldier guarding the entrance tried to keep her away, but she ignored him and descended the narrow stone stairs.
The steps came to a leveled room, cold with stone and mold. Torches lit the walls and there were several people standing about, making the small chamber crowded. Two iron-grated cells were at the far end of the room and a hole in the floor held a pit dungeon. Derica’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, recognizing her father and uncles.
Bertram spoke first. “Derica! What…?”
She cut her father short. “Where is he?”
Bertram moved towards her, his arms outstretched. “Derica, my love, you must….”
She slapped her father’s hand away; it was sharp movement that strained her bad arm and she winced as pain shot through her.
“Answer me. Where is Sir Garren? Why is he in here?”
Bertram glanced at his brothers, undeterred from putting his arm around his daughter. She pushed against him, but he was insistent.
“Derica, you needn’t worry about Sir Garren any longer. There will be no forced marriage and you will be free to marry a man worthy of you. I am so sorry you had to….”
Derica pulled away from him sharply, looking at her father as if he had gone mad. “No marriage? What are you talking about?” Her father tried to hold her again and, this time, she roughly slapped his hand away. “If you do not tell me what is going on here, I shall pummel each and every one of you until I have my answers.”
Alger tried to comfort her. “Derica, you’re ill and distraught. ’Twould be better if you retired to your chamber and allowed us to do what needs to be done.”
Derica could see that she would receive no answers. With a growl of frustration, she pushed past her father and uncle and moved towards the cells. Her brothers tried to stop her and she fought with them, too; it seemed that no one w
anted to answer her or help her find Garren. Even rational, gentle Daniel wouldn’t help her. When she finally pushed past Donat after threatening to restructure his nose, she caught a glimpse of a large body chained to the wall of one of the cells.
It was Garren. He looked as if he had been thrashed within an inch of his life, blood on his face and matted in his hair. His arms were bruised and bloodied, and the iron cuffs that held him to the wall had chaffed huge red welts around his wrists.
Derica suddenly felt very ill and weak. Bertram didn’t try to stop her as she entered the cell.
“Dear God,” she whispered as she surveyed Garren’s wounds. “What have they done to you?”
Garren hated for her see him like this. She appeared weary and exhausted, and he knew she shouldn’t be here. Nasty dealings were afoot and he didn’t want her bearing witness. But he was glad to see her nonetheless.
“It took several of them to capture me,” he was trying to lighten the grim situation. “Your father, uncles, brothers, and a few soldiers for good measure. One moment I was in the stables, and in the next I was being set upon. Without you there to protect me, the alligators snared the ibis.”
Derica could not give into his attempt at humor. “But why? I do not understand.”
Before Garren could reply, Bertram answered. “He is a spy, Derica,” her father said quietly. “You must not interfere in what needs to be done.”
Confusion flickered across Derica’s face. “Spy?” she repeated. Her focus remained on Garren. “What are they saying about you?”
Garren took a long, deep breath. “They believe I mean to destroy them.”
“Destroy?” Derica mouthed the word as if she had never heard it before. “Why in the world would they think this?”
Garren shook his head. “I was not given the courtesy of being told their reasons. They seem more intent on beating a confession out of me.”
Derica’s confusion faded and her fury returned, worse than before. She whirled to her father. “You’re mad,” she hissed. “I have known you to be suspicious and belligerent, but this accusation against Sir Garren is pure madness.”
Bertram remained calm. “We know this for truth, daughter.”
“From whom?”
“A reliable source. Suffice it to say that….”
“Who told you this?”
“It does not matter. What matters is that I trust this word.” He nodded towards Garren. “Your intended is sent from William Marshal to spy against us. He comes to destroy everything we have, including you.”
“That is not true,” Derica turned back to Garren. “What insanity would cause them to say this against you? Tell them they are lunatics!”
“I am not here to destroy you,” Garren said softly. “When I came through the gates of Framlingham five days ago, my only intention was to gain wealth and status through marriage. Now my only intention is to marry you, wealth or no. You are the only wealth I will ever want.”
Tears filled her eyes. She reached up with her good arm, touching his battered face, feeling his lips against her fingers. Anger such as she had never known filled her.
“Release him, father.”
“I cannot. He must be punished.”
“You mean killed.”
“Spies are dealt with in such ways.”
Derica exploded. “If you kill him, I shall flee from Framlingham and you will never see me again. I will whore for every nobleman that serves King Richard and shame the name of de Rosa such as you have never dreamed.” The tears escaped and found their way onto her face. “This foolish paranoia that feeds your soul must come to an end. For all of these years I have ignored it because you were my father and I love you. But now you attack me directly, and you attack my happiness. Release Sir Garren or I swear I will make you sorry until the end of your days.”
The entire vault was deathly silent by the time she finished. Bertram was pale; he’d never seen his daughter in such a tirade. She had always maintained such control over her emotions. His natural instinct was to do whatever she wished, but at the moment, he was torn. He didn’t want her to follow through on her threats; he wasn’t sure she would, but, being a de Rosa, she was stubborn and willful and he wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t.
“Derica,” he said quietly. “You’re sick. You’re not thinking clearly. You must understand that this is a man’s matter. It does not involve you.”
“It clearly involves me if Sir Garren is to be my husband,” she countered. “You will release him immediately and I will forget this ever happened.”
As much as Bertram loved his daughter, he would not be pushed around by her.
“I cannot.”
Derica stared at him for several long, painful moments. He had been right about one thing; she was ill and not thinking clearly. In a fit of momentary insanity, she swooped upon the brother standing nearest to her and unsheathed his sword. Before anyone could stop her, she pressed the blade against her stomach.
“Release him now or I drive this into my belly!”
Everyone shouted at her to stop, including Garren. She had a wild look to her eye and there was no one in the chamber that had any doubt she would do as she threatened.
Bertram pleaded. “Derica, no. It is not as bad as all that. Please… give the blade back to Donat.”
Her response was to grip it more tightly. “Release him. I shall not tell you again.”
Bertram looked at Garren. Strange how mortal enemies had, in a fraction of a second, suddenly became allies. Garren could feel the father’s panic; he had quite enough of his own.
“Derica,” Garren said softly. “Put the blade down, sweetheart. Please.”
Derica looked at him. “Do you not understand that they mean to kill you? I will not let them do that. I cannot.”
“So you would kill yourself instead?” Garren smiled. “Do you think that would give me pleasure to watch? As much as you do not wish my death, I do not wish yours even more. To know you died on my behalf would fill me with grief as I cannot comprehend. My life would be meaningless.”
“As mine would be were you to leave me,” her lip quivered. “I cannot let them do this to you.”
“If you thrust that blade into your belly, they are going to kill me anyway. Your death would not stop them. It would more than likely cause them to insure that my death was as painfully long and slow as possible. Did you think of that?”
She knew he spoke the truth. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at her father. She knew how her father and brothers were, that honor and service to the prince was nearly everything to them. She could not imagine who told them Garren was a spy, or how this wild idea took root, but one thing was for certain; if they believed Garren was a spy, for whatever reason, nothing on earth could convince them otherwise. But bargains could be struck, and for the sake of Garren’s life, she knew what she had to do.
“Release him and I will not kill myself. His life for mine, father. That is the bargain.”
Bertram eyed his daughter. He couldn’t stand the thought of her driving that cold blade into her soft belly. He weighed his choices.
“Do as she asks.”
The command came from the steps leading up into the gatehouse. Everyone turned to see Hoyt standing at the base of the stairs, without his makeup or fancy gowns. He looked as they all remembered him, a massive man who had been the best warrior of them all. Bertram hadn’t seen his brother this serious, or this normal, in some time. It was unsettling.
“He is a spy,” Bertram said to his brother. “If we let him go, the consequences could be lethal.”
“If you do not, the same could be said.” Hoyt entered the vault, slowly. His eyes were on Derica. “Look at her, Bertram. She means what she says. Let him go or we shall all be sorry.”
Bertram knew that his brother was correct; there was only one choice to make. He found himself cursing the day his only female child was born. At that moment, something between them changed.
“Then I shall release him,” he said. “But I shall also say this; there will be no marriage. I will never again hear the name Garren le Mon and if I ever see him again, I will kill him. Make no mistake. My mercy is given only once.”
Derica was not surprised. Her terms had been accepted; now her father was extending his own. It was a compromise of the greatest proportion, but Derica considered it a small price to pay for Garren’s life.
“As you say,” she whispered.
She kept the sword against her stomach as she watched Hoyt unlatch the shackles around Garren’s wrists and ankles. It was sorry to say that she didn’t trust her family, but she did not. She had lived with them too long and knew too well of their ways. She had to maintain the threat even though, deep down, she would not have done it. It was bluff that, with the mere thought of her death, had worked against her father. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty.
“Sir Garren is free to go to the stables and collect his horse,” she said pointedly to the men around her. “He will not be touched.”
The younger men grumbled, kicked at the ground, but dare not dispute her. The older men glared. Only Hoyt stood there, with no discernible expression, but the message was obvious; his support was with Derica and, subsequently, with Garren. The tides of the de Rosa household were shifting.
Garren rubbed his wrists. Hoyt was standing next to him and their eyes met, silent words of understanding passing between them; Hoyt had seen Garren tend Derica and had seen the tenderness in the man’s eyes. It was more than courtesy or infatuation; there was genuine emotion there. Whatever his brothers were cooking up now against Garren was not only detrimental to Derica, but to them all. Walls were being built with little hope of ever being torn down again.
Garren turned to Derica. “I will not leave you here.”
Derica could feel her anguish welling. “I cannot go with you. Be fortunate that you leave with your life.”
He was going to argue with her but thought better of it; surrounded by the de Rosa clan, she had a point. He was indeed fortunate to be leaving with his life. But in his estimation, it wasn’t over. Not as long as there was breath left in his body.
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